#kinda not liking the direction this month is taking tbh

[dubacheryking]

hello gang today has been a Bad Day

[a-hazbin-reader]

I hope this is an okay thing to ask for but could you do headcanons of Alastor with female reader on her- time of the month?? (Kinda wondering what to be like for him with all the blood ya know???) 🙇🏻‍♀️ please, thank you!

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being nasty, canon cannibalism mentioned, menstruation(wish I got a TW for that in real life fr)

Description: ☝️⬆️

Can literally smell it coming before you even have a chance to check your calendar

Creep

He's like a fucking shark, smelling you from miles away

Maybe it's his affection for you but you're the one person he reacts this way to, he's fine around anyone else on their period

If you forget then he's not going to remind you because he likes waking up to the smell of your blood

Don't worry though he'll take care of the sheets and your clothes, he's got you bby girl

Tbh Alastor is practically starving whenever your period starts, the coppery smell making his mouth water constantly

He's sipping tea and you walk by?? Oops, the cup is crushed in his hands and he's sitting there with tea and broken glass all over him

He wants to devour you all the time

Definitely just finds opportunities to bite you and draw blood so he can stave off his desires

Don't worry it feels good

Eats at Cannibal Town more often

Other than that, he tends to pamper you when you're on your period

You're craving something??? Don't worry, Husk or Niffty will go get it for you! He'll snuggle you while you wait

Wait actually that looks kinda good give him a bite

Fuck off

He steals a bite anyways, forcing you to feed him a little nibble

Thank you love

You're experiencing cramps?? Do you want him to massage the area for you? You want a hot water bottle? He's got you

You just want to cuddle and be held? He can spare some time for that, just let him close the door first

No

Bby please he has a reputation to uphold

Loves when you have mood swings and snap at the others, encourages your anger

He's a shit stirrer

He literally just likes poking the bear and pointing you in his current victim's direction

"My dear, I thought you knew that Angel ate your sweets..."

As long as it's not directed at him

If you turn your anger on him then his ears fold back and he finds an excuse to run off

"I'm sorry my dear but Charlie is calling for me! We'll have to continue this conversation for another time!"

Coward

"Alastor, Y/N is looking for you-"

"I'M NOT HERE"

If your mood changes to sadness and you start crying then he panics and freezes up

"I-uh-I'm...sorry..?"

Makes awkward grabby motions at you then stops

He hates seeing you upset but he's an asshole and doesn't know what to do, doesn't want to make it worse

Idk if he's ever made a genuine attempt to make someone he cares about feel better

Alastor doesn't want to be the reason you're crying

Will just ask you what he can do to make it better, gripping your chin so that you have to look at him

He's serious

Whatever you ask of him he'll do it and he'll do it himself, no sending someone in his place and no fuss

Is visibly relieved once you're calm again, rubbing your back and letting out a sigh

Alastor is as attentive as he can bring himself to be when you're on your period, but you still have to put up with a lot of his shit

I hope this is what you were asking for 🥺

[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. 

[mythicalninjas]

Hi! Idk if you’re requests are still open but!

Could you do a Donnie getting mad/having a bad day and he kinda explodes (with no reason/gratuitamente) with reader (she)? And they stay away from the lair for a while, and happy ending! (Just want heart-crushing angst with happy ending hsuahs)

(Tbh the prompt I actually thought was “Donnie was stressed and tired of being different, reader who’s autistic says they relate, so he explodes saying they don’t, how could they?” But idk if you’re ok with writing that, so I simplified it! ~I’m autistic, that’s why I thought of that~)

If my ask is to complicated or didn’t inspire you that’s tots ok! I understand! (Sorry this ask was so big too!)

Have a good day/ night! ☺️

It's okay, your prompt is amazing ☺️ Sorry for keeping you waiting for too long... I had to deal with college in the past several months.

I hope I did write the way you asked. Enjoy 💜

It was a quiet night in the lair, but that didn't reflect Donatello's internal state. The laboratory was plunged into darkness, save for the dim light of the monitors that cast dancing shadows on the walls. The frantic sound of the keyboard echoed, the only sound apart from the hum of the machines at work. Donnie was exhausted, physically and emotionally. His brain was burning with data overload, with formulas and calculations that didn't fit together as they should. It had been days of incessant research, of failed experiments, of trying to find solutions to problems that seemed to multiply.

Every mistake, every failure, was a nagging reminder that he needed to be better. He had to be better. There was no room for weakness. His brothers depended on him, the world depended on him. And the constant pressure to deliver results was starting to implode inside. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he kept pushing, ignoring the body that was crying out for rest, ignoring the accumulated stress.

She entered the laboratory, as she had done so many times before. Her steps were soft, as if she were trying not to interrupt, but her presence always brought a sense of comfort that Donnie appreciated, even if he never admitted it out loud. He was so focused that he barely noticed her coming until he felt the soft touch of her fingers on his shoulder.

"Hey, Donnie..." Her voice was soft, a gentle touch to his swirling mind. "Are you all right?"

Donatello barely lifted his eyes from the monitors, trying to recalculate a complicated sequence. "I'm busy now," he muttered, his fingers still running across the keyboard.

She waited for a moment, watching the tiredness on his face. She knew that he threw himself into his work when he was frustrated or anxious, and she had learned to give him space when necessary. But now, there was something different in the air. He seemed more tense than usual, more closed off.

She let out a little sigh, hesitating before speaking again. "I know you're busy, but... maybe it's time to take a break? You've been at it for hours..."

Her touch should have been a comfort, but at that moment, something in Donnie snapped. The pressure, the frustration, the accumulated tiredness - it all blended together in an explosion of emotions that he could no longer control.

“I said I'm busy!” His voice echoed louder than he had intended. He stood up abruptly from his chair, his eyes blazing with anger, anger that wasn't hers, but which ended up being directed at her. “Don't you understand? I can't stop! If I stop, I'll fail. If I fail, everything falls apart! And you here, distracting me with… with your unimportant things!

She took a step back, shocked. The impact of his words had hit her like a punch in the gut. Never, in all the time she had known him, had he spoken to her like that. Always so calm, so controlled… but now, he seemed on the verge of collapse. Her eyes filled with tears before she could control herself, but she refused to let them fall. She didn't want to show how much it had hurt her.

“I'm sorry for… bothering you.” Her voice was low, broken, almost inaudible.

She turned quickly and left the lab before he could say anything else, before the tears flowed. Donnie stood there, his heart racing, the echo of his words still hanging in the air. For a few seconds, he remained motionless, trying to process what had just happened. Then the guilt began to set in, slow and corrosive.

He had hurt someone who had never been anything but kind to him. He had hurt her.

She walked aimlessly through the streets of New York, the cold of the night beginning to bother her, but nothing compared to the tightness in her chest. The emotional pain was much stronger than any physical discomfort. She couldn't stop thinking about his words, the tone of his voice. It was as if the Donnie she knew, the one who always cared, who listened and understood, had disappeared, replaced by someone she barely recognized.

She walked for hours, wandering around the city, trying to find some clarity amidst the confusion of feelings. Part of her wanted to understand why he had exploded like that. He was overwhelmed, that was obvious. But did that justify what he'd said? The sharp words still echoed in her mind, and she wondered if he really thought that.

While she was lost in thought, Donnie was back in the lab, but his focus had completely disappeared. The screens flashed in front of him, but he could barely see what was written. Guilt was consuming him from the inside out. He knew he had made a mistake, that he had said horrible things. The frustration he felt wasn't her fault, and yet he had taken it out on the person who least deserved it.

Finally, he got up from his chair and left the lair. He needed to find her, he needed to correct the mistake he had made. He didn't know exactly what he would say, but he knew he had to apologize, he had to make amends.

After some time, he found her. She was sitting on top of a building, her gaze lost in the horizon. The evening breeze swayed her hair, and Donnie felt his heart squeeze at seeing her so far away, so hurt. He hesitated for a moment before approaching. Each step seemed heavy, weighed down by guilt and regret.

“Hey,” he called, his voice softer than before, almost fearful.

She didn't turn around immediately, but he knew she had heard. Donnie sat down next to her, keeping a respectful distance. The silence between them was thick, full of unspoken words, but he knew he needed to speak, needed to break through that wall he himself had erected.

“I'm sorry,” he began, his voice low, sincere. “I… I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You didn't deserve that. None of it was your fault.”

She remained silent for a few moments, and he almost thought she wouldn't answer. But then she sighed, her eyes still fixed on the city.

“Why did you do it, Donnie?” her voice was broken, and he realized how much his words had really hurt her. “I just… I just wanted to help you. And you pushed me away.”

Donnie closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his own failings. “I know. I know you were only trying to help. And I… I was an idiot. I was frustrated, tired, and lost control. But that's no excuse for what I did.”

She finally turned her face to look at him. Her eyes were watery, but the anger had given way to a deep sadness. “You didn't have to hurt me like that, Donnie. I'm always here for you, you know that. And yet… you blew up at me, as if I was part of the problem.”

Her words dug deep into Donnie's heart. He had been the cause of her pain, and now he could clearly see the impact his actions had had. It wasn't just the momentary explosion, but what came after - the insecurity, the doubt. He needed to fix that.

Donnie swallowed, feeling small in the face of what he had caused. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice full of regret. “You're… the last person in the world I wanted to be cruel to. I was just so overwhelmed, with all the pressure of being the brains, of having to sort everything out for my brothers… And I ended up taking it out on you.”

She sighed, looking at the horizon again. “I understand that you have this responsibility, Donnie. I know how much you carry. But I was also there, trying to share that weight with you. And you pushed me away, as if I wasn't important.”

Her words pierced his heart harder than any physical attack could. She was right. He had spent so long concentrating on his own burden that he didn't realize how much she was trying to help, how much she wanted to be there for him.

“I was wrong,” he said, with more conviction this time. “I was wrong about everything. I know I can be controlling and stubborn, but I need you. I… want you by my side. You're important to me. More than I can express.”

She remained silent, absorbing his words. He moved a little closer, reaching out hesitantly and placing his hand gently on hers.

“I promise,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I promise I'll try to be better. I'll work on myself, on how I handle things, so that this doesn't happen again.”

She looked at him, her eyes finally meeting his, assessing the sincerity she saw there. And she realized that, although he had made a mistake, he was willing to do whatever it took to make it right. It was a long road, but she knew Donnie was committed to walking it.

“I want to believe that, Donnie,” she murmured, her voice still tinged with a slight pain. “I just… need some time.”

He nodded, understanding. “I understand. And I'll give you as much time as you need.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, side by side, watching the city lights. The noise of life below continued, indifferent to the emotions that filled the top of that building. But there, between them, time seemed to have slowed down, making room for reconciliation, for forgiveness.

She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, a small concession. He felt relief run down his spine, as if that simple gesture was proof that things would eventually be all right. He knew he was lucky - lucky that she was still there, by his side, even after everything.

Donnie wrapped his arm around her, gently pulling her closer, as if he were trying to protect her not only from the outside world, but also from himself. His heart was pounding, but this time, not out of guilt or anger, but out of gratitude. He knew he had a second chance, and he would do his best not to waste it.

They stayed there for a while longer, the silence now less heavy, more comforting. The cold night wind blew lightly, but Donnie felt the warmth of having her close again. She was still hurting, and he knew it would take time for everything to heal completely. But he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to win back her trust.

Finally, she stood up slowly, and Donnie followed her. She gave him a small smile, still shy, but which warmed his heart. “Let's go home,” she said, and those words were all he needed to hear.

Together, they descended from the building and headed back to the lair. The walk back was silent, but the tension between them had eased. She didn't hold his hand, but she didn't push him away either. For Donnie, that was a start.

And he knew that, in time, they would find a way to heal - together.

*****

Reblog to support and let more people read my content 🫶

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Idol!Seo Changbin x F!Reader TW : small car accident ; Changbin is momentarily insensitive ; angsty ; but also fluffy at the end ; Word Count : 3.2k Request : @kurolils : i'm not gonna be so specific, my delulu a*s has just been craving angst so much with changbin (my bias) or with lee know (tbh, your lee know imagine kinda calmed that craving), so you can just choose the plot, be free, just please with some fluff... cuz my fragile heart can't take too much 🥺. A/N : I FINALLY GOT TO THE REQUEST! I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT IT, I'VE JUST BEEN FRAZZLED!! YOU SENT IT IN ABOUT 3 MONTHS AGO AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!! Also, the I found the gif on this blog!!

“You’re gonna be there, right? You’re coming?” Changbin asked as he grabbed his keys off the hook, his eyes wide and his bottom lip already slightly jutting out as he looked at you. It was the same thing every time he had a comeback show, and you gave him the same answer every time he asked the question. 

“I’m gonna be there, Binnie.” You reassured him, leaning against with your arms crossed in front of your chest. He was so cute when he was like this, and truth be told, it felt nice to know that he wanted you there, he always wanted you there. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything, plus, when was the last time I’ve missed one of your comeback shows? Hmm?” 

He hummed softly as he thought for a moment, and then, as if a lightbulb went off above his head, his finger began waving in your direction. “The second comeback show during Maxident. You had that really bad stomach bug and you couldn’t even get out of bed.” Your mouth fell open to protest, but he chuckled softly as his arms wrapped around you. “I know it doesn’t count. I was just answering your question.” 

You rolled your eyes although he couldn’t see it considering your face was buried in his chest. “Well I’m not sick now, and I’m going to be there. You have to get there first though, gotta get all pretty for Stay.” His arms were like constrictors, keeping you close and holding you tighter when you tried to pull away from him. “Binnie~~” You playfully whined and you lightly pushed back against him. “You’re gonna be late. You need to go now… I’ll see you soon.” You tilted your head back to kiss him, smiling against his lips when they were against yours. “I love you, now go… Go, go, go.” 

Not many people knew about yours and Changbins relationship, aside from the guys and a few of the staff members that would let you in the back doors for concerts and shows like this, but other than that, your relationship was completely off the grid. It’s not that you both wanted to keep your relationship hidden forever, it’s just that with the group at the peak of their fame, you didn’t want a dating scandal to ruin what they worked so hard to achieve. 

That’s why you’d leave the house two hours after him, just to make sure that anyone who might’ve been watching him would have left already too. You had even gotten your own fake staff card, just so that if anyone were to ever ask, you could say that you worked with them, that you were Changbins personal staff. You couldn’t be more thankful for the ones that did know, they were doing their best to make it easier for you and Bin to be together and you appreciated it more than anything. 

“Is she here yet?” Changbin asked from his chair as the makeup artist finished up what she had to do. It was clear that he was getting agitated, there was only 15 minutes left before he had to go on stage and you had never been this late before. You hadn’t even responded to his texts, you weren’t responding to the other guys either. It wasn’t like you to be like that, and the only thing he could even think to have happened was that you fell asleep. You must’ve laid down at some point and that’s why you weren’t there or responding. 

That thought failed to make him feel better though. How could you just fall asleep knowing that he needed you there? Did you even care about how this makes him feel? How was he supposed to perform without you there? Why would you say you’d be there and then just… not show up? He was pissed. “Changbin, it’s time for you to go out… What do you want us to do if she shows up while you’re performing though?” 

Changbin sighed, going to the door to take one last look, just to see if you had come or not… Of course, you weren’t there. Was he not important to you anymore? Do you not care that he needs you, that he can’t perform his best when you’re not in the crowd? “Tell her to go back home.” He huffed, turning away, trying his best to look like your absence wasn’t literally destroying him. 

The other guys could see it though, they could feel it radiating off of him. His anger, his disappointment, his sadness. His moves weren’t as powerful, his voice wasn’t as loud as usual. The performance in general was weak, and everyone could tell that he was antsy to run off the stage once the performance was over. 

“Look, Changbin… She makes it to literally all of your other performances… There’s gotta be a legitimate reason she didn’t make it to this one.” Jisung tried to calm Changbin down as he followed behind him to go backstage. “She wouldn’t just not show up for no reason.” 

“She was fine when I left today. She wasn’t sick like that last time.” Changbin explained, dropping down into his chair in front of the mirror and ripping the makeup removing wipes from the bag. “If she didn’t want to come she should have just told me.” He roughly rubbed the wipes over his face, leaving his skin red and slightly blotchy when he was done. “I was shit out there… I was so upset! What is STAY gonna think? What is everyone gonna think?!” 

“Calm down, man.” Jisung tried once again, patting Changbins shoulder as he sat in the chair beside him. “You weren’t shit, I couldn’t even tell that you were upset. You’re worrying too much.” He grabbed the water bottle off the table and handed it to Changbin, motioning for it to drink it. “Just take a deep breath, I’m sure there’s a good reason.” 

“She hasn’t even tried to-“ His phone started vibrating on the table, the number unknown, and he was hesitant to answer it but with Jisungs urging, he answered just before it stopped ringing. “Who’s this?” He asked, his agitation ringing through in his tone, but he heard the heavy sigh from the other end and he knew it was you. “A lot of nerve you have to call after the performance is already over. If you weren’t going to come you should have told me before I left.” 

“You’re just gonna jump to conclusions before I even tell you what happened?” He scoffed loudly at your question, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Jisung shaking his head. “Do you not even care what happened?” 

“Do you not care about me?” He retorted, jumping up from his chair, his irritation fueling him to pace back and forth across the room. “I waited for you to show up until the last minute! You didn’t call me! You didn’t text me! Do you know how I felt?!” He practically shouted into the phone, unaware that everyone in the room was now watching him, wincing at not only the loudness, but also the lack of concern for whatever it was that you could have been saying. 

“There was an accident…” You whispered, and he could barely hear your words over his heavy breaths. “I couldn’t get there… I was trying to…” You continued, and although you couldn’t see it, he rolled his eyes, throwing his one hand up in frustration before running it through his hair. 

“If you loved me enough you would have found a way around the accident to get here, to be here for me.” Now that his back was turned to the wall and he was facing the rest of the guys, he could see the mortified looks on their faces. None of them were used to him being this big of a jerk, and while he wasn’t looking at himself that way, clearly they were. Not that he cared, he was pissed. To him, it was simple enough, just go around the accident, find a different route. He would have done it for you if you wanted him to be somewhere for him. 

“Well I’m so sorry that I couldn’t go around the accident considering I was in it, Changbin.” You shouted back, and then the call was ended. Changbin froze in his spot, his phone still at his ear as he stared at the guys who looked just as shocked as he did even though they didn’t even hear what you had said. He immediately tried to call you back, but it kept going to the hospital line and he didn’t know your room number so he didn’t even know how to get a hold of you. 

“Someone… Someone look on the news or something… About a car accident, a car accident…” He stammered, unable to get his hands to stop shaking long enough to do the search himself. Once the accident was brought up, everyone started panicking, and all the guys in the room, including the staff members who were all scrolling through their phones at once. Sharp gasps and whispered curses filled the room as they apparently all came across the headline story, and Changbin went to Jeongin who happened to be the closest, yanking the youngest boys phone from his hand to read the news. 

A small fender bender had turned into a massive pileup on the highway, and while there was no set number for how many people had been injured or worse, judging by the amount of cars in the overhead picture at the top of the article, he was sure that it would be a lot. You were lucky to have made it out, to have been able to call him as quickly as you did considering how recent the accident had happened. He was lucky that you weren’t severely injured or worse. 

“I need to get… I need to get to the hospital…” The words rolled out of Changbins mouth, although he wasn’t as loud now, and he was tripping over every syllable. His hands were still shaking and now his entire body seemed to tremble as well. There was no way that he’d be able to drive himself there, and there was no way any of the guys would allow him to be on the road in that state, especially considering the news story that had him wanting to rush to the hospital in the first place was about an accident. 

Bangchan stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket and then walking over to Changbin, taking Jeongins phone out of his hand and handing it back to the maknae before ushering Changbin out of the room. “I’ll take you there, you need to calm down first though.” He was trying his best to calm him down, squeezing his shoulder and rubbing his back, but nothing seemed to be working. “Look, you know she’s alright. She called you. If there was anything seriously wrong, you wouldn’t have even gotten a phone call.” 

And while the words were meant to be a means of reassuring him, Changbin could only shiver at the thought of something worse happening to you. What if something worse had happened? “I was so mad…” He mumbled, running his hands through his hair. “I yelled at her… I didn’t even listen… I’m the worst boyfriend in the world…” He was already worked up, but the more he spoke, the shakier his voice got, and it almost sounded like the words got stuck in his throat at one point as he started to sob. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if… If she kicks me out of the room? What if she sends me home?” 

“Then you go home and you give her space…” Bangchan said, clearly not giving Changbin the answer that he had wanted. His head whipped so fast to look at the leader, his eyes wide, questioning whether that was something that he should really do. “Look… I know that you don’t want to go home… But you did kind of yell at her and you probably made her feel like shit, and you didn’t even listen to her… She was in a car accident and you… You were selfish.” 

Shit. He was selfish… You probably didn’t want to be around him at all. Should he even go to the hospital at all? No… That question was stupid, even if you didn’t want to see him, he had to see you at least once to make sure you were okay. He climbed into the passenger seat of Chans car and slumped down as he put on his seatbelt. “What if she breaks up with me, hyung?” Changbin mumbled, his hands vigorously rubbing over his face as his tears fell slowly. “I can’t… I can’t perform without her… I can’t do anything without her.” 

Chan sighed as he started up the car, driving slowly down the highway that was backed up still from the accident. He tried not to look at it, but Changbin had leaned forward to look around Chan as he drove by, his eyes widening when he saw the damage that was done, and then a small gasp mingled with a sob escaped him when he saw your car in the pileup. “She’s okay, Bin. You’ve talked to her…” 

But Changbin shook his head, his breaths shallow and quick as his head fell forward. “I yelled at her… Do you see what she went through… And I yelled at her… I’m awful. I don’t deserve her…” He muttered, curling up into himself and resting his forehead against his knees. “How could I… I just assumed… Which isn’t right… I trust her… She said she’d be there and…” 

He was beginning to ramble, his words barely even making sense, he was panicking both inwardly and outwardly and Chan was becoming increasingly worried about his friend. “Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine. I’m not gonna say it will be right now, but… She’s not going to be mad forever.” And Changbin knew that Chans honesty was, although disheartening, what he needed to hear. He didn’t want to walk into the hospital with the hope that everything would be 100% fine, it would only crush him more if you were to kick him out. He needed to he ready for anything. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure why the hospital was still keeping you there. You were fine, well, as fine as you could be, but you knew that it could be worse. You were one of the lucky ones, and all you wanted to do was go home and curl up next to Changbin because, even though he was an ass, he was your safe spot, and you wanted nothing more than to feel safe after what you had just gone through. 

The knock at the door had you sitting up, expecting Changbin to come in when you told him to, but instead the doctor peaked around the door with a smile before coming in fully. “How are you feeling?” He asked, and the question made you roll your eyes as your head continued to throb. “I know, it’s not the best situation but… It could have been worse. You’re lucky.” And you were, you knew that you were. 

“Right… Thank you.” You mumbled, leaning back in the bed and looking up at the tv that was turned to the news station, the helicopter cameras giving an aerial shot of just how bad the accident had been. “How long do I have to be here?” You tried to sound like it wasn’t annoying to feel stuck there, but the doctor could clearly see that you were more than ready to go home. 

“You hit your head quite hard, we just want to keep you overnight to make sure you don’t have any sort of concussion.” You sighed heavily, sinking further down into the bed and pulling the blanket up around you. “The nurse will be around in a little bit to check your gauze and change it. Try to get some rest or relax.” He patted the end of your bed, offering you a sympathetic smile before leaving you alone once again. 

You didn’t have anything. Your phone and your purse had been left in the car when you were taken to the hospital, you were hoping that it would be retrieved and given back to you at some point, but it didn’t seem like that point would be any time soon. Another knock had you groaning loudly, expecting the nurse now as you mumbled out a “Come in…” just loud enough for the nurse to hear. 

“My baby!” Changbin practically screamed as he rushed through the door, running straight to your bed and cupping your face in his hands. “I’m so sorry! Where does it hurt!? Are you in pain?! I’m so glad you’re alright!” He took a moment to look you over, noticing the way the gauze around your head was stained slightly red. “My beautiful girl… You must have been so scared… Are you okay?” 

His voice softened and you felt the sudden urge to cry as you looked at him. You didn’t care that he had been an asshole on the phone, all you had wanted was for him to be there, and here he was. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, breathing in his scent and letting out the breath in a shaky sob. “It was awful… All I wanted was you… I kept asking for you, for them to get you… I needed you…” You whispered against his shirt, gripping onto it tightly. 

You heard him sniffle softly beside your ear before his lips pressed quick kisses across your face. “I’m here… I’m so sorry… I know you’re probably mad at me… But I don’t want to leave you until I know you’re better.” He whispered through a shaky breath, and when he pulled back your eyes were more sad than before as you stared at him. “You’re gonna leave me?” You questioned, your eyes quickly dropping down to your hands that were worriedly picking at the fabric of the hospital blanket. “I’m… I’m not mad. I know that you wanted me there… And I would have called you to let you know what happened as soon as I got here, but my phone and my purse are still in the car…” 

A quiet gasp escaped his pursed lips before he gently tilted your head up, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your nose and then giving you a small smile. “I’m not leaving you… I’m gonna stay right here…” He pointed to the floor beside your bed and then grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “We’re gonna go home together, and then I’m gonna take care of you until you feel 100% better. Then… I don’t care what anyone says, when I do shows, you’re coming with me. One scare is enough for a lifetime… and I want to spend my lifetime with you. I’m never leaving you alone again.” 

[healmydesires]

I wanna hear you say my name (j.m)

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: Your shower is still broken and you’re on your period, leaving you a frustrated mess. Thankfully, Joel is here to help you out, in more ways than one.

word count: 5,1k

genre: fluff + smut (kinda filthy idk) (mdni 18+)

tags/warnings: pretty new relationship but the feelings are established, age gap (reader is in her late 20’s, joel is in his early 50’s), soft!joel, dom/sub dynamics, soft!dom joel, sub!reader, menstrual mentions, menstruation, period sex, piv sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, shower sex, some breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, lots of pet names… like an insane amount.

a/n: the title is inspired by the song touching by v. cartier. I reeeaaally recommend that song, it’s so good. I’m literally obsessed with his music. tbh all of my fic titles are lyrics from my fave songs. anyways!! this is direct part two of / same universe as “forever in your eyes”. obviously you can read it on its own but it has some details from the other fic. another self indulgent piece… always wanted to write about period sex 😭 anyways I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but I hope you enjoy it <3

ao3

The soft knock on your door has you groaning, struggling to roll from the spot on your couch you’d occupied for most of the time since you’d arrived home from patrol. Your mood is heavy as you wonder who would have the audacity to disturb you while you are finally in a position you are comfortable in. You’re feeling quite literally exhausted and in so much pain. You feel like your uterus has been constantly kicked in. There’s nothing more frustrating than having your period. At least it feels like it’s the most frustrating thing in the world right now.

As you take a peek in the peephole of your door you see your grumpy but soft neighbour — that is also since recently your boyfriend, standing on your front porch. The man that you’ve been in love with for months.

“Joel!” You croon excitedly as you open your door for him. Without hesitation, your arms automatically wrap around his chest and your body flings itself into his as he steps into your home.

“Good evening to you too,” He chuckles warmly at your display of affection. He dotes a soft kiss against the crown of your head, his broad body enveloping you in a tight hug as he wraps his arms around you. “You’re so cuddly tonight.” He smiles down at you as he tries to release his strong hold on you to get a better look at you. A loud whiny, wordless protest leaves your lips as he tries to let you go, complaining as he shifts away from your tight hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s that time of the month.” You mumble before borrowing your head into his chest again. He hums as your arms grip against his waist, diving under the soft fabric of his flannel, refusing to let him budge an inch away from you. “Besides, what’s wrong with hugging the man I love?”

“Nothin’ wrong with it. Just an observation.” He chuckles as his hands come to cradle your head, then pressing soft kisses to your forehead. Butterflies erupt in your tummy at his affection. Joel knows you well enough to know there’s more going on. “What’s wrong baby?”

“I hate that I can’t take a shower because the shower head is still broken and I feel dirty right now. I have been using my sister's bathroom for a week now and I hate that I always have to come disturb her.” You groan as you continue to hide your face in his chest, heat rising up in your face at your embarrassment.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He asks softly, as he shifts his body slightly from yours. Slowly you look up into his eyes as your bottom lip pouts outwards. He chuckles as he shakes his head amusedly at your expression. His palm comes to lace over the curve of your jaw, thumb rubbing over the pouty twist of your lips. “How about this? You come to my place, use my bathroom, maybe stay the night and I’ll come fix your shower tomorrow? That way you’ll feel a bit better tonight.”

“Okay, I’d love that.” You nod slowly as you bite your bottom lip with a shy smile, loosening your grip on his body. “I do need to get some stuff first though.”

“Alright darlin’, go get everything you need. I’ll be here waiting for you.” He winks at you, making you heat up with warmth before you sprint upstairs.

—-

His arms are cradling you softly, your back pressing into him and your head falling lovingly against his chest as you’re being held in his bed. His hands shift to the front of your stomach, palm expanding to rub lovingly over your belly in an attempt to soothe your pain. Just having him with you is somehow easing the grumpiness you’d been feeling all day. The warmth and tenderness of his embrace makes you feel a lot more relaxed.

“Thank you… I’m happy that I’m here.” You advise with a timid smile as you move your head to look at him, letting him know how truly joyful you felt when he came to check up on you. “I am grateful to have you.”

“Anythin’ for my sweet girl.” He whispers before he presses soft kisses to your temple. His head tilts lower, the curve of his lips coming to rest against your ear. “I’d do anything for ya.”

His fingers slip lower, caressing your pelvis, his touch becoming a bit more intimate. Your cheeks heat up at the action, leaving you a bit flustered at his touch. Despite everything, despite the fact that you wanted to cuddle a bit before heading in the shower, the hormones are acting up. His touch feels heavenly to you.

Your hands move to grip his, interlacing your fingers together, squeezing them.

“Joel… we can’t.” You whisper, your breath hitching. You slowly turn around in his hold, looking at him bashfully. “I mean… I do want to. I just. It’s like there’s a crime scene between my legs.”

“Hmm… doesn’t mean much to me.” He mumbles before his lips move to your jaw, nipping and kissing at the skin. A whine leaves your lips as he litters your skin with his affection. “Besides, I once read somewhere that period sex often relieves the pain.”

“Really?” You whisper under your breath. You feel your body flush at the implication of his words. His hands move back towards your tummy, his thick fingers trace lightly against the hem of your jogger shorts once more. Your hips rise as a little whimper leaves your lips. Soothingly he massages your pelvis, providing you a lot of warmth and comfort.

“Really.” He murmurs as his lips move against your neck, kissing the delicate skin.

“B-but it’s gross, and it’s all bloody and—” you say, stuttering over your words as he sucks a mark onto your neck, trying to tell him that it might not be an enjoyable experience for him.

“Baby, I ain’t afraid of a little blood.” He groans as he moves his head slightly away from yours, looking into your eyes directly. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

“You don’t think it’s gross?” You whisper timidly, you bite your bottom lip as you look at him.

He shrugs with a smile. “Why would I think it’s gross?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean it’s bloody so…”

“It’s not gross to me at all, I promise.” He smiles reassuringly before leaning down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. As you’re both kissing languidly, his hands are still busy tracing your lower tummy, eventually slipping underneath the band of your sweat shorts. His lips make their way down to your ear, nipping at your earlobe as you whine against him. Automatically you feel your body relax, slumping against his bed as you allow him a lot more access to the flesh of your neck. He responds by drawing his lips slowly down the expanse of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

The things you’d let him do to you.

“Joel,” The hitch in your breath has him chuckling, the rumble of his voice transcending through your skin.

“What?” He whispers, his words so quiet you barely hear them against the pulse of your neck. Joel could read your body like no one else — could push exactly what buttons he needed to create the reactions that he wanted from you. Your relationship is still quite new, yet he knows you so well. He waits patiently as you try to find ways to tell him what you need, his lips skimming lower towards your collarbone as his fingers caress your pelvis over your underwear.

“S-shower, please.” You finally give in with a whine, kind of admitting to him that you want this.

“Anythin’ for my baby girl.” He whispers as he kisses the soft skin of your neck. Slowly both of you move off the bed, his tall and broad frame is close to you, as he guides you towards his adjacent bathroom.

You almost trip over the doorway, a giggle leaving your lips as Joel’s arms come to wrap around you. “What are you doing sweetheart?” He chuckles as you slowly spin in his arms as laughter continues to bubble inside you before your head falls to his chest. His arms tighten their hold on you as he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I almost tripped,” you giggle, eyes moving towards his beautiful face, taking in his scruffy beard, eventually your eyes lead to his lips. As soon as your eyes meet again, he leans down, capturing your lips in a loving and sweet kiss.

His mouth moves, slow and passionate. Joel kisses you like he has all the time in the world. You love the feel of his lips on yours, you are certain you could kiss that man all day.

You part your lips slightly to catch your breath, inhaling slowly as you taste Joel and only him. His tongue sweeps across your lips making you whimper. The wet muscle wraps itself against yours a moment later, hot and wet and steady as he tastes your mouth and kisses you deeply.

Your tongues slowly swirl and dance against each other as your hands try to find purchase on his arms. You feel your core clench around nothing and become even more wet as both of his hands travel from your waist to your ass, squeezing it in his hands and pushing your body closer to his.

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, Joel pulls away, giving you the possibility to breathe in some air again. You feel like you might die when he looks at you intensely as he licks his lips.

A small moan slips past your lips as his hands caress your cheek, then tilting it to the side as Joel moves his head as he traces small nips across your jawline, ending just by your ear. Your hips are softly grinding up into his and he slowly pulls away from you.

You feel drowsy and hot all over, your mind all over the place, your heart beating insanely fast. You’re breathless and Joel chuckles deeply as he takes in your state.

“You okay baby?” He says as he looks at you with amusement.

You quickly come back to your senses, grabbing the collar of his flannel, surprising him, bringing his lips down to your mouth. “I want to undress you,” you whisper against Joel’s lips as your cheeks flush with heat. He moans against your mouth as his hands grip your hips in his hands.

Automatically, your fingers reach up to begin their work undressing him, plucking each button open, one by one. They dart over the curve of his chest, your hands continue to move as you expose more of his body. By the time his shirt is fully off, you pull back from his lips, taking joy in watching the broad and the softness of his torso heaving as his breathing quickens.

Your hands continue to roam over his skin, skipping over the tanned smoothness of his muscle. His physique was broad, soft in the right places. His body was absolutely something that drew you in — he was so big and just so tall, something you enjoyed revealing in, allowing his form to spark a certain energy inside you that you felt heating up between your legs.

“Turn the shower on.” He grunts, voice low as his thick and long digits begin to hastily pry the belt buckle of his pants open. Without question, you obey, moving from his embrace to walk across the room to the shower stall. As you step away, your departure earns you a light, playful slap across your ass, to which you yelp in surprise.

“Joel!” You scold him, as you look at him shyly, looking at him backwards. His pants drop with a clang to the ground. His shirt is still half open as he lets you admire him. Your gaze moves slowly, all over his body. Eventually it falls to his dark boxers, his thick erection straining against the material.

He senses your approval, as you look at him lustfully while you appreciate him, and acts quickly. Shifting forward, his arms wrap around you, bare upper body flush against your clothed one. His arms are firm, as they surround you, hugging you against his chest.

“Why am I the only one that’s practically naked?” He questions with a low grunt. Before you can respond his hands are tugging at the hem of your shirt, peeling it over your head. Once the material drops to the floor you hear his breath hitch. He admires you, as his eyes roam over your bare chest.

You bite your lip as heat overwhelms your face. “J-joel—” You whimper loudly and before your brain can register what’s happening, Joel drags his tongue across your neck, tracing a line around your jaw before returning to the crook and lightly dragging the flesh through his teeth. You feel your core clench around nothing as he latches onto your neck, lapping at your sensitive flesh and sucking the sensitive skin.

Joel groans against you and you feel his sound vibrate through your neck and it raises goosebumps across your whole body, he has a way of bringing that electric chill through you. Slowly, his mouth moves back up to your lips, kissing you deeply.

He undresses you unhurriedly, while you both continue to kiss each other passionately. Joel seems determined to devour you whole, determined to make the most of this desperate kiss.

Once the last piece of clothing falls to the floor, he pulls away slightly as his hands caress the length of your arms, admiring your body with a lustful yet tender gaze. Silently, you pray that Joel hadn’t seen the attached thick pad, despite knowing the stark red marks of blood stood out against the white pad attached to the inside of your underwear.

“You’re so, so beautiful baby.” He says as he moves his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your chin as his lips ghost against yours. He slowly glides his lips against yours, nudging them open. You part your lips wider, urging him to kiss you more and deep. You want to give him everything you have to offer.

You whine against his lips as you feel his hands move from your face to your waist, all the way to your ass. You pull away slowly, his pupils are dilated as he licks his lips before he squeezes the flesh of your ass in his hands.

“F-f-fuck, Joel…” you whimper as you pull yourself away from his hold completely. “We should get in…”

He stares you down hungrily for a moment before his gaze drifts to the shower. “Good idea, sweet girl.” He says cheekily.

You quickly step into the shower with one foot and reach for the shower handle, turning the shower on. Immediately, water shoots from the shower head mounted to the wall, the spray wetting your arm.

“Alright, that’s done.” You say with a joyful smile, before you feel his hands around your waist again, as he leans down to kiss your neck.

You giggle at his affection, loving the feeling of being wanted. Once the water heats up, you step into the shower completely, you sigh contentedly as the water cascades down on you, the warmth already relaxing your muscles. You turn to face the water, closing your eyes as you let it run off the back of your scalp, your hands coming up to rub over your face.

Soon, you feel the front of his body against your back. His erection presses against your lower back as you whimper against him. Joel’s hands are sliding against your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. You can feel your breath growing shaky as you respond to his movements, turning your body around in his embrace. Your arms encircling his back, your body leaning towards his.

His eyes catch your gaze before they close, as he moves you backwards as the spray of water falls on him. Almost instantly, his broad body is glistening wet, his hair getting soaked against his head. His arms are strong and thick as he reaches up to slick it back. The gentle movement of him flexing his forearm ignites a surge of pleasure jolting through your core. He moves his hands back to your hips, holding you closer as he opens his eyes unhurriedly.

Your arms automatically wrap around Joel again, his wet skin warm and inviting as your body slicks against his. You lean up, your lips moving towards his own.

He gladly meets your lips halfway, as you’re standing on the tip of your toes. Joel kisses you slowly, teasingly, like he has all the time in the world, his hands squeezing your hips, pressing his own hips against yours as he finally deepens the kiss. You gasp as his hands knead your ass, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth.

“You’re truly the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” Joel murmurs against your lips. His own lips become more and more eager as he backs you slowly against the shower wall. You hiss slightly as the cold wall hits your back but the uneasiness is short lived as Joel tucks his face into your neck, his lips pressing soft open mouthed kisses below your ear. “The woman of my dreams.”

“Joel…” You mewl as he shifts his hips back slightly, causing his throbbing cock to move from its position of pressing hard against your lower stomach. He bends his knees slightly, bringing him down a bit as his tip slides against your thighs, prodding its way between them before travelling upwards to rub enticingly against your clit.

He rolls his hips forward, nudging the head against your entrance, turning you into a whimpering mess. You feel yourself clenching around nothing as your pussy begs for attention. Glancing down, you see a smeared streak of red down half of his shaft. It is so wet and red. If Joel had seen it he doesn’t seem to care. Joel reaches up to grasp the detachable shower head. His free hand runs down your body, as he caresses your soft skin.

Joel’s hand brings the shower head between your legs, standing back slightly as the water sprays from your pussy, as a rusty brown river flows towards the drain. The warmth of the water as the sprays hit against your core feel so good, it has you whining at the pleasure. It stimulates your sensitive pussy so well. You lean into him, his broad frame envelopes you instantly in a tender embrace. One of his forearms remains steady between your thighs, as the water pulses against you.

His lips meet yours in a heated kiss. You feel so overwhelmed, your heart hammering against your chest as you roll your hips against the strong pulses. You moan as he slowly moves his head to kiss and nip at your jaw.

His eyelids hang low as he watches you, his eyes concentrated on each roll of your hips, each grind of your pussy against the stream. Your body trembles the closer he moves the shower head against you, feeling so close to your release, you try to move your hips along with it more. You’re a whimpering mess for him against the cold tile wall. One of his hands dig in your hips, guiding your body the second he notices you slowing down. Turning the shower stream setting to another, harder setting, as he moves it against your dripping centre, specifically your sensitive clit, does it — makes you double over as you cum.

Your head leans against his chest, as you try to catch your breath and try to tone down your little noises of pleasure while you slow down your movements against the water pulses. One of his hands slides over your back as his arm pulls you closer against him while he pulls the shower head back with the other.

“You did so well for me baby girl.” He whispers against your skin as he presses a soft kiss against your forehead. The water flows back against your bodies, as you both stand underneath the stream. His mouth moves from your forehead down to your lips. The kiss starts off gentle and tender, but soon evolves into something more passionate and deep. He brings your body impossibly closer to his, and you can’t seem to quite catch your breath.

You open your mouth to swipe your wet muscle against his lips, Joel’s lips slowly opening up for you to slip your tongue inside. Your tongues dance against each other slowly, his taste is so delicious, making you whine against his lips.

His hands travel from your back, all the way down to your waist, his hands occasionally squeezing your flesh. One of his hands slips all the way down to your wet heat in between your legs, while the other is holding your body close to his. All the while he’s kissing you deeply. You whimper when his fingers pass by your sensitive bundle of nerves.

His fingers slide up and down your slit, slowly spreading your outer lips for him to slip two of his fingers inside you. You cry out as he rubs his fingers against your walls. You feel your body trembling and you try to grind your pussy slowly against his fingers. He presses his palm against your clit as he gradually picks up the pace of his hand.

Your legs almost give out on you at the pressure against your clit combined with his fingers playing with your sensitive spot inside. You’re a mess of his name, you chant his name over and over again. Eyes are squeezing shut to the point of tears as you continue to grind and buck your hips against his hand. He steadies you with his other hand as he smiles against your lips. He swirls his tongue against yours as you mewl against his mouth. Your thighs tremble so hard as your noises start to become more high pitched. You feel quite literally so dizzy as he keeps pleasuring you under the warm stream.

“Come on kitten, come for me.” He groans against your mouth.

You slowly open your eyes, meeting his playful eyes as you pull your mouth from his to cry out loud as your hips stutter against his hand as you come undone. You tighten and untighten around his fingers as you ride out your high. After a while he slips his fingers out of you, chuckling lightly while you whine as you slump against his body. Both of his hands catch your body and he smiles softly down at you.

“Always doin’ so good for me. Such a good girl.” He whispers as his mouth moves to kiss your neck. He peppers and licks your skin as you continue to tremble against him.

“P-please Joel… need you so bad.” You whimper desperately, needing him so badly to just take you. To enter your tight pussy with his thick and long cock. You whine as his lips move to yours, catching your lips in a scorching kiss, the loss of him leaving you empty and craving.

Joel lifts one of your legs up, hiking it up around his hips as he keeps you close. A gasp leaves your lips and you move to press your forehead against his as you breathe heavily. The other hand moves to slip his length against your wet heat. You tremble and whine as you anticipate his next move.

“Ah, Joel… I love you.” Your lips embrace him once again, kissing him deeply. As your hips shift desperately forward, driven by your need to have him enter you, they roll directly against his tip as he slips the head of his cock finally inside your little pussy. You let out a long broken whine as he continues to push gradually more of him inside you. Your walls try to accommodate his girth as he moves deeper inside your tight, wet walls.

“Fuck, I love you too sweetheart.” He groans softly.

Once he’s fully inside you, you whimper against his lips. It feels so good, the feel of the fullness of his member, his raw and throbbing cock deep within your walls. You feel one of his hands finding one of your hands, lacing them with yours and he presses it against the wall as the other one holds your leg, keeping it secure around his hip.

“You okay?” He whispers as he checks up on you.

You smile as you nod, “Y-yeah, just give me a moment.”

“Anythin’ for you baby girl.” He leans up to kiss your forehead as your eyes drift close.

You feel yourself slowly adjusting to his size, your pussy still pulsing around his cock. You bite your lip as you continue to squeeze around him, your eyes slide open unhurriedly meeting his intense gaze.

“Please, p-please move.” You whine out pathetically.

He nods quietly and starts by fucking you slow and deep. His hips drive forward, moving through you before drawing his tip out completely. He repeats himself, so slowly, and with intention. It feels as if he is taking his time to enjoy the sensation.

He grunts as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper sweet nothings as he sets a pace.

“More, more—” You mumble, whining and he makes a loud noise — a noise somewhere between pained, and desperate, he only nods before he picks up the pace, the pressure building between your hips once again.

You hug him against your body as his both arms come to brace himself against the cold tile wall. The sound of skin slapping against wet skin, his hips hitting yours coupled with both your quiet moans and the wet squelching of him moving hard and fast inside you, echoing off the tile walls with the sound of the running water — has your cheeks heating up furiously.

He fills you up so perfectly, stretching your tight wet hole so well, he feels like pure heaven.

“Fuck, kitten you feel so good…” He breathes heavily, grunting here and there as he continues to fuck you harder. A particular hard thrust coupled with one of his fingers moving to press against your little nub has you gasping for air. The presence of his thumb flickers over the sensitive bundle of nerves, swollen and juicy with your arousal.

You whine as you feel the leg that’s hiked up around his hip, sliding off his body. Your fingers dig in the skin of his back making him groan. He quickly moves his hand to grab your leg again, keeping it in place as he picks up his pace once again.

“Fuck, I’ll never get used to fucking this sweet little pussy of yours. All raw.” He grunts as he moves his hips with deep and fast strokes. “All mine.”

Your pussy continues to clench repeatedly around his thickness, begging for him to fill you up with his cum. You whimper, whine and moan against him while your body trembles, his fingers still circling your clit with his other hand as he hums against your mouth.

“I can feel you milking my cock, baby girl. Begging for me to make us cum.” Joel’s hips stutter slightly as you clench particularly hard around him, feeling every ridge and vein. His intense gaze is on you as he moans loudly. “Your pussy is so wet, feels so fuckin’ good.”

“J-Joel, baby, want to cum so bad.” You beg as you whine against him, your nails digging in the skin of his back once again. “I want you to cum inside me so bad.”

“Cum for me, my pretty baby. Show me that I’m the only one who can make you cum like this. Cum all over me, sweet girl.” He whispers with a groan as his fingers apply more pressure on your clit.

“Fuuuuck, Joooeel—” You come with a loud cry, your body squirming against his as you hold his body closer to yours, your nails digging in his back, scratching it. This orgasm feels more intense than the others, feeling so overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re feeling.

It takes only a few more seconds — his pace increasing, the sound of skin slamming against skin filling the room, the room and him smelling like pure sex. As he stutters, hips shifting erratically into you, you feel the first hot spurt of his cum bursting into you, painting your inner walls. You look up as Joel looks completely fucked out as he continues to cum inside you. Your walls squeeze hard around him as pleasure continues to course through you, milking every last drop of his cum.

You feel both of your bodies slump against one another, as one of his arms moves to support himself against the wall while his other hand is still holding your leg up around his hip.

Eventually, as both of you are able to catch your breaths, he slowly moves to put your trembling leg back down after pulling out of you gently. You whine at the loss and he chuckles lightly at your reaction. As soon as he’s completely out of you, the sticky liquid begins to dribble out of you, creamy and thick oozing out of your heat. Joel supports your shaking body as he wraps his arms around you, embracing you tenderly.

“Fuck, baby… that was amazing.” You whisper as he presses kisses against the crown of your head.

“You know I’d do anythin’ for you darlin’. Besides, I loved it just as much.” He winks, looking at you as he moves his body away from yours slightly.

Once both of you are cleaned up, you both head downstairs in comfortable clothing. Joel moves to the kitchen, making your favourite meal to make you even more relaxed. You sigh happily as you lean the front of your body against his back, wrapping your arms around him. He hums softly as you embrace him, appreciating your affection.

“Thank you.” You mumble against his shirt.

“Anytime sweetheart.”

For a while, you stay like this, enjoying each other’s warmth and company as he makes dinner. Feeling so loved and at home. You’ll never get tired of loving Joel.

[mixes-archive]

König NSFW Alphabet 😊

Requested by: my bbgs and a lot of simps. In all my time as an archivist (maybe a few months at best), I haven't seen something requested as much as this.

This is mostly gender neutral and includes stuff for both afab and amab readers

A = Aftercare

(what they’re like after sex)

"Ach du heilige... Schatz, geht's dir eh gut?"¹

Very worried.

No matter if he's been top or bottom, dom or sub, gentle or rough, he'll be so worried he hurt you in any way.

Give you a quick massage and clean you up. Depending on if you're doing anything after, he'll either take a bath with you or just a brief shower.

B = Body part

(their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He really likes his arms, mans trained years for his muscles to be as defined as they are and being able to carry you with them just gives him a real boost of confidence.

Is weak to your thighs <3 Could spend hours just laying on or massaging them.

C = Cum

(anything to do with cum, basically)

Yum yum in his tum tum😋🍽️

No matter how he made you cum, mans will absolutely devour that shit, no exceptions.

D = Dirty secret

(pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

AFAB: Would love for you to sit on his face while his mask is on, just imagining feeling you through the fabric and how you soak through it makes him hard

AMAB: sucking you off with the mask on, half the fabric draped over your stomach, hiding his next move and having to look directly into his eyes. He gets weak in the knees at the thought.

E = Experience

(how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Man had zero rizz in his childhood, you're his first everything actually. If you don't have any experience either, you're kinda fucked lmao

F = Favorite position

(this goes without saying)

Any with direct eye contact, or you being on top of him.

G = Goofy

(are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's funny, but not intentionally. He's really creative when it comes to swears, so it's easy to make you giggle with them.

H = Hair

(how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Bald or something, I don't know how this works with men and I am NOT about to Google it.

I = Intimacy

(how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

König is dropping all the nicknames he can think off, constantly caressing your face or body. He'll also try to set the mood as best as possible beforehand.

J = Jack off

(masturbation headcanon)

Does it a lot tbh. He's big big and knows it can affect you for a few days after, so he'll only fuck you if you ask.

K = Kink

(one or more of their kinks)

Mask kink, size kink, praise kink goings both ways. What else is there? Oh yeah.

This man definitely has a mommy kink, you cannot convince me otherwise.

L = Location

(favorite places to do the do)

Probably the couch or the bathtub, he isn't into other people potentially seeing you at all.

M = Motivation

(what turns them on, gets them going)

You. That's it. You could be wearing a hoodie that should've been washed long ago and he'd go "omg I'd hit"

N = No

(something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything to do with degredation. Doesn't like insulting you and likes being insulted even less.

O = Oral

(preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

König would willingly be between your thighs until his lungs give out. He's really big, so this is the best option in his opinion. (also just really into the way you react to him and your taste).

Would only let you suck him off occasionally and after a loooonnggg while of being in a relationship. You'd have to beg him to do it lmao

P = Pace

(are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

König likes being slow and hitting all the right spots, but he can speed up if you ask politely enough. Much prefers to go slow in a borderline teasing way tbh.

Q = Quickie

(their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Prefers taking his time, but with how packed your schedules can be, there's not really another option. Sometimes when you're on a long term mission, you get so desperate you have a quickie, but that's the last resort.

R = Risk

(are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes and no. He'd like to experiment with you a bit, but there are just some things he wouldn't do like public sex, non-con, etc...

S = Stamina

(how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

König lasts for HOURS. This is a trained military man, his stamina is through the roof and on its way to space. You could be panting, struggling to catch your breath or move, and he'll ask if you want another round.

T = Toys

(do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Didn't see the sense in toys before meeting you, but he has a small bullet vibrator for you stashed away somewhere.

U = Unfair

(how much they like to tease)

When he gets the opportunity, he does like to tease a little. Would stop if you ask though.

V = Volume

(how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Swears a lot. Like a lot a lot. He's still more vocal than you'd expect otherwise. Lots of grunts and moans between the swears.

W = Wild card

(a random headcanon for the character)

You wore thigh highs once and he can't get enough of them now. He tends to rip them, but is constantly buying new ones to make up for it.

X = X-ray

(let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big. Too big, perhaps. Long and girthy. Have fun getting that anywhere in you.

Y = Yearning

(how high is their sex drive?)

Very high, is down to clown almost every single day. And with that I mean he just wants to make you scream his name so loud the squad members become concerned he's holding you hostage.

Z = Zzz

(how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Honesty, he's more awake after than he was before. Makes him feel like he just injected five shots of espresso right into his veins.

¹ "Holy... Treasure, are you okay?"

A/N: Being a lesbian in this economy is hard, but I'll gladly take the L so you can all continue to simp for the only relevant austrian representation in this day and age

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

I've already asked this to a trusted Herp Friend:tm: (and got Many answers from a few others as well) but i wanted to ask you too.

Myself and a friend were arguing(kinda? Debating more like tbh) the ethics of defanging a snake (non-venomous or venomous) I think it's kinda cruel and also unnecessary my friend thinks it's fine bc the snake can't feel it and according to them it has no negative affect on the snake.

So what's your opinion/belied on this situation? I want to ask you bc I'd like to hear from someone who's been handling snakes a lot longer than me.

I believe it's always, always unethical. I've worked with snakes who have had venomoid surgeries (never by any facility I've worked with, they were always rescues) and those poor snakes are heartbreaking.

Venomoid surgeries, intended to render a venomous snake non-venomous, are so cruel that any decent, ethical vet will refuse to perform them. They can take different forms, including partial or complete removal of fangs, venom ducts, and venom glands.

The big issues here are twofold.

It is impossible to ever surgically render a snake non-venomous. All those components can grow back or remain semi-functional after surgery. I can't overstate this. These surgeries are useless.

Those are integral, massive components of the snake's face and jaws. Venom glands, compressor muscles, and ducts take up a lot of real estate in a venomous snake's face.

Snakes who have had venomoid surgeries often have to live with a lot of chronic pain in their faces. They have trouble opening their mouths and eating. I've met some who will drool venom. At my lab we had to make the hard choice to euthanize one of our ambassador rattlers a few months ago - she had undergone a venomoid surgery to remove her venom ducts and the compressor muscles were starting to atrophy and cause her a lot of pain. Botched surgeries are common (largely because, again, no decent vet will perform these), and that adds a whole additional host of complications.

I feel particularly strongly about this just because I know so many snakes who are suffering as a direct result of these surgeries, but yeah. Always unethical, I consider them animal abuse.

[bewitchedme-body-and-soul]

all sides of you

a/n: this came to me late at night and i had to write it; shout out to @humanalien01 for helping me and supporting my simping. idk how i feel abt the ending tbh :/

summary: a night at josies bar leads to you admitting your thoughts about the devil of hell's kitchen, and a few months later your words come back to haunt you.

word count:2427

warnings: swearing, canon typical violence, reader is victim in an attempted mugging & fights back, cursing, reader is called a bitch

Standing around the pool table at Josie's bar with the Nelson and Murdock team, playful banter spewn between the four of you. Each of you taking turns shooting while also trying to make the others mess up. The laughter coming from the four of you carrying throughout the bar, the three deserved this after a hard case, and you being Matt's partner were happily invited. Foggy happily uses you as a means to try to embarrass Matt with silly stories from their college years. You and Karen, doubling over in laughter as Foggy finishes his current story, Matt's cheeks tinted pink. Upon noticing you move closer to him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek, then resting your head against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your middle. 

It's not until Foggy scoffs begrudgingly that your attention and Matts is pulled away to look at what Foggy's upset about. On one of the Tvs hanging around the bar you notice a news story about The Devil Of Hell's Kitchen. Foggy going on a rant about how he thought the man was bad news while you stared at the grainy footage someone caught of the man decked out in all black, as he beat up a group of gang members. You slowly zoned out as you watched how the man in the mask’s body contorted as he flipped and took the bad men out.

“Y/n!” Foggy's voice pulled you out of your daydream, your head snapping to look in his direction, giving him a hum in acknowledgement. “What do you think? What's your opinion on the masked man?” he asks, you know he's hoping you'll take his side.

Your cheeks tint a slight pink at the question, aware of the two pairs of eyes locked on you and Matt's head tilting, obviously also looking forward to your answer.  “Um, i don't really have one” you lie, moving to lean over the pool table and shoot one of the balls. Karen's giggle goes in tandem with the clack of the cue ball hitting one of the stripped balls.

“You're lying!” Foggy calls out pointing an accusatory finger at you, “did you know lying is a sin? I can't believe you would do such a thing while dating our good Catholic Matt Murdock” he gasps a hand over his heart like you wounded him deeply with your tiny fib. The smile on Matt’s face tells you he did not care and he finds Foggy's dramatics hilarious.

“Oh no, however will you forgive me, my love?” you gasp dramatically leaning against Matt. “But seriously my opinion on the man in the mask isn't that important.” you say trying to move on.

Karen laughs before speaking “oh, trust me, too foggy it is very important, and honestly now I’m interested cause it's been just me vs foggy about this since Matt tries to stay out of these conversations” after she's done speaking the attention turns back to you. You sigh as Matt moves to take his turn, now seeing you have no way out of this conversation.

“I don't know, I don't think he has bad intentions or anything” you shrug before continuing “He’s also kinda hot” you say the second part quieter. The other three members of your party all have varying reactions, Karen laughing, Matt giving an awkward chuckle, and Foggy with his over the top dramatics acting as if you’ve insulted his mother. You watch Matt out of the corner of your eye worrying you may have upset him, you’d only been dating a month and a half, the relationship still new, you're still learning things about the other. What if you hurt him?

Foggy's voice pulls you out of your anxiety fueled downward spiral. “I can't believe you would do this to me” he speaks with a voice obviously trying to make you feel bad for not agreeing with him. He puts his head in his hand as he begins to fake cry. You and Karen look at each other before you both double over laughing, Matt joining in as Foggy's fake cries ramp up at your laughing.

You spend another few hours at Josies before you all decide to part ways, you going home with Matt after deciding to spend the night. Once you're in his apartment your anxiety returns from the prior conversation. You both make your way to his bedroom and change into clothes you can sleep in. It's only when you're both in bed, your head on his chest as he rubs your back, that you decide to broach the subject. “Hey Matty, can I ask you a question?” he hums in response. “Earlier at Josies, did I upset you?” you question, heart rate picking up slightly.

Matt feels your heart rate pick up so he quickly leans forward to kiss your forehead before he smiles at you with a soft chuckle, “no, not at all, I trust you, it’s no different than the people who have a crush on the avengers.” you sigh at his words. Anxiety subsiding, you know Matt well enough he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. You nestle closer to him before grabbing his other hand and kissing his knuckles, ignoring the cracks and healed over abrasions. “Besides, I know I’m your favorite” he says and you don't need to look at him to know he's wearing that cocky grin of his. 

You roll your eyes at him “i suppose” You tease him, no matter who came to you and professed their love, you knew you’d always choose Matt. You feel his chest vibrate under your cheek as he laughs. Eventually the two of you fall asleep in eachothers arms.

~~~

A month passes and you forget the aforementioned conversation ever happened. So many things happening that small moments get buried and forgotten about so easily. It's not till you're walking home one night that the conversation gets catapulted back to the forefront of your mind.

On your way home from a girl date with Karen you get yanked into an alley and thrown against one of the brick walls of a building. The bricks sharp and your head immediately begins to throb as your head smacks against it. A hand goes over your mouth and fight or flight takes over as you feel your heart rate pick up and the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. You struggle before biting down with all your might on the hand, the taste of copper coats your tongue. The man who grabbed you yanks his hand back and you spit the blood out onto his face before screaming, hoping you’d be lucky enough for someone to be close enough to hear you. You knew basic self defense but you’d rather be safe and hope someone would at least call emergency services. 

“You bitch” the man yells before slapping you across the face. You bring your knee up in an attempt to connect it with his groin. His hand shoots down, your knee still connects but not with as much force as you hoped. As you attempt to shove him off you hear a thud to the side of you and you can only hope that it’s some good samaritan here to save you. It's only a few seconds later your attacker is yanked off of you and thrown to the ground.

You watch with bated breath as the man in the mask repeatedly punches the guy in the face and head. Once he finishes he makes his way over to you, you can hear him speaking to you, asking if you're alright, but you're distracted by the shape of his jaw and the way his lips move. A sense of familiarity washes over you and you're unsure as to why.

“I’m fine, thank you, I just need to get home.” You quickly rush out before speed walking away. Wanting to be in the safety of yours and Matt's home as quickly as possible, and wanting to scrub your mouth to rid it of the copper taste. A part of you hoping Matt is home so you can just crash into his arms and sleep.

You arrive home to an empty apartment, the billboard on the building across the alley lighting up the living room. You drop your jacket and bag on the counter before moving to the bathroom and brushing your teeth for far longer than the usual two minutes. Afterwards moving to your shared bedroom and changing into the clothes you'd be sleeping in. 

As you're changing you spot a picture of you and Matt on top of your dresser. You pause, taking a moment to admire your partner, that's when it hits you. The sense of familiarity, why the bottom half of the devil of hell's kitchen face looked so familiar. You'd kissed those lips hundreds of times, it's no wonder your body recognized them. Everything begins falling into place in your head, like placing the last puzzle pieces in a puzzle and seeing the finale picture.

Matt's injuries always lined up with when you'd see the man in the mask on the new fighting bad guys. How a part of you always believed there was more to the story than him just falling or whatever excuse he’d give you. He was always so careful, far too careful to just take a tumble as often as he’d tell everyone. You never called him out cause even if a part of you believed he was lying you trusted him enough that you never questioned. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening and Matt's voice calling out for you. 

“In the bedroom!” you call back, wondering if he’ll tell you or if you'd have to call him out and question him. You hear him approach and turn to look at him, he looks relatively unharmed, ‘that's good’ you think. “Hey baby.” you can't help the small smile that graces your features, he moves closer to where your voice came from, reaching a hand out towards you. Once he reaches you he wraps his arms around you pressing a kiss against the top of your head. You hear and feel him take a deep breath, you wouldn't be surprised if he was also a little shaken up, he’d just saved his partner from being mugged, you wouldn’t blame him if he was. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before you decide you can't take it anymore.

“Baby?” you begin, he hums in response. You take a deep breath before you continue, turning in his arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. “When were you gonna tell me?”  you question, you figure it's best to just rip the bandaid off.

“Tell you what sweetheart?” he questions tilting his head, eyebrows furrowing. He looked like a puppy, confused by the trick its owner is trying to teach it. You understand why he’d try and play this off but you also wish he’d just be honest. Your face morphs into a deadpan expression.

“Matty, seriously, you know what I’m talking about.” You cross your arms over your chest. “When were you going to tell me youre daredevil?” you question. He huffs out a small laugh.

“What? Honey what are you talking about? I’m not the daredevil.” he lies through his teeth.

“I know you can’t see my face but just know it's a look of disappointment cause you should really be better at lying if you're gonna be a vigilante.” you speak before moving just out of matts reach. Deciding he could touch you again when he confessed. A defeated sigh leaves him, you assume he's come to the conclusion that there’s no way of getting out of this without being honest. 

“I don't know, honestly.” he begins “I always wanted to tell you, I hated lying to you, especially after seeing how worried you’d get.” he takes his glasses off sitting them on your dresser. “I was waiting for the right moment I guess. I was worried how you’d react, I didn’t want to lose you.” he finishes looking in your direction. He looks like a puppy that just got scolded and was trying to look cute to get out of punishment.

“First of all, low blow, you know your puppy eyes work way too well on me” you speak trying not to giggle. “Second, Matt I’m literally so in love with you, it’d take a lot more than you running around at night in a mask beating up criminals to lose me.” Now the laugh escapes you, a smile making its way to his face as well at your laugh. He moves closer to you again, hands landing on your waist, before he leans in to kiss you.

“You handled this a lot better than Foggy did,” he laughs. “Also, if you were wondering, yes, i am actually blind” 

“I wasn’t, but good to know.” you laugh “and to be fair, foggy did hate your alter ego.” you lean up to kiss his cheek, “lets go to bed baby” you whisper before crawling into your shared bed as he moves to change into pajamas. Once he joins you in the bed you snuggle into his arms, resting your head over his heart. Thinking over everything as you trace shapes against his chest, it’s then you sit up quickly realizing something. “You little shit!” you yell with a laugh as you playfully hit him in the chest. 

“What? What’d I do?” he asks shock and confusion taking his features

“A few months ago, at Josies with Foggy and Karen” you begin, you can tell by the look his face morphs to that he's beginning to understand. His cocky smile finding his face again. “I confessed that I thought the daredevil was hot and you just let me?” you ask incredulously “no wonder you were so unphased by it” you playfully shove his shoulder

“Would it help if I said I found it very flattering that you did?” he laughed “but seriously, that was when I started seriously thinking about telling you. It made me feel a little bit better about it.” he speaks, moving his hand to rub against your knee.

“Maybe, it does a little,” you confess. “You're still a little shit though.” you laugh moving to kiss him. “My little shit though” you whisper. The rest of the night is spent full of soft touches and laughter as the two of you bask in your love of the other.

[rainthespiritual]

pt 1 , pt 2

Pre-death Tate Langdon fic PART TWO

btw some trigger warnings for the series as a whole are deffinetly: drug abuse, depression, suicide, and topics similar to that even if they don't show up in this specific part THEY WILL EVENTUALLY so I just want yall to be warned ty

TRIGGER WARNING : Tate langdon is a tw tbh and American horror story in general, smoking, talk of abusive dad and family slightly(it'll be talked abt more in other parts), angst, this part is more tame that the other parts will be, and alot of talk on bullying and angsty teen bullshit yk the drill

summery: Tate invited you to his house and talked to you about wanting to be friends again!

sorry if this is bad I didn't get to edit it cuz im using my phone PLZ ENJOY LETS GET INTO IT YUH

"Meet me here again tommorow, same time."

His words have been repeating in your head since yesterday. I mean yeah almost being caught by a teacher scared you shitless... and you didn't want it to happen again but it seemed almost worth it. the way he makes you feel is worth it. I mean this is the most validated you've felt in months.

You are pulled back to reality, to the smell of musty books and to the sound of the library, "___ you aren't listening again." sighing at your so called friend. you almost snap at her but she continues before you can knowing she now has your attention again. the sound of a distant clock ticking puts you more at ease as you try not to get too deppressed. The library is usually a nice safe space for you but sometimes you are followed, but you just have to deal with it. she goes on for a while before saying something that actually causes you to look up at her,

"Do you see that guy staring at me." she waves her head and your eyes meet Tates. he's sitting down at a distant table with a book in his hands but it's clear he isn't reading it. He smiles when you notice him and its also clear he isn't looking at your friend. He's staring at you.

"Yeah I do Heather.." you break eye contact with him hoping the hotness you feel in your cheeks isn't them turning red. Tate also stops looking in your direction and his attention goes to the book.

"I mean he's cute but he's all quiet and weird, ya know? ..kinda like you." she smiles as you sigh. you aren't quiet she just won't let you get a word in. You look back to the table where Tate was at but he is gone, you look around wondering if he was still in the library but there is no sign of him. not even the book he was reading, he must have taken it. it is common for kids at your school to take books to the tables and leave them if they weren't interested or more likely if they were just trying to seem busy. Tho it being frowned upon it happens quite alot.

"I've gotta go." You gather your things and start to stand.

"..where do you have to go?" Heather your friend scoffs slightly thinking you have nothing better to do.

"I've gotta go to the bathroom actually so.. And class is starting soon, see ya." with that you leave almost as fast as you did yesterday, mostly to avoid more questioning and bitching.

It almost being time to meet Tate you make your way to the bathroom you both were at yesterday. its pretty early but it's nice to have some thinking time. you stare at the door listening making sure no one is coming your way. you'd get questioned deffinetly, especially class starting so soon.. you fidget waiting for the bell to ring but it feels like time is going by way slower than it is. After thinking for a while and the bell not ringing still you decide to go in early, I mean maybe no one's in there? like Tate said almost no one ever comes this way. or maybe Tates there early too? maybe that's why he left the library so soon..

"Tate..?" you walk in slowly praying no one other than Tate is in this bathroom. You cautiously have your eyes closed just incase.

"___?.. You're early, hey." you open your eyes to find a nervous looking Tate.

"Hey yeah I am... is- is that okay, or?" you take a deep breath, the bathroom smells like harsh chemicals and it slightly irritates your nose. "Yeah no its fine, just surprised me is all." what he says makes you feel better and you look up to see him smiling at you, his eyes are red and watery and hes repeatedly wiping his nose.

"is there anything wrong?" you ask genuinely concerned. You seem to notice a wave of sadness on his face, or maybe it was just the smell of this bathroom you felt it irritating your eyes so maybe the same was happening to him? or maybe he was sad, he did tend to look sad. remembering all the small times you looked at him in the halls or at him if he was in the same room as you, he was sad. or atleast not smiling.

"Nothing at all, now that you're here." he walks closer to you, looking down at you.

"me? what do you mean?" you knew exactly what he meant, it just felt so surreal that this tall blonde good smelling guy that just so happened to go to school with you they you also used to be friends with could say this. I mean who would have known. all the boys you were used to interacting with never payed that kind of attention to you.

"I just mean I'm glad you're here. what else would I mean?" you smile again enjoying him saying these things. the validation you felt made you feel great, and he knew exactly what to do to make you feel special. not to say he was lying or anything, he wasn't. His confidence radiated off of him and he knew just what to say.

"well you could mean alot of things." he smirks at your response before pausing.

"Here, sit with me again." He climbs up on the sinks, making sure they aren't wet with his sleeve first. you notice a brownish red stain on his sleeve and decide whether ot not to bring it up. you choose to ignore it climbing up next to him. you take a deep breath noticing how your nose is now used to the harsh chemical smell that is all around the both of you.

"I'm surprised you came," he states looking into your eyes, a weird wave of guilt builds up in your stomach remembering how well you two got along. you truly regret not talking to him and hope you can make up for all the time you two have lost together.

" you know... I think about you all the time." he pushes a section of your hair behind your ear, admiring your face again.

you smile wider at him focusing on his pretty brown eyes. They are so dark and mysterious its not even funny. you also take notice of how dark his undereyes are, he must be tired.

"Is that why you were looking at me earlier? " you nervously smirk watching as he gets up off the counter to stand infront of you.

"we should go to my house." he places his arms on the counter making it so he is looking down on you slightly.

"your house?" you gulp.

"yep, my house," he nods, "we'd have fun I swear. I mean no one's even home." this catches you off guard. I mean a boy inviting you to his house was the last thing you expected to happen. Especially at school, a boy is not only inviting you to his house hes inviting you to ditch school with him at his house.. while no one's home.

"Sure, fuck it!" He leaves first making sure no one is around, you sneak out thanking God no one is around. and somehow you guys make it out without being caught. He leads you and you start to get nervous.

"is- is your house close or?" you gulp feeling a tad bit guilty. You've never missed school on purpose before.

"Actually I was thinking of going somewhere first.." he smirks and puts his hand around your shoulders.

"oh.. where?" the ideas of where he could bring you excited you slightly. The air was clear and the sun was hiding behind some clouds. its a gloomy day yet you were glad you were getting to spend it with Tate, something about him hypnotized you and made you feel ways you never felt before.

"The beach, trust me it's cool. especially on days like this.." he smirks more putting your hand in his, his warm soft touch made you blush. You never felt this way about anyone, he made you feel special.

You both walk in silence just enjoying eachothers company until you make it to the beach. You both sat in the sand admiring the ocean and the gloomy sky.

"do you play hookey alot?" you ask smiling already knowing he often does, you just didn't know what else to say.

"just when I get bored, or sad I guess.. I like to come here, y'know when everything gets too much? I come here.." he sighs looking off into the sea, his eyes are shining with the water and you can't help but to admire his beauty.

"No, I totally get that. I get sad alot too, thats why I go to the library. Usually no one follows me." he frowns looking away in the distance making you unable to look in his eyes anymore.

"y'know.. I don't get why you hang out with those assholes, it's clear they give zero shits about you. all they care about is themselves, even I can tell you that." you frown along with him, you want to tell him off but you can't bring yourself to because in the end... he's right. they don't and never cared about you. they never listen to you about your problems or your feelings. It's always about them them them.

"I know.. that's exactly how it is.. but I have no one else, I'm too scared to be alone." you open up a bit to him about how you feel hoping he will actually listen.

"you wouldn't be alone ___, I'd hang out with you. I mean trust me I'm cooler than all those bitches combined!" he laughs knowing he made you smile.

"then I guess I won't be hanging around them anymore. I got you now." you both smile walking the rest of the way to his house, talking about your past and goofing off.

[lostonmari]

Things I manifested in January

As usual y'all know I don't log on here unless it's to rant or occasionally share motivation/updates sooo without further yapping here's what i manifested last month! - below the cut -

As you guys know I started dating SP & We have the PERFECT relationship. he's literally everything i wanted him to be & he's moving in with me in march. (': I'm so proud of myself for this bc I really feel like he could be my dream man. I don't even cheat anymore I broke up with all my side bfs for him 🥺

1.5. [Part of #1] After a few days of inner conversations and robotic affirming, my mother agreed to let my bf move in with us even after she said, and these are her exact words, "Hell the fuck no without marriage" the first time I asked. 😇 (And yes I still stay with my parents as an adult, it's part of our culture 😭)

Successfully ruined my ex-bestie's life. I will not elaborate further ♥

I messed up SOOOO bad at my job like SO bad I ruined the client's project tbh but as soon as we finished up I started affirming "I always do everything right, of course I still got paid" and forgot about it. A week later I randomly got a notification from my bank that my direct deposit came. I immediately logged into my work portal and turns out... I didn't get fired! 😋 I feel like this was part of a double manifestation since if i DIDNT get paid I would've been late on my bills. & I've been affirming since last year (November) that my bills are always paid, and lo and behold that assumption works out every time!

I've been wanting to get out more so I manifested more concerts happening in my area. This kinda backfired tho because 2 of my fav artists are preforming the SAME day (March 24) so I don't know which one I'll choose to go to. Maybe I'll manifest that one of them gets rescheduled so I can go to both! ;)

Got rid of my menstrual cycle. I didn't like having periods because I constantly felt icky from bleeding, I was prone to fainting, I would always struggle to eat, but now I'll never have to deal with that again. This is for SUREEE one of my top 10 favorite manifestations so far. Taking manifestation seriously is literally the best thing I have ever done. Never give up yall.

[feeling--pink]

Hi 🥺 what if they- 👉👈 what if they got mawwied???? 💕💕💕

Okay hi I’ve been working on these on and off all month (mostly off I got really busy whoops) and I have A LOT of thoughts about a Legbone wedding (ft. the drawtectives cause they really are my blorbos) 

Anyways here’s a list of headcannons that I didn’t get to draw:

So right off the bat let’s talk OUTFITS

To me Legzi and Ryjinah had gone looking for dresses but Legzi wasn’t really pumped about any of them 

So maybe they went on a road trip (because ladies bookclub road trips my beloved) to either go look in a different boutique or to do other wedding related shenanigans 

And on the side of the road Legzi spots this rag 

And of course it’s a torn up wedding dress and suddenly she has a Vision^TM

Just Legzi being more excited about fixing up this dress than anything she could have just bought up to that point 

Because to me Legzi is someone who loves to feel like a part of the process and having all her random skills she picked up from Darkmouth 

Then design wise I wanted something puffy so I could hide how much taller I made her 

Because personally I think her using the leg stilts on her wedding day is not only very Legzi^TM but I also made myself laugh with the concept :) 

And florals because those are fun, green, and easy to make by hand (as someone who’s made a lot of ribbon flowers)!! The vines were places where the dress was really torn and needed more structural stitching 

Ryjinahs dress on the other hand I wanted to take some inspiration from her season 1 design (even though I haven’t seen it) 

Also I love a chance to draw some boob 

so anyways York’s invitation

I’ve said it before but “artists draw fan art of each other’s art” where Karina drew Ryjinah, York, Rowan, and Jacob horse all hanging out is CANON TO ME

Which is why all of those characters were invited!! :)

Anyways I imagine all the invitations had your standard stuff- names, dates, rsvp section

But where it would’ve said +1 I think Ryjinah scribbled that out and hand wrote “+2 ;)” 

Which of course Grandma would be slightly flustered by meanwhile York is like “AWESOME you guys can come!!!” 

I believe in drawtectives polycule supremacy and also York is aroace

Which also lead to my miniature leg wrestling joke :)

Oh but the second York and Rah’ōxah lock eyes they’re going to leg wrestle (Pokémon rules) 

Then they can become friends too and we can make Julia’s drawing in “pro artists redraw their old OCs” canon!!! 

Rah’ōxah is both Legzi and Ryjinahs maid of honor :) 

She’s awesome of course she can do both!!!!!!

I wish I had drawn this but to me Parker the cat officiated :)

Maybe while standing on top of Parker the horse 

Ryjinah was not pleased with this but also couldn’t say no to the combined force of Legzi and Rah’ōxah’s puppy dog eyes 

Plus Parker the cat is the only person (cat) they know who’s ordained

Oh last thing I wanted to but didn’t draw was a Rosé & Rowan interaction 

Or not even so much of an interaction but they catch each other’s gaze from across the room and freeze 

Oh more headcannons but they’re siblings to me 

I mean dyed hair? Knives? Mysterious pasts? Color schemes?? Attracted to himbos??? 

Anyways they both have moved on from their family in different directions 

So to suddenly meet again even from across the room 

Then York or Gramdma calls for Rosé and she looks away and they’re gone

But I digress 

Tbh for everyone’s outfits I kinda just went “you know what would be cute???” 

So floral dress for grandma (obviously) 

Jumpsuit + long gloves for Rosé because vibes 

Unbuttoned shirt and double breasted vest for York so he doesn’t have sleeves 

Similar thought process for Rah’ōxah because they give off similar vibes BUT I made Rah’ōxah’s the same colors as Ryjinah and Legzi so she could match both :)

Then a demon Johnny button on her outer vest kinda like the pin/broach she has in Julia’s drawing in pro artists redraw old OCs 

Rowan I just wanted to look swanky and what’s more swanky than a tailcoat? 

And for everyone but Rah’ōxah I tried to keep to their normal color schemes!! :) 

Are all these outfits practical for what I made a beach wedding on a whim? Absolutely not 

I gave pretty much all of them some sort of heels even if they are technically wedges which is better but STILL 

Beaches are fun and easy ish to draw and I never do backgrounds anyways give me a break lol 

But anyways I think that’s all my thoughts!!!

So Legzi & Ryjinah ride into the sunset on their noble steed Jacob Horse :)

[mybedroomceilingsbored]

spewing whatever shit pops into my head for all my fav tma characters

ALRIGHT babes a whole entire six people wanted to see my opinions on characters so far (i just finished #103), but i don't rlly have a direction to take with this. i was thinking about giving them ratings but idek what i'd rate them ON lmao. SO!

Jon-ohoho he's so DRY and so FUNNY and somebody needs to bitch slap this man. how am i supposed to get a goofy workplace drama if he's so genre-aware?? i don't like him THAT much, but honestly the whole show would be a lot more boring without his paranoia. also was his skin rlly so bad that it took an entire MONTH to get him thoroughly moisturized? ur body is a temple, johnny boy :(

Martin-omg he's such a bean. i relate to this man a lil too much for comfort-he's bullied waaay too much by absolutely everyone in this podcast. if he reads too many statements and turns into another jon or smth i'll SWIM to the uk specifically to yell at the writers, this man is to be PROTECTED at all costs! also he SOUNDS like a fucking redhead. you can hear it in his voice. and it shows very clearly in his poetry.

Tim-hehehe ICON. s1 finale tim was honestly the greatest thing ever, the way he's changed is absolutely breaking my heart. prancing into the office during a worm attack and immediately sitting down on 20 cans of CO2 sounds EXACTLY like smth i'd do, honestly props to him for staying so calm during the whole thing. and the fact that he's fucking all these cops for information is just *chef's kiss* tbh, his entire EXISTENCE is a power move. he's got a statement coming up and i'm kinda terrified. he's been so.. depressingly realistic lately and i'm scared for him :(

Sasha/Not Sasha-sasha seemed so sweet, i wish i'd gotten to know her better before the switch! all i remember from her first vocal appearance is staring into space afterwards, trying to remember how i used to pronounce 'calliope'. i feel like her death/switch didn't hold as much gravity as it should've-i rlly wish i'd seen more of her! also, the way not sasha was the LEAST suspicious to jon-that monster's got acting CHOPS. we need her in the local theater group, HOW TF can anyone be that convincing?!?!?!

Monster Pig-last statement i listened to, so it's VERY fresh in my mind lmao. this pig deserves DEATH. i don't fucking CARE if it's "friendly", it ATE a FUCKING CLOWN. KILL ITTTTT. i am a VEGETARIAN

Michael-by FAR my favorite, the best character i've come across in quite a while, god's favorite princess <3 i adore this wonky man, he's such a legend. PEAK laugh. and he's so chaotic lmao!!! (no he absolutely did not die, what are you talking about???? that didn't happen. or Michael Shelley's tragic backstory that had me literally crying over a gd podcast, no way. i'm in DEEP denial) i adore how his first vocal appearance was just strutting into Jon's office, kidnapping a realtor, monologuing abt his identity issues, stabbing the archivist, and sashaying away. SUCH a funky dude, i adore him

Elias-he gives me bitter oldest kid vibes, this man needs therapy. what a kooky asshat, stop peeping on people.

Jude-hot in every way possible. sorry but it's TRUE. a rlly bad liar tho. not only does she speak in fucking italics, but you can tell she's giggling kicking her feet twisting her short little hairs as she's trying to get jon to shake her hand. bitch, you're sexy and you know it, SPEAK UP!!

Wormy Jane-an icon, honestly. the whole EMBODIMENT of ick. not to mention if i actually saw this woman i'd lose my SHIT, she terrifies the bejeezus outta me. her statement was what made me (sorta) stop picking at my face (for a little bit at least). i honestly wonder what she was on that made her stick her whole fucking arm in a HAUNTED WASP'S NEST. it's also so hilarious that she was camped outside Martin's apartment for WEEKS and nobody rlly questioned it-this woman is on a MISSION. slay, ick queen.

Melanie-this woman has more balls than anyone else on this damn podcast (ahem, elias mostly). we stan a girlboss with a knife-the way she was just planning to JUMP him??? melanie's 100% RIPPED, she SOUNDS like a gym rat i think. i wanna see her beat the shit outta all these ghosts :3

You're A Lighter-idk how to spell his actual name and i'm too lazy to look it up, so this is what y'all're getting. the snotty old library dude with such a kooky voice, all i could think of when i first heard him was the Kool-Aid man lmaoo. and he needs to take better care of his assistants!! EXTREMELY unsustainable :( he's like a bowerbird collecting all the shiny homicidal books.

Helen-she ATE my babygirl??!!!!?!?!!?! COMPLETELY unacceptable. i won't deny the girl's got guts for just.. chilling in Michael's creepy hallways, but COUGH UP THE CREEPY BLOND for christ's sake.

Trevor Herbert-10/10 honestly. i LOVED his statements, the vampires are SO CRAZY CREEPY and i love how he just kinda fucks around? does some light stalking? and usually ends up with a bunch of dead monsters! in essence, he looked an eldritch horror in the face, called it a slur, and whacked it with a stick. legend.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Does gojo just fight for the thrill of it?…

Idkk I’m really confused tbf the manga really puzzled me 😭😭 (IM GONNA GO ON A RANT BEAR WITH ME PLSS 🙏 LOLL)

The afterlife chapter and how it’s shown, that he just fought sukuna for the thrill of it and not to protect others (students). I think that was implied by nanami when he called gojo a freak for enjoying and getting a thrill out of fighting them, while most sorcerers take it more seriously in a sense where they’re fighting for their lives and to survive/not get killed.. also what even is gojos motivation to keep going? This is a question I ask myself alot!! Is it his entire upbringing and how it was drilled into his head that he’s a weapon meant to be used or is it that he sincerely enjoys exorcising curses and it makes him feel superior (I find the latter more uncharacteristic of him tbh since why would he just do it for the sake of it?? It’s definitely draining to go on missions constantly and shoulder the responsibility of saving the world.. so does he view himself as some sort of a curse exorcising machine?…

Also many ppl on twitter call him selfish and uncaring towards others (his students,colleagues..) since he didn’t kill sukuna right after he got unsealed and waited for a month when sukuna got much stronger? Where he could’ve just finished sukuna off instead of dragging it into the shinjuku arc…

Also I really hate how in general gojo our smoll pookie baby gets soooo mischaracterized and gets called selfish, a philanderer, red flag, uncaring towards EVERYONE?? Some ppl even go as far as to say that he has a chronic god complex. <———— THIS ALL DRIVES ME INSANEEE

however, I kinda do think he has a superiority complex going on… Since he was put on a pedestal since birth and everyone praises him and considered him as the strongest and some kind of hero who’s only job/purpose is to constantly keep saving the weak… This may have gotten into his head a lil too much which shaped his perspective into him believing he’s superior than the other people who he must save from curses etc..

I WOULD LOVEEE LOVEEE YOUR TAKE ON THIS MY DEAREST ARI PLSS SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS (even if it’s multiple paragraphs 😋) ❤️❤️❗️

P.S I’m a new anon so call me bunny anon for any future asks 🥺

hiiiiii there my dearest little bunny anon!!!!! is this emoji okay? 🐰 or would you prefer this? 🐇 i’ll go with the former for now but please tell me if you’d like the other one instead <33333

NOWWW . okay okay okay. this was super interesting to answer, thank you sm for sharing your thoughts and letting me do the same!!!! and please keep in mind that this is all really just my own take :3 but i do have a loooot of thoughts abt this + the sukugo fight in general, so!!! buckle up.

long discussion + spoilers for chap. 236 under the cut!!

ALRIGHT . SO . i’m gonna try to adress everything in this ask but i am in fact scatterbrained so please bear with me 😭😭😭

well, first of all — yes, gojo absolutely fights for the thrill of it. the sukugo fight is a great example of this because it’s the only fight we see gojo let completely loose, but it’s an even better example because it also proves that gojo fights for a lot more than that. he obviously enjoys fighting, but i think you’d be missing a lot of key points of his character if you tried to say that’s all he fights for, you know? we know that gojo is fighting and training for the sake of making a change, of nurturing others, but more than anything else — gojo fights because that’s all he knows how to do. he was raised as a weapon. of course he’d grow to love fighting!! he literally has no choice but to live the life he was born into, and that’s the life of a weapon. weapons exist to kill.

i think his love for fighting is sincere, but it’s also a direct effect of being born as the strongest — do you see what i’m saying? gojo enjoys the thrill of a good fight, but there’s a lot more to it than that. and i personally think that he views fighting as a way to connect with others, not just an adrenaline rush. that’s kind of the whole point of the sukugo fight — they’re reaching out for each other.

aaaand that brings me to my second point!! i think the sukugo fight is like…. the most important fight to examine when discussing gojo’s character, because it tells us so much about him and why he fights in the first place. in this case — the manga almost outright states that he was fighting to teach sukuna about love. and this following part is just my own take!!!! but i think gojo cared about that on a personal level, that went beyond his duty to exorcise sukuna as a curse. gojo cared about sukuna. i think this is undeniable and that alone proves that he was fighting for something other than the thrill of it. he was having fun, but it wasn’t just because of the violence — it was because of sukuna himself.

(stan sukugo btw)

and!!! it was also because of his students!!! i think this point is also undeniable. i reaaaalllyyy disagree with anyone who thinks gojo doesn’t care about them because it’s so …. obvious??? that he does???? he may not be the perfect father figure that the fandom often depicts him as (<- not complaining btw i eat that shit up), but he’s a good teacher. and he cares for them. he’s fighting sukuna for a lot of reasons, one of them being his love for megumi, who i’d argue is like a younger brother to him / the most important person to him since suguru died. <- that’s just my own hc really, but either way gojo cares for him!!! it’s obvious that he’s fighting with his students in mind, because he mentions them so many times. he is fighting to protect them. his character is built on a desire to nurture the youth, even at his own expense.

(he loves them!!!!!!)

so, with that out of the way — let’s talk about nanami’s comment in 236. because i think a LOT of people misinterpreted it completely 😭😭 nanami mentions a scene back in premature death, where he exhaustedly asks geto why they can’t just leave everything to gojo. he then proceeds to say that gojo never cared about keeping sorcery going, or protecting people, and that his strength was all built on self satisfaction.

panels for reference:

…. but notice that nanami is speaking in past tense. he mentions a moment in his youth, and follows it up with what his thought process was during that moment — to put things really simply, nanami isn’t talking about our gojo in this scene, he’s talking about gojo during his teenage years. the reason why the cast appears as teenagers in this scene isn’t just because that’s when gojo was happiest, but also to highlight how far he’s come as a person. how much suguru’s defection changed him and his values. teen!gojo wasn’t a bad person by any means, but he was definitely more selfish than gojo is now. teen!gojo cared about the people around him, but he did fight for self-satisfaction above all else.

our gojo doesn’t. our gojo fights to protect people, to make sure no one is lonely — not even sukuna — and because he has to. because he enjoys it, but also because it’s his duty to do so. there is absolutely a purpose behind gojo’s fighting. he’s matured a lot. he cares about a lot.

so, to answer your question properly: yes, gojo fights for the thrill of it. he also fights for a lot of other things.

[thebridgeburnercomic]

(Edited to add a bit more* to the “fresh inspiration”section.) Since I have basically been confined to the couch/bed for a few months art stuff for Burner hasn’t really been a thing that’s been happening

BUT

the obsession and constant brainstorming for it never took a break, so instead of finished panels and pages I have 85% of a story laid out from start to finish and im thrilled about it because:

1) I don’t really consider myself a writer, and my entire life I have struggled to get stories laid out from start to finish, even just in a bare bones W plot or something. So to get to this point feels kinda surreal

2) some things I had planned for the story’s world have changed significantly for the better, which has created more tension and conflict and goddamn do I love fictional tension and conflict

3) certain characters are having their loose threads woven in so nicely that it feels like it was part of the plan the entire time. even old jokey tie-ins from 3-4 years ago now have significant roles in the plot that carry characters or stay with some of them til the end

4) I’ve gained a tremendous amount of fresh raw inspiration from my own life. My comic was always intended to explore variations and retellings of my own experiences and observations, but lately I got all sorts of inspiration from all kinds of stuff! medical neglect in many different forms, severe depression and the effects of isolation, the process of trying to seek diagnoses and/or treatment without being labeled a “drug seeker”, what one even does with oneself in the ER when stuck there for a long ass time, and how a person copes with unmanaged pain for a significant part of their life. * Ive also discovered various ways a person finds comfort, seen what happens when a second wind truly catches, tasting different flavors of hope, and how I seem to find it at the weirdest times. A person’s language changes, their perspective of the world changes, their ideas of the Self change, their concept of what it even means to socialize changes. Literally everything begins to warp and distort, even though most everything is kind of the same as it was before the symptoms first appeared.

All this is just to say that the story im writing/drawing is becoming thicker not because im adding more lore (which is usually how it goes for me), but because im taking threads that have been here since the start and weaving in the ends in such a way that everything just got plumper, fuller, more compassionate, more painful, more honest, more genuine.

tbh these are just lonely madman ramblings that I’m making from my bathroom as I try to decide if im gonna get up and take my pain meds or go back to bed, but im very excited for when im finally able to get to my desk and start making pages again. the flow of inspiration from all directions has been non-stop, from learning new techniques to seeing new places and seeing cool art occasionally, and it’s been excruciating not being able to (for lack of a better word rn) capitalize on this increased flow of creative energy and ideas

and dammit I miss working on this fuckin thang! I wanna put these boys in some situations! Lmao

Okay that’s all for now hank u for listening ok love u bye :)

[petrichorium]

pluvi!! i know that capitano is (lowkey, not really) a patient man when it comes to you. but how does he persuade you while courting you? 👀

Oh,,,,,, truly he has Run Out of patience at that point I fear,,,,,,, but he’s very good at going through the motions 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ comes off as a real gentleman, if a bit eager to Get Married.

I kinda shut down for a few months after my second husband’s death—it’s just so sudden and so soon after the wedding it shocks me greatly—and he doesn’t wanna scare me off so he waits twiddling his thumbs until I finally attend a dance, and he pounces then without a Teaspoon of shame LOL makes his interest very apparent by asking me for a dance and blatantly keeping by me the whole night………

The gifts start appearing at my door after that, mostly flowers and little impersonal things like perfume or sweets. As it continues he makes them more directed towards me, lots of writing supplies and books, and often he’ll have annotated the books. He refrains from sending letters which is a bit odd but he doesn’t trust himself enough to initiate that kinda communication 🫣

He also starts popping up Everywhere. Hes not big on participating in court culture but for the months he’s courting me he shows up at p much every event I do, and I kinda gaslight myself into thinking it’s just coincidence LMFAOOOOO he’s always a bit rigid himself except when it’s a hunt, where he is quite Visibly more in his own element. I find it kinda adorable.

But he’s actually very charming I feel!!! Again he plays the gentleman part very well, he’s already quite observant and pretty attuned to what makes me comfortable so within a few meetings I’m very at ease around him. He is Very careful not to seem too eager or like he knows too much even tho he like. Has known everything about me for years oops but it works out well. Hes actually a bit touchy too—hands lingering even when we’ve stopped dancing and on more than one occasion feeding me things. If the dragon arms instead of gloves concept is real this is Even More insane bc I think he’s only touching me w gloves on and later learn oh he was just. rawdogging that shit the whole time right out in public Jesus Fucking Christ

(If we assume he’s from Natlan, I think he actually just doesn’t rlly vibe w court culture that much, it’s all very stifling and prevents one from expressing themselves well. In my head we have a little discussion where he “jokingly” implies he has to resist the urge to just take me and stop bothering w any pretense, which I much later on realize Was Not At All A Joke)

And he def makes visits to my house 🥺 those r his favorite parts icl. Hates having to put on a show in public but loves being able to just sit across from me and get me talking……… at this point he’s giving me those books in person and tbh I think sometimes he insists I read them there as he sits and stares at me silently 😵‍💫 freak behavior truly.

My family does approve of him but we all also know it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t…….. he’s the first harbinger there’s not much to be done if he wants to marry someone. We r all just happy he’s going through the proper motions and seems to be focusing on earning me the right way (not that his reputation would imply otherwise but it’s just smthn that Lingers in all our minds). I think he’s probably proposing within a month or two, and then the wedding ends up Additionally expedited, so it’s all quite fast pfft. And then it’s….. the two or three years of us being married but still kinda avoiding each other rip LMFAOOOOOOO anyway ty for asking!!!