#way that i daydream of killing him sexually

[revivisection]

my boyfriend who i hate and my bffsie who has never done anything wrong ever

[hwan-g]

( 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯 ) ୧ ⠁

ೀㅤ۪ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk — mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k

ೀㅤ۪ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. it’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.

PROLOGUE.

You cannot begin telling this story if you don’t first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. It’s three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, he’ll kill you. He loves you so much, you’re calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, you’ll say everything differently this time around like—this bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.

You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; he’s there when you sleep, he’s there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because it’d mean you’d loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.

Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and you’d wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. You’d smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.

When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fire—you believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, he’s never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?

For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?

What about your own heart?

What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?

ACT ONE: before.

He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.

His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.

Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .

There’s blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. There’s a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and he’s not so careful with it, and you don’t think you want him to be. You assume it’s normal to want this—if his blood mixes with yours, well, isn’t that enough to take you with him? Isn’t that almost a wedding ceremony, isn’t that almost a declaration of war?

Do you think I’m crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think I’m crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You don’t dare say it out loud, but he’s staring at you as if he could eat your face raw—a demon, a demon—and shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.

He doesn’t exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and you’re left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but he’s got you. You don’t think, then, of what that entails.

“(Y/N).”

The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.

“Yes?”

Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.

“What will I do with you?” It’s a plea. A threat. Both.

Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know he’s yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.

His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if he’s holding back from saying whatever’s turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger. 

You’ve only seen it once, and you’d been quickly turned away. He’s got people watching everywhere, he’s been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever you’re near him.

Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.

You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. It’s then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his club’s doing. There’s misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and he’s kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.

Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.

“It’s not what you think,” he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. “Don’t overreact.”

All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldn’t keep your cool.

Silly girl.

“What is it, then?” A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.

He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You don’t want him to leave, but he won’t stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.

“Something that needed to be taken care of,” he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.

You love him.

“Someone,” you correct, quietly.

Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.

“Someone,” he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. “You should get inside.”

A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. “I should?” Because I questioned you?

He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.

“If you don’t want to be late,” he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. “Don’t look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?”

You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. “I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” A command. 

You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. It’s pathetic and it’s pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him. 

You’d die. You’d die, it’s entirely unthinkable. It’s the worst pain imaginable. 

“You’re my girl, baby. I’d never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. You’d believe his every word, you’d follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. “I need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Yes,” you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.

In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses. 

You started it. 

The descend. 

It was your fault. 

He’d never touched you so savagely before that night, he’d never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.

“Is this fucking getting you wet?” And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. You’re on fire, you’re on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. “You like me being rough with you, sweetheart?”

You’re too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words you’ve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?

“I— I have to go back, I’m—” but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls into your ear. “You hear me?”

You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. He’s got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know he’ll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And he’ll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.

Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. You’ll never escape him after this. He’d never accept it. You’d never survive it.

When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and it’s too much, it’s fucking unbearable, it’s incredible, it’s so much, it’s everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, please—you’re being so loud there’s no way they haven’t heard that, that Seungmin hasn’t, he’s really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, you’re close, you’re so fucking close, if he could just—oh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .

Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching. 

“Don’t fucking come,” and he’s getting up, he’s unzipping his pants, and you’re eager to help, you’re eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. “I have to get inside you, baby.” 

His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, you’re so entranced you can’t look away; he’s so big, he’s so erect, and you want him so fucking much, you’d do anything right then, you’d be anything.

He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before he’s entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.

I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .

His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished he’d never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.

You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty. 

“You fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.”

You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.

He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.

This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when he’s gone. This Chris comes out only when you’re alone, when he’s forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.

You almost weep at the sight of him.

“I’ll talk to your boss,” he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.

You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.

“I haven’t lied to you,” he says, and half of you doesn’t miss the solemn way in which he says it. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever.”

You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then you’re moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.

“I wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,” you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.

You don’t see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that can’t go nowhere.

The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.

He’d rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.

ACT TWO: in the midst.

Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.

There’s not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, he’s never once mentioned that incident, the first one.

He’s never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But he’s never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many times—he’s fucked you in places you never thought possible. He’s fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.

No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didn’t have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.

Other things—the shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places you’d never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.

That was Minho’s job.

You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angel’s light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think he’s always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.

He doesn’t sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, it’s flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.

It’s endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamed—at least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?

“Nightmares,” he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. “Every time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. It’s always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care about— you. When you’re in my dreams, I can’t stand it. I’m always the one holding the gun. You’re always falling, or— fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if you’re next to me,” his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. “If you’re not, it’s . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think I’ve killed you, that I’ve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.”

It’s difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know you’re right there, that he’ll never lose you, that the day it’ll come to that you’d rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because you’d have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where he’s not there, even as a fixture, even as someone who’s loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, it’s all the same, and it’s all him, and you’ll always get whatever version of him you can.

You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but it’s irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heart—loving someone like him does not come easy, it’s not one of those ridiculous words—fate or destiny—or anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, it’s torment and agony, it’s excruciating, and it’s a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though you’ve never been an addict.

You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when you’re so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himself—you think this is what it’s like to wait on someone’s steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.

Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. There’s light and warmth here, but there’s also shadows in the corners, there’s locked doors and no one else around. It’s a lonely house, but he’s right there, all you need, all you’ll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.

You get lost in the labyrinth of him.

“What the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .”

It’s a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but it’s only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure you’re swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. You‘re licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and he’s got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.

A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about this—screwing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. There’s no other thought, no other reason. He’d mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until he’s satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.

But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voice—just as lost as you. This is how you need him.

“This cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,” he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so many— “Say it, damn you.”

“Yours,” you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. “All of me. Forever.”

“Swear it. Don’t ever leave me.”

“No . . . no . . .” You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.

He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You can’t feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.

“Such a goddamn slut. Look at you,” he slaps your ass once, “fucking look at you,” twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. He’s relentless, he’s so close, you’re so close— “Why are you crying, huh?” He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, you’re glutinous, deprived. “Did you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?”

“You have, you have, please . . .”

Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, that’s it . . .

Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chris’ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.

“Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?”

You hadn’t realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he might’ve harmed.

“Where does it hurt? What have I done?” He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. He’s so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. “(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I can’t see it, I can’t—is it your—”

“I’m fine,” you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. You’re still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, I’m fine, Chris.”

“But if you were, you’d tell me, yeah?”

He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.

“I would.”

His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.

“And what about this?” A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. “Does this hurt?”

You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.

“Maybe a little,” you lie, stretching.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your body is a tool he’s acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.

“Your cunt says something else,” he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, you’ve become. “I wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think you’ll be able to handle that?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. “Your face when you come apart on my tongue—I wish I could die between your legs, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and you’re fucking gone. You’re writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house must’ve heard you. “This is mine, you’re fucking mine, and you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He doesn’t get to work much on you, you’re coming apart in minutes. You’re so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.

There’s a knock on the door, a throat clearing.

“Bahng,” Changbin’s voice. “It’s important.”

The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriend’s face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friend’s face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, “It’s okay,” to which he ignores.

“What the fuck do you want?” He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.

“Meeting in ten,” his captain replies, and then there’s footsteps shuffling away.

“I need to shower, anyway,” you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. “We’ve been holed up here for hours. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Why do you need to know?”

You don’t let his tone ruin what you’ve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.

“It’s really alright, Chris, you’ll only be gone for a bit.”

He ignores this as well. What he does—he takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You don’t let his anger scare you, you’ve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.

“All you need to know, is I’m still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and there’s a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,” he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. “All you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because you’re not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?”

You try not to let your body take over your mind, as it’s happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets. 

You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” you retorted, suddenly sad. “You’re only being like this because you want to stay.”

To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. “Of course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until you’re on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,” he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. “You’re the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.”

“Why do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.”

You might’ve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldn’t have. Who knows how he’ll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.

Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. You’ve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding you—broken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.

His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now it’s all you see.

“One true thing, Chris. Please.”

He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you don’t think he’s quite there in the room with you anymore. He’s in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.

Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. It’s been there from the start.

He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and it’s all within him, there’s nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. “I will never hurt you,” he rasps, and there’s iron will behind his words. “I will never fucking hurt you, I’d sooner die. I’d sooner fucking die . . .” His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and you’re pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.

You grab your clothes, and shoes, and where’s your phone, where’s your stupid phone—

“Get out of here. Get out of here now.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper. You won’t cry. You won’t fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.

“I love you,” you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders. 

Felix doesn’t even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.

You won’t cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?

ACT THREE: intermission.

In a fight, he’s devastating.

You’d told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. You’d warned him against coming inside the Muse. It’d only cause trouble.

He would only cause trouble. It’s why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, it’s how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.

Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.

You didn’t recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.

Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.

“Try it, motherfucker,” your boyfriend smashed the poor guy’s head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. “Try getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.”

“I didn’t know she was your girl, man! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.

Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. There’d be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.

“Bet you wanted to fuck her, hm?” He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. “That’s what you’ve been coming for, isn’t it, you sick fuck?”

The whimpering is what did it for you. “I didn’t know. Please! Please!” You couldn’t just stand aside; you couldn’t let this go on.

The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.

So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the man’s ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.

“Chris. Chris.”

“I’ll fucking kill him, baby, he’ll never look at you twice, he won’t be able to, I swear it to you.” In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?

You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire. 

“I don’t want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.”

“What?”

“And then I want you to go home.”

In retrospect, you should’ve heeded the bouncer’s advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole he’d found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. You’d have to carve it out if you’re to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldn’t. Not you.

Two terrible things happened that night, things that you’d quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.

His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.

“Stand the fuck down,” he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. “You think I’d actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, can’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. It’s gone as soon as it arrives.

“Don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? I’m doing this for you, so you can be safe,” he’s never raised his voice at you, and he’s not doing it now, either. You’d take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.

This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You can’t do anything about this, you don’t even know what’s hiding there.

“I didn’t ask for that, Chris,” you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.

“You’ve no fucking idea what’s good for you, do you?”

“Clearly,” you reply, calmly, bitterly.

You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decision—and the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer. 

“Have it your way,” he snaps. He’s still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite.  “But this fucker dies today.”

In a split second, your life—an infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sight—it changes, it shifts, because—Chris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but you—you’re covered in blood now, blood that’s not yours, and you’ve never seen someone die before. You don’t even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that he’ll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.

“Don’t feel too bad, princess,” Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. “He was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.”

“Chris is not a hit man,” you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body. 

Where are you? Where’d you go?

“No, he’s not,” he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react. “But he’s the one that’ll always get the job done. No matter what.”

This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyone’s, could be yours. The thing is, you weren’t truly scared before, but you are now.

And the terrifying truth—you still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you don’t even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when he’s like this, and somehow that’s more severe, that’s—that’s the real tragedy.

“Take care of it,” he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. “Bring me the books. There’s still business.”

Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You don’t know who, you don’t see them, your gaze hasn’t moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesn’t. You don’t think he ever will again.

You’re one of them now. He didn’t keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.

“And for fuck’s sake, someone take her the hell away from here.”

You kickstart. “No, I won’t go.” You’re here, you’re here, where would I go if you’re here?

He won’t even spare you a second, a moment. He’s walking towards the bar, he’s lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, you’re no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.

Felix steps up and offers to drive you.

“To the house,” Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. “Stay with her until I come back.”

There’s tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. There’s so much movement around you, it’s making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue—the lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm you’re still real, that you’re still breathing.

You’re sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.

“Why are you sending me away?” You try again, foolishly hoping he’s going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Felix mumbles close to your ear. “You don’t wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.”

Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You don’t remember the ride to the club house. You don’t remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue

Someone screams.

ACT FOUR: after.

“I’ve never had a moment’s peace.”

Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.

He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. It’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.

You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You can’t find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.

“How can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldn’t think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,” he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. “What I feel for you is poisonous, it’s disturbing. You don’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. It’s not what you deserve.”

“You’re saying all this like you’re saying goodbye,” you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he won’t allow himself to linger too long.

You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. It’s almost as if . . .

“I’ve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I can’t keep being selfish with you,” when he’s once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. “You’re incredible, you know that? Other girls would’ve been running for the hills, but not you,” when he lets your hair fall, there’s a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens falling—

Chris is crying.

Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He won’t let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.won’t.let.you.turn.around.

Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.

“You just—won’t—fucking—leave. You won’t give up,” he sobs, and then he’s hugging you, he’s hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.

“I’m never giving up,” you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. “Because I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. “I want you. I want you without . . .”

He lets go.

You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.

“The club?” You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. “You want to leave the club?”

He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. “I can’t even fucking say it. It’s been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking place—I know nothing else.”

“We‘ll figure it out. If you want out, we’ll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust you—”

“No, the fuck they don’t. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave I’m a fucking traitor. If I leave I’ve betrayed all of them.”

You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You can’t ignore the Deja vu of this action. “And what about you?” You press, still. “What about what you’ve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chris—”

He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?

“That battered, old thing,” he muses at his cigarette. “Lost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. “This is why I can’t let you go,” his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder you’re still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something you’ll never be able to quit.

“I got charges against me,” he says. “If I take the fall, the club remains. If I don’t, it all goes to hell.”

No. No. “Let it,” you choke out. “Let it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Let’s just go. Please, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to lose—”

The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didn’t get to do yet. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“Listen to me,” he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. “It’s already done. I’ll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure you’re fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didn’t want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.

“Sweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to me—I’ve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And don’t fucking go back to that club, I don’t wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, you’ll fucking blow them away. Hm?” He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. “I love you, alright? You got all of me, whatever’s still there, it’s all yours. Don’t wait for me. Live.”

“I don’t want to.”

He deflates, sighing heavily. “Don’t make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.”

You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. “Not without you. I’m not doing any of that without you. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. “It’ll be years, baby. Too many. You’ve no fucking idea the shit I’ve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. I’m turning myself in tomorrow, I’m not—I’m not fucking asking you to wait. You’re not. Find some lucky boy that’s got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didn’t—didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Just like that?” you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.

After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.

He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. “Just like that. I’ll wring his fucking neck out if he’s not good to you, though. I’ll always keep an eye out, always make sure you’re safe.”

“Can I hear it again?” Such a quiet request, barely anything.

He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, he’d never, ever let go.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. You’ll be alright. I got you. I got you.”

You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you don’t even feel it. You’ve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. It’ll be easy for you too.

“Shoot me, then,” you bellow. “If you’re not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I don’t fucking want this, I’m not losing you, I’m not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great plan—did you ever stop to think about what I’d want? If I’d be able to move on like how you’re expecting me to? I can’t just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesn’t work like that, okay? I’ve gone through too much, I’ve seen too fucking much to just—to just—”

He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.

“You think I didn’t think of this first?” He said roughly. “Christ, (Y/N), I’m trying to do the right thing here. You think I’ll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. I’d rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Don’t ever fucking ask that of me again. I’ll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. I’ll be a dead fucking man if I’m not able to have you. Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Coward,” you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. “Sentence us both then. I’ll be dead either way.”

He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you don’t think it’ll ever stop. There’s nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, you’ve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this again—him, again. . . You’ll die from missing him. You’ll cry yourself dry. There’s absolutely no way to escape this fate. You’re not ready, you’ll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.

He makes love to you slow, gentle, like he’s never done before. It’s not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but he’ll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one he’ll have to keep walking for all eternity, while you’re up with the angels. If he doesn’t, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows you’re somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If you’ll take him. Old and grey. He’ll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.

You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.

When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.

He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.

Everything. Everything.

[sourbinnie]

☆ interrupted tenderness ☆

♡ genre ¿? ♡ -> fluff ♡ pair ¿? ♡ -> hyung line!skz x gn!reader ♡ plot ¿? ♡ -> a member walks in when you're having a moment, how do they react? ♡ warnings ¿? ♡ -> none ♡ request ¿? ♡ -> yes!

maknae line

chan ✉

it wasn't often that you two got caught up in your own little world. you were mostly busy with work and that prevented you sometimes from actually being intimate with him, not really in a sexual way but leaning towards romance. chan really was an incredible boyfriend and supporting him through his journey was one of the best experiences you've ever had the pleasure to be a part of. so when you were in his dressing room as he got ready for his concert, you couldn't help but sigh as you looked at him.

"what's up?" he asked as he got closer to you and grabbed your hands. the sweet gesture of feeling your fingers intertwined. you didn't really know what to say, you were just daydreaming at this point because who wouldn't with a boyfriend like that?

"i just can't help but love you so much." you said as you looked at him eye to eye. you could see the happiness in his smile and then it disappeared as he leaned in for a kiss. you leaned in as well as you closed the gap to meet him and took his lips in yours.

"hyung? are you- i'm sorry, never mind!" jisung said as he opened and closed the door in a second. but then he opened it again to yell. "it's like seeing your parents kiss, never do that again."

the whole time chan couldn't help but look down embarrassed, he couldn't believe his kids' behavior sometimes. he leaned on your shoulder as he hid himself and you couldn't help but laugh the entire time, not feeling any shame at all. your boyfriend might be a shy little embarrassed ball but you loved him just like that. 

minho ✉

now he didn't really give a single fuck. he would steal kisses from you in front of the whole world without a care in the world. but sometimes he wished you two would have more private moments where he could actually show you the affection he craved so much to get in return. so when he finally got to be alone in the dorms, he invited you over and you two were laying on the couch just enjoying each other's company. you worked just like that at times where no words were said but it felt better than anything.

"i missed you (y/n)." he said as he got closer to you and laid his head on your lap. you stopped looking at your phone, leaving it to the side to bury your hands on his hair as you messed it up. "if you were anyone else, i would kill you right now."

"luckily it's me!" you said with a little giggle as you moved your hands from his hair to his face. grabbing his cheeks on your hands as you squished them. 

"if i did that to hyung, he would slaughter me." seungmin said from the kitchen and he got a death glare from minho. he really thought that the dorms were empty yet here he had one of his members looking at you two just now.

"not a word from you." minho said and seungmin did a gesture like he sealed his lips shut. you couldn't help but laugh at the interaction as you went back to bothering your boyfriend in the nicest way possible, of course. it's not like he could stop you anyways.

changbin ✉

now he wasn't really someone who got embarrassed easily. well at least that's what he liked to think, that he was just shameless especially with you. of course there were certain limits to the things you did in public but he couldn't resist you from time to time and he liked to show you off. you were his precious significant other for a reason and he wouldn't change you for anything. as he tried to come up with lyrics for one of his tracks, you were sitting in his lap and laying your head on his shoulder.

"are you comfortable?" changbin asked and you nodded, you were about to fall asleep at any moment so how could you not be comfortable? still changbin worried. it's like he needed to know all the time how you felt and that was very sweet of him.

"binnie you know we need to go home soon." you said as you kissed his cheek and that made him smile. he still got shy when you showed affection but that made you fall for him a little bit more each time.

"hey bin, are you done with the track? oh! sorry (y/n), didn't see you there." chan said as he got closer and saw you sitting on his member's lap. "i'll just go and we'll talk about it tomorrow changbin."

chan took a few steps back and then left with a little smile on his face. changbin knew that smile, it was more than happiness, he was proud. he truly did find the partner he wanted for the rest of his life and his bandmates knew that, you were a part of the family now and there was no turning back. 

hyunjin ✉

he was a sucker for showing his affection and love towards you everywhere. most of the time though he resisted and fought himself to not do it because he was scared that you would get sick of it. obviously you didn't and every chance you got to get closer to him, you would. he would appreciate your little love gestures for him but the displays of love in public would be the ones he remembered the most. like right now, he held you as he hugged you from behind and you felt so safe in his arms.

"thank you for coming by today." he whispered in my ear as you were standing in the set of one of his music videos. you just smiled as you looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes and his words always made your heart melt.

"you don't have to thank me, i always love visiting you." you said as he leaned in for a kiss. you couldn't help but feel yourself lost in the moment as you two kissed, totally forgetting where you were standing.

"hyunjin, (y/n), the children are watching!" felix said as he covered seungmin's eyes with one hand and jeongin's eyes with the other. you couldn't help but break the kiss off as you laughed.

hyunjin was so embarrassed but he didn't care as he met you for another kiss, shameless in his actions. earning a gasp from almost everyone on set but not caring about the eyes that were watching. he loved you so much and he didn't want to be ashamed of showing it anymore. 

[starryhutcherson]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[sundrop-writes]

Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you. 

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why. 

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you. 

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had. 

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons. 

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot. 

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible. 

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot. 

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth. 

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance. 

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained. 

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you. 

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different. 

… 

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!” 

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment. 

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room. 

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled. 

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.” 

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom. 

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back. 

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.) 

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued. 

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.” 

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone. 

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice. 

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.” 

Jason’s face fell flat. 

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next. 

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice. 

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!” 

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter. 

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.” 

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you. 

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction. 

… 

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth. 

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you. 

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips. 

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light. 

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport. 

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself. 

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down. 

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back. 

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass. 

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology. 

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week. 

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’. 

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were. 

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him. 

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick. 

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic. 

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive. 

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up? 

… 

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols. 

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate. 

It was harmony. 

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night. 

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you. 

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself. 

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills. 

Jason chuckled. 

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented. 

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled. 

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.” 

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement. 

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin. 

That. That must have been the moment. 

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy. 

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left. 

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free. 

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice. 

Him or the Titans. 

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you. 

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay. 

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans. 

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me. 

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you. 

He let you go. 

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize. 

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that. 

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day. 

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team. 

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears. 

… 

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death. 

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge. 

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night. 

…

Jason knew that he should have left town. 

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason. 

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so. 

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did. 

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap. 

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences. 

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer. 

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” 

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat. 

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles. 

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled. 

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant. 

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point. 

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous. 

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!” 

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’. 

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly. 

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something. 

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother. 

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.” 

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion. 

“Where uptown?” He asked. 

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.” 

Jason glared at him. 

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-” 

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.” 

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this. 

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed. 

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to. 

He should listen to that voice. 

He should leave town. 

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him. 

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up. 

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.” 

Jason turned back around then. 

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever. 

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look. 

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped. 

It was you. 

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face. 

You were terrified. 

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system. 

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile. 

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth. 

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen. 

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth. 

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.” 

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap. 

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified. 

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl. 

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.” 

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl. 

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time. 

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you. 

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you. 

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!” 

… 

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage. 

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face. 

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him. 

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was. 

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you. 

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice. 

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles. 

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup. 

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free. 

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him. 

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!” 

“Wh-?” 

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs. 

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek. 

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-” 

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way. 

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.  

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension. 

“What?” Jason gaped. 

This was the last thing he had been expecting. 

He was saving you - why were you questioning him? 

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?” 

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.  

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder. 

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you. 

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.” 

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt. 

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming. 

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him. 

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating. 

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?” 

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?” 

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed. 

“Why?” You prodded again. 

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go. 

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?” 

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever. 

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted. 

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night. 

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something. 

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears. 

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him. 

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him. 

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares. 

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you. 

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat. 

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know. 

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it. 

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther. 

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do. 

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words. 

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard. 

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth. 

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now. 

… 

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button. 

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.” 

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next. 

… 

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest. 

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before. 

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping. 

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise. 

He did hear it. 

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled. 

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap. 

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on. 

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again. 

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety. 

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge. 

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system. 

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you. 

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight. 

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left. 

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air. 

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished. 

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt. 

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen. 

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?” 

You couldn’t answer him. 

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke. 

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still. 

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do. 

All he could do was hold you. 

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor. 

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.” 

Jason simply wept. And he held you. 

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled. 

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

[moonriselabyrinth]

My top 10 Brackwood songs & why each qualifies

War of Hearts by Ruelle: “I can’t help but love you even though I try not to” pretty much sums up the one scene we got between them, it was the tension and undertone we all picked up on. It’s what Davos was thinking as his hand turned just slightly towards Aeron’s even as he approached him heatedly.

Daylight by David Kushner: the expression of religious guilt surrounding sex/a relationship, the lines like “telling myself, I won’t go there” and “telling myself it’s the last time”, the idea that this expression of sexuality must be concealed and only allowed to live at night, I could go on forever probably.

Once More to See You by Mitski: the sweet melancholy of this song while being about loving someone dearly but being forced to keep it secret and living for seeing them just one more time fits Aeron and Davos devastatingly well.

Love and War by Fleurie: to keep it simple the line “lover, hunter, friend and enemy, you will always be every one of these” alone makes it perfect for them.

Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage: The elegance of this song that’s talking about kinky sex is so impressive and lovely to listen to in the first place and I think that fits Aeron and Davos very well. They want to tear each other apart in a tender sort of way. And the singer expressing possessiveness within those moments is, again, very fitting.

Six Feet Under By Billie Eilish: this song is about a love that is already doomed but having hope that with a little care and effort it would flourish even if you know deep down it can’t, you need that hope.

I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski: they are each others losing dogs. “Where I’ll be looking in their eyes when they’re down”, “I’m losing by their side”, “someone to watch me die”.

My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski: Davos and Aeron can’t have much of their own. They live in a time, a place, and within a system that takes everything from them as individuals. They are a Bracken and a Blackwood not Davos and Aeron. They are the sons of highborn men, they are river men, they should be knights and fighters, good at riding horses and killing and hunting, they are to marry a woman and have children and continue on their line. The only thing that truly belongs to them is personal thoughts and feelings. The only thing they can keep for themselves is loving each other.

Doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine: this one might not fit quite as well as some of the others on my list but I really like it for them all the same. I feel they could both easily come into the mindset that one of them feels more than the other because they would each always be putting up fronts and struggling not to show their true feelings so I think the lines like “you'll sit and stare like a goddamn machine” and “I'd like to plan out my part in this but you're such a narcissist” can fit pretty well. But the lines that really bring me back to this song for them are these ones: “The death of me was so quiet, no friends and family allowed, only my murderer, you and the priest who told you to go to hell” also “and the funny thing is I would've married you, if you'd have stuck around” and finally, tragically, “I feel more free than I have in years, six feet in the ground”

Somewhere Only We Know by Keane: this song is less obvious most likely but I like the idea of each of them being tired of the family obligations, the work of everyday life, the façade they have to put up about hating each other so they just daydream about being alone together somewhere know one else even knows about. Perhaps it’s where they go in their minds when life is overwhelming.

Anyway, feel free to share your own or discuss my picks in the replies 😌

[amorgansgal]

A Bitter Pill to Swallow

In which Gale is getting a bit distracted by the reader and has to face his feelings. It's a sequel to Practice Makes Perfect, but you don't have to have read that to get what's going on in this one... should be fairly obvious!

Fat Female Reader x Gale

CW: Sexual content, mentions of oral sex, mentions of virginity, masturbation

He isn’t concentrating and he should be. He keeps trying to make notes and listen to what the professor is saying, but every time he looks up his eyes seem to drift over to you. You’re paying attention, your eyes are focused on the board or the professor and dutifully you scratch notes onto parchment and occasionally raise your hand to ask or answer questions. 

But Gale barely even hears what you say or what the professor says or what anyone else in the class says, because his attention is fixed on you. A tendril of your hair drifts lazily against your neck and he’d very much like to twist that little strand around his finger and then kiss your neck. You’ve nervously bitten your lower lip while thinking of an answer and gods, that has just killed him. He remembers your face when you came, how blissful and pleasured you had looked. How first you had bitten your lip to hold back your cry, but it had come unbidden and beautifully loud and unabashed as you had tumbled over the edge. 

He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, grateful for the required uniform of robes that can hide how hard he is. Your robe is open at the collar and pulled back over your shoulders, and the blouse you wear is a little too tight over your chest, the corset pushing up your breasts under the fabric and it’s all he can do not to leap over the desks and rip the flimsy material off you. He regrets not playing with your tits more, teasing the nipples into hard little buds, sucking on them. Your skirt is somewhat tight on your hips and thighs too, and while he’s sure that’s more to do with the poor quality of the uniforms, he’s glad of it. The sweet, intoxicating scent of you had driven him crazy when he was between your thighs and he’s replayed the event so many times in his mind that he feels like he could recall every detail! He loved the way your thighs clenched tightly around his head and how soft they felt, so much soft weight to you. He’d fantasised at night about you riding his face, being entirely at the mercy of your warm, wet-

‘Master Dekarios,’ the professor’s voice rips him from the daydream and every eye in the classroom is upon him.

‘Uh, what?’ Gale asks, not his usual eloquent self. A few titters spring up in the class, he imagines because he’s usually the one answering all the questions and being a bit of a know-it-all, and perhaps his classmates are a little pleased he is not doing well today!

‘I asked what school would this particular spell fall under? Perhaps we can see if you’ve been paying attention at all during this lesson!’

Gale hunts around for a clue. He looks at his classmate’s faces, the professor’s, on the blackboard at the front of the class - which is all about fire magic, but it could be any spell. He decides to take a guess, most of the fire spells are Evocation based. ‘Evocation, sir.’

The professor tuts and shakes his head, more giggles from his classmates follow. ‘Dear, oh dear, Master Dekarios. No, wrong, flaming sphere is not an Evocation spell. Anyone care to offer a suggestion if they’ve been paying attention?’

He’s still feeling that prickle of embarrassment and irritation with himself, but when your hand raises and your eyes finally look at him once more every thought rushes out of Gale’s head. 

‘Yes?’ the professor gestures at you so you can answer.

‘Flaming sphere is a conjuration spell.’ Your eyes flick to Gale and he sees the slightest, smallest smile play at the corner of your lips. He finds himself smiling in turn, you like besting him for once. Your eyes lower slightly, so you’re just looking under your lashes and Gale is about two seconds away from fucking you right on your desk!

'Correct, I’m glad someone has been paying attention!’ the professor says.

He can’t wait any longer. Usually, if they want another go, the women come to him and ask, though he’s not below requesting it himself. But you, he has to ask you, he needs you. Needs to feel your plump thighs around him again, feel your soft belly under his fingers, your full breasts in his hands. If he doesn’t, he’s going to go mad at best, and at worst fail all his classes! He needs to get you out of his head.

When class is over he jolts up out of his seat, quickly packing his bag and hurrying to the door, so he can wait there for you. He shifts from foot to foot nervously. Gods, where the hell are you? Why are you taking so long? Do you usually take this long? And then finally you appear, talking with Nira, oblivious to everything he is going through and looking utterly divine.

‘Y/N!’ he says, desperately, almost breathlessly, causing you to look up in surprise. ‘Could I talk to you for a bit?’

You gaze at him and he wonders if his desperation is all too clear on his face, whether he looks a mess. He has run his hand several times through his hair, so undoubtedly it’s all over the place. You glance at Nira, then back at him.

‘Uh… yes, of course,’ you say, standing there and waiting. Nira is waiting too, looking at him quizzically, brow arched. And while he usually does like Nira very much, right now she is a gods damn devil who is ruining things just by being here! He swallows tightly.

‘Could you… would you mind coming to my room, there’s some alchemy work that it would be good if you could look over, if you have a chance,’ he says.

‘Oh!’ you seem surprised, and perhaps he is too, given that’s not what he truly wants or cares about, but he can’t think of a reason to ask Nira to leave! ‘Sure, I can help with that. But I do need to go to the library and work on a transmutation essay, so can I come by later?’

‘NO!’ his brain screams. But instead of vocalising that he manages a carefree, easy going smile. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you later.’

You nod, give him a delightful, warm smile and then head on down the corridor with Nira, who still glances over her shoulder to give Gale a keen stare as though she’s trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with him.

***

He’s pacing back and forth in his room. He’s tried to distract himself, with books, with an essay he’s meant to write and has thus far managed: ‘Druid magic is considered…’ which has been crossed out savagely. Tara has slunk away somewhere. What is wrong with him? He’s used his tongue on so many women around the school and none of them had lingered long in his memory. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, otherwise he wouldn’t do it. But it’s one thing that is such a fantastic turn on for him that for days after he’ll pleasure himself with just the thought of the recipients. Lucia had a rather lovely gasping moan and Hortense had a nice tight grip on his hair, but you… gods he couldn’t even conjure all the ways you had been the best. And it was haunting him and if he didn’t know you well he’d assume you cast some sort of spell over him. Maybe your pussy was cursed in the best way possible. Even he snorts with laughter as the thought scurries through his brain. He’s being absurd, utterly ridiculous. He’s going mad.

The soft knock on the door makes him jump and he flies over, yanking open the door, beaming on seeing you and then feeling bad for your slightly fearful, apprehensive look. ‘Hello, good afternoon, come in, come in,’ he babbles and you tentatively step over the threshold. 

You brought along your alchemy textbooks and gingerly place them down on the desk, as though he might bite you any second. ‘Gale… are you… are you alright? You look a bit flushed and… um… stressed.’

‘Me? Stressed? No! No, not at all. I’m fine!’ 

‘Oh… alright,’ you say and stand nervously in the room, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. ‘Well where’s your essay?’

Ah! The consequence of his little lie. He has written an alchemy essay, but he thinks it’s actually fine. A few little edits needed here and there, but it wasn’t worth the bother of bringing you to his room. And yet he’s pulling open the drawer on the desk, taking out the essay and giving it to you. He could scream at his brain. What is he doing? Why is he wasting precious time on a near complete essay?

‘Why don’t we sit on the bed?’ he suggests quickly. ‘It’s more comfortable.’

‘Oh, sure,’ you reply, placing his pen and ink pot on the bedside table. You wait for him to fluff up the pillows before taking your seat and he sits next to you while you begin to read the essay.

***

This was a stupid, horrible, tortuous idea! He’s sitting next to you, smelling your scent, feeling your thigh press against his leg and how many times are you going to bite your gods damn lip in thought? He’s in his own personally curated hell and he just wants to rip the essay from your hands and kiss you for all your worth and bury his cock inside you. Sometimes it has subsided, but then you’d shift your weight, brush your hand against his leg or your breast against his arm as you lifted yourself up a little and the blood would rush right back to his cock.

Finally you finish with the last page, having written a few comments throughout the essay and scratching out a couple of lines, but you put the pen back in the ink pot and give him a smile. ‘It’s good, I don’t see why you’d need me to read it, think it’s basically perfect,’ your eyes glimmer with mischief and you poke him in the ribs. ‘Though I’m sure your head doesn’t need to get any bigger with my praise!’

It’s now or never. He takes the pages from your hands. ‘Thank you,’ he says and tosses them on the ground. You look delightfully confused. 

‘Gale, what on earth-?’ you begin to say, but he straddles you and kisses you. You gasp so sweetly and for a fearful moment he thinks you might push him off, but instead you wrap your arms around his back and pull him close. Your hands tighten in his hair and he groans into your mouth as he explores it with his tongue. Gods you’re good.

He lifts his head, taking a moment to try and breathe and calm down a little. He rests his forehead against yours. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all week,’ he admits. ‘Morning, noon and night, you’re driving me mad.’

‘Sorry,’ you murmur in reply and he laughs. ‘Do you get a bit obsessed with your latest conquest in the weeks after?’ you ask.

The phrase doesn’t sit well with him. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s somehow battling and winning all these women, it does make it feel a bit like he’s just adding notches to his belt for the hell of it, rather than enjoying oral and hopefully helping his classmates out. But especially because you’ve been the only one to turn his head and make him want more.

‘No, not usually,’ he says. He lifts his head to look into your eyes, gods they’re beautiful and the way you blink in some confusion… he groans and kisses you again. He wants to admit to wanting to fuck you, he wants to pound you into the mattress, hear your moans and you begging for him, see his cock disappear into your sweet pussy. He realises shamefully he’s grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your mound.

‘I want to have you,’ he pants out. ‘I need you. I need to be inside you. I want all of you.’

You whimper as he grinds into you, your back arching as he does so and he’s so close to scrabbling with your clothes, tugging down your skirt and ripping open your shirt so he can at least have access to your breasts. He’ll pay for your blouse to be repaired, but his head is running hot with blood. His hands go to your skirt. He could bite off the laces at this rate! But your hands are suddenly on his chest and pushing him back. He’s disappointed but obliges and pulls back. You scoot up the bed again and sit with your legs hanging off the side.

‘Gale…’ you breathe, evidently a bit flustered by his display, but you manage to get your breath back. ‘I really like you and I liked our time together, but… well…’ you look away, embarrassment all too clear on your face and he wants to reach out to reassure you, but he thinks better of it. ‘I’m… I haven’t had sex with anyone, except for that time you used your tongue, and I don’t want to rush things or for it to not be someone I don’t love and trust entirely. I do trust and like you a lot, but… well… yes, that’s it.’

Can the gods really be so cruel? Can they really deny him at a time like this? He could scream, but that would probably make this whole situation a hell of a lot worse than it already is! He manages a laugh that sounds strained and a little hysterical, but he thinks he’s just managed to not look entirely insane.

‘Well… yes, that’s a good idea. Wise… uh… honourable…’ the fuck is he even saying? ‘And I’m not saying this to convince you here and now, but do you think… maybe… I could be that person, in the future? At some point? We could court! I could woo you, properly!’

You smile politely and clasp your hands together. ‘I… uh… I don’t know, you’ve been with quite a lot of our classmates and I’d be worried I’d get jealous.’

‘You’ve nothing to be jealous of!’ he cries.

‘Well… I’ll think about it…’ you say, inching closer to the door.

He swallows uncomfortably and nods. What else can he say? He cannot think of anything anyway, when he hears the door open and closes and he looks up, but you’re already gone. He clenches his fists and brings them to his head, groaning. What the hell was he thinking? You’d probably be running off to Baldur’s Gate come first light, he’d terrified you! He throws himself onto the bed and grunts at the contact of the firm mattress against his still achingly hard cock. Fuck it! He needs relief.

He quickly casts a spell at the door to lock it, tosses off his shirt and breeches, and then grabs his pillows. He bundles them up in the middle of the bed and once he’s straddled them, he begins to thrust into them. It makes for a poor approximation of you, but there’s no time for drawing things out or making himself last long, he’s too wound up and desperate for that. He imagines your thick thighs wrapped around him, the softness of your belly bouncing against his hips, the way your breasts would move every time he’d thrust into you. Fuck, you’d look so good, so beautiful, there’d be so much for him to touch and hold onto. He imagines gripping your hips so tightly, his nails digging into your flesh, he’d leave little half moons all over your skin and the thought nearly blinds him. He replays your little moans and whimpers when he’d licked your cunt, thinking about how you’d make the same noises with his cock buried inside of you, fucking you deeper and harder, pressing you down into the mattress… he cums, hot ropes of it messily on the pillows and over the bedsheets.

‘That’s it, my good, sweet girl,’ he mumbles to himself. ‘Going to paint your thighs with my cum, going to make a mess of you,’ he breathes heavily, enjoying the last little shivers of pleasure that course through him, until he comes to a rest and collapses onto his side. He wishes you were here, wishes you had actually accepted his offer. He would’ve been gentle if he knew it was your first time, not like that, he wouldn’t be a selfish prick, but he would… Gale sighs, you’d already made it very clear he was not boyfriend material and it hurt, surprisingly so. He thought… well you had said you would consider it… but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to get much of a thought. Fuck. He’s been mindlessly enjoying himself and no one had been bothered by him eating pussy whenever with anyone and everyone, but now, now he’s gone and fucked himself! And not in a good way. And you've said you'd think about it, but it's probably going to be a no if you're that committed to your morals! He flops back down on the bed and covers his face with his arm. Shit! Why hadn't he thought about this?

He sits up. No, he’s Gale Dekarios. He’s not going to just give up at the first hurdle! He has to prove to you that he’s a worthy contender of your affection, has to prove he can be a good choice when it comes to a relationship and has to prove he can love you like no other. He won’t be a blockhead, if he’s really not your type and you don’t want him at all, then he doesn’t need to be told a dozen times like some men! But he wants to give it a shot at the very least. He smiles to himself. Shit, when had that happened? When had he fallen for you? Strangely, he felt like it might have happened before he ate you out, though when exactly he can’t quite place. He cleans up the room, cleans up himself and unlocks the door. It’s time to woo you like you’ve never been wooed before!

[zipegs]

I’m back again with another rec list!! This time, I’ll be focusing on ostensibly lesser-known long fic—for my own organizational purposes, this means a word count of (approximately) 20k+. I will be including WIPs this time around, but they’ll be clearly indicated at such. Recs are divided into two categories—canonverse (including slight adjustments to it) and alternate universe. All fics are Hannigram unless otherwise noted. 

Please be sure to heed all archive tags and warnings! Hope you enjoy, and don’t forget to give the authors some love!!

Dolce Far Niente by @avegetariancannibal​ [E, 20k]

Hannibal and Will have many, many sweet things to say and do to each other.

Technically this is part of a series, but I found it reads perfectly well on its own! 20k of Will and Hannibal being soft, sappy, and incredibly in love post-fall. A little domestic fluff, a little vacationing, and a little smut—the holy trinity tbh.

The Fall, The Flood, The Flight - Hannigram by write_starlight_riots [T,  24k]

Hello! :]

This is mainly the manifestation of a very indulgent inspiration/daydream/thought experiment that seeks to explore what immediately-post-fall Hannigram would be like. And I mean /immediately/.

Also inspired by @/threadsoflacee on tumblr!

I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort, sickfic, and vulnerability, and oh man does this fic deliver! The boys are hanging on for dear life as they fight to take care of each other’s wounds while struggling through their own. Both of them are absolutely hamstrung by their injuries in the most delicious ways, and we also get some wonderful ~feelings~ drama and realizations mixed in with it all. Very visceral and desperate in the best of ways.

Io by cuspid [M, 24k]  * WIP

"You look tired, Will. Why don't you rest? I promise I'll wake you if anything should happen." "It's already happening," Will said, and Hannibal's smile widened.

On the way to the cliff house, Will begins to feel unwell.

SUCH an amazing A/B/O AU! Will presents as omega and goes into his first heat while he and Hannibal are driving to the cliff house. cuspid’s writing is STUNNING, and I’m particularly enjoying the way they weave omegaverse into the universe, including the cultural and language differences they include when we get Chiyoh’s POV. It really feels like an intrinsic (and very NBC Hannibal) part of the universe, and they fit it flawlessly into canon. Speaking of, they include some fantastic Chiyoh POV as well as POV from an original character who I fell in love with instantly. Amazingly hot, fantastic characterization, sexual tension... 1000/10 highly recommend. Last updated June 29, 2023.

The Rules of Disorder by @lestatdelioncourte​ [E, 53k]  * WIP

He is falling...

Will Graham falls off a cliff in the arms of Hannibal Lecter, finally accepting the darkest parts of himself. He wakes up, uninjured and in Hannibal's bed in his old Baltimore house. Confused, Will quickly realises something is wrong and has to navigate a new reality: one where Hannibal Lecter is not a killer, where they have made a life together without any of the familiar horrors. It is his ideal world...isn't it?

I’m definitely a sucker for parallel universe/time travel nonsense, and this fic doesn’t disappoint!! It’s so heartbreaking and hopeful and bittersweet—Will finally gets everything he could have had, only to realize it’s not the same as what he wanted at all. Very investing, emotionally rewarding fic! Definitely feeds my hankering for angst while not being one-note painful—it’s got that delicious balance of comfort and pain that I can’t get enough of. Last update was June 2023.

Honzen Ryōri by @terminalfids​ [E, 54k] * WIP

"I have never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him," Will admitted in a whisper, and it was true. His skin ached with it, felt like he might simply burst from it. It wasn't enough to contain him.

"Then you owe Randall Tier a debt," Dr. Lecter mused softly, still holding on to Will's hand as he cast a glance over the corpse before them. "How will you repay him?"

"I want to skin him," he said after a long moment, dragged out until he could feel Dr. Lecter's emotions swallow his own with anticipation. The man's feelings were bombastic. Loud and inescapable when he let them fly free on his face. It was easy to submerge himself in it, mirror it, until Will felt more of Dr. Lecter in his head than himself. Dr. Lecter wasn't a psychopath. He was more emotionally alive than anyone Will had ever met. He just also happened to be able to act as cruelly as though he felt nothing at all but cold curiosity at the simple flip of a switch. "I need the- the parts. I want to build him a monument. Do you know a place where I might do that?"

For the second time since his release from the BSHCI he thought that Dr. Lecter might kiss him. He told himself that he was relieved when he did not.

Canon-divergent from Naka-Choko. Picked this fic up soon after it was first published my god did I enjoy it!! The very first scene had me head over heels—it’s beautifully written, delightfully intimate, and has just the combo of hurt/comfort, inner conflict, and turmoil that makes me drool. I’ve loved the little changes terminalfids has made to canon so far, and the way they’ve echoed or adapted canon scenes and lines in new, appropriately divergent contexts. Really fantastic characterization and POVs from both characters—I love the insights we get from each of them and am SO excited to see how it all turns out! Last updated on February 2024.

A place you can never go by @det395​​ [E, 84k]

When things don’t go according to plan, Hannibal makes a wish. He finds himself a year-and-a-half in the past and seemingly given another chance with Will.

His feelings about the situation only get more complicated when he realizes he may not have completely lost access to his old timeline after all.

A Digestivo canon divergence.

I have never ever felt so emotionally conflicted (/positive) while reading a time travel/parallel universe fic! Jen writes these characters beautifully and captures their pain so well. I love the way she uses the memory palace throughout this, and I was hanging on every word. Absolutely stunning fic that has become one of my all-time favorites. She also has written two DELICIOUS timestamps/accompanying one shots, which are part of the same Ao3 series as this fic.

The Storyteller by @gzdacz-writes-fic​ [E, 188k]

Hannibal has little choice: to eliminate the threat he presents, he must stand by and let illness consume Will Graham. But the brighter Will burns, the more the delusions of his inflamed brain begin to spill onto Hannibal's world, until the boundaries between the real and imagined become faint - and something Other slips through.

Canon divergent from partway through season 1. I will rec this fic until I’m blue in the face. It starts out /painful/—Hannibal lets Will’s encephalitis continue on unhindered with some truly devastating results—and continues on a slow, emotional, bittersweet train that incorporates some truly lovely character moments, some great catharsis, and an incredibly engaging surreal/magical realism–style mystery. Fantastic writing and characterization, incredibly engaging through and through. HIGHLY recommend but be prepared for the road to be bumpy! There’s a lot of caretaking and recovery both mental and physical, in addition to some emotional turmoil 🥰

Callin’ Anybody, Can You Hear Me? by nobetterlove [E, 19k] 

Daring to take an Introduction to Visual Arts class, a completely blind Will Graham ventures into The Walters Art Museum for an assignment. While taking the narrated tour, Will isn't prepared for the heavily accented voice flowing through his speakers, flawlessly describing the art that brought each piece to life. Though it was hard to believe, love at first listen sat at the back of his mind.

Two years later, Will visits the museum every other Friday, fixated on both the voice and the beauty and knowledge his favorite museum had to offer. With the right connections and a true talent, Will scores a gig playing for the museum's latest exhibit reveal. When a recognizable voice makes the opening presentation, Will is overwhelmed with feelings and dreamed up possibilities. What happens when the voice becomes a real person, who finds Will just as interesting?

Or - the one where Will falls in love with Hannibal's voice before ever meeting him.

A really lovely piece! The characterizations ring so true to me and I love this portrayal of blind Will Graham. The author does a wonderful job with Will’s inner monologue and really beautifully portrays his perspective and interaction with the world as influenced by both his blindness and his Classic Will Graham character that we’ve all grown to love! The first meeting between Will and Hannibal is so heartwarming, sweet, and charmingly fluffy, and their relationship blossoms quickly—we’re treated to some really lovely dates that beautifully capture that honeymoon-stage flutter and fondness, and there’s a lovely navigation of their mutual loneliness that definitely hit home for me. Though this fic itself is technically complete, it does end on a cliffhanger meant to be picked up by a second installment of the series. If you end at the penultimate scene, though, it can be read as a complete work!

Songs for the End of the World by th_esaurus [M, 20k] Will Graham/Abigail Hobbs/Hannibal Lecter,  Will Graham/Abigail Hobbs

When the infection hits, swift and relentless, turning men into monsters and the world into a wilderness, Will Graham is one of the few who doesn't run. He's lost his wife, he has no colleagues, and Abigail Hobbs has been a ghost for such a long time; the only person he has left in the world is sitting in the dank cells of Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Waiting for him.

A TLOU-inspired post-canon AU written before s2 aired. Really beautifully written, fantastically emotional and heart-wrenching piece that kept me engaged all the way through to the bittersweet end. The characterizations are so good and the prose is amazing—highly recommend! For those who don’t normally read Will/Abigail or Hannibal/Abigail, it is present, but I think even those who don’t normally find that to be their cup of tea could enjoy this piece! There are a few very brief sex scenes between Will and Abigail (really no more than a few lines) but it’s the intimacy and distance and horror and love between the three of them that really shines through!

oh, give no faith to show by videcormeum [M, 25k]  * WIP

“Try to relax your shoulders. Be one with your body, do not fight it.”

Atoms separated them. Will swallowed. With a deep, steadying breath, he allowed his shoulders to drop. It felt better, the pull at his muscles easier. His chin lifted naturally. Projecting to the balcony.

Hannibal smiled. “That’s good, Will.”

Dancers are dying at a local ballet company. With local law enforcement convinced it's an inside job, promising FBI agent and ex-dancer Will Graham is sent undercover to investigate. When he meets renowned ballet dancer Hannibal Lecter, it becomes clear that the investigation will be anything but straightforward.

Yes, you need to read a Ballet AU. Trust me. The whole cast is repurposed here as part of the ballet company (except for Jack Crawford, who remains with Will in the FBI camp), from dancers Zeller and Bev to ballet master Hannibal, choreographer Chilton, and Madame Du Maurier. The piece is really delightful and full of emotion, old trauma, and sexual tension while also delivering some really fun company bonding and banter. Really lovely piece, especially for anyone with any interest or experience in dance or performance! Last updated May 2021.

A Trip for Biscuits by anothersummerday (M_hys_a) [E, 26k]

In late summer 1936, Bedelia du Maurier's traveling circus is plagued by a series of murders, and Will Graham begins a brief but passionate affair with a man named Roman Fell.

Wow, a delightful read all the way through! The circus aspect itself doesn’t play too big—we don’t see any performances, so it mostly serves as a backdrop that provides a really lovely traveling outcast feeling. We get an encephalitis-era Will analog here, grappling with having killed Hobbs and facing his canon-typical nightmares and sleepwalking, and then Hannibal, using the alias Roman Fell, shows up smack in the middle of all of it. Delicious repurposing of canon dialogue, lovely cameos and supporting roles from characters like Margot, Reba, Dolarhyde, and Peter, and just really smooth, engaging writing.

climb into your shell of grief by skellytons [T, 37k]  * WIP

"There is... a distinctiveness to the way that you carry yourself, Will. It is familiar in people like me and unfamiliar in people like them." Hannibal looks up at the sky, reading the stars. "And people cannot trust what they find unfamiliar."

"Well, what can I do about that?" Will scoffs, feeling quite lost indeed.

"You say you have this man's address."

"Yes."

Hannibal holds out his hand, palm toward the calm sky, "May I have it?"

Will has never been one for support groups. He hadn't planned to stay for long. And then he heard Dr. Lecter speak.

Retired FBI agent Will Graham finally gives in to pressure and attends a grief support group, and one of the members there immediately catches his attention (three guesses who that is). This is definitely a heavy one, so check the tags—lots of angst and hurt/comfort, and the focus really is on Will’s grief and trauma, the background and details of which are fed to us just a little at a time, enough to whet the palate but not give you the whole picture right from the start. It’s also got a fun mixture of canon characters, who poke in from the sides, and unfamiliar ones, who serve as a pleasant, not-at-all distracting backdrop for Will and Hannibal’s interactions. Last updated May 2024.

give it to the dirt by @ropertplant​ [E, 132k]  * WIP

Hannibal gets called in to consult on his second FBI case after The Minnesota Shrike; a string of murders connected to New Orleans. While he’s there, he meets a very interesting tour guide for the city.

They talk. They argue.

And they have much more in common than they may realize.

This is the Hannibal we know from canon—Chesapeake Ripper, psychiatrist, consultant for Jack et al back at the FBI—put up against the Will we know in spirit, if not in exact circumstance. Will has remained in New Orleans and works as a tour guide, living in isolation on the swamp with his seven-plus dogs. There is so much to love about this one!! The characterizations, dialogue, and banter, for one, are delightful and so striking. We get a delicious helping of smitten Hannibal, bitchy/abrasive Dark!Will, delightful inner conflicts, sexual and romantic tension, some hilarious peeks at Team Sassy Science, and more. There are some INCREDIBLY fun and incredibly hot scenes, and there’s great humor throughout along with some really well-done sweet moments. This one absolutely consumed me—once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down! Last updated July 2024.

Symbasis by @bloodripelives​ [E, 126k]

Anabasis: a journey up away from the coast, cf. Xenophon, Alexander. Katabasis: a journey towards the coast, or, descent to the underworld, cf. Persephone, Orpheus.

The world is being torn apart and remade. The ripper of Carthage thinks to help with the tearing; a desert prophet is ready to be remade.

REALLY fantastic Historical AU that starts out at the end of Alexander the Great’s siege of Tyre, where Carthaginian Hannibal son of Lectis happens to have been stuck along with the rest of his envoy for the past seven months. Meanwhile, this version of Will (Weldjebauend, or Wel for short) is an Egyptian priest of Ammon-Re; he’d been found in the desert when he was a child by Joh (Jack), another priest of Ammon-Re, who’d taken him under his wing and brought him into the priesthood. Will’s encephalitis-induced hallucinations and empathy are repurposed into visions and knowledge sent by the gods, Hannibal is a hoplite soldier as well as a murderer who’s got a blood feud to avenge, and some of our favorite minor characters are woven in throughout, including Beverly (Bacaxa), Jimmy (Jason), and Brian (Briarios). There’s A LOT of history in this, and Alexander the Great and the historical happenings that go along with him definitely do not take a backseat. It’s a bit of a slow burn leading up to Will and Hannibal meeting and getting to know each other in any capacity, and it’s an enthralling ride—tei’s writing is fantastic and the characters are absolutely engaging from the very start!

[moonpetrichors-blog]

hi hii, hope you’re having a great day/night! i have another idea for a request 🕺so you remember after payakan saved lo’ak and lo’ak went to tell the others and nobody really believed him? i was thinking that the reader could’ve been the only one to believe him so he took them to meet payakan and seeing how fascinated the reader was with payakan made lo’ak fall in love or something idk shsjshsb

🦕

Believe in Me

Tags: Lo’ak x Metkayina!Reader, Oneshot, Gn!Reader, Fluff, Power of Trust, They Fell First But He Fell Harder

Warnings: Word Cockblocker is Used (Not Sexually, But I Couldn’t Find a More Innocent Term)

When Lo’ak told the story of how he was saved to the others, none of them believed him. They told him to stay away, that Payakan is a killer, and he should do best to avoid him. You believed in him though, and who is Lo’ak to do what others tell him to?

THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE 😭😭 I love ur Lo’ak requests lol they’re keeping me alive rn 👊👊 I had sm fun writing this!!

When they start swimming underwater, listen to Ice Dance by Danny Elfman for a more immersive experience.

* ˚ ✦ 1193 Words • Read below the cut  

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [27/12/22] ❞  

“He saved me, he really did!”

As Lo'ak recounted his story, the young Na'vi were huddled in a circle. Rotxo and Aonung exchanged glances; everyone appeared concerned about him. Payakan was a murderer, and Lo'ak was merely extraordinarily fortunate to be alive.

“Kiri, you believe me, right?”

She remained silent and averted her gaze away from his. “They know this place better than we do.”

Tsireya shook her head. “Lo’ak, please don’t go looking for Payakan. You’ll be killed!”

“Fine, don’t believe me! I know what I saw!” Lo'ak abruptly rose up, preparing to storm away from the group.

You seized his forearm to keep him from fleeing. Lo'ak reached behind his shoulder to yank his arm away from you; he didn’t need to hear he was crazy from you, too. Before he could tear his arm away, he stiffened in place as you spoke.

“I believe you.”

Everyone turned to gawk at you, some with their jaws gaping, others silently snickering. You knew full well the story of Payakan, so why were you supporting this? You withdrew your arm and smiled warmly at Lo’ak. His head hung low, concealing the grin upon his lips. Aonung murmured to Rotxo about how you have a crush, and you shot him a death stare. Aonung stopped his teasing, but Lo'ak didn't seem to notice.

“Y/N, why would you believe him? You shouldn’t encourage it!”

You gave Tsireya a frown. “And what if he’s telling the truth?”

Everyone was deafeningly hushed as you argued against her. You scoffed at them all when they had nothing left to say, and walked away accompanied by Lo'ak. He thanked you quietly for trusting him.

To be truthful, you'd heard the tales about how dangerous Payakan was. You grew up with these people, after all. Although you believed in Lo'ak, you had your reservations; deep down, you knew the main reason why you wanted to trust his words was because you'd been admiring him since he first arrived in your village. You were just too timid to approach Lo’ak, so can anyone fault you for using this as an opportunity?

“Y/N, come with me. I’ll introduce you to Payakan.”

You smiled. “I’d love that.”

...

“This way, I know Payakan is around here!”

Lo'ak clasped your hand in his and guided you to the water. You might have been second-guessing your judgment at this point; you claimed you believed in him, but what if Payakan was a tulkun with exceptional manipulation abilities? Is that even feasible?

You dove into the water and began swimming after Lo'ak as he went further out into the ocean, putting your daydreaming to a halt. Once you had reached decently open waters beyond the reef, Lo'ak called for Payakan. You were nervous about what lay ahead of you, but you were also intrigued.

After what seemed like a few minutes of silence, you laid a hand on Lo'ak's shoulder.

“I don’t think he’s--”

With a yelp, you were cut off as something elevated your body above the surface of the water; a gigantic fin. You clutched it for support, and Lo'ak immediately swam besides your knees so you could rest a palm on his shoulder. He chuckled, and you swirled your feet in the water after the tulkun plateaued. Payakan whistled, and his genial nature enthralled you.

You cocked your head towards Lo'ak, a playful smirk on your lips. “Can we swim with him?”

Lo'ak concurred, beaming from ear to ear. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand gripping Payakan as he plunged underwater. You tried not to tumble off as the sheer force of the act caused you to hover above his fin, but Lo'ak was there to hold you in position.

You shifted into a horizontal position once you were settled in the water to enable you to swim comfortably. Lo'ak hooked his fist above yours on the edge of Payakan's fin, keeping your fingers entwined, so that you could swim in tandem with one another. The action made you flush, and you were grateful that the water obscured his vision somewhat.

Lo'ak was captivated by you as you glided across the expansive aquatic panorama. Although he had swum beyond the reef before, he had never witnessed it like this, with you at his side, giggling besides him as if it were nobody's business. It was in this snapshot of time that he saw you as vividly as ever; amongst the pulsing rhythm of the sea, his heartbeat drummed in his ears at the sight of you, realizing that the reason you appeared so delighted was because of him.

He captured a mental image of you and preserved it as a memory that only he would behold. Just for him, no one else.

With his hands, he signed ‘you’re pretty’.

God, he must be insane, he thinks. Your body froze as you registered what he had signed, and before you could react, Payakan sped through the water, nearly knocking you off your feet. In a frenzy, Lo'ak draped an arm across your back, clutching your arm to secure you against him. You could feel the hammering of his heartbeat against you, being so near to his chest.

Taking a peek at his panicked expression, you realized you could see a lot from this viewpoint. You noted the curvature of his lips, the slant of his nose, and the acuteness of his jawline, for instance. You subconsciously leant towards his face, entranced by his features.

Lo'ak inclined his head to peer at you, curious as to what you were doing. He was taken aback by your unexpected closeness and immediately felt bashful. Were you planning on kissing him? He'd never kissed anyone before!

Before you closed the distance between you both, you immediately turned your head away from him, snickering to yourself as he nearly took the bait. When you looked over your shoulder, Lo’ak appeared stunned. Before you could sign that his expression looked like a turtapede, he grabbed you by the cheeks (gently, of course), and captured your lips in a longing kiss. Immediately, Payakan soughed, and threw Lo’ak off his fin.

You slapped your palm over your mouth, startled and amused, as he swam after you and Payakan. The tulkun surged to the surface of the ocean, and Lo'ak bobbed out of the saltwater, shaking the brine from out his braids. You turned to sit upright, and held something akin to mirth in your gaze as you grasped your abdomen in a fit of laughter. Lo'ak shot a mischievous sneer in Payakan's direction, huffing as he rolled his eyes. Cockblocker.

“Well, he’s definitely a killer, alright!”

He groaned in embarrassment. “More like you. If I died, it’d be your fault.”

Although his sentence appeared stern and somber, the crinkle of his eyes and curl of his lips conveyed a different narrative, betraying the meaning of his words. How had he not previously fallen in love with you? Maybe the feeling was always there, lying torpid like a dormant volcano, suddenly stirred awake by you.

“Oh? I’m the death of you?”

‘You don’t even know,’ is all he could think.

[chalkrevelations]

Oh. My god.

So, last night, I reblogged a gifset of that conversation Pete has with Pol when they’re on stakeout, tailing Vegas, sitting around in the car, and Pete wants to know who Pol thinks would do a better job – Vegas’s bodyguard or Pete? And I added this bit of commentary:

My theory on the closest thing Pete has to a sexual fantasy at this point in the narrative and his life: Pete saves Vegas's life in some kind of shootout or assassination attempt that no one else could have protected Vegas from, thereby earning headpats from Thee Vegas Theerapanyakul, who Everyone Knows is a completely detached sociopath who usually has no more use for his bodyguards than as human bulletproof vests (which is somehow different from the main family for no reason I can discern but apparently exists?). Only now, Pete has proven himself and is both Noticed By and Special To this violent, emotionally inaccessible man (who, as an added bonus, is in a position of power over him). I mean, for whatever variables of "special" Pete can even conceptualize at this point, anyway. And I wonder how many times he's imagined this. It's Pete's very own mafia-filtered version of the Bad Boy fantasy in which you're the only one he cares about - you're the only one who can have that effect on him - and that makes you the Most Special-est Girl. C'mon, who's the most inaccessible Bad Boy in Pete's sphere? Certainly not Kinn, who'll just up and tell Pete that he trusts him the Very Most - even more than Pete's best friend! who Kinn is fucking! - the hot minute that Kinn's coercing Pete into doing something he really, really doesn't want to do. And you know Pete's daydream version of what makes him the Most Special-est Girl involves killing someone the best and quickest and most efficiently - because if he wins in the ring a fight, then the most emotionally inaccessible, violent man he knows (who, as an added bonus, is in a position of power over him) will love him, right? Not to mention, a guy with that many gun posters doesn't get stuck on Tankhun-babysitting detail and not have fantasies about proving his worth via violence. Listen, he just spends an awful lot of time standing around in Vegas's right-hand man spot like he's trying on the position during Ep 7, is all I'm sayin'.

… in which the vague allusions to Pete’s Daddy Issues were absolutely intentional. And I’ve also commented before about Pete finding another home with an angry man at the safehouse. And yet it wasn’t until yesterday’s post rolled up on my own dashboard and I saw it again today that the Brick Of Revelation hit me in the head and I thought about this through the framework of - my god! Pete and Vegas really do play out the very scenario that Pete warns Vegas about when you’re seeking the approval of your father abuser!

In the safehouse, Pete wins. He achieves his fantasy. He pulls the thorn out of the lion’s paw, and he gets the notice and special regard of Vegas Theerapanyakul, and he gets his world rocked on top of that, and then … then it turns out nothing changes. Vegas – the guy who expected that Pete winning in the ring would mean that his father would stop beating him, the guy who continues to seek his own abusive father’s approval, who keeps trying to win against Kinn, in the hope that Kun will stop treating him as a disposable whipping boy – Vegas goes right back to physically and emotionally abusing Pete. On top of that, the fantasy doesn’t play out in reality; Vegas literally tells Pete that he’s nothing special. (I mean, lies, of course, but the fact is that Vegas says it right to his face.)

I just. This is another one of those instances where I walked up to this revelation and even walked all the way around it, poking at it, but I just never looked at it straight on until this moment - the way Pete’s experience in the safehouse so closely mirrors his experience with his father. We watch Vegas continue to recreate the cycle of abuse, and we're like, "oh, dude, you need to make some better decisions," but we've also just spent 2.5 eps watching Pete, dispenser of this very wisdom, fall back into the same patterns he warns Vegas about. Because breaking that cycle and changing your behavior and your expectations is hard. Even when your head knows better. The things this show says about generational trauma and intimate violence and patriarchal control, I just ... god. Just, don't mind me, I have to go claw at some drywall for a while.

Also, it makes me wonder if Pete did kill his father. Because if he ran from home the same way he ran from the safehouse, if we’re supposed to look at this echo forward into the present of what happened in the past, then are we supposed to think that maybe there was a similar confrontation in the past, in which Pete struck out before he extricated himself from the trap he was in and ran?

Vegas is a lot younger and more resilient (and used to being knocked around) than Pete’s dad probably was, at that point.

[babiebom]

Ranking my Mechat Matches Based on how much I Like Them(currently)

A/N: this isn’t to be mean or say I hate them or anything lmao it’s just for fun since I don’t see many Mechat posts on here and I wanna post something to make it obvious that I will write for them? Might be ooc for the writings but I try my best!!

Tw: cursing, some sexual mentions, maybe a little bit of bullying(affectionate and derogatory maybe), SPOILERS (maybe)

BC: at least 5 for each

Mechat Masterlist

First the guys since I am actually attracted to them:

1)Tamura Blood

Literal love of my life I’m always thinking about him

Like it’s not even like exaggerating when I say he’s taken over 90 percent of my daydreams

Like I was never really into the whole mafia romance thing before

But I genuinely want this man to be happy

Like I know he’s a character but I want him to be happy and if I have to write a million fics just to make it true for him I will

Like he actually cares even if he doesn’t show or say it and while I usually hate it he’s just so….

Idk how to explain it

He was my first match and when I first finished his story before they updated it twice I actually was VERY upset and checked on it every day to see if it would ever be updated

Idk what happens next because I’m playing through the updates now but

If me and him don’t get a happy ending I’m going to have a breakdown

I need a happy ending with him <3

The cheek kiss is the last thing I saw and I’m so mad he cheek kissed instead of lip kissed

Slow burn isn’t usually my favorite to read so this is actually killing me

But I literally look forward to his messages every day.

NAUR I FINISGED HIS STORY IN BETWEEN WRITING THIS AN DNOW IM SAD :((((( I LITERALLY J U S T BECAME HIS GORLFRIEND

MECHAT DEVS GIVE ME MORE TAMURA KISSES NOW!!!!!!!!!!

2)Yasuda Hitoshi

Honestly he annoyed me at first and I found it fun to mess with him

But he grew on me

Like even before him and me(the character obviously) started getting along he started to slowly work his way up on my list

And now that we’re getting married and he has told me about the monsters or whatever that he had to save me from

He’s super sweet even if he’s still sorta a big meanie

I think it’s cute

Like YES I love the guy who is mean to everyone but me trope

Like yeah he’s not mean but he isn’t really outgoing or nice with other people

Like he jokes and is cute and UGH

And the way he actually stands up to his parents for you is literally swoon worthy

LOVE MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

3)Johnny Roe

Honestly I think I skipped him the first couple times he popped up as a match

And then when I saw everyone talking about him I thought it was like

…..everyone was over hyping him

But then I got him as a match again

So I matched with him

And he’s actually so cute

And his storyline is cute

And he’s like one of my favorites (obviously seeing as he’s number three)

I now understand the hype surrounding him because I would actually kill someone for this man

And I want to fight the mother so bad

It makes me upset how he’s always like “she’s still my mom”

Like yeah but she literally ABUSED YOU?????

Like I understand completely and I know it would be hard to just turn off loving her for him

But UGH

I want permission to throw hands

And honestly not to trauma dump my mom is the same way

Like she’s not abusive but she was abused by our family when she was a kid(including my grandmother)

And she’s so fiercely protective of her and like I love my grandmother but UGH I have like a place of resentment in my heart for her because e my mom didn’t deserve any of the bad things that has happened to her

So I know firsthand what it’s like to have a parent somewhat like Johnny(my mom doesn’t have agoraphobia)

I guess that’s why I’m super fond of him? Because he’s familiar in a way to me

I just want him to be happy :(

4)Optimo Lynx

I got a crush on him slowly

Like at first I was MEH about him

But then he was a cute nerd who is studying to be a….doctor(????? I forgor sorry)

AND on the other hand he’s a superhero who has literally saved me twice

Like actually I love him

Very smart and cares about people

Like actually HE SAVES LIVES

Like ?????? It’s sad that the public can’t know his identity bc the government will be mad

And the fact I think he would hate that

But he deserves to be paid for saving people the way that he does

And studying on top of that

Like I wouldn’t be able to IMPRESSIVE MAN

wanna give him kisses

ALSO ALSO ALSO

I don’t think I’ve EVER mentioned this on my blog

But black hair blue eyes combo is my favorite

So actually he’s my dream man

I wanna give him more kisses!!!!

I NEED MORE GEMS SO I CAN KISS HIM

And maybe suck his dick if he lets me

5)Zander Echo

When I first started his storyline I only wanted to get him to like me bc he hated me

Like Oh? You hate me? You won’t after I follow this simple plan

But then he started growing on me because he calls me his little snack

And I know he means it in a cannibalistic way but it’s hot so oh well

Then he actually started caring about me kinda

And showed me the ocean in a way that didn’t terrify me (I’m afraid of the ocean)

Like actually while this is lowkey my worst nightmare

I can breathe underwater and I’m not dying or anything so it’s less scary

But I’m still scared of the ocean

It he has a castle that I live in so it’s FINE

Literally would help me get over my fear if he wouldn’t eat me

Also I wish I could give him smooches

6)Azur Blackshade

Ghost man ghost man grim reaper ghost man

Hot hot man

Actually so interesting

And sad

I wanna know how he works

Like I wanna pick at his mind

Honestly ghost types aren’t my favorite monster types but UGH

He makes me wanna write a fanfic of a ghost love interest or something

Really really like him

7)Jozef Chrobak

He was my number one for a HOT WHILE

like I think he’s so hot

And his art style is attractive

Like he’s a VERY good looking man

I do like making people like me

And the fact that he was so against love in the beginning made it more fun

And then the ex appeared and pissed me off

But we ended up together

The only reason he’s this low is because I stopped playing his route bc my own character was pissing me off

Like she’s such a bitch

Like omg he’s romantic now I hate it

Are you a dumb ass hoe or what?

8)Brook

I liked the poly aspect and he was VERY cute

And I’m pretty sure he was a nurse or doctor or the person in an ambulance and I find that super attractive

Like YES save lives papi!!!!!!!!!

And for the most part I liked the story

I could see myself having a crush on him irl

Sweet sweet man

I don’t remember much else since I finished it MONTHS ago

9)Felix

To start off Felix and Brook are pretty much equal

Like it’s a poly relationship and I like them pretty much the same

They’re both sweet men and they’re both attractive

Even though I hated that they all abandoned me

I do think it’s attractive that they all took time to better themselves and their relationship

Like it takes a lot to realize when to step back because the situation you’re in isn’t a good one or might lead to you resenting someone

They were cool

And he was a model so obviously he was hot

Love them

10)Vile Darko

Actually insane?

I like him a lot simply because he seems psychotic

Like WHO makes someone go through insane things for money or whatever

Like actually a clown and it’s attractive

Even though I’m scared of clowns

He makes it hot AND scary

Like I’m genuinely fearing for my life (in game) but I’m also like yeah if he kills me it’s fine bc he has to touch me to do that :)

11)Enzo Gomez

I was SHOOK when I realized he wasn’t just a dog man

Like he’s an actual human that was cursed

He’s a werewolf but Doberman style

His human form is attractive

And don’t kill me but the dog form is somehow attractive(maybe it’s the teeth? Idk)

And his story is kinda sad

Well sad in that he is cursed

I’m pretty sure he was a horrible person and that’s why he was cursed

And I’m glad he has become a better person because of it

12)Lan Ying

He was up at the top before I finished his story a while ago

And now he’s back but I’m not as crazy about him because I’m crazy about tamura so I haven’t played his update yet

But I do LOVE him

Like actually a dom that isn’t an asshole

And I do like shibari and he’s nice

I hate that he ties other people up though

Like mine and only mine?

Seems like a very level headed guy and that’s very attractive

Probably one of the least toxic in this list ngl

13)Eichi Hirano

I’ve never really been crazy about him

Like even though I’m a hyper sexual person his is ONLY sex and sometimes him having trouble with his hotels or whatever

So I wasn’t really interested in him

In still not all that interested :/

He’s cute though

And obviously the sex is good for my character so I guess

I do think he’s kinda nice though, so I do like him

14)Rei

I think he is the SWEETEST guy in an unfortunate position

Because his sister is manipulating him into being basically a scammer and he doesn’t wanna do it

But she gets pissy with him if he refuses

And while I know he could take himself out of that situation

It’s hard with siblings that you wanna keep in your life or whatever

Especially because they’re twins

My only problem with him is that he doesn’t have much of a spine

Like I would like him to stand up to her

But like he’s sweet and I hope the rest of the storyline is good. I kinda stopped playing it

It’s like only two dates that they have?

I don’t feel like wasting diamonds on them right now lmao

15)Dare

I think he’s hot

But in reality I would hate him

I hate playing truth or dare bc it makes me anxious and I can never think of anything

also he knows exactly how he’s making those people suffer and acts like he doesn’t

Actually manipulative

And everything is a game to him UGH

It just annoys me

The sex was cool though

And he is kinda interesting

But like the whole four horsemen thing is an ewie to me

16)Ezra Michelle

I do actually really like Ezra

But I hate the fact that I can’t romance him

I wanna romance the pastor man

I wanna give him smooches but NAUR he’s dedicated his life to the lord

Also he’s cool for a pastor

Obviously they weren’t gonna put a total asshole extreme Christian person in the game

But I do think the way he’s written is very Joseph dream daddy coded but cooler and less shitty

Like Joseph was a shitty man

But Ezra is really cool so far

He’s only this low bc I stopped playing bc I was sad I couldn’t marry him and went after people I could romance instead

17)Drink

He wasn’t really there in the storyline

Like dare was the main character I guess out of the four

Drink and dance barely showed up

But I liked him

And I think his super power of making drinks is cool

Because I hate alcohol and how it tasted I think he would be really dangerous for me if he can make a drink that doesn’t taste like ass

And was kinda nice when we finally got to talk to him

But otherwise he wasn’t really there oof

18)Social

He was more there than drink and dance but he annoyed me

Literal definition of influencer

I was ANNOYED the entire time I had to talk to him

Like can you GET OFF YOUR PHONE

I DONT CARE ABOUT YOUR FOLLOWERS

GET YOUR CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE BITCH BOY

Like his only personality trait is social media

And yeah granted his name is social

But the others were much more interesting than him

His only good trait is that he’s hot and could probably make me famous if I wanted him to

19)Joon Hwang

I don’t remember him oof

I think I liked him a little bittle but I don’t remember anything about who he is or his storyline so eh

20)Seong On

Like Joon I have no idea who this guy is even though I know I did play through some of his storyline

I have nothing to say about him yikes

Now onto the women since I did match with them!!(my storyline beliefs might be wrong because I speed through them for gems)

1)Naya Honoka

HER STORYLINE IS INSANE?

Like actually I was like OOOH a cute nurse when we first started talking

Then as time went on I was like oof she has no time to herself but she’s so nice and cute

And it was just the right amount of spicy that I was like yeah this is KINDA realistic

LIKE SHE SAVES LIVES WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM HER (other than time)

Then it went into a whole hostage witness protection thing

And I was like HUH

My character in this pissed me off

Bc why when she says HEY don’t say my name call me Hannah instead

My character says Naya 400999 times like MAAM

STOP OUTING HER!!!!!!!!!

Anyways she’s so sweet and deserves love and I want her to be happy and get more breaks from working

Only thing I currently don’t like is how she literally is spending our honeymoon being a nurse

But also irl I would be okay with that bc that means I can be alone for some of the day so oof

2)Eiko Suzuki

I like her more now than I did in the beginning

In the beginning she was kinda annoying

But now I’m like OKAY she deserves the WORLD

Like not because she’s a kitsune but like she is SO PRETTY

And I do like that she’s a family girl

I do think it’s weird that she was like “I don’t want anything serious”

But wanted us to help her with everything

Like I think at this point we’re something more but they haven’t made it official

Which bothers me bc I need to know I’m the only one

And her storyline is also insane

Like WTF your ex boyfriend ruined your life and is BACK to ruin it even more

AND your family can turn into cute ass foxes and you didnt use that to your advantage and KILL HIM?

Literally just maul him as a fox and be like

OH NAUR my bf got mauled by a wild animal I wonder how this could’ve happened?!!!!!!!!!

I do think she’s cool though even though we have to help her with everything and she doesn’t think things through sometimes

I also think it’s funny that since I’m not spending diamonds on her choices that my character is a complete asshole

Like she left her to die LMAO

3)Lexi Rose

I LOVE THAT SHE COSPLAYS

like actually her being an otaku is so cute

And I’m pretty sure she got a tv show opportunity at some point I don’t remember

Like I’m proud of her

Sad that she feels like her true self isn’t very cool

Bc I really like her

She seems sweet and cool and her interests are ones that I like

Like I might not be the biggest anime fan

But I would watch several with her as dates

Like we do not have to leave the house lets snack and you can tell me all the attack on titan lore.

4)River Morales

PRETTY WOMAN

would’ve been number one had I played her recently

But I haven’t played her for WEEKS

so she went down as I lowkey forgot about her

Honestly she was cool and I love that she’s an artist

And I do like the poly dynamic

And the fact that she was REALLY honest about her feelings towards the end

Hate that they kinda abandoned me

But I do like her a lot

Super sweet girl

I think she was sorta insecure in her storyline and I hate that for her

5)Reko Lamarr

Dommy mommy dommy mommy

She’s kinda a bitch

And as a dom I feel like she’s pretty……

Needy?

Like I feel like she should just be a bratty sub or something

Maybe it’s bc I prefer service doms?

But she’s like serve ME worship ME

instead of being a cute dom?

Like MAAM tell me what to do but love on me too

She’s cool tho

Like LOVE a business woman

Get that money queen

She’s VERY stressed

And actually kinda hot when she spanks us

Just wish she was more service-y instead of demand-y

I want to be babied pls

6)Alice Young

She’s okay I guess

I’m not really into sports

And I just started her storyline

And I kinda find the sports thing annoying

Maybe it’s bc I’m not…enthusiastic? Driven about sports that I’m like????

Just FIRE HIM??????

He’s a coach not your dad

Hire someone that cares about your mental health as well as you winning

Like girl just say that you wanna just be friends until you’re done with your tournament or whatever

Like why even join Mechat if you have a whole sports thing you wanna win

Like focus on that THEN join dating apps?

Other than that she’s pretty and cool

And I think her being athletic is attractive

7)Dance

She’s not that bad at all

But we hardly have content of her?

Like we barely see her during the storyline

So she’s okay I guess

Likes to dance and so do I

The only downside is that she’s part of the four horsemen

The upside is that I found the dancing plague in France to be funny and as soon as I saw this party was like that I cackled

But also not really funny in theory

Also kinda dislike her bc she thought the people were having fun when she knew they weren’t

I think she would be fun to be around in small doses.

8)Eura Alabaster

WOULDVE BEEN DEAD ASS LAST IF IT WASNT FOR RAITAS BITCH ASS

I actually HATE her

Like overconfident people don’t really bother me

It’s just SOMETHING about her that pisses me off

Like the way she is makes me want to beat her to death with my fists

Like she’s annoying and overconfident and stupid

AND she kidnapped me

Granted I’m not against someone kidnapping me(in the fictional world)

SHE JUST HAD TO PUT ME ON A BOAT

I HATE boats

I hate the ocean

I think that’s why I hate her so much

The fact that it’s the ocean we’re dealing with

And she’s triggering my irrational fear of the Bermuda Triangle

So it’s stressing me out

I just hate her

9)Raita

I haven’t finished their storyline so if she turns out fine later sorry

But right now

AT THIS MOMENT

I hate her and how she treats Rei

Like she’s an actual bitch and I hate that my character hasn’t said so

Like actually I would’ve been like ??????are you dumb or stupid why are you such a bitch ass hoe????

She’s so mean and for WHAT

He has done nothing wrong but she acts like he has

Like he doesn’t want to scam people but this scamming ass bitch is forcing him to

And I know someone is gonna be like “he can make his own choices”

Sometimes when it involves family and staying on their good side you don’t really have a choice if you want them in your life good or not

Like I HATE HER

[kitthepurplepotato]

Bakugou Katsuki’s Daily Shenanigans!

Season 2!

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Chapter 1: Relationship 101 with Bakugou Katsuki!

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki fell in love and he hates it. He hates the fluttery feeling in his stomach, he hates how his chest feels when he looks at you, ha hates how his heart starts pounding in his chest every time you leave a tiny kiss on his cheek; Bakugou Katsuki is 100% sure he’s allergic to his girlfriend.

In this story, Bakugou Katsuki learns how to be in a relationship. For the first time in his life he’s struggling to get the thing right, but thankfully, he has the most caring and understanding girlfriend the world has ever seen. That doesn’t mean he’s not getting smacked in the head a few times though. There is a reason why his girlfriend’s nickname is ‘the Menace.’

This season can be read as a stand-alone, but I highly recommend you to start at the beginning to actually understand the story properly!

Tags: Established relationship, aged up characters, fluff, comedy

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Other minor background ships: TodoDeku, KamiJirou (they are married in this AU), Kirishima has a crush on an unknown lady working in a coffee shop 🌚

General warnings for this season: Swear words, highly suggestive, possibly sexual content (haven’t decided yet), mentions of sexual topics, potential mentions of injuries and fights etc.

18+ for safety! New warnings on every chapter.

Also, the writer of the story is a foreigner, so don’t kill her if she makes a mistake, thank you 🩷

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Want to start from the beginning?

Click here for Season 1!

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Mr. Katsuki doesn’t give a fuck about romance.

He doesn’t understand why do people need to be so disgustingly cheesy with each other, he doesn’t understand what’s so good about being in love and he definitely doesn’t understand how did he end up in a committed relationship.

Yes, Bakugou Katsuki, 25 years old Number 2 pro hero is in fucking love and he hates every single minute of it.

He hates it.

So much.

So-so much.

The cuddles? Nah. It gives him all these fluttery-jittery shitty feelings and his heart is probably allergic to it because there is no way it should beat that quickly.

The kisses? Well, they don’t have too much of an experience in that yet as the first time they kissed Katsuki didn’t kiss back as he was too busy having a mental breakdown, then their next kiss was so heated he almost did some unspeakable things to his brand new girlfriend and he had to run home to take care of his misbehaving “friend” and take a really cold shower to stop himself for running back to the office… and that was a terrible experience. Then this whole lovey-dovey thing got awkward. He has no idea what the fuck is he doing and every time he decides to kiss Y/N, his heart wants to explode and he doesn’t want to die so… he’s not doing it.

The sex? Well… they are not there yet but even the thought of it makes Mr. Katsuki insane. In a bad way, of course.

Of course…

Also! No one fucking told him you can get addicted to a person. Love should be illegal. This is terrible. Mr. Katsuki can barely sleep during the night because his fucking mind can’t stop thinking about The Menace and about all the things he… would probably absolutely hate doing. Like cuddling in bed. Or making out until the morning. Or doing other stuff until the morning then call in sick to work, because they are old and their backs hurt. Disgusting. Just disgusting.

Mr. Katsuki is definitely sick in the head. This is all nonsense. He’s not going into his office to be the best hero anymore, but to see Y/N in his shitty oversized hoodies and daydream about her wearing his hoodies instead.

Okay, what the fuck, no.

Fucking no.

Mr. Katsuki hates everyone and everything right now but the one he hates the most is…

“You fucking Menace, get out of my fucking head, I can’t sleep because of you!” Mr. Katsuki yells at his significant other on this lovely Thursday morning.

Ahh, she’s so fucking cute before her first coffee, what the fuck. She looks so confused, Katsuki really wants to kiss her senseless.

Wait, what?

“Aww, that was so fucking cheesy, what the fuck.”

… Nevermind, the urge is gone.

“It wasn’t a compliment, you dipshit!” Katsuki yells again with a face red as a tomato.

“I’ll just act offended then, but can I have my coffee now?”

Y/N comes way too close for Bakugou’s liking. Is it really necessary to stand so close to him? It gives his heart a hard time. Being allergic to your girlfriend sucks.

“Who said it’s yours?” The blonde retorts. Maybe he just wanted to bring his best friend a coffee. Or have two coffees.

“It’s mine now.” The Menace puts her mouth on Mr. Katsuki’s cheek, which makes his heart act up again. She snatches the coffee out of his hand while he’s distracted and sits back down happily to finish her paperwork.

Mr. Katsuki hates The Menace. So-so much.

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Kirishima is really happy for his best friend, but he is also mentally scarred.

It was only a few days ago when he accidentally walked in on his best friend and his assistant having a heated sparring session with their tongues; he will never forget seeing Y/N’s hands almost completely down Katsuki’s pants while his blonde bestie was busy squeezing the shit out of her thighs on his office desk.

Now look, Kirishima knows this is his fault; he’s the one who hired Y/N just to keep himself entertained, knowing the two will be at each other’s throats most of the time, making a mess in the office as they both have the same personality and none of them knows how to back down. It really has started as a really expensive joke. What Kirishima didn’t expect was to watch those two fall for each other in the middle of their heated arguments. It was so fucking obvious yet so unbelievable, but Kirishima then decided to push them to their limits and actually made it happen; he came up with the stupid idea of closing the two in the same hotel room for a few days for a mission, but Kirishima’s joke almost cost both of their lives; the suspect ended up to be Y/N’s biggest enemy who’s been waiting to get revenge on her for arresting his gang buddies a few years ago.

Long story short, the drama escalated, Katsuki got quirked with a quirk called “Anguish” which basically made him extremely depressed and suicidal for a day and he was saved by a massive bitch slap and a ferocious kiss by the love of his life; kinda like in the cheesy romantic movies Kirishima adores. Kirishima is absolutely not jealous. Not at all.

Also, Y/N became a great friend to Kirishima during her employment; she’s a fierce, honest woman from abroad, beautiful, proud and intelligent. She’s also an amazing (currently) ex-hero who got wounded in a massive fight for her country and had to step down completely after almost losing her life. She was bedridden for months, unable to eat, shower or do anything alone and even after getting better she was forced to stay far away from actual hero work for a while, hence why she decided to join a hero agency as an assistant; this kept her close to her dream in a safe way and also let her live in her favorite country.

Kirishima will never forget Bakugou’s face when he realized Y/N was the number one hero of her country while Katsuki was stuck at number 2 thanks to Deku. They had a spar which ended up being more like a foreplay than an actual battle but Y/N won anyway; she has the most OP quirk the world has ever seen. She can activate any quirk she can come up with and alternate it in any way or use multiple quirks at once if she concentrates on them enough. Like what the fuck man, that’s cheating.

So yeah, Y/N is a great friend of Kirishima and he’s really happy for his friends but he will never get over Katsuki’s horny face that’s for sure.

But…

After that one incident on their first day of being a couple, the two… well… they went back to their normal selves. And Kirishima is really bloody confused.

“The fuck are you yapping about you fucking extra?!” Katsuki yells, his eyes piercing through the skull of this poor guy who works as a side kick at the agency. Kirishima can’t lie, Mizuto isn’t his favorite guy either, he’s sensitive and overdramatic but he hid it really well at the interview. Kirishima hates himself for putting these two in the same meeting room instead of doing two separate meetings, one with the bosses (and Y/N) and one with the extras, as Katsuki likes to call them.

“I’m saying that your leading techniques are harsh and rude and I don’t appreciate you talking down on me!” He yells and Katsuki stands up; he gets pulled back to his chair by Y/N.

“Shut the fuck up, the both of you, I have a migraine!”

“Then go the fuck home…” Katsuki can’t finish his sentence as Y/N randomly creates a spray bottle full of water and sprays the hero on the side of his face; the way some stupid people do with cats when they misbehave. Letting Y/N meet Momo Yaozoru was another terrible mistake of Kirishima’s. Katsuki does not appreciate the gesture and throws an explosion at Y/N but she deflects it with a mirroring quirk; Katsuki moves away and the explosion hits the window and blasts through it.

Great. They need to change the windows again. Kirishima really thought that with these two getting together, all the aggression will fade away but apparently that’s not the case; are they even together or did they just have a moment which Kirishima awkwardly interrupted? Kirishima was sure they are a couple, especially as none of them moved away from each other when he found them in each other’s arms.

He needs to investigate.

After the meeting and a phone call to the maintenance - they don’t even ask questions anymore, they just give them a full day long appointment because they know them so well by now - Kirishima asks Katsuki to come to his office for a quick “catch up”. Katsuki does not appreciate being called into the office like a fucking extra, especially as they are supposed to be co-leading the agency but Kiri only smiles in Katsuki’s pouting face.

“Bro, I just called you here to gossip. I wanted to know what happened after I left that day.” Kirishima winks and Katsuki looks away with a massive blush on his face. He’s fucking adorable.

“Nothing. I went home.” Honestly, this guy is a pain in the ass. Why can’t he take a hint?!

“So… did you kiss since?”

“No.”

“Uhm…” Kirishima wonders what the fuck should he say to that. ‘Did you fuck’ just doesn’t sound right. “So you two are not…?” Kirishima can’t finish the sentence as an explosion hits his face. He should have seen that coming. His eyes sting now.

“Do you have a crush on my girlfriend or what?!” Katsuki yells and Kirishima grins; it takes a few seconds for the blonde to realize what he’d just said; his face contorts into a frown and sits back, mumbling profanities to no one in particular.

“I got all the information I wanted. You are dismissed. Congratulations!” Kirishima’s shit eating grin can be seen even from the moon, that’s how massive it is.

Ahh, young love.

“Fuck you.” Katsuki mumbles and leaves the office, almost breaking his door for the 700th time. Ahh, never mind, the maintenance guys will probably have a spare with them anyway.

~•💥•~

You are on your last few bits of paperwork when a bewildered Katsuki comes into your shared office.

“What.”

Katsuki throws himself into his chair, he rolls around like a kid, left to right then in circles before he answers. He’s so fucking adorable. Goddamnit.

“Kirishima is in my ass, asking stupid questions about you.” He pouts and you laugh; Katsuki doesn’t like to be laughed at so he sends a tiny spark towards you, not even strong enough to travel to the right destination.

“I can help you forget the conversation.” You wink jokingly, but your boyfriend only rolls his eyes. There is a slight a blush on his face he can’t really hide, but by the look of it, he doesn’t want to anyway.

“Which part of ‘taking it slow’ do you not understand, you bloody woman?” Katsuki yells but there is no edge to his voice; for anyone else this would sound offensive, but for you, it just sounds pained; he’s clearly still getting used to all of this and while you can barely stop yourself from kissing him senseless every day, you can absolutely understand him.

“I know. I won’t do anything you don’t want. Calm down.” You murmur, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible to not freak your brand new boyfriend out.

“I’ve never said I don’t want it. I just want to take it slow.”

Well, that sentence went straight between your legs. No one can judge you for being like that after dancing around each other for literal months. It’s the honeymoon phase. It will pass.

“C’mere.” Katsuki grunts and you jump up from your desk to walk towards your boyfriend. He manhandles you into his lap while snuggling his face into your chest and sighs. You can only hope he can’t feel the way you shivered all over from the hotness of his breath.

“Better?” You ask, faking nonchalance.

“No, I hate it. Makes me feel all tingly wiggly and shit. Relationships suck.” He murmurs and you can’t stop the laugh bubbling up in your chest.

“Yeah, me too. I hate it so much. It’s terrible.” You bite your lips to stop yourself from laughing and the blonde looks up at you, arching his eyebrows in disapproval.

“Don’t make that face. I hate it.” He grumbles, but you can see how his eyes light up as he looks down; he licks his lips while staring at yours but he doesn’t move towards you; you really want to tackle this man and kiss some sense into him. “Now go away, I need to finish the paperwork.”

Well, you are dismissed now! You go back to your desk, giggling to yourself like a lovesick teenager; he’s so fucking cute. Oh my god, since when are you such a sap?!

“How long will you be staring at me?” Katsuki mumbles begrudgingly.

“I can do this all day.”

He tries his best to look offended but you can’t miss the way his mouth quirks up as he shamelessly ignores you for the rest of the day.

Well, this will be a long run but fuck if it’s not worth it for those small smiles only you can see.

Maybe one day, it won’t be so hard to initiate contact with him. One day, you might be able to give him a kiss without being told off for it. That day is not today though but that’s fine; he can take as much time as he needs because you’ll be there, waiting for him. If you need to, you’ll wait for him forever.

“Thanks… Y/N.” He mumbles with a red face but doesn’t look up from his laptop; you smile to yourself and doesn’t answer; you don’t need to. He knows you well enough to know what your answer would be anyway.

You really love this fucking madman.

…Next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Welcome to the ‘potato ramble’ section of the ficc. This is where are I talk to myself while you roll your eyes at home thinking ‘I ain’t got time for your shit, fella.” I’ll ramble about the story or about a random things you don’t want to/need to know about the writer. I’ll try to behave.

- Sorry if there’s barely anything new in this chapter, this is more like a chapter 0 than a chapter one and it also gives you a brief recap in case you have the brain capacity of a goldfish as I do and you forget the main story by the time you get to the second season. Yeah, sorry. I hope you still enjoyed it though!

- The “I can do this all day” bit was a Captain America reference.

- If there’s anything you want to see in this ficc, let me know and I might use your idea!

- About the potential cheekiness in the ficc… please tell me what do you prefer. Brief mentions of their cheeky deeds? Detailed first time? Nothing? Potatoes? French fries or mashed? Or should I just write about Katsuki’s pigeon, Steve? Tell me your thoughts because I honestly don’t know what I want to do. 😂

- YES, I’m sleep deprived right now, how did you know?!

- I’ll shut up for today, I think I confused you enough for one day. Have a lovely week!

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! 💥

~•💥•~

Taglist: @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @sixxze

(If you’ve been tagged but it’s not working, check your settings because I couldn’t tag you for some reason 😭)

[sinsandsweetness]

PENANCE

(Stepdad!Rick x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ smut, p in v, spanking, mentions of church (though that’s not rlly the focus hehe…)

notes- not my best or longest ik, but i do still have more stepdad!rick coming, and i’m rlly excited for it. so stay tuned<3

His stormy blue eyes keep darting up to yours. Face practically twitching, along with his cock. Strained in his jeans, palming it subtly to try and relieve the abundance of pain you’ve been causing him all morning.

Earlier, dripping wet and fresh out of the shower, you were met with those same blue eyes, raking their way down your towel covered body. Rick Grimes, freshly shaven, dressed in a cream coloured button up and a musky cologne.

“We’re leavin’ in 5.” He says all gruff and frustrated. As if you’d been the one taking your sweet ass time in the shower, stealing all the hot water. When in reality, he’s the reason your shower was lukewarm at best. Draining the hot water tank with steam surrounding him as he touched himself to the thought of you. Picturing you in your lacy boy short panties and white spaghetti strap cami, swaying your hips and making breakfast downstairs when you didn’t realize anyone else was awake. Especially not your pervert of a stepdad who watched the whole thing in agony, so desperately wanting to push you up against the counter and fuck you til you scream his name.

Unfortunately, his sinful daydreams were forced to a halt at the shrill sound of your mothers voice calling him from up in the laundry room.

So yeah, he took his sweet time in the shower, trying his best to pretend it was your own hand stroking his dick. Or maybe even your mouth. Warm and wet and so fucking eager to swallow. But even as the fog lifted in his brain and he watched his cum swirl down the drain, he remained hard as a rock. Realizing quickly that you’re the only one that even stands a chance at easing his frustrations.

And that’s how he finds himself here. Unable to register a single word coming from the front of the church. Too focused on your tiny sundress and your pretty face. Sitting next to you in the pews, listening to Gabriel go on about gratitude and the importance of life or whatever. You don’t care. You’re not there to preach. Maybe to pray. Pray that your stepdad will give into the urges he’s having such a hard time hiding. That he’ll take you outside and fuck you against the side of the church, letting everyone hear the way you beg and scream for his heavenly cock.

He won’t. But you’d sure love it if he did.

You squeeze your legs together at the thought. Letting out a woeful sigh.

“Stop doin’ that.” He hisses, quiet enough that your mother, eyes focused on the hymns in front of her, doesn’t hear.

“Doin’ what?” You ask. Looking like a damn doll when you glance up and flutter your lashes. “What do you mean daddy?”

His face twitches and you know you’ve set him off. You have the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss behind his earlobe. Something you’d recently discovered could almost make the man whimper. You don’t. But you really, really want to.

Instead you shift around in your seat. Squeezing your thighs again and crossing your ankles under the bench, fighting back a moan. Fighting your own fucking demons at this point. You can feel your wetness through your panties. Your dress, rising up further with all of your fidgeting, baring your smooth, soft skin. Clamping your thighs down on the hands in between them, desperate to find some friction to relieve yourself. That’s partly what’s killing him. Your dress. How short it is. How you keep fucking fidgeting around right next to him, clearly all worked up. Clear to him at least.

Thinking about your legs. Your legs wrapped around him. Around his head. Over his shoulders and everything in between.

But mostly, it’s killing him to think about the fact that you’re just as sexually frustrated as he is. So damn horny that you’re actually squirming away on the church pews during service. During fucking church, your mind is still on his cock.

When he first met you, white sundress and innocent eyes, he never would have thought he’d get off on the thought of corrupting you. Of stealing every ounce of innocence you have left, for him to experience and to hold. To think about late at night when he couldn’t fall asleep next to your mother. You. So pure and innocent. A real shocker that he didn’t see it coming.

But that late summer evening when he finally got you alone, the sight of you sinking down onto him, gold cross necklace dangling in between your breasts as you bounced up and down, he realized there was nothing better. Nothing that could get him off quite like the act of corrupting you. He couldn’t even think of another girl he’d rather ruin.

“Quit fidgeting.” He says through his teeth.

“Or what? Gonna punish me?”

Oh damn. That was it.

“Get in the truck.”

You didn’t dare disobey. He took a second to compose himself before leaning into your mothers ear and whispering some excuse about you not feeling well. That he was going to take you home so you could rest, and then he’d come back to pick her up. He kisses her on the cheek before following you out of the church. Receiving a sweet and clueless wave from your mother when you look back from the aisle. Rick watches your ass bounce the whole way to the truck.

At home, he wastes no time ripping your panties off and bending you over the kitchen island.

“Can’t believe you fuckin’ wore this thing to church,” he grunts, your minidress bunched up in his hands as he grips your hips, pounding into you with no remorse.

“Thought you liked it!” You whine, legs already shaking as they struggle to keep you upright.

“Like it for me. Not for everyone else.” He smacks your ass. The sharp sting, thrusting you further into the cool marble countertop. You hold in your whine. Stunned by the tingles erupting on your skin.

And then he does it again.

“Ow!”

“Thought my pretty girl wanted to get punished. Isn’t that what you said? Isn’t that why you wore this?” He doesn’t stop until your cheeks are painted red and the tears are streaming down your face. Until he has you cumming on his cock with a choked sob and a cry of his name. Ass cheeks numb where his handprint is burned into your skin as a not so friendly reminder of exactly who you belong to.

And later that night when he catches your pained wince as you sit down for supper, Rick has to physically hold back his smile. So fucking proud of the fact that he’s the reason you’re ass is so raw. That his hands made you so sore. And even more proud at the fact that the second your mother falls asleep, you’ll be dragging him into your bedroom and begging him to do it all over again.

-

thanks for reading loveys💗 happy Sunday🤭

taglist- @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @murder-jacket @miinbun @ankhmutes @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @grimesthinker @whatthefuuuck @olive3oil

(taglist form here)

[kenny-the-ken]

Save the Date

Aged up readers, Y/N is 17, Kenny is 18. All in high school. Mentions of drugs, alcohol, sexual themes and strong language. NOT FOR MINORS!! I hope you all enjoyed my first fic, it was written while running after my 2 year old who throws WAY too many tantrums so sorry if it wasn't my greatest work!

Kenny watched you from across the classroom, he watched how you twiddled your pen between your thumb and forefinger, how you the tip of your tongue darted out of your mouth as you concentrated on what you were writing. Your perfect y/h/c hair flowing in soft waves that cascaded down your back. He had fallen, and he had fallen hard.

Both of you were inseparable, the best of friends, you did everything together, albeit not much, because neither of you could afford to go a lot of places. He loved nothing more than laying down beside you in your bed with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you were the one of the only people that knew he was Mysterion, you were one of the very lucky few who had seen him without his orange parka hood suffocating his face. But the most important to him, you were the only one to remember, the first time he died in front of you, you were shattered to a million pieces, your heart completely broken, and the only thing that could ever fix it was Kenny coming back alive, not like that could ever happen.

But it did, and when you heard a small knock on your front door all those years ago, opening it to see those beautiful blue eyes and fluffy blonde hair standing smiling at you, your face covered in smeared black lines of mascara, he knew.

"Kenny?" You uttered, rubbing your eyes as if you were hallucinating, a glove clad hand reaching to cup your tear stained face, he just simply looked at you, tears now welling in his own eyes.

"You- You remember?" He asked, you giving him a small nod as his answer. You smiled, tears still falling down your face.

"Of course I remember, Kenny! You got hit by a bus and everyone shouted about how you'd been killed and then called them bastards!" You responded, before he grabbed you with both hands, saying nothing but pulling you close to him for the tightest hug you'd ever had.

"I'm so glad you remember. No one else does."

That day will stay forever engraved in his mind for as long as he was destined to be on this earth for. And he knew, he knew you were his one true soul mate. Yeah, Kenny had been with plenty of girls before, but none of them made him feel how you did, normally so confident in asking girls out, he was known as a flirt, but he had never been confident enough to ask you out. That was until today.

"Put your balls in your purse, Kinny!" Eric said to him, exiting the class watching you walking in front of him. He was half listening, half in a daydream about how good your ass looked in your jeans.

"Kenny? Hello? Earth to Kenny, are you even listening to us?!" Kyle said, waving his hands in the air in front of Kenny's face.

"Hey dude, I was getting a good view there!! Fuck you, man!" Kenny exclaimed, sighing as he seen you turn the corner in the corridor.

"Dude, you seriously gotta ask her out!" Stan said, the other two boys nodding in agreement.

"How, man? I don't have any money to take her places, what am I supposed to say, 'Hey Y/N wanna come to my house and see my shit bedroom, my mom and dad screaming at each other and our meth lab?!' She'd never go for a guy like me, dudes. And she deserves better than me." He said his head bowing to stare at the tiles of the corridor. His life really was a mess.

"And that's where the broship comes in, dude!" Eric exclaimed, the other boys staring at each other in confusion.

"I bet you $70 you won't ask her out by the end of the day!" Eric said, knowing Kenny couldn't pass up on money like that.

"And if you do, then the money will come in handy for a date right?" Eric said, a shit eating grin plastered upon his face.

"Fine." Kenny replied, saying nothing else before walking off to find you.

There you sat with the other girls, chatting about god knows what and eating your lunch. You could feel a pair of eyes burning through the back of your skull as you turned round, there he stood, your prince in an orange parka. You couldn't see it because of his hood, but he was smiling at you, and was that a blush on his cheeks?

You had serious love and feelings for Kenny, and you always had, but you knew he was a player, he had been with a lot of girls throughout the years, and he never ever chose you, maybe he just didn't see you that way.

He was nervous, a small bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. He made his way over to you.

"Is it hot in here, or is it just being so close to you, girl?" Kenny flirted, causing a small blush to spread along your cheeks.

"What's up, Kenny?" You asked, offering him the half of your sandwich, he normally didn't have much food to eat, so you liked to help when you could. He great-fully accepted the kind offer and then bowed his head slightly, taking on a rather unusual mannerism for him. Normally he was so confident and cocky, but right now, he looked like he might pass out.

And he felt like it too!! Maybe he could just die accidentally and come back tomorr- No! He has to do this! It was now or never.

"Can I- um... can I talk to you about something?" Kenny asked, his gloved hands fidgeting together.

"Of course, Ken, we can talk about anything together! Do you wanna head somewhere more private?" You asked, as he simply nodded in reply, taking off a glove and offering his hand to you.

"I rolled a joint I didn't get to smoke before school today, wanna dip and go to the park?" Kenny questioned, his eyebrow quirking, hoping you'd be down.

"I have Mr Garrison's class after lunch so fuck yeah I wanna dip. My mom isn't home as usual, said she was going to get drugs last night and hasn't came back, so we can go smoke up at my house if you want? I've got frozen pizza!" You exclaimed, a large smile on your face. You could never pass up quality time with Kenny, you both knew that.

"That sounds like absolute bliss, babe. But when we smoke up, I really do need to talk to you about something." He stated, your hands now fully intertwined. As you guys approached the double doors of the school you passed Eric, Kyle and Stan, the three boys staring at you both, wide eyed and mouths wide.

"Hey, fuck you Kinny!" Eric shouted, handing him $70. "Make it last! God knows when you'd be able to get $70 again, Kinny!" He shouted loudly, the blonde boy smirking and flipping him off on his way out the door.

"Fuck you, dude! I'll text y'all later." He shouted back, the doors finally closing behind you both.

The walk was long and cold to your house, since you lived in the same part of town as Kenny, and the school bus wasn't running, since technically school was still in session. During the walk Kenny had shedded his jacket, putting it on you instead, making sure you didn't catch sick and kept warm in the never ending snow that resided in South Park.

Soon enough you were both in your bedroom, the window cracked slightly as Kenny sparked his lighter, taking a long, slow drag of the joint before passing it to you.

"So, what did you wanna talk about? Has your dad gone psycho again?" You asked, taking a few drags of the joint and passing it back to Kenny, your hands grazing slightly, and when you two touched, it felt electric.

He shook his head no. "No, for once it's not my parents." He laughed out, smoke coming down his nostrils.

"Then what's wrong, Ken?" You asked eyebrows raised as your studied your best friends face. He had a light dusting of freckles, soft, pale skin and the most perfect, light pink lips and of course you couldn't forget the adorable little gap in his teeth when he smiled at you. You were in love, you had been in love with him for as long as you could remember.

His hands were ice cold, the blood not reaching them due to the speed his heart was beating at.

"I um... I-" He stuttered, his cheeks a deep shade of crimson, as he quickly puffed on the joint you two shared, passing it to you, he should've asked if you had any vodka here that he could take a shot of, a little Dutch courage, but it was too late, he was already sitting here, your full attention on him as he became a stammering mess.

He took his gaze away from you before he said it, he actually had finally said it to you, and he did so as quickly as the words would come out of his mouth.

"Do you maybe wanna, I don't know, bemygirlfriend? I mean, only if you want to! If you don't, I totally understand, I wouldn't wanna be with me either, I mean, you deserve the world and I can barely afford to feed myself-"

You cut him off by grabbing the front of his t-shirt and pulling him towards you, your lips crashing against one another. You had waited for this since you were younger, you had always dreamed of being his, being his girl. And now you were!

His eyes fluttered closed, melting against you and wrapping his slender arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him on the bed. He had dreamt about this, he had wanked about this! More than once! He'd thought about how your boobs looked without any clothing covering them, how your nipple would feel in his mouth, how hard he could slap your ass, how tight you would feel around his coc-

You both parted ways, panting as you did, a string of salvia connecting your mouths. Both of you were blushing profusely, and Kenny shifted on the bed, feeling the tightness in his jeans starting to bother him.

"I've wanted to do that since the fourth grade." You said, almost in a whisper, only for Kenny to hear.

"Then let's go use this $70 fat ass gave me and I'll take you on our first official date!" Kenny said, a small smile on his lips as he kept his arms wrapped tightly around you, as if a gust of wind could blow you away from him.

"I love you, Kenny McCormick."

"I love you too, Y/N, and I always have." Kenny sighed, the relief he felt come crashing over him. He no longer had to keep it a secret, he loved you, and you loved him, and that was all the mattered. You made him want to stay alive, you made him happy, and you made him whole. I guess soul mates really do exist.

Hey guys!! I really hope you enjoyed this fic, I just kinda banged it out and I haven't checked any spelling or typos, so I'm really sorry about that, I just hope you all enjoy it. Kenny's a cute lil fluff, and I love writing for him, but I'll write for anyone from South Park so if you guys have any suggestions or requests please do send them my way!!

[tozettastone]

God. Okay. Hear me out. Hidakaku concept —

(contains Kakuzu's canonical heart-stealing in a non-canonical level of detail)

Kakuzu was a monster. Hidan knew this.

That was half of the reason Hidan was here, walking around with him through the barren desert landscape of Wind Country, doing the world's most boring mission. Kakuzu was a monster, and in that, he was just like Hidan.

And Hidan was not, like, blind. There were plenty of physical reasons to be attracted to Kakuzu. He was perfectly aware of the way tendons flexed in Kakuzu's forearms, and the shift of muscle in his shoulders that could be seen even beneath his shirt. That was all fine. Hidan had grown up with ninja, and plenty of them were big, powerful men. Hidan himself had shot up to become a big, powerful man sometime after his sixteenth birthday.

He'd had little crushes on big, powerful men before. It was never worth exorcising those urges; big powerful men were frightened and insecure or overly attached just like the rest, and fragile to boot.

At all of nineteen, Hidan already knew that the urge to fuck a guy was usually not worth indulging unless he also planned to kill him. He knew how to control himself, and Kakuzu usually helped him out in that by swaddling himself in a million layers and shuffling along like a desert zombie.

But.

Kakuzu.

Kakuzu was also monster, you see.

And that was where things got a bit... fuzzy... for Hidan.

When Kakuzu took a heart, he ate it.

That was why his face was stitched together the way it was. He had to unhinge his jaw like a fucking snake so the ragged threads that made him up could slide slickly from his mouth take on a new heart while it still beat.

He would hoist his victim high in the air, or else shove them down into the ground and straddle them, and then he would use his big, powerful hands, and all the strength of his back and shoulders and he'd just — just crack them open, like a crab or a jewellery box. Unlocked, they unravelled before him, wet, red and gleaming. Each one was wide open, vulnerable and frightened. Their broken ribs stood rusty yellow and proud, cradling their heart like a prize.

Kakuzu's forearms arms would flex, and his big hands would clench tightly in their clothes, and he would press his writhing monstrous mouth down to each heart.

He'd done it three times now that Hidan had seen.

And each time, Hidan had just stood there and watched, with his own heart thumping wildly in his skull. Each time he'd been breathless, mouth dry, eyes wide.

He daydreamed about it, sometimes, in the wretchedly horny minutes between waking up and getting up. He thought about it, relentlessly: being held down, being overpowered, Kakuzu's face bare and leaking unholy chakra, buried in his chest.

The helplessness was part of it, he figured. Getting held down, overpowered, overwhelmed. Adults had overpowered Hidan when he was a kid, sure, but sexual maturity had accompanied significant physical advantages in height and weight and sheer athleticism. Before Kakuzu, Hidan had never encountered the — apparently fucking debilitating — combination of a man who he wanted to fuck who could actually physically overpower him. That was the realm of god alone.

Now, he spent his days watching Kakuzu effortlessly toss around the dead weight of men who outweighed Hidan. He could carry a six foot taijutsu expert over his shoulder for days until they reached a drop point, and show no real sign of strain.

Hidan thought about that... kind of a lot. Like a lot.

Do I want him to hold me down and crack open my ribcage and lick my heart? he thought. That sounded absolutely insane, so he opened his mouth and, with his usual brain-to-mouth filter fully engaged, tested it out: "Ne, Kakuzu," he said, "I want you to hold me down, crack open my ribs and lick my heart."

Kakuzu turned a withering look on him, which somehow got less and less withering the more he noticed. Between Hidan's confused face and sweaty palms and the bite marks where his teeth had worried at his mouth, there was much to notice.

"Do you," he said, sounding thoughtful.

Faced with the actual real-world possibility of such a thing occurring, Hidan swallowed hard. His heart lurched in his chest and his guts swooped low and his insides fucking fluttered, wriggling coquettishly in anticipation and delight.

"I — Yeah," said Hidan.

I really, really do.

[propertyofwhitney67]

House Party

Whitney the Bully x Reader

Words: 828

Warnings: Implied past sexual assault

Note: I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a while, it’s been stuck in my head more lately and my maladaptive daydreaming of characters comforting me hasn’t been enough. It was years ago but every once in a while the thoughts just don’t go away.

The music was muffled through the wall of one of the many bedrooms at this house party. I don’t know whose house it is, Whitney dragged me along with his gang of friends to it. With a bit of drink in me I let Whitney drag me upstairs where we are now.

He picked me up and sat me on his lap and started to kiss me hungrily, I kissed him back just as eagerly. He began to grope my chest while I ran my hands through his hair. The door swung open and without missing a beat Whitney yelled, “Fuck off!” and started to kiss me again. I heard mumbling then the door close. I laughed into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue into my mouth.

Before I knew it I was basically naked and he was on top of me. He broke the kiss, took off his shirt and went to undo his belt. The clanking sound of the metal sent me into a panic. I tried to get out from under him and in my panic I pushed him hard back onto the bed. 

I jumped off and ran into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door and locking it. I held my knees to my chest and tried to calm myself. Breathe in and out. In and out. A bang on the door caused me to jump, “What the fuck slut?” He sounded angry with a hint of something else I couldn't place in my terrified state.

“Go away…please just go away…” I mumbled while hugging myself on the cold floor. I don’t want to, please don’t. 

Everything came back from that night. The drinking, the smoking, the smell of his detergent, and the godawful sound of his belt. How naive I was. He acted so nice, I should have known it was a ruse. I was just a new toy for him to play with, to damage. 

I heard a thump on the other side of the door as Whitney sat down and leaned against it, “...What happened?” I didn't answer, only letting out a few sobs. He sighed, “I won't hurt you. I’m not that kind of piece of shit Y/n.” He used to be, but not anymore. He had truly grown to care for you, he just didn’t show it very well.

I spoke incoherently through my sobbing, “I’m-I’m…I-I…” I tried to regulate my breathing again to no avail.

“Can I come in?” He asked in a surprisingly soft voice. I shook as I stood up and unlocked the door. I quickly went to the other side of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. 

He opened the door slowly and made his way to me but stopped short, not wanting to scare me more. He threw his shirt at me and gestured for me to put it on. I didn’t say anything and did as he wanted. He was silent, trying to think of something to comfort me, “Do you want to talk about it?” I shook my head furiously. “Ok…do you want to go back into the room?” I thought it over and nodded. He held out his hand and helped me up then led me back into the room.

I suddenly felt embarrassed and put my head in my hands. I can’t believe I let myself panic like that. Whitney would never do that to me, “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, just tell me who I have to kill for touching you.”

I shook my head, not wanting to say his name. It was so long ago at this point, but the name still instilled fear in me. “Doesn’t matter, he graduated a few years ago. I’m sure he’s left town by now.”

He patted the bed beside him and without thinking I sat beside him. He put his arm around me in an attempt to comfort me, “Sick fucks like that don’t leave this town, they thrive here.” I sniffled and leaned into him but he pulled away and held my hands up to my ears. I looked at him in confusion, “Just do it.” I nodded and covered my ears. 

He stood up and took off his belt and threw it to the other side of the room. I uncovered my ears as he laid on the bed and patted beside him again. I crawled up to him and rested my head on his chest as he held me close. “I’m sorry I ruined the moment…” I mumbled after a while. I already apologized, but I still felt bad about it.

“I can fuck you another night slut. Just want you to be ok.” He said quietly while petting my hair. I smiled and looked up at him, he leaned in and kissed me. It was short but filled with emotion. “Rest, I’ll stay up.” I smiled at him again and laid back down on his chest and fell into a peaceful sleep.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵