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#laughing with my hands steepled

hazelfoureyes · 2 months

Text

The Big Part

Alastor x Virgin FemReader smut

You were dead, it was time to divest yourself of your virginity. When you ask Alastor, he takes to the task immediately. Unfortunately, he seems to enjoy surprising you.

warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader smut, Alastor dislikes getting naked, virginity does not rock, possessive Alastor, head pats, reader is an adult she’s just a nervous idiot bad at words

Horny little deer cult: @frompeach , @chirimeimei , @poppingaround , @polytheatrix , @itsmskeisha , @stygianoir , @celestial-vomit , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @amurtan

minors dni, this isn’t educational in the slightest and is just straight smut

It made sense, at the time. You didn’t want a relationship and you didn’t want to meet a stranger you couldn’t trust, that left very few people to ask. Husk would say no, and probably stop serving you drinks. Angel would most likely agree, but you were a little intimidated by his experience. That left Alastor. While you hadn’t spent much time together, your interactions were always cordial. And plus, this was hell. Isn’t this kind of situation a sinners dream come true?

For most, maybe. But you didn’t know Alastor. Not yet, not really. Everything he did had some ulterior motive. Perhaps nothing he had ever done was simply selfless. If Alastor wasn’t gaining something, Alastor wasn’t interested.

You caught him in the hallway one evening after redemption-oriented activities, deciding to get the moment over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s a favor, little… odd. But you’re the only person I have to ask.” Your eyes darted around his face, down the hall, up the walls, anywhere really but his eyes.

“I’m all ears!” Alastor tapped the microphone to the ground with a satisfying ‘thud’.

Oh— you had rehearsed this but you hadn’t prepared to be staring at that large, toothy grin. It wasn’t unsettling, it was just distracting. Would he be smiling the entire time he… ya know.

“I am,” you steepled your hands, pointing them at him, “a virgin.” You paused, hoping maybe he’d just infer the rest and you could stop talking.

His face was motionless save his eyelids rising up.

“And I don’t want to be. Anymore.” Your lips pursed together. C’mon, Alastor. Figure it out.

Alastor nodded.

You dragged your fingers down your face, “Would you help me with that?”

His head cocked to the side like a golden retriever being handed a book on ancient Egypt. Very nice offer but what exactly do I do with it?

“Help how, precisely?” He finally spoke, tone unchanged from any normal topic of discussion. Alastor watched your face scrunch up, mouth moving around words you abandoned half way through. You weren’t saying anything, just making panicked sounds. “I find annunciation most helpful when wanting to be understood, dear.”

You wanted to somersault out the nearest window. “Alastor will you take my virginity?”

“Take it where?”

You groaned, he laughed, “Just kidding, my dear! All in good fun. So, to be clear, you would like your first sexual experience to be with me?” He pointed the microphone from you to him.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

His smile seemed to strain. Staring down at you, he tried to understand what your motivation was for this. But as he looked into your big, concerningly innocent eyes, he realized there was none. You really, simply, want him to be the first.

Ooh, as he thought it, he felt his pulse quicken in his lap. The first. A spot no one else could take. For the rest of your afterlife, he would always be the one who was first in you. A delicious thought. He could work with that.

“Are you free now?” He leaned down to your level.

“Oh. I wasn’t-,”

“Expecting immediacy? Perfect, the element of surprise has never failed me before.” His hand wrapped around your waist and drew you in to his chest, there was a rush of cold air over your skin before you felt yourself falling back.

It was soft, the room was dark, save for a small floor lamp in the corner. Your room, you realized.

“I didn’t know you knew my room number.”

“It’s my job to know everything about the hotel.” He said, tossing your shoes behind him. Was this happening now? Right now?

“I can do it, it’s, it’s fine.” You sat up and began undoing your pants. Alastor just standing there, watching. Smiling. Fuck, was it going to be this awkward the entire time? Should you say something? Touch him? You were lifting the hem of your shirt when you realized he was still fully dressed. “Are you going to take off your clothes?”

“Why would I do that?” Head lolled to the side.

You stopped mid-way through unhooking your bra, “Alastor you do know I was asking you to fuck me, right?”

He nodded. Maybe this was a mistake.

After taking off your bra, and finally your panties, you crawled to the top of your bed and drew your knees to your chest. Your feet hid your sex from view. Heart racing, but it wasn’t excitement, as you had anticipated. It was nerves. Would it hurt? Would you make a stupid face? What if he didn’t like the sounds you made? What if you regretted it after?

Alastor got on the bed on his knees, undoing his belt buckle but not his pants. The way he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat. You suddenly remembered he was called the ‘cannibal deer’ as you saw something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“What experience do you have?” His voice was suddenly low, deeper than before. This wasn’t the pun loving radio man you saw prodding the staff.

“I dated. Before. Kissing, um, I don’t know the bases. Groping?” You grimaced, it sounded so formal.

“Have you ever,” he began to slink toward you on his hands and knees, red eyes glowing in the dim light of your room, “been entered?”

Your cheeks burned, your head suddenly swayed as if it was half full of water and someone tipped you over. “Just myself, my,” you lifted your hand.

“Show me.”

All the air left the room, sucked out of your lungs and into his grin.

Uncrossing your feet, you tried to open your thighs without seperating your knees. It didn’t work, but you still managed to get a hand between your legs and to your entrance. You could have cried, you were soaking wet to an embarrassing degree. Your eyes return to Alastor, his gaze never leaving you. Even as you slipped a finger, then two, into yourself. You thought for sure he would want to watch your hands playing with your wet pussy but no, his eyes stayed on your face. Somehow, that was worse.

A shaky sigh escaped, your eyes closing as you tried to focus on relaxing around your digits.

Your head smacked against the headboard when you felt a third finger enter. Not yours. Your eyes flew back open to see him now directly in front of you.

“Two won’t do, dear.” He spun his finger around, pulling slightly at the thin skin of your entrance. “Unless you’d prefer this to hurt?”

You shook your head no, still stinging from the impact you had made. “May I?” His hand took your wrist and removing your fingers. Swiping your wetness from your ass to your clit, he coated his claw-like digits and pushed three back in. They were longer than yours, sharper. You could feel he moved gently, in and out. Your head was heavy, breath short and fast.

He laughed, bringing your consciousness fully back into the room, “Already wanting to change your mind?”

You shook your head side to side, still too embarrassed to speak, and took a grounding breath to help your body accept his fingers. He took his time, sliding in and out of you. His fingers picking up the slick and letting it lubricate your lips. It was so slow, the only pleasure for you was knowing it wasn’t your hand doing it.

But then his stretching of your hole stopped, and he grabbed both of your knees from underneath and pulled you down toward him. Now on your back, legs up and in his hands, you heard his belt slide through the loopholes, his zipper drop. You wanted to look, but you also absolutely did not want to look.

Your knees came together when you felt something hot and round at your entrance. “Ah-ah,” He opened them immediately. He reached for one of your hands, and brought it down to his cock. It was so hard under your fingers, but gave a little when you squeezed. It made him hiss.

“You tell me when to stop, little doe.” He pressed into your opening, pulled back. Pressed in, just barely making it past your lips, pulled back. He kept this pressing and pulling, head making slightly more leeway every time. Your fingers were holding right behind the tip.

“How about this, dear. I’ll just get the head in for now. Manageable!”

“Just— just get the big part in first?” You asked, the pressure at your entrance building with every shallow thrust.

He laughed, nodding as he held both of your knees further apart. When he attempted to get past the curve of his cock’s head, your hands flew down to press against his thigh, pushing back with the intrusion. Alastor stilled, sighed, and pressed his head fully in with a determined thrust. Instinctively, your feet came to his chest and tried to push away from him. It felt like you were being torn down the middle, your body forced apart at your most sensitive junction. He held you still now by the ankles, legs splayed in the air.

It burned where your walls were pushed aside. Stinging where the skin tore slightly just beneath your hole, unable to stretch.

“Breath, sweetheart.” He set your ankles down. “Does it hurt?”

You nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he settled on his legs, looking down at where he was connected to you. Your pink little pussy looking positively overwhelmed by his cock. No one has ever been here before, and he could feel it. Your walls were pressing so hard against him his shaft was slightly curved from the force pushing his head out. You still had so much to take, there was so much more of you for him to explore. You tried to calm your breathing but your heart was racking against your sternum.

Hand reaching down again, you let your fingers count little paces from his core to yours. You knew the hardest part was over, but that didn’t bring much comfort as you felt how far you still had to go.

Alastor let his eyes wander away from your not-so-virgin cunt to your face. Your expression was twisted, not pained but clearly uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” He asked, gesturing to your lap with a nod of his head.

“Full, so full.”

His cackle disheartened you, “Darling I am no where done filling you up.”

You clenched when he said it, earning a small groan from him. You were already too tight, when you spasmed on him it was nearly painful. There was more to do yet, more of you to claim as his. Just the tip of his cock was simply not enough.

His hips started moving again, the folds of his head pulling at the skin of your entrance but not actually crossing the barrier. He was gently rocking, barely making friction between you two. Your hand clawed at his knee, breath hitching. You let an airy moan slip, his head no longer an intrusion but something hot and melty barely rubbing your walls. It started to feel almost good.

Alastor’s cock was throbbing, his shaft touch-starved and desperate for the heat of your cunt. Your face was relaxing now, eyes blinking around new sensations. He wanted to see you experience more, more firsts and frighteningly foreign pleasures. He wanted to see you scared of how good he could make you feel. Alastor wanted you to never feel whole again without him buried balls deep in you.

“Can you take more?” His voice was like gravel, a radio static crackling in.

You met his eyes, glowing still in the dim light, wide and nearly frenzied in their dilation. His smile was practically beaming down at you.

“I don’t know.” You were scared to move forward, even though you wanted more.

“I don’t like liars.” A pop of electricity arcing at the end of his words. You pulled a pillow over your face, trying to hide from the reaction you knew he’d have as his voice made you tighten around him. “Your body says otherwise,” he hissed.

You wanted to say ‘yes’, if this could feel good then how great would all of him feel? But you were scared to vocalize it. Scared to make it start. Alastor lifted the pillow, “I need to see you, dear.” He set it beside his leg, “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

Brow furrowed, you shook your head. His grin widened to his ears as his hands slid down your thighs to your hips and he sank his cock to the hilt.

The element of surprise definitely made the nerves of saying ‘yes’ dissipate, but you were now choking on your breath, hands gripping at the blankets beneath you. Was this normal? Was he too far inside you? You felt nauseous, your guts prodded by Alastor’s member.

“How does it feel now?” He watched your eyes scanning the ceiling for an answer. You felt sure there was no way his head could leave you ever again. It was so snuggly fit in you, you feared you’d be pulled inside out. “Words, dear.”

You sat up on your elbows, sweating from the nerves of it all. “Like there’s a big stick stuck in me.”

“Accurate!” He laughed, and began pulling out. You whined, head dropping back. Almost taking himself out completely, he paused before thrusting back in. The head of his cock dragged against your walls, you could feel him with such detail. Every inch of him leaving impressions behind. Alastor could feel it too, how your soft warmth moved out of his way with every push. How pliable your womb was to his intrusions.

More. You could take more, he was positive of it.

Slowly, your moans began to get louder as the pressure faded into pleasure. Every time he bottomed out, you jumped. Every time he pulled out, you wanted to chase after him with your hips.

Watching your face soften, eyes now watery, Alastor was sure you were relaxed enough. He grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting your ass and sliding it under the small of your back. You didn’t ask, just waited to see what the point was. Dissatisfied, he grabbed another and added it under you.

Your hips were up, ass hanging over the ledge the pillows made, back bent upward. When he began to thrust again, you whinced feeling a new part of you widen for him. “Can you see me?” You looked at him when he said it, but he grabbed your hand and placed it beneath your belly button. When he pushed back in, you could feel his cock beneath your hand. Moving it, you watched your stomach bulge slightly when he was completely sheathed in you.

“Oh fuck-,” your head fell back into the bed, it was too much to feel let alone to watch, “Too deep.”

He hummed an acknowledgement, picking up his pace. “Let me see how you cum.”

Your face was hot, reluctantly bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing.

No, this wasn’t a mistake at all. If anything you regretted not asking sooner.

His thrusts now brought lightning to your core, your finger quickening in speed with the realization of just how good he could feel.

Studying your face still, he adjusted his angle until he saw the muscles in your neck tighten. He knew he found your g-spot, your moans dipping into cries.

“I can’t—,” You couldn’t get over the hump, knowing he was watching you, waiting for you.

“You can”, the lights flickered, his eyes now black with small red pupils illuminating your naked body, “and you will, my dear.” One of his hands stopped pressing finger sized bruises into your hips to instead push your own finger aside. The wide pad of his thumb took over and began thrumming you fast and hard.

That familiar build up of pleasure was stronger than you’d ever felt it, and when it finally snapped your muscles from your thighs to your toes cramped. How long had you been tensing?

You practically sobbed into the crook of your arm, Alastor’s hips slowing but still carrying you through your orgasm. They moved slower and slower, until stopping entirely. His head popped out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. Cold.

Eyes wet and blurry, you looked up at him, “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“If we do everything now, what ‘first’ will we have for tomorrow night? And the night after that?” He smiled, member already hidden away and pants buttoned. Your thighs twitched. “Same time tomorrow, little doe?”

You covered your face with both hands, and nodded.

His big hand came to your head and patted you gently, “Good girl.”

I hope you liked it 🥺 I don’t feel as confident about this one. Fun fact, my first time involved bondage. Very on brand, huh? 💖

༻Masterlist༺

Gonna start calling his dick ‘the element of surprise’. You look tired today! What happened? Oh the element of surprise kept me up all night.

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hairmetal666 · 11 months

Text

Never in a million years did Steve Harrington think he'd be standing in the drama club room in front of Eddie the Freak--who's sitting on a goddamn throne with his full lips pulled into a smug grin--asking to be taught how to play Dorks and Goblins. Yet, here he is, face a burning shade of crimson, as he explains for the sixth time what, exactly, he needs.

"Munson, it's not that hard. Henderson wants me to play in the--the game thingy they're doing when Will is home for a visit."

"Yeah, Harrington, and I stop listening every time you call it a game thingy. You obviously don't care about this at all, so why should I waste my time helping you?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "What if I pay you?"

Munson's face goes through a complicated series of changes before falling into a neutral mask, no smirk or teasing smile to be found. "You'll pay me to teach you dnd? Are you fucking kidding?"

"No?' Steve draws a hand through his hair, watches as Munson's dark eyes track the movement. "I thought you might help me out cause those kids never shut-up about you, but I'm willing to put money on it."

"Huh," Eddie says. He steeples his fingers under his chin. "Maybe I misjudged you, Harrington."

Steve lets himself smile at this. "I don't think you did. I don't give a shit about this game."

"Didn't take you for one to have a bunch of nerdy child friends."

"I'm their babysitter," he says, realizes immediately it was a mistake.

Eddie cackles until it turns into a full-bodied laugh, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "You are something else, Harrington," he manages.

For his part, Steve hopes Munson hasn't noticed how bright red his face is. "Does that mean you'll help me?"

"I guess," he rolls his eyes. "But if you're just screwing around, I'm out."

"No, yeah, totally," Steve nods too hard, sends his hair cascading into his face. "Sounds good. How much?"

"Huh?" Eddie tilts his face up, giving Steve a perfect view of the smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"I said I'd pay you. What's the going rate for dnd lessons?"

"Oh, nah, free of charge, Harrington. Henderson would eat me alive if he knew I made you pay."

The smile they share is soft, tentative, and Steve doesn't notice the swathes of pink decorating Eddie's pale cheekbones.

---

They meet up in the drama room after the last bell. Eddie is waiting on the throne with his feet propped on the table, sipping a Mt. Dew. His eyes widen when Steve walks into the room.

"You're on time," he says.

Steve scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Eddie shrugs, sets his feet on the floor. "Just wasn't aware that the King put a lot of stock in punctuality."

"C'mon, man, I'm trying not to be that guy, and I'm definitely not king of anything. Unless maybe it's Family Video, but even then, that's Robin."

"You're kind of weird, Harrington, you know that?" Eddie's dimples bracket his smile. The sight does weird things in Steve's chest.

"I've been told, yeah." Steve smiles back. "Where do we start?"

They start with dice, with a character sheet.

"Chaotic-good human Paladin?" Eddie asks.

He shrugs. "That's what Dustin keeps screaming at me. I got no idea what any of it means."

"That's not entirely true," Eddie says. "You've kept up with me so far."

"Yeah, that's you. Dustin rambles and then accuses me of not listening when it's over my head. When he goes on long enough, I start to get a headache right here," Steve rubs the spot between his eyes.

"That kid," Eddie says with the right combination of affection and frustration. "I don't know, you seem to have picked up on some of the stuff he said. You have a solid idea on gameplay, at least. I'd say you're doing pretty good."

"Thanks," Steve laughs. "No migraine yet, so that's a point in your favor."

"Migraines?"

"Head trauma."

"Byers?"

"And Hargrove."

"That was Hargrove?" Eddie asks.

"Hit me in the head with a plate."

"What the fuck."

"He was pissed that Max was friends with Lucas. He came after them. I couldn't just let him--I think he would've killed Lucas."

Eddie nods, hands fiddling with a die. "No wonder those kids love you," he says.

"We've been through some shit together."

"Guess it makes more sense why you wanted to learn dnd."

"As much as it pains me to admit," Steve rolls his eyes. "I love to make those little shitheads happy."

"Well, based on the way they talk about you, you succeed."

"You too, you know?" Steve offers. "All I've heard about the last three months is 'Eddie's so cool,' 'Hellfire's so fun.'"

"Jealous?" Eddie laughs.

"Completely," Steve admits.

"Don't worry, Harrington, I'll make a nerd out of you yet."

---

They meetup after school every day they can over the next two weeks. At first, Steve is surprised that he doesn't really mind spending so much time with Munson, that he actually, kind of, has fun. And the more time they spend together, the more Eddie infiltrates his space. Leans into Steve's side as they sit next to each other, brushes their hands together, hovers over his shoulder, faces nearly touching, as he checks stuff on Steve's character sheet.

It makes Steve feel--well, it makes him think of what it would be like to run his fingers through the soft gloss of Eddie's curls; wonders what that plump mouth would be like pressed against his own; can't stop thinking about if Eddie is as vocal in bed as he is everywhere else. He knows he also likes guys, has for a while, but he's never in his life wanted someone this viscerally; so much he can feel the ache of it in his teeth.

It's the last day before the campaign for Will, and Steve is fucking sad. He thinks maybe Eddie is too. He's at least quieter than normal, explanations not at their usual fever pitch. An hour before they usually call it quits, he claps his hands together (too gently, too unlike himself), says, "That's it, Harrington. You're not going to be more ready than this."

"Right," Steve says. Can't help his eyes from darting over Eddie's face, aching to know what he's thinking. "You'll be there tomorrow?"

Eddie bends his head over his notebooks. "Nah, I don't need to intrude."

"But--"

"It's okay, Stevie. I get that it's family only." He looks like he really means it, but his eyes are sad, don't shine like they should.

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, just nods, and then there's nothing else. They stare at each other for a few very long, quiet seconds, before Eddie says, "I'll see you around, Harrington."

"Right, yeah. You too." And he walks out of the drama room with the heaviest heart he thinks he's ever had.

---

Steve thinks he won't miss Eddie. That if he doesn't dwell on those hours spent with Eddie, learning dnd, that the missing will go away.

It doesn't.

Which is how he finds himself back at the high school on Wednesday, standing in front of the drama room door, willing himself to go inside. Eddie's on the throne, the typical notebooks and binders and Mt. Dew cans clustered around him, but he's not engrossed in imagining up a new campaign for Hellfire. No, his head is in his hands, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

His head pops up, and even in the low light, Steve notices the silvery tracks of tears down his cheeks.

"Steve! What are you--" he hastily wipes at his face with his shirt sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

Steve's acting only on instinct, crossing the room and dropping to his knees, taking Eddie's jaw between his palms, thumbing away the wetness on his cheeks.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asks.

Eddie's laugh is wet. "Nah, Harrington. I only have myself to blame for this one."

"Can I do anything?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry?"

"You, Steve Harrington, kind and compassionate? Learn dnd to make your little nerd friends happy? Who are you?"

"I'm just me, man," Steve blushes. "But, uh, I came to thank you." He's still holding Eddie's face in his hands, can't help but notice the way he flushes, how his dark eyes dart away from Steve's.

"I really liked hanging out with you," Steve says. This close to Eddie, his mind doesn't quite feel like his own. All he can think of is big eyes, soft curls, full lips.

"Yo--you did?"

"So much," Steve whispers. He doesn't quite remember moving, but now their foreheads are pressed together, warm breath mingling, lips almost, almost touching.

"I liked it too," Eddie breathes. After a few seconds, he laughs. "Knew I'd make a nerd out of you, Harrington."

"Shut-up," Steve laughs.

"Make me," Eddie says, and it's just that easy. Steve crosses the space still separating them, presses his mouth against Eddie's.

The kiss is slow, exploratory, the gentle discovery of how they fit together, the promise of all the things they can do in the future, all the pleasure they can bring.

"I'm not a nerd," Steve says when they part.

"No, you're right. You're like a nerd by marriage. Nerd-in-law," Eddie giggles. His eyes are bright, face pink, the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

"Shut-up," Steve giggles right back.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, the dare obvious, and Steve doesn't hesitate to kiss him again.

"You wanna get out of here?" Steve asks when they part, significantly more breathless, jeans significantly tighter, than when he arrived.

"You're gonna have to role persuasion for that, Stevie," Eddie smirks.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #ficlet #oneshot #dnd lessons #falling in love #mutual pining #eddie's down so bad #first kiss #secret nerd steve harrington #i don't know anything about dnd actually so sorry if it's wrong #strangers to friends to lovers #alternate first meeting #big eyes soft curls full lips can't lose #“shut up” “make me” is a love language

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rukunas · 1 year

Text

angsty?? deku sucks here (sorry don’t kill me)

“So?” His hands clasp together, steepled in anticipation. “What did that extra get you? Flowers? Chocolates?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” Dynamight smirks. “I need to know so I can get my girl something better.”

You scoff as you place the bouquet of fresh red roses in a vase on his desk, courtesy of his new model girlfriend. The note, marked with a perfect lipstick stain, taunts you. “Is it a competition?”

“When it’s with Deku?” Dynamight flashes his canines. “Yes.”

“You’ll win either way. I wasn’t lying. He didn’t get me anything.” You do your best to keep the vitriol out of your voice, but there’s still a sharpness hidden in your tone.

Bakugo catches it, smile disappearing and his brows pinching together in an uncharacteristic concerned frown. “Oh… That case from the Commission is probably kicking his ass right now.”

“Yeah.” You shrug stiffly. “Enjoy the flowers.”

You feel like a bitch. Dynamight is right— you’ve seen how much Izuku has been working, spending late nights at his office, traveling abroad, meeting with some big officials in the government. You even told him to not worry for Valentine’s Day.

So, why were you mad? You had no right. And yet, you thought…

Buzz.

Your phone: Sorry baby, will make it back late 2nite :(( Don’t wait up on me

Well. It didn’t matter what you thought.

The day seems everlasting, annoyingly so. You would know— having to watch each of your coworkers get their own little presents and cards throughout the day. It would be just as bad if you went home and swiped through your phone all day, watching couple after couple post about their date plans. Fuck it, you’ll just stay back in the office and work ahead, it’s not like you have anything else to do.

“The fuck are you still doing here?” A gruff voice echoes from the hall.

“Why are you here?” You shot back, eyeing the hero who leans against your door frame. You recall when you first started working for Bakugo as his assistant, nervous to even look at him in the eye. Now, you openly glare at him. “Your date is at 8. It was hard as hell to get that reservation, you better not waste it.”

“She’s busy, said it in the note. Where’s your date?”

“He’s busy.”

He hums lowly before looking away, staring at the clutter on your desk. Precious hero figurines that you’ve been collecting for years are propped up in poses, along with a picture of you and Izuku. It was from so long ago, you barely remember the memory.

“Would you—” He starts.

“Can I—”

Silence takes over as the two of you interrupt one another.

“Sorry. You go.” You gesture at him to continue.

“Come with me. For dinner.”

“Me?”

Maybe it’s an illusion, but you swear the tips of his ear go pink. “You said it yourself. I can’t miss that reservation. And you said you don’t have plans…”

“Okay.”

“Seriously?” He sounds surprised. It makes your lips curl upward, followed by a breathless laugh.

“Why would I say no to free dinner?”

“I never said I was paying.”

“Oh, shut up, Katsuki.” It was not an illusion, you conclude, watching as his cheeks turn the same color pink as his ears. It takes you a moment to realize you said his given name.

“Alright. I’ll start the car.” He turns to walk out. “Check your desk before you go.”

“Huh?” Too late— he’s disappeared around the corridor.

Suspiciously, you scan your desk. Maybe he left some form that needed your signature? A PR proposal? But nothing seems to be out of order…

Wait. You pause, breath catching as you find the one thing that definitely was not there before. The Limited Edition All-Might Golden Figurine—the figure that was one of the ten ever made, and one that you’ve always dreamt of getting your hands on— stands boldly at your desk. You don’t know how you missed it, not knowing when it was placed there. You feel warmth bloom at your chest, knowing the one person who’d given it to you.

With hands still shaking in excitement and awe, you send out a text: I love you and I love the gift! Thanks baby!!

You find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you pack your things into your bag and put on your jacket. As you do so, your phone buzzes. A happy sigh flutters from your lips as you rummage through your purse to grab it. You knew he’d get you something! He wouldn’t have forgotten Valentine’s Day! And he’s gotten you the best gift you have ever gotten—

?? What gift?

You roll your eyes at his faux cluelessness, moving to take a picture of the figurine. But, as you do, you catch the note stuck to the bottom of it.

The handwriting isn’t Izuku’s. Though, you recognize it immediately.

Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope I won.

#incoming tag spam #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #katsuki bakugou #katsuki #bakugo #mha #mha bakugo

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eldritch-spouse · 4 months

Note

One of your stronger demon oc’s: hey babe you interested in trying a new kind of foreplay? It’s called demonic possession

Their match: *looking confused* you already possess me though?

[Already talked about Livius with this, so why not good old Santi? Fem reader.]

The incubus laughs.

It's that same old rich, deep noise that had your knees weak the first time you heard it, and still manages to make you warm up briefly. Santi gives you a calm, lidded and loving look, it feels just the tiniest bit patronizing.

" Mm, that I do. "

He swirls his glass of sangria idly. You know he's not going to drink, its only purpose is to match your own set of cutlery, to make it feel as if Santi is having dinner with you, when he's really just keeping you company as you fulfill your basic human needs. You can't really complain about this though, the demon goes out of his way to order excellent dishes for you, and he never fails any of the "human meals in a day", as he put it.

" However- " The world rolls off his mischievous tongue. " I was using the word in a literal sense, love. "

You choke on the steak. " E- Excuse me? "

His head tilts, some sort of realization coming over that pale face when he studies your reaction. " No no, excuse me- I should have explained this to you better. "

Santi steeples his fingers for a moment, pauses, then plays with the glass some more, tracing its golden rim.

" You're familiar with the concept of demonic possession, right? " He starts, tone slightly more serious.

A shiver crawls up your spine, not exactly the most pleasant kind. " Y... Yes. Isn't it something horrific though? It's supposed to hurt! And deform someone's body! It can kill me! Why would you- "

" Easy. " Santi calls, watching your rambling get out of hand.

" Santi, that's insanity! You want to make me crawl the walls and start chanting things?! That arouses you? I don't think my body can- "

" Love. "

The more forceful tone silences you, but by no means is your apprehension quelled. Your appetite seems to fade in the face of possible danger.

There's a sigh from the monster in front of you.

" And this is why your silly little horror movies keep causing a divide in our society... "

That catches your attention.

A less inviting frown sits on Santi's face. " Possession gets an incredibly harmful reputation from your precious Exorcist movies. Each one more ludicrous than the last. "

It's your turn to frown. " Don't sit there and tell me that those things don't happen, Santi! Possession is done for all sorts of things and I'm not stupid enough to buy a lie that it's all sunshine and rainbows... "

You expect him to get even more upset, but instead, the incubus shakes his head, setting the glass down to look you in the eyes. " But it doesn't have to be that way, love. "

He continues when all you do is cross your arms.

" You've seen a hundred movies about demons with ill intent tarnishing the bodies of surfacers... But you've never seen a movie about a demon possessing the person they love, have you? "

Silence. He lets those words splay onto the table like a winning hand in a tense game of cards.

And, truth be told, you have nothing to counter that with. Because he's right. You have never heard of such a thing as possession between lovers.

" ... That's real? "

" More than real. " The high-ranker responds softly. " It's one of the most intimate thing you can do with an infernal partner. " Some of that earlier playfulness shines again. " And it can be so fun. "

You gulp, looking to the side. " It's dangerous. "

" Not if done properly. " Santi's quick to cut in. " A calm, willing vessel and a strong emotional connection will make it a much smoother process than the painful spasms you're privy to in your Halloween hits... "

It seems he has an answer for everything.

" Not to mention, as the bearer of my mark, you already have a little bit of me in you. It wouldn't be your body's first contact with my essence. " He's back to tracing the rim of the bottle, smelling it briefly, sharp pupils watching the berries in it sway before studying you once more.

" Why... Why do you want to do this? " It still sounds strange to you.

The dark fiend is silent for a few seconds, then leans forward on the table, glass set back down so his chin can rest on the palms of his hands. A grin with more teeth than lips threatens to cleave his face.

" Because it gets me really hard. "

... Can't fault him for lack of honesty.

Clearing your throat, you take a sip of your drink so you can think of what to say next. You need to pick your words right or this conversation will escalate to Santi playing with himself at the table.

" I could guess as much. "

" You're still hesitant. " He points out, piercings jingling as he tilts his head.

" I guess... What I'm more worried about is, how long it'll last. What you're going to do. What... What're the terms? "

His brows raise. " Treating this like a deal? How clever of you! Alright, here are my terms. "

Santi straightens, and although his smile is endlessly lascivious and wanton, he speaks clearly and slowly.

" I want to possess your delicious body for three days and three nights. During that time, you can hear, see, smell and feel everything that happens. You can talk to me and you will be given periodic control to perform certain tasks. "

He starts.

" I want to use it for both our pleasure, and I will be having sex with people I determine can service us well. I will not disclose to these people that you are possessed. " There's a beat of silence, before he adds something in forethought. " Although it may look as if some acts will be painful, you have my word that only pleasure will reach you. "

The meaning is not lost on you. " So you want to make me sleep with huge monsters? "

Santi winks, amused to be caught.

" That's relative, isn't it? What monster isn't huge compared to a human? Why I'm fairly huge to you. "

Your eyes roll. " What a charming non-answer. "

The incubus' jovial laugh is almost infectious.

" Come now, we'll see. "

It's your turn to make a move. Wide, blinking puppy eyes are cast towards the handsome demon. " Can't you even give me a pointer, it's my body after all... "

" Is that an agreement I hear? " He hums.

" Answer the question. "

Santi makes a quiet chuckle. " Very well. " Dark knuckles crack, he stares off for a moment, licking his chops. It's the signature look of a pervert looking forward to the near future.

" I have an idea as to who our first bedwarmer can be- "

" Of course you do. "

" I really do. " He snorts, the suave look breaking entirely for half a second where his amusement is so great he cannot help it. Santi waves for you to keep eating, waiting until you have a bite to continue.

" So, there's this bakery close enough, I've been meaning to take you there for a while now because I hear stuff there is divine. Anyhow, the guy in charge of it is really interesting. You know mindflayers? "

The very same bite you just took flies out your mouth, back onto the plate. The incubus stares at it for a second, then wheezes quietly. " Taking that as a yes. "

" Aren't mindflayers... Kind of reclusive? And evil? "

" Well, typically, yes- "

" And this one runs a bakery? "

" That's what I said- "

" What is he selling, brain croissants?! "

Santi barks out a laugh that nearly sends spittle across the table, having to look away from you, clutching his midsection and cackling like a madman.

" That's the thing- " The incubus clears his throat, nearly losing his composure again. " This one is very interesting. He's uhm- I'm not sure what the process is called, but he's a loner. Swore off people brains, or so he says. Trying to make an honest living! "

Slowly, you try once more to finish your meal. " And you want to fuck with him. "

" No... " The way his lips wobble at your deadpan is enough of a tell. " I want you to fuck him."

You make a face at the idea of laying with a mindflayer.

" Mhm, don't look at me like that. " Santi purrs.

Beneath the table, you feel his tail gently loop around your ankle, squeezing.

" Have you never thought about it? What can a lover with such long tentacles do to a cute little thing like you? How will he take advantage of your weak, simple-minded nature to do whatever he wants? "

When you gulp, it's not just because you need to swallow your current mouthful.

" Let me paint the scene, love. "

The incubus seems to be getting short of breath, the thrill of his own lurid fantasy forcing him to bite his lip and trace his own horn piercings with restless fingers.

" You're hardly dressed, the peaks of your nipples poking out a sad excuse of a top and your skirt so short the smallest brush might bare your cuntlips. You're hungry, we're hungry, so you walk into this cozy looking bakery to get yourself something sweet. Oh and many are the treats in that glass display, but the most appetizing of them all is the big man carrying a hot tray from the kitchen. He's tall, a peculiar mindflayer with a strange skintone and unusually thick build, his tendrils cascading longer than you'd expect. The look on his face is one of complete focus as his boots thump softly on the ground. Until he sees you, that is- "

Your attention to this little tale he's spinning is more rapt than you'd care to admit. Not that you need to, Santi can tell.

" His latest client. A human girl with this cute little smile and doe eyes. Mister Roland, you ask so sweetly, I've been told such wonderful things about your talent and pastries. You're oh so charming, so enticing, the poor baker can't deny the thoughts that course through his perverted mind. He wants to bend you over his counter, wants to spread you out before him and force your legs apart with his long nimble appendages. You'd make such a fine stress-reliever to rut into during breaks, wouldn't you? And you'd love getting stuffed full of illithid cock, right? You're begging for it after all... "

" God, Santi- " You mutter under your breath.

" Hm... Maybe all it takes is some simple conversation, letting those fantasies foment in his mind, building into a desire so pungent it would make even me crawl the walls. You tilt your head, kick your legs, lid your eyes and invite him away. He wouldn't mind a little interruption, surely. And then, oh then- With a little bit of my help, you'd turn him into a drooling beast. A species thought so impervious to all sorts of manipulations, all but barely able to think of anything except the taste of your pussy, the hug of it around his cock- He's lonely, lonelier than he's ever been now that he's on his own. You're probably the first thing he's going to fuck in a small eternity. Ideally, we get him here. Want to know why? "

Santi points to the bedroom, where a large mirror resides.

" I want to see him hold you up in those practiced hands and pound you into a pulp with his tendrils wrapped all around you, neck tits thighs, flicking your dirty little clit- Oh he may not eat your brain, but he's certainly going to fuck it out of you. "

" Holy shit, Santi- " You nearly yell.

" Fun, right? I told you. You just have to start believing in me a little more. " He's back to weirdly smelling the sangria.

The silence that follows is thick and heady, he lets you process the canvas he painted for you with a soft rumble of anticipation. You dare not look into Santi's eyes, because the depravity you'll find there will doubtlessly steal your will.

Fork and knife neatly arranged, you push the plate forward.

" I... I want a safeword. "

The way he lights up like a Christmas tree is impossible to miss.

" Of course, love. " The incubus sighs dreamily. " We can pick one tomorrow. Now, if you're done eating, let's get you to bed. "

" Because, after all, you're going to have a long couple of days ahead of you. "

#Santi oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #terato tag #monsterfucker #monster x reader #not sfw

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

Text

———

“Hm,” Piper says, fingers steepled. She looks very intently at the air in front of her. “Hm.”

Nico scowls impatiently. “Feel free to be helpful at any given time. Now, even, if you’re so inclined.”

“Have you considered that the reason you’re so infatuated with Will is because you may be blessed by Apollo?”

“I’m infatuated with Will because he is the physical manifestation of everything I value in a person,” Nico says automatically. Then he frowns, processing the rest of Piper’s sentence. “Wait, what?”

Nico understands his error as the grin on her face stretches into something truly grotesque. “I was going to make a joke about your drama levels, but thank you for that. I’m really looking forward to telling several dozen people and delighting in the knowledge that you’re going to curl up into a bundle of humiliation under your bunk tonight as you think about it.”

Instead of answering, Nico decides to walk away. Since there is so much blood concentrated in his skull, resting mostly around his face region, he takes two steps and begins to pass out, but luckily Piper has followed him and impedes a head injury by gripping his arm and merrily forcing him forward.

“So,” she says, steering them towards the amphitheatre, “what’s Plan B?”

“Bold of you to assume there was a Plan A.”

“You like Sunny Boy way too much to walk in there blind.”

“…Touché.”

She’s smug enough to be silent, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders as they walk. The closer they get, the harder Nico is forced to grapple with just how godsdamn much he’s softened. I want you to be happy, Father had said. Camp will be good for you, Chiron had agreed. You’re a little twit and need socializing, Mr. D had snipped.

Nico needs a better father figure. He wonders if Paul Blofis’ offer is still open.

The amphitheater is not, of course, empty when they arrive, because Nico knows the Fates personally and each of them despises him. The actual training part is empty — unsurprising — but the stands are moderately filled, with people gossiping, braiding hair, and if Nico is not mistaken, a small, pop-up nail painting salon. Mitchel lifts a purple-smeared hand in an absentminded wave as they step onto the packed dirt.

Nico ducks under Piper’s arm, turning to face her. “I need to fight you,” he informs her. “For my own personal pride.”

She nods thoughtfully. “It does indeed need restoring.” He curved, icy blade gleams in the early afternoon sun, mirroring her dangerous smile. “Square up.”

Since honour is for nerds, Nico doesn’t bother waiting. He simply attacks, lunging for the left side Piper always leaves open. Unfortunately for him, her recent meddling in his love life means her mother has blessed her with a little sprinkling of extra verve, and she dodges easily and cheerfully.

He sends a glum mental prayer down to his father.

Anytime you’re feeling generous, Pop, he grumbles, I would love a boost.

There’s an actual rumble to the ground, as his father laughs at him.

“Real kind,” he says out loud. “Dick.”

“I wonder if you would have more success in the wooing department if you had conversations outside of your own head,” Piper says sweetly. She spins her sword in a neat little circle by his face. “All bay brooding makes you look so…broody.”

Nico scoffs at her. “Will seems to like my broodiness. For some reason. So there.”

“And yet…” She trails off, shooting him a teasing look. Nico is unfortunately very easy to tease (thanks, Bianca) (and for that measure thanks, Hazel) (Reyna too, probably) (and honestly Annabeth) (gods, and Percy) (don’t even get him started on Leo) (really, it would be more prudent to name the people who do not take sick pleasure in driving him up the wall) and as such succumbs easily to her tormenting, taking a hard hit to the side when he’s too keyed up to avoid her spinning slash.

“Note to self, don’t let the monsters know about big embarrassing crushes,” she muses. “They make Nico sloppy and will get him killed in battle.”

She mimes writing something down. This, thankfully, leaves her distracted enough that Nico gets his sword levered against hers, twisting until she’s disarmed. She lifts both hands up in surrender when he points a sword at her throat, but remains entirely unaffected by his glare.

“Pride re-instated?” she asks.

Nico huffs. “No.”

…Yes.

“You’re such a grouch,” she says fondly. She tries to ruffle his hair and is forcibly stopped by his jab to her ribs. Unfortunately, Piper McLean takes no shit sitting down, and in a minute they’re on the floor, getting caked in dust, trying to see who can leave the most bruises on the other. Nico would wager that they’re just about tied.

“You have a list,” Piper grunts, muffled as she bites his bicep. He shouts, wrenching his arm away — she is pointy. “I have no idea what you’re all mopey about.”

He digs his knee into the small of her back. “I gave him flowers! He made a poultice out of them!”

“Technically, you made the poultice.”

He elbows her in the stomach. She shrieks and jabs her knuckles right under his eye.

“You’re so annoying!”

“Ugh!”

Every part of Nico’s body aches. So badly. He’s not sure which one of them won their brawl, if either, but he knows for sure that he is actively turning purple. He feels like the first time his nonna gave him a hammer and a piece of cutlet — he was maybe five years old — and told him to flatten it. (He remembers, now, the look on her face as she wiped pulverized chicken flesh from her eye. Oops.)

“Go to Will and get healed up?”

Nico huffs a laugh, immediately wincing at the strain on his tender ribs.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

The walk is miserable and bruised. And slow, since both of them are limping. Several campers walk by snickering, since apparently Saving The Entire Damn World, For Real And Actually, You Ungrateful Brat, Should I Just Destroy It Again Then earns you no permanent respect.

It’s not too bad, though. Nico would rather chomp on concrete than admit it out loud, but Piper isn’t horrible company, and she hums when she walks. Bianca did the same thing. For once, it’s a pleasant reminder, although he does wonder if Nico will ever be able to look at the women in his life and not think of her.

(In all honesty, probably not. He sees her in the clouds, in the gnarled bark of the trees; feels her in the warmth of the sun; hears her in every snorting laugh. He likes to imagine how much she would love these women, though. If she were alive they would be her friends first. He knows she was happy with the Hunters, however briefly. He thinks he can maybe forgive himself if he thinks of her without weeping.)

“Least it doesn’t look too busy today,” Piper comments. She purses her lips at the Big House, which for once seems quiet. Perhaps Will made good on his threats and finally dosed the Hermes’ table breakfast spread with Benadryl. Nico would be proud. He deserves a day of peace.

“Great. That means we get the full force of Will’s bitching on us alone.”

Piper scoffs. “Please. You like it when he yells at you.”

Nico almost kills her for real. By the time she manages to kick him off of her, still snickering to herself, they both have a new layer of bruises on top of the old ones.

“Gods, di Angelo, you make it so easy —”

“Shut up,” he says hotly. “You are literally the most annoying person in this stupid camp.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He scowls, kicking a rock to avoid kicking her and setting both of them off again. It rolls over the grass, pinging off the side of one of the many braziers and rolling finally to a stop back at his feet. In its new position, it perfectly catches the brightly shining sun, refracting the light in a dandelion-esque burst.

“Huh,” he murmurs.

Wincing at his stiff joints, he crouches, vaguely registering Piper pausing somewhere to the left of him. He scoops the little thing up, bringing it close to his face to inspect.

It’s roughly cut, so it’s not anyone’s jewel or anything. Some of the pieces are textured with tiny little divots, like a regular stone, but some are straight and flat and catch the light. Some kind of crystal, then. It’s dense, about the size of a walnut, and shaped kind of like a brain. It is a very familiar shade of blue.

“Holt Hades, you are sappy.”

Nico flushes, shoving the rock into his pocket. “Nobody asked you, Piper.”

“I asked me! I am always asking me.” She jogs to keep up with his suddenly speedy strides, gripping onto the elbow of his shirt when he tries to move faster. “Is this Plan B? Little gifts.”

“It’s a rock,” he says shortly.

“Diamonds are rocks.”

“I didn’t get him a diamond.” He pauses. “Should I get him a diamond?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not the one in love with him.”

“Who said anything about —”

“Nico! Piper! Hey!”

“Notice who he called first,” she whispers, right in his ear. She grins over at Will before he can say anything. Or curse her. “Hey, Will! How are you?”

It is unfair for a person to look good in mint scrubs. They don’t even suit him, not really, but he still looks — well, he’s beautiful. His hair is poofier than usual and sticks out like he stuck his finger in a socket, and his beam is so bright Nico has to genuinely squint to look at him, and how is it, honestly, that his freckles look like dappled sunlight? That’s not normal.

“I’m okay.” He waves them inside, not bother to close the door behind them — it’s nice out, and Nico knows he prefers the breeze and sun. “Bored.”

“Not enough ocular surgery to perform?”

Will’s grin turns wry. “Nope.” He reaches out to brush his thumb across Nico’s eye scar. He freezes, holding his breath, hyperaware of those callused fingers as they approach the ever-warming skin of his face, heart galloping in his chest. As soon as Will makes contact — because of course the touch was to get his vitals, c’mon, Nico, head in the game — he frowns.

“Why are so many of your capillaries burst?”

Piper smiles guiltily, holding up a hand.

“I beat him up.”

“Wha — you did not!” He turns to Will, indignant. “We beat each other up! She’s lying!”

Will sighs. He glares at them both for a full forty seconds, then turns his face up to the heavens, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like I do not deserve to be surrounded by this kind of dumbassery. Send lightning through the sky if I should let them suffer.

Nico waits. No lightning comes forth.

Will sighs. “Cot, let’s go, y’all know the drill.”

Piper mouths y’all as she sits down. Nico mouths eat dirt back at her.

“Now, I could hum sum’n and —”

“Sum’n,” Piper whispers delightedly. Nico ignores her.

“— get y’all fixed up good, but y’all’ve pissed me off good —”

Nico takes the initiative to pillow-smack Piper in the face while Will’s back is turned. Luckily, it muffles her shriek.

“— so I’m not gonna do all that.” He closes the cupboard with his hip, hands full of vials. “Ain’t even gonna waste ambrosia on y’all, honestly. Y’get some bruise ointment and a Tylenol ‘cause I know y’all were up to shenanigans.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on ‘nan’. Nico knows he is trying very hard to be stern, but he is in fact very cute, and Nico is putting a lot of his brainpower towards memorizing the specific wrinkle pattern that Will’s nose gets when he’s annoyed. If he says that Will looks like a bunny he might actually get shot, no matter how much Will allegedly seems to like him, so he manages to choke down the sentiment. But it is indeed there.

“— and take it easy, y’hear? Bruises don’t heal in a day.”

Gods, his eyes are really, really pretty. He’s almost tired of thinking it, but they match the sky exactly, all the time. Poets write about sparkling eyes and pretty faces all the time, but all of them can choke because all of them are liars. Will Solace has the prettiest eyes of anyone who has ever lived. They are indeed the windows to the soul, and his soul is just —

“This is for you,” Nico blurts. Essentially acting on its own, his hand slips in his pocket and draws out the blue stone, holding it out. “Um. I saw it and —” He glances at Piper, panicked, and she kicks him in encouragement. “Thought of you. So.”

Will stares at the stone for a moment. Nico sweats.

“Nico di Angelo,” he chides, hands on his hips. The panicked look he flits in Piper’s direction grows tenfold. He is not at all comforted by the grimace she sends back. “Do you think I’m so corrupt as to accept a bribe?”

“Um.” Nico hesitates. Piper smacks her face onto her hands, groaning. “That’s not what I —”

“Well, you would be correct.” Quick as a bird, Will darts out and snatches the stone, sliding it into one of his many (many) shorts pockets, nodding in approval. “I don’t have any aventurine. I’ve been looking for it. Good bribe.”

He sets down the ointment and Tylenol, gesturing for Nico to hold out his hands. Nico sighs, then complies.

“I mean, he didn’t destroy it, this time,” Piper whispers as he begins to sing, enveloping Nico’s body in a warm, golden glow. “So…progress?”

“Progress,” Nico agrees. He glances over at Will, eyes squeezed shut in focus, and rolls his eyes fondly. “Who knew it would be so hard to convince someone who already likes me to go out with me.”

———

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eddie4bat-president · 3 months

Text

Hands. Who knew?

@steddiemicrofic written for the prompt: "edge" | rating: G | wc: 509 | cw: none

It catches him off-guard when it happens. Eddie has never really thought too much about hands. Sure, he likes how his own hands look covered in silver and he knows the effect dramatically steepled hands can have when prompting a party of adventurers on their next move in the face of danger. He's also had a girl here or there look a little too long at his hands from the edge of what the Hideout counts as a stage while he had been shredding his heart out; comparing their hand sizes afterwards in a move that always worked on him more for its boldness than the hand thing itself. His hands are just... part of him. An important part, for sure, they're what he uses to write and draw and play guitar until his fingers bleed but also a part he has never consciously wasted a thought on.

So he isn't ready for the way it makes him feel to have Steve push the palms of their hands together to compare while still talking about... something. Basketball, maybe. Something about holding balls? In the back of his mind there is a voice telling Eddie to make a joke but he can't make the thoughts connect. Eddie's hands aren't small by any means but Steve's are bigger. His fingers longer. They're peeking out from behind Eddie's. Thicker too. His whole palm wider. Radiating heat.

And while Eddie is still grappling with that view and the thoughts that follow, Steve continues to manipulate his hand whichever way strikes his fancy. Looking at his rings, tapping them one by one in a rhythm that makes sense only to him. Following the last one with his own finger while turning the whole hand so the palm faces upwards. He starts tracing the lines there - softly, so softly - following the outline of Eddie's fingers with the edge of his fingernail. Had Eddie's hands always been this sensitive? The threat of a shiver begins building at the back of his neck. Steve starts paying special attention to the calluses at Eddie's fingertips, tapping his own fingertips against them.

Eddie only becomes aware that Steve had fallen silent when he starts speaking again, "You know... I used to be good at this... knowing if someone was into me." Tap tap tap. A self-deprecating laugh, "or not into me, that's been happening a lot..."

A few more soft taps, like he's steeling himself for something, a determined look on his face though his gaze remains locked on their hands.

"But with you, I... I don't know. I can't imagine, like, platonically holding my buddy's hand. But everything you do is so out of the ordinary to me. Maybe you do?" Everything seems far away except for the heat of Steve's hands on his and his words echoing in Eddie's head.

"...Fuck it." Steve wraps his fingers under Eddie's, his thumb on top and makes devastating world-shattering eye contact while he presses the softest kiss onto Eddie's knuckles.

"Are you? Into me? Because I'm so very into you."

#this got away from me i'm not gonna lie #steddie #steddie microfic #prompt: edge #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #hey i'm talkin' here #i should probably invest in an actual writing tag #steddiemicroficfebruary #why is this so nerve-wracking

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lazywriters-blog · 8 months

Text

SISTER's SUPPORT 2

Summary: You have a story to tell about how you got pushed into a situation by your sister-in-law. Lying didn't get you anywhere.

Since you wanted a part two, here it is. With some sprinkled dark chocolate and layered spooky, I like these kinds of goofy dark scenarios- (not proofread)

You felt like a married couple consoling a raging teen who refused their favorite snack because of something you did. Even if you did, you had no idea of what you did wrong to deserve this, you barely know the twin brother and sister.

Maybe faking it till you make it home safe and sound was a good decision to keep in mind while you slowly and carefully sip your black tea, peering over to the twins who thought taking eyes off of you meant death.

You know they are not bad people, there are only good things you've heard about them in passing, adorable twin magicians with hats and tricks beloved because of it.

You didn't think the sister would have such a temper. Who in their right mind would come forth and throw accusations, unless her dear brother did admire you and you've gone and missed his magic show?

"No need to be coy, you don't need to lie about anything, we know much already. You like my brother too, don't you?"

You couldn't have responded quicker than lyney who gasped and hid his face behind his hand unsure if disappointment or embarrassment was right in his situation. '... Would you please stop embarrassing me and giving me heart attacks?"

"I'm sure he's a good gentleman and-"

"I asked, do you like him or not? Quit beating around the bushes and tell us the truth, that way my brother can rest easy and move on from his unhealthy fixation." She crossed her arms and glared, you are not sure if she's older than you yet.

"Oh... Uh." she's blunt, you were caught off guard, "Well, to be honest, I don't know him. You both are good magicians I've heard, I can't say if I like him or not if I haven't gotten to know him at all."

"Brother, tell her about yourself." She faced him, "You've been pining over a girl who doesn't even know you better than herself and you've been losing sleep over this?"

"Lynette, maybe spare me some dignity and let things happen naturally. Why do you have to rat me out like that?"

"Because I hate seeing you like this."

If you could get up and leave, you would without a second wasted. The twins were bickering while you contemplated your wisest words and phrases, sentences that were guaranteed to get you out of it with your ego intact.

"I said I've lost sleep because of that one failed trick I got wrong, and you were the one to butt in before I could make my move!"

"If I hadn't, this wouldn't be happening! You would be back to stalk-" Lyney quickly put his hand on her mouth and furrowed his eyebrows, as if to say 'Shut up she doesn't need to know that.'

But that expression eased off when he turned around to look you in the eye, "I'm sorry about this, my sister is a little fussy and all, you know..." he nervously smiled, had you not known better or seen it happen you would have believed they had nothing to hide.

"It's fine." What more could you say? They were guilty of dragging you here.

"I am sorry, I am, My sister usually doesn't pull off such stunts, it would be better for us to forget about this and move along." he laughed, but somehow it felt ominous to you, the way he steepled his hand and drop his elbow on the table, he didn't feel threatened anymore.

"Of course, why not," you answered.

"Splendid!" he raised his hands, giving you a tight smile with closed eyes. Giving it a few seconds, he waited for his sister to say something, elbowing her when she didn't.

Were you bonding with the twins? Not really.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but would you like to marry my brother? I'm sure he'll sleep better knowing you are his. He's not a bad guy."

If you weren't there, Lyney wouldn't have kept up his smile and made you see him in a good light, however, his smile still appeared strained.

These two were oddly funny siblings with a sudden tendency to expose each other.

"Lynette..." Lyney hummed in a low voice, and his sister did not even flinch, "Sorry bro."

"Was this conversation about marriage from the beginning? Why didn't you say so? I wouldn't have had to worry so much haha..." how were you supposed to get out of this?

Reacting positively could only get you so far.

"So? Do you approve of my brother? You guys should get married in two days." Nothing seemed to faze this girl.

You looked at Lyney, then Lynette and you weren't sure of what you were going to say anymore.

If you say no, you are certain his sister will tear you to shreds and make sure the rest of your days go on as badly as possible, even saying 'I'll think about it' ingrained the same scenario in your head.

It shouldn't be so bad to say yes, no?

"... Why not?"

Saying no meant more harm than good. Besides, you just wanted to get out of this situation as quietly as possible.

"Bro, you owe me one. When can I expect grandchildren?"

"You mean nephews..." lyney replied.

"Yeah, that."

Tag list

@swivy123 @rotin0

@idontevenknow129 @heartsbyvalentina

#yandere imagines #yandere drabble #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact lyney #lyney x reader #lyney x y/n #lyney #yandere lyney #Kindaa yandere #genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact x reader

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morganbritton132 · 10 months

Note

My friend is a high school teacher, and the other day, he told us this story of when one of his students said, "Going 90." And proceeded to type his chair AND his desk to the side aka 90°. The kid landed on his side and got out his paper to start working. He said, "I think better this way." And my friend just had no clue what to do, lol.

I could help but think of Steve just standing there with his hands on his hips, trying to hide his laughter with a look of disappointment. And one of the other students gets it on film. So Eddie sees it and starts doing it everywhere as a joke.

The whole class is in on it which is how it ends up on TikTok for Eddie to see.

Mr. H hasn’t been in a bad mood per se, but there’s something off about him that his whole sixth period has picked up on. It’s not the low energy tiredness that sometimes lingers after he misses a day of work because of a seizure or the tense stiffness that’s present when he’s trying to work through a migraine.

It’s something else. It’s like he’s…sad.

He just seems really sad and the students do not like it, so sixth period looks towards their class clown and Jeremy says, “No problem, guys. I got this.”

They are waiting in anticipation as the class starts.

Steve takes attendance, nothing. He passes out a worksheet and notes, nothing. He starts the lesson and nothing happens until Steve asks, “Can anybody tell me what the characteristics of a right triangle are?”

There’s a moment of hesitation as everybody waits to see if that’s the moment but when Jeremy doesn’t do anything, Annalise answers, “One of the angles is ninety degrees.”

“That’s ri-“

“Going 90, Mr. H!” Jeremy shouts from the back of the classroom and then proceeds to yeet his desk, his chair, and himself sideways onto the floor.

The reverberation of the desk hitting the tile echoes around the room, followed by a round of giggling as Jeremy casually gets his spiral notebook and a pencil. He presses both of them to the desk so they don’t fall.

He’s writing his name at the top corner of his worksheet when he sees Mr. H’s shoes approach. His socks match his tie today. Jeremy thinks that’s very stylish of him. He mentions it.

Steve makes a strangled noise and when Jeremy looks up at him, he sees that he has his hands steepled in front of his face like he’s praying for patience. At the angle that Jeremy’s at, he can see Steve pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh.

Finally, he puts his hands on his hips and asks, “Why?”

“I’m putting myself in the mindset of a right angle so I can learn better,” Jeremy answers and Steve presses his lips together again. He shakes his head so Jeremy presses on, “It’s like method acting but for math. I’m becoming the angle. There’s like, a whole bunch of research and stuff about it online.”

Steve’s shoulders shake when he asks, “That so?”

“Yep, Mr. H. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

“Yeh, that’s up,” Steve composes himself. “That’s hypoten-news to me.”

The whole class groans.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the pun but laughs at the three different videos he sees of the interaction. He thinks it’s hilarious and he thinks it’s even funnier when Steve retells the story later. He comments on one of the videos, “V funny, gonna steal this.”

A few days go by and then Eddie posts a Tiktok that’s just a compilation of him shouting ‘Going 90’ and Steve scrambling to catch him before he falls over. With each clip, Steve’s reaction gets slower and slower.

The first time Eddie does it, Steve drops everything he’s holding to stop Eddie tipping the barstool he’s on onto the floor. The second time, he follows Eddie into the grass when he goes 90 off the deck. The fifth time, Steve bear hugs him before he can get the phrase out. The fifteenth time, he just lets Eddie fall.

#great prompt! freaking hilarious and props to your teacher friend because I would’ve just laughed #Eddie filmed every clip for his compilation in two days #he had bruises #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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skzdarlings · 11 months

Text

part v: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 18k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamic plus explicit violence, threatening behaviour, mentions of homophobia, implied suicidal ideation, and explicit sexual content.

Jisung sighs with agonizing sorrow as he turns his baseball cap around. He tugs the brim low then steeples his hands on the desk.

“I see,” he says grimly. “I understand. You found paradise in Hyunjin. You had a good friendship, it made a good romance. So you didn’t need a friend like me. Now you come to me and say, ‘Han Jisung, come bowling with me and my evil boyfriend.’ But you don’t ask with respect. You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to go bowling—”

“We’re in earth science right now,” Felix says, bemused.

“He’s quoting a movie,” you say.

“Ah.”

“And for the last time, Hyunjin is not my boyfriend,” you say. “We’re just… hanging out.”

Your second ‘date’ with Hyunjin was once more a family affair as your father invited him and his parents to the mansion for lunch. It was professionally catered because your father does nothing by halves, so at least the food was good. You and Hyunjin were mostly silent in the company of your parents, but you were allowed to walk around the yard by yourselves after.��

He looked good because he always looks good, in a fuzzy purple sweater and name-brand jeans. His charisma was dwindled to nothing, though. He kept his fists curled up in the sleeves of his sweater and smiled a lot of forced smiles. His parents’ presence clearly does a number on his mentality. He did unwind somewhat when you were finally alone, but it was hard to shake the feeling of observation, their eyes stalking your every step like animals in a zoo.

“Maybe we should just have sex on the ground here,” you said dryly. “See if that satisfies them.”

He burst out laughing at that, an endearingly wheezy sound that made you giggle too.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “When you make jokes like that I remember you and Han Jisung really are best friends.”

“Guilty,” you said with a snort. “Stupid jokes is what is friendship is all about.”

He smiled at the subject of friendship. His expression was full of so much warmth, very contrary to his polite but cold countenance during lunch when he only flirted appropriately.

You like Hyunjin as a friend and you think he might feel the same way, hence the reservation on both your parts to truly commit to this farce of a relationship. It feels wrong to use him to keep your father happy.

You caught his eye this morning in the school corridor, sharing a smile as you crossed paths. Even though a true relationship has not been defined, you told him you wanted to tell Jisung before you started hanging out at school.

You made the mistake of saying this within earshot of Hyunjin’s parents. His father unfortunately overheard you, enquiring as to the identity of this Jisung.

“Just her little school friend,” your father said. “Nobody important.”

Jisung might be nobody important to your father but he is still your friend. And unlike your father, who merits the value of life on business calculations, the first question Jisung asks is, “Does he make you happy?”

Felix is scribbling in his notebook but lifts his head at that question. You cannot look at him directly because you know it will shatter your very careful mask.

“Hyunjin is actually really nice when you get to know him,” you say, because the best lie has a hint of truth in it. “And I really do like spending time with him. So… it would make me happy if you could be happy for me too.”

Jisung scrutinizes you, then glances at Felix who has gone back to scribbling in his notebook. Eventually Jisung smiles and spins his cap backwards.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Jisung says. He turns very dark and serious when he says, “But that pretty rich boy is paying for my nachos.”

You catch up to Hyunjin in the hallway. He laughs when you tell him Jisung’s stipulation.

“I think I can afford it,” he jokes, then quirks an eyebrow. “Jisung… He doesn’t know about your dad, does he?”

“Only a bit,” you say, thinking back to the countless times you abstractly complained about your father to him. “I mean, he knows he’s strict but he doesn’t know why. I complain about some stuff but… I don’t really go into detail.” Truth be told, you like that your friendship with Jisung is so far removed from your home life. He has nothing to do with your father or your wealth or your abuse. He likes you for you and that has always been the case.

“What about Felix?” Hyunjin asks. He nods behind you because Felix is never too far away. He is blending in as inconspicuously as he can, pretending to read notices on a bulletin board.

“What about him?” you say, heat creeping up your neck. You hope you appear casual.

“How close are you?” Hyunjin asks, his casual tone coloured with a hint of suggestion, like he already knows the answer.

You suppose anyone might assume Felix has a crush on you seeing as he is never far from your side. There is little explanation that a civilian could glean other than Felix being clingy or lovesick. No one would guess it is his job to trail after you.

But the suggestion is difficult to rebuke because your true feelings get all twisted up inside you. You and Felix do like each other – too much for your own goods. Though there has not been a reprise of the other morning, in fact you have not mentioned it once, there is a new electricity in all of your touches. That exchange did not satisfy or quell any desires, in fact it seemed to accomplish the opposite. When you wake in the morning to him so close, your heart turns into a thunderstorm and it sends sparks flying through every inch of your body.

You want him more than ever. You also hope you never get him or you will never find the resolve to let go.

“He’s just my—” You cannot force the word friend. “He’s just Felix,” you say. “He drives me crazy, to be honest.” That much is true.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows. He looks at Felix then turns your body so he is blocking you from sight. He leans in close to speak.

“He isn’t bothering you, is he?” Hyunjin asks. “Because if he is—”

A sharp laugh jumps out of you. The offer of protection is unexpected and unintentionally amusing. You have seen Felix in the midst of his training, his body a well-honed instrument that he knows and controls with utmost precision. Hyunjin uses his body in a different way, playing to his strengths with his showmanship, but he would be no match in confrontation.

Not that he knows it. His offer is very sincere.

You gaze at him, studying his kind but determined face. You remember how Hyunjin was expelled from his old school for fighting with another boy, supposedly over a girl. You read the report yourself and you recall how the other boy was badly pulverized. It is hard to picture Hyunjin doing something like that, but you know how violence often lurks in unassuming places.

“Thank you,” you say. “But it’s fine. Really.”

You guide the conversation back to bowling and it distracts him well enough.

At least you were allowed to plan this date. Your father essentially ordered you to go on a solo date with Hyunjin, except you could not be truly alone because Felix had to be there. When you questioned the logistics of that, your father said to work it out, that he would heed Felix’s discretion on the matter.

Fortunately, even with things tense between you, Felix does take your opinion into consideration. He agreed when you suggested a casual venue where you could hang out with Hyunjin and better acquaint him with your friends.

You are still not sure how long this charade is meant to continue, but for now you try to enjoy having another friend. This turns into a daunting task. Your social skills are lacklustre to say the least and attempting to befriend Hyunjin’s huge circle of friends proves perilously overwhelming. Fortunately, Hyunjin doesn’t take offense when you bail early at lunch to sit with Jisung instead. Hyunjin has a lot of friends but none with whom he is especially close.

“Having a best friend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you joke, watching Jisung bowl by swinging the ball two-handedly between his legs. You slouch in your seat as if embarrassed by him, shaking your head while Hyunjin laughs.

“He’s funny,” Hyunjin says.

“Then why do you antagonize him?” you ask, lightly but curiously.

“Because it’s fun,” he says with a smirk, making you laugh and Felix chuckle. “And easy.”

The three of you watch Jisung wail as his ball predictably rolls into the gutter.

“Fair enough,” you say.

You can tell Hyunjin has his guard up. It does not make him unkind but he is less personable even while he is more charismatic. You know that persona is in place to protect him, that Hyunjin wears happiness and charm the way you wear ire. Although they are contrary dispositions, both keep people at bay.

Jisung, being Jisung, manages to slip through the cracks of that guarded wall, much like he did you. You got to know Jisung slowly then all at once, empty moments passing between you until one day you realized he had long passed the guarded gate.

You are mulling this over when you spot him. You are so surprised that you choke on your soda and sputter the liquid painfully out of your nose. Your spontaneous violent hacking startles the boys, all of them jumping then fussing over you.

You are still coughing when Lee Minho approaches.

Hyunjin and Jisung do not see him at first, too pre-occupied with wiping your shirt and asking if you are okay. It is Felix who spots Minho next, realization dawning on his face before his expression sours. You have been seeking that reaction, looking for the vaguest hint of jealousy or at least acknowledgement. Felix does not seem very intimidated by Hyunjin, even when he flirts with you or touches you. He can probably tell your feelings are only friendly. But you did like Lee Minho once and he knows that.

Your heart skips beats when you and Felix look at each other. He has not been holding your gaze lately, quick to look away when you catch him staring. It sounds strange to say that you miss him when he is sleeping in your bed every night, but you ache with the loss of intimacy. He is the first person you see in the morning and the last face you see at night, but he has never felt farther away. Even your very first night together involved more genuine interaction.

If he truly did not want you, it would be easier. But when you do catch him staring, his eyes are intense, his gaze forever thoughtful. When he is not minding his actions, he naturally leans towards you just as you do him, orbiting planets around the light of your stars.

Jisung likes you as a friend, Hyunjin likes you as an ally, but Felix knows every part of you, the good and the bad, the normal and the crazy. When he touches you, he touches all of you, and you feel like a whole person, full of more life and possibility than you ever thought you could be. You told yourself not to rely on his touches and maybe you should have listened, maybe this withdrawal would not ache so terribly now, but you cannot bring yourself to fully regret it.

What you want is to reach across this table and hold his face, to bring it close to yours. Even if you don’t kiss, it would be enough to have him close, his breath on your lips and his freckled cheeks warm under your palms.

You will take what you can get, basking in the devoted attention of his gaze as your former crush approaches the table.

Minho comes up behind Hyunjin and smacks a hand onto his shoulder, startling him.

“I could hear you from the parking lot, Hwang Hyunjin,” Minho teases. “How many degrees was it again?”

When the rival popular boys were both at school, their interactions were minimal despite their reputations. Their few encounters were only jokingly hostile, one running gag revolving around Minho cooking Hyunjin in an air-fryer.

“One-hundred-eighty degrees,” Hyunjin completes the joke. He laughs with everyone else but he is blushing scarlet from the tips of his ears all down his neck.

It is strange. Hyunjin is a physical person, at least when performing. This is the same guy who made out with his girlfriend in a classroom. The same guy who got detention on his first day for skipping class to fool around with some girl. And yet his shoulder dips as if Minho’s hand is too heavy to bear, as if he is overwhelmed by the touch.

Hyunjin once remarked on your powers of observation. It is especially easy to read someone when their behaviour is similar to your own. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. The stilted proximity, the way they naturally lean towards each other, so heavily affected by the simplest touch on the shoulder.

How they absolutely cannot bring themselves to meet eyes.

Minho talks to your table, friendly enough, but it is obvious he has no idea who the rest of you are. He only knows Hyunjin, and he addresses Hyunjin directly, but he does not look at Hyunjin for more than a few seconds, and they do not look at each other at the same time.

Eventually, Minho squeezes the back of Hyunjin’s neck and Hyunjin curls up his fingers. Minho smiles and says his goodbyes, casual, friendly, sparing one final glance at Hyunjin that Hyunjin does not return. Hyunjin reaches for his glass and takes a drink while Minho leaves to join his own friends across the room.

You wonder if Felix registered any of it, but he is still frowning at Minho’s retreating back. You suppose he was watching you more than Hyunjin. Jisung is taking a picture of his abysmal bowling score.

You look at Hyunjin but he is smiling again. He offers to pay for dinner, swiftly diverting the conversation in that direction. Jisung goes with him to counter to order, leaving you and Felix alone.

Felix has gone back to feigned indifference, sipping from his soda as he stares at nothing particular.

“I need to be alone with Hyunjin for a bit,” you say. That quickly snaps his attention to you. “I just want to talk to him.”

“Talk,” Felix says, lifting an eyebrow. “Uhh, about what?”

“If it was your business, I wouldn’t need to be alone with him,” you say curtly. You are being intentionally antagonistic with that one, but you get a little thrill when it succeeds in piquing his interest. You suppose you have always resorted to bad behaviour for attention. Encouraged by the heat darkening his gaze, you flutter your eyelashes and drawl, “My daddy would get mad if you got in the way of us, you know.”

He laughs with disbelief. Stubborn as ever, he looks away, popping an elbow on the table and digging his fist into his temple.

“What?” you say with exaggerated innocence. “Wouldn’t he, Felix? Doesn’t he think I’m a bad girl who needs a good boy to fix her?”

He looks at you, just a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but it gets you so hot that you momentarily forget your whole endeavour.

He drops his arm with a thump, smiling at you with all that performative saccharine sweetness. It is the smile he projects when he is convincing the world he is just sweet, innocent Lee Felix. Beanie, flannel, ripped jeans, just another guy, cute and unassuming.

He stands and swiftly turns on the heel of his foot, slapping a hand down on the back of your seat so you instinctively lean back. He follows you down, in your face when he speaks in that low, honeyed voice, “Hyunjin doesn’t have what it takes for that, sweetheart.”

Then he is back in his seat, arms crossed and back to ignoring you.

“I hate you,” is what naturally falls from your lips, no other word sufficing to summarize the sheer inundation of feelings.

The corner of his lips quirk up in a little grin.

He is the present bane of your existence, but Felix does oblige your request. At the end of the evening, he purposefully leads Jisung away with some empty distraction, holding conversation while watching you over his shoulder. He does not go far, but far enough to be out of ear-shot.

Hyunjin is bent down, changing his shoes, and it takes you a minute to muster the nerve to speak.

“Hyunjin,” you finally say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended.

Your tone is usually sharp so the unexpected softness has him tensing before he even lifts his head. When he does, it is with a dimpled smile, handsome and so polite.

You scrub a hand over your face, shaking your head, trying to think of something to say. You do not want to put him in an awkward spot, but you definitely do not want him walking into a worse situation because of ignorance.

“You… you weren’t expelled for fighting… were you?” you finally ask. “And you and Minho weren’t enemies.”

His expression caves, a sharp breath parting his lips. He stares at you for a long moment, flickering between a fake laugh, anger, fear, and finally resignation.

“How did you…” he starts, then laughs without any humour, dry and airy as he pushes his hair back. “You really are good at seeing people, huh.”

“I stand by what I told you at that party,” you say. “That I’m sorry you feel like you have to hide the best parts of yourself. But as your friend, I need you to understand… my father is a very, very dangerous man. He uses people. All the things that make you who you are… he will just categorize them statistically and work out how to use those things against you to benefit him.”

He covers his mouth and stares at the ground, looking contemplative. After some time, he drops his hand, and speaks in an unsteady voice that makes him seem very young. “I can handle it,” he says. “My father…” Another dry laugh. “I had a… friend… at my whole school. My father found us together. He tried to get him leave me alone but… stupid kid… he didn’t listen. So my dad hired this thug, I mean, I didn’t even know you could do that… He shook him up and we paid off the family and then he moved me here and he said… he said…” His voice trails off and you don’t think he will find it again.

“Image,” you say. “Expectation. Whatever.”

He huffs a breath, rolls his eyes, laughs again.

“Yes,” he says. “I thought it would be easy. He wasn’t asking me to change, just pretend. I said… well, that’s not that bad, it could be worse. It’s worse for other people. I can pretend. But it’s not easy and…” He sucks in an unsteady breath, his face crinkling with emotion. His voice is strained when he continues, “I don’t like lying, and just because I don’t like girls it doesn’t mean I like using them. You were the final straw, I just…” He rubs his temples and shakes his head. “I just need to get through this year. I can move out after school but… my dad won’t give me access to my savings until the end of the year and only if I can show him I’m… ‘better’. So I… I need to get through this year.”

“Hyunjin, I want to help you,” you say, “but you need to know what you’re getting into with me. My father is more dangerous than just hiring a thug. He is the thug, his whole operation is thugs. He snaps his fingers and half the city is rearranging itself for him.”

“You talk back to him a lot,” Hyunjin argues, a fact you cannot refute. Though you are marginally better behaved in company, you are never truly docile.

“Yeah,” you say with a helpless laugh, “but trust me, I’m messed up.”

“So am I,” he says. “We can help each other. Keep our dads off our backs for now then figure it all out.”

Silence falls as you consider each other’s words. You feel like no matter what choice you make, it will be the wrong one.

“He works two jobs,” Hyunjin suddenly says, staring over your shoulder. You don’t have to turn to know it is Minho, on the other side of the room, laughing with his friends. “One is at a coffee shop. On the weekends he teaches dance classes to kids. His family isn’t well off but he is so casual about it that no one cares. Things everyone else gets ashamed or embarrassed about just doesn’t seem to bother him. I thought I hated him at first, because it all seemed so easy for him, and I was jealous because I thought I should be the lucky one. Then one morning after a party I was hungover and bitching at him, and he just said tsk…” Fondness creeps into his expression now, smoothing out the sadness that was there before. “Then he made me some coffee and kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it. I started working myself up about it and he called me idiot and did it again.” He looks at you. His voice is steady now. “My dad would never make coffee for someone. He doesn’t even know how. He pays someone to do all that meaningless stuff for him. Meaningless. That’s all his life is. He think it’s so important but it’s not. But I know better.”

He sits straighter and says with complete confidence, “My life will not be meaningless. I just need to get through this year.”

You know it is not so simple as that. You do not see a light at the end of the tunnel the way he seems to do. But he speaks with so much heartfelt conviction that you really do feel it for a moment.

In the end, it is impossible not to take his hand.

Felix is quiet on the car ride home. You know despite the pretence, he is curious about you and Hyunjin. His regard was a scrutinizing one, watching you hold hands until you said goodbye in the parking lot.

But Felix is acting his role, an indifferent and professional bodyguard. You take turns glancing at each other, occasionally catching eyes but looking away soon after.

The house will be empty for the next couple weeks as your father is on a business trip overseas. You strut confidently into the house with Felix on your heels. You busy yourself with scrolling on your phone, pretending you do not hear his agitated sighs. You plop yourself down on the couch and cross your legs.

Felix stands in front of you, arms crossed. You smile an excessively syrupy smile and bat your eyelashes.

“Yes?” you say. “Can I help you?”

“What are you doing with Hyunjin?” he asks.

“You know what I’m doing with Hyunjin,” you say dryly, looking at your phone again. “Just what my daddy said.”

“Okay but uhhh, you don’t like Hyunjin,” he says. “And you definitely don’t like obeying ‘daddy’.” He pitches up the word in a nasally whine to mock you, smiling when you glare.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you say. Then you shrug like the whole thing is beneath you, like you could not care less about his reaction even while it is all you care about.

You stand and knock shoulders when you brush past. You make it a scarce foot before he grasps the back of your neck and guides you back to him, gentle and slow but ungiving in its demand. Even when he lets go, you feel tingles where his fingertips so lightly pressed.

You are standing close, almost cheek to cheek. You can count each familiar freckle.

“Are you free right now?” he asks, dropping his voice in such a suggestive way that you immediately feel flushed. You nod without thinking too hard. When you do, his face lights up with enthusiasm and he smiles, eyes oh-so adorably crinkled with mirth. “Great!” he says. “Put on exercise clothes and meet me in the gym for training.”

He leaves the room in a brisk jog, waving over his shoulder. You stand there for another moment, staring at the empty doorway and computing the whiplash of that whole ridiculous exchange.

Never have you come so close to actually hating that abominable nightmare boy.

You have clearly worked Felix into a mood, so you decide to be marginally complacent and do what he asks lest he hunt you down and force you to do push-ups in the bedroom. We can work-out in the bedroom all right, you imagine yourself saying with a wink, knowing very well there is not a chance you would ever actually be able to say that. Agitating him with a healthy dose of implication is different than outright stating it. Though the look on his face would be funny.

When you reach the gym, he is in sweatpants and a t-shirt just like you. He is stretching in front of the mirror wall. He smiles that sardonic smile through the reflection, beckoning you to join him. You make sure to stomp as petulantly as possible, crossing your arms like a stubborn child when you reach the mirror.

“You need to warm-up first,” he says. “Do you know how to stretch?”

“Yes, I know how to stretch,” you say venomously, a useless lie since he has witnessed your pitiful demonstrations of athleticism in gym class. He doesn’t comment, though, just lifts his eyebrows and says, “okaaaay,” before moving on.

You copy a few of his stretches, though he makes his movements look easier than they are. Then he makes you run a few laps around the room, simply smiling when you scowl at him. You are pretty sure that part was just a petty punishment.

Finally he sets up some mats and starts explaining basic tactical defense positions. He clearly knows what he is talking about and the familiarity of the subject seems to ground him in his body. It draws you into a similar state of relaxation and soon you find yourself actually listening to his instructions.

You mirror a few of his positions, focussing on holding yourself steady, on finding your centre of gravity.

“You won’t beat most people with brute strength,” Felix says. “I mean, uhhh, ha-ha, I’m not exactly the biggest guy in the world, myself, you know? It isn’t about that, though. Look, feel your core strength…”

You lose yourself in your concentration, watching your own motions in the mirror as he steps around you. Your attention only fractures when he lays a hand on your shoulder. He is just fixing your posture but your body does not seem to care that the action is casual. You curse your own sensitivity and tell yourself to get over it, especially when he starts demonstrating more bodily manoeuvres, requiring you to put your hands on his arms or hands or shoulders.

He acts unbothered the whole time, making you feel even more ridiculous. Then he explains something while wrapping an arm around your neck from behind. You step closer instinctively and your eyes widen when your backside collides with his front and you realize he is not as indifferent as he is acting. It is only the vaguest stirring of interest, but his sweatpants do little for modesty.

He nudges you away and clears his throat, continuing his lesson but with a little stutter. You feel flustered and embarrassed too, somehow simultaneously craving this sort of evidence and also balking at it. You actually masturbated in front of each other but for some reason it is more embarrassing when he catches you looking at the subtle imprint in his sweats. He clears his throat again but continues the lesson like nothing happened. When he steps up behind you again, you are both careful to keep your distance, his arm only hovering around you.

“So the best thing in a situation like this—” he starts.

“I know what to do,” you say, the tension so unbearable that if you do not shatter it, it will break you instead. You abruptly swing your arm back, elbowing him in the gut. You catch him by surprise and he stumbles back with an oof, holding his stomach and glaring with playful intensity.

“Very funny,” he says and steps closer again.

“This works too,” you say, giggling then stomping on his foot. It isn’t very hard but it is unexpected so he curses, taking a playful swipe at you when you skip away.

“Mature,” he says sarcastically, but with a genuine smile. You stick your tongue out at him and he reaches again, laughing when you dance out of arm’s reach.

He chases after you and you yelp when he catches up, his retaliation a truly heinous, punitive tickle attack. You squeal and laugh in his arms, squirming to get away and apologizing through your shrieks. He just laughs, continuing his evil barrage of tickles. You get tangled together in your flailing, stumbling around and eventually landing in a giggling heap in front of the mirror.

Finally he stops, just as winded from laughter. You are sitting between his legs, slouched against his chest, facing the mirror as you pant and wind down from your giggles.

You look at each other through the reflection, the longest you have held each other’s gaze in a while. It feels different, less direct, but also more complete. You see yourself as well as him, sitting in a fairly intimate position and looking for all the world like a normal young couple, glowing with carefree happiness.

You take a few steadying breaths. He does as well. The rush of your game settles. In the absence of laughter, the room is quiet. The whole house is quiet, a big empty space with the two of you alone in one small room, securely tucked away in your privacy, looking at each other through a mirror.

He swallows.

Your heart is racing and not from any playful exertion. He has a hand on your elbow and the other on your knee, but he is holding very still, as if a move in any direction will be catastrophic. He is probably right to think that.

You touch his hand anyway, holding his gaze in the mirror while you slide his hand from your knee to your thigh. His brow pinches, expression contorted as if in pain, though the hardening press of him against your backside tells you it is not pain.

He says your name. Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his temple against your head.

“Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out all the softness of heart in his low drawl. You whimper, from that or his touch, his hand high on your thigh. Even through your clothes, his touch burns, waking nerves where it roams.

“Please,” you say, watching his face through his mirror. Finally he meets your gaze there, dark eyes on your face as he lets you guide his hand between your legs.

One deft stroke through your clothes has you making a sound like a sob. It pulls him over the brink of his hesitation, leaving it all behind as he cups you with a possessive sort of determination. His touch is clumsy and desperate but you don’t care, because it’s him.

It all seems to happen so fast and not fast enough, two pairs of nervous hands pushing and pulling. He tugs your knee over his, spreading your legs wide, and slides his hand into your sweats while you buck back against him. Your eagerness overwhelms you so he shushes gently in your ear, his free hand splayed across your collarbone. His forehead is pressed into the side of your head and he looks at you sideways through the mirror. You nod, holding his gaze as he touches you properly.

It is a fumbling, hungry touch, the hunger of someone who thinks he might never eat again after all this plenty. He might be right. He might be wrong. It doesn’t matter right now. You give yourselves over to the experience, as raw and inelegant as all that earnest passion is.

Your breathing is loud enough to fill the whole room, the whole house, broken sighs and guttural moans louder than the yelling that usually fills this place. His touch is only surface, not daring to go so far as putting his fingers inside you, even while rubbing his fingers through all that wet desire. Your knee is hooked over his, keeping you helplessly open under his touch when you come. He looks at you with an incredulous sort of amazement, then his eyes close and his low moan turns to a broken whimper as tumbles over the edge too.

You are both breathing hard in the aftermath, eyes closed, heads touching. You slowly bring your leg back and he slowly withdraws his hand. You look into the mirror when you take his hand, when you put it back between your legs over your clothes and hold it there. He says your name and curses.

It is the last thing he says for a while. You are both quiet. It is only later that night when the silence breaks, when he gets into bed after checking the security system. You look at each other across the space of that bed and mutely come to an accord, his arm outstretched in offering as you move into his embrace. He holds you against his chest, his heart beating under your ear.

“Do you hate me,” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You sniffle. You nod.

“Okay,” he says, and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

Your final year of school passes in a blur of afternoons with Jisung, fake dates with Hyunjin, and long, unsatisfied nights where you and Felix hold each other with the knowledge of everything between you – and do nothing about it. He keeps his head down, trains, and dutifully reports to your father. At least your father is more agreeable these days because of your supposed relationship with Hyunjin. He thinks it is changing you for the better when really you are just being careful for Hyunjin’s sake.

The end of the year rolls around and soon you are down to the last few days of classes. You and Hyunjin are due for a conversation about what happens next. You whisper this to him in class, sitting close as you are sharing a lab desk for two. He is bent down scribbling in your yearbook, his pen scratching when he freezes. He looks up at you and nods.

“Yo, are you lovebirds done?” Jisung asks, spinning around from the desk he is sharing with Felix. He points a ruler at Hyunjin. “You better have left the last page blank like I said, man. I have things to say to my girl.”

“I did, I did,” Hyunjin says with playful exasperation, handing Jisung your yearbook so he can sign it too. Jisung takes it with a snap, clapping the ruler on the desk before turning back to his own seat to write his message. You and Hyunjin look at each other, helpless but to laugh at his shenanigans.

You catch Felix’s eye. He knows your relationship is fake, though he doesn’t know why. He probably figures you are just trying to keep your father off your case. Even if you trust Felix, it is not your place to tell Hyunjin’s story, guarding it so long as he asks.

It does mean Felix looks at you with the occasional battered-puppy eyes.

“Come on, Felix,” Hyunjin says with his big, dimpled smile, “let me write in yours too.”

The yearbooks were handed out this morning so everyone is running around getting their friends to sign farewell messages. You have already signed more yearbooks than you ever imagined you would, Hyunjin’s friends considering you an acquaintance if nothing else. Signing for them was easy at least, lots of have a great summer and good luck with your future.

It is much harder coming up with something for genuine friends. While Hyunjin writes in Felix’s yearbook, you stare down at Hyunjin’s, trying to think of what to say to your fake boyfriend and real friend.

I hope you get everything you want and more, you finally write. I’m glad I got to know you. LUV U BOYFRIEND!!!!

He laughs at the last part when you show him. “I wrote the same thing in yours, loving girlfriend,” he says.

You laugh too. You crumple up some paper to chuck at Jisung who is still scribbling in your yearbook.

“What, are you writing a novel?” you ask. “Hurry up!”

“Patience!” Jisung says. “You can’t rush a masterpiece!”

You, Hyunjin, and Felix all laugh. Once more, you and Felix look at each other a little longer. You did not bother to write in his yearbook as no words could suffice to summarize anything.

He jokingly wrote Have a Great Summer : ) in yours.

Jisung finally finishes his apparent epic, smacking your yearbook onto your desk. You reach for it but he holds it shut, giving you a very serious look.

“You can’t read my message now, okay?” he says. “Read it at home. Alone. With violins in the background.”

You snort and roll your eyes but smile fondly at him.

“Okay, Jisung,” you say, “I promise to cherish it and read your masterpiece properly.”

“That’s all I ask,” Jisung says with a salute.

After school, Felix waits while you and Hyunjin have a quick word.

“Can you come to my house?” Hyunjin asks. “I want to talk properly. Not here.”

You know your father will agree but you need his permission as you cannot visit without an escort. Hyunjin knows you always have a bodyguard not too far from sight; he just does not know that Felix is one of them. Your father sends his own men on your excursions together.

Felix is never too happy when separated. He is cordial enough with your father’s security team but it is obvious that Felix thinks he is more skilled than them, often commenting on their weaknesses or blunders. You do not see things with his professional precision but you take his word for it. It is easy to believe Felix is the best. After all, it takes a whole team of people to replace him.

As predicted, your father agrees to let you visit Hyunjin for the evening. The Hwang mansion is nowhere near as big an estate nor are their security measures even close to your impenetrable, bulletproof, gilded prison, but it is still a secure location where you can be supervised. You go with a few of your father’s men, sharing a dry look with Hyunjin when you arrive at his house. He just smiles, used to it.

You have dinner with his him and his parents, smiling all the while, playing the part you have played all year. Your father’s men surround the house and you pass them in the backyard, making your way to Hyunjin’s old tree-house for some privacy. It leaves you within sight of your father’s men but well out of ear-shot.

You plop down on the little wooden balcony, sighing as you stare into the distance. The sun is setting over the neighbourhood, an orange sky dappled with rosy pinks, sparkling as it catches glass panes and ostentatious embellishments. The creaky old tree-house has a cozier feel, a world separated from the nonsense below.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin says after a moment of shared silence, just watching the sunset. You look at each other and he smiles. “Having a real friend who knows me made a difference this year.”

The forthright sincerity is a bit much for you, seeing as you are not so good at communicating so plainly. You think you are improving, though. The old you would have drawn back, but you are able to smile at Hyunjin in return.

“I hope it helped,” you say.

“It did.” He moves a little closer just to be safe. “My father gave me control of my savings. My grandmother left me an inheritance and I needed the money.” His smile brightens his whole face in the rosy light. “I bought a house.”

“A house?” your voice breaks as you try contain your surprise in a whisper.

He laughs at your reaction, still smiling.

“Yes,” he says. “Well, it’s more like a cabin. It’s not much to look at. I needed it to be off the record, all in cash, and far away from here.”

You find the image of a small, homey cabin to be devastatingly beautiful. It could be the most dilapidated, ramshackle mess of a construction and you would still consider it perfect. You imagine sitting on a tiny porch with Felix, him smiling a big smile that crinkles his eyes and shows his teeth, his face sunny and golden and truly carefree, not just pretending.

You look at Hyunjin and see him staring into space with the same smile. You picture him with all the tension gone from his shoulders, laughing his wheezy laugh instead of forcing polite smiles. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you say, holding his hand. “That’s really wonderful.”

It brings him back to you. Some of the dreaminess leaves his expression but he is definitely still happy. He squeezes your hand back.

“I can’t go yet,” he says. “My parents would just… They’d find me. I’m their only son. It would be an embarrassment to them if I just left. When I think about what my father did to my friend just to teach me a small lesson…” You squeeze his hand in sympathy. You both know his parents did not have that boy beaten to keep him away, but to teach Hyunjin a lesson.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath and says, “They won’t let me walk away easily. I have to do it right if I’m gonna be free.”

“How are you going to do that?” you ask, curious for his sake and even your own. The image of a far away cabin, untouched by trouble, is quickly nestling itself in some hidden cockle of your heart. You know that it will be difficult for him to leave but it would be next to impossible for you, so there is no sense in dreaming.

And yet… If Hyunjin can find a way, it makes you think that maybe certain dreams are not so impossible.

But he just sighs and looks away.

“I don’t know yet,” he says. “But I’m going to find a way.” He lets go of your hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. He passes it to you and you unfold it. You brow furrows as you read.

“Is this—”

“The city and address to the cabin,” he says.

“Why are you giving this to me?” you ask in a small voice. Not for the first time, you curse your inconstant feelings, the quick rise to emotional heights in the matter of seconds.

This is Hyunjin’s future written in a single line on a single piece of paper, such a seemingly simple thing and yet it has the power to completely destroy him. This is his means of his escape, his only avenue of liberty, and he is showing you despite your proximity to some truly wretched forces. He trusts you more than he fears them.

“It’s an easy address to remember,” he says. “I know things are hard for you. I don’t know what will happen to you. I don’t even know what will happen to me. But I know it’s harder when you’re alone. I know having people make a difference because they made a difference for me. If you ever get out, if you ever need somewhere to start…”

You cannot think of what to say. No words seem sufficient in reply. You can only nod and take a deep breath. You look up into the fading light and blink away your tears.

“Thank you,” you say. “I hope if we meet again, things will be different.”

The address has a sweet rhyming lilt to it, easy to remember like he said. You read it over a few times, commit it to memory, then tear up the slip of paper beyond any salvaging.

You sit in the tree-house until the sun fully sets. Little lanterns flicker to life one-by-one in the darkening yard below. When the sky is a blue wash and the path below is twinkling gold, you sigh.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say miserably. You don’t want to see your father or that house. Even Felix will stir nothing but anguish right now, as you think about how you are trapped and he is shackled to you. You also don’t really want to linger here. Your uncontrollable emotional pendulum has swung back from its precipice. A few minutes ago, you were close to crying, and now you feel so empty and resigned that you think you will never cry again. I’m so broken, you think helplessly. You want someone to tell you otherwise but you don’t know how to ask.

Hyunjin leans back, peering into the yard. Your father’s men are getting a little complacent in their boredom, one of them yawning where he is slouched in a deck chair. They are not really paying attention to you. They figure there is no where for you to go, the main steps from the tree-house leading right into their path.

Hyunjin puts a finger to his lips. You follow him quietly across the tree-house, obscured in enough darkness that none of the security team notices. He leads you to a dangling rope ladder, hidden on the opposite side of the tree. He points across the yard to a little garden around a koi pond.

“There’s a gate just past the pond,” he whispers. “There’s a path that leads through the neighbourhood. I’ll stay up here until they say something, then I’ll tell them you went home.” He smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder. “You probably should go home,” he says, “but at least this way you’ll have a bit of time alone first.”

You smile back at him, patting the hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” you say.

“See you around,” he says, then pushes back his hair and smoulders at you. “And don’t take the break-up too hard. I know I’m handsome but there will be other men.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder.

“Oh, please, I broke up with you,” you say. “I couldn’t keep up with your vigorous beauty routine.”

“This face is natural,” he says, laughing too. Then he nudges you and looks more serious. “Go now. They’re not paying attention.”

You briefly weigh your odds. You have not snuck out in a very long time so the punishment might be proportionate to your otherwise good behaviour. Felix is not here so he will not be blamed for your escape. And you will not be avoiding a reprimand no matter what you do, because your father is going to be angry that you and Hyunjin broke-up – especially without consulting him first. If you are going to be punished anyway, you might as well take a walk and clear your head first.

You grab Hyunjin’s hand one last time, giving it a squeeze as you smile. Then you climb down the rope ladder and hurry across the garden. You are out the gate and on the path before you know it.

The wealthy neighbourhood is quiet and brightly lit, every yard illuminated despite the quietude of the street. They are all so pristinely manicured, different yet identical magazine-ready mansions. They look a bit eerie with the darkness around them, like some alien recreation of what a home should look like. It makes you dread the return to your own house. You wonder how much time you have to yourself, if the car is going to pull up alongside you any second now to drag you home.

It is then you remember you do have one more place you can go. Ridiculously, stupidly, your emotions come back in full swing and you feel like crying again. Maybe it is because you have not snuck out in so long, so it is reminding you of the very first time you ever did. You went to the very place you are going now: Jisung’s house.

You always met there before darting off to a party together. Those parties never amounted to much. You and Jisung always talked a big game then spent most of the time in a corner or on a roof, but it was the only time you were ever away from the prying eyes of your father’s overprotective security. You passed many nights that way, complaining to your best friend, talking about nothing, then rushing home before your absence was noticed.

You remember the route to his side of town, catching a bus and getting off at a familiar stop. This neighbourhood looks very different than Hyunjin’s, a range of houses both new and old, rundown and fixed-up. They don’t waste energy lighting their yards unless they have guests. All the light is from the streetlamps and the little yellow squares of homey light beaming through their windows.

You have never actually been inside Jisung’s house. You would usually just meet him in the yard before continuing on. This is the first time you walk up the porch steps and ring the doorbell.

You start to shiver. The adrenaline or your escape kept you warm but now you can feel the chill of the evening.

You are looking around the block and shivering when the door opens. You turn and see an older woman with a scowl on her face. Even if you did not know Jisung lived with his single mother, you would recognize her because of her round cheeks and big eyes, much like him. Except where his face is usually open and friendly, she looks at you like a bug she wants to squish.

“What?” she asks.

“Um, sorry to bother you,” you say, somehow more intimidated by her than your father’s burly security team. “I’m friends with Jisung. I was just wondering if he’s home…?”

She takes a step back and screams his name into the house. You stand awkwardly in the doorway, waiting while thumps and bangs come from the upper level, then Jisung is hurrying down the stairs and skittering into view. You so seldom see him without a hat that it is momentarily jarring, his flop of dark hair going everywhere as he comes to a wide-eyed stop.

He gets over his surprise and smiles wide, saying your name with an upward what-the-fuck inflection.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping aside to let his mother pass. She says nothing more to you, disappearing into a side room.

“I, um, I don’t know,” you say, your emotions in turmoil again. You think about what Hyunjin said, about how having a friend made all the difference for him, and you suddenly realize how much you missed spending time with Jisung, how he was your first and only escape for so long. Tears are falling before you can stop them, a mess of everything with Hyunjin and Felix and your father, but you can only stammer a vague excuse, that you broke up with Hyunjin and wanted to talk to someone.

Jisung’s face is twisted up with surprise and sympathy. He says your name a few times and apologizes, guiding you into the house.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he says, taking your hand and leading you up to his bedroom.

“Won’t your mom mind?” For some reason, despite the mania of emotion inside you, that is what you fixate on.

Jisung just laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes the bedroom door behind you. “Trust me,” he says. “She won’t care. Sit down.”

Jisung’s bedroom is undeniably him, music posters overlapping on the wall, stacks of journals on his desk and bedside table. It is a sprawling canvas of music and writing, not to mention litters of clothes and baseball caps. He pushes a pile of clothes off his bed so you can both sit, shoulder-to-shoulder. His bed is against the wall, under the window, cool stars twinkling down at you while his bedside lamp fills the room with warmth.

Your sobbing has slowed to a heaving stutter. Jisung hands you some tissues to wipe your eyes.

“I’m gonna kill that evil pretty boy,” Jisung says.

You hiccup and shake your head. “It was me,” you say. “Hyunjin is my friend, he’s a good guy, I just—” You start crying all over again, tearing the soggy tissues to shreds. Jisung leans over to fetch some more, his face scrunched up with concern while he watches you dab your sore eyes. “I’m just so messed up, Jisung,” you say. “You have no idea how much. I don’t even think I could properly love someone if I tried. I just make a mess wherever I go.”

“What! Yo! No. Why are you saying these things?” He looks equal parts bewildered and horrified, quickly wrapping an arm around you. You let your head fall on his shoulder, still wiping your eyes while he rubs your arm. “You are not messed up. You’re my best friend and you’re awesome. How could you have a best friend if you can’t properly love someone, huh?”

“I’m a bad friend though,” you say. “I bail on you all the time and I’m crazy and emotional and—”

“And you have an evil dad who locks you in the house, remember?” Jisung says. “Look, I know it’s not my business, I’d never make you say it, but from what you’ve told me… Dude, that guy fucking sucks.”

You cannot help but laugh at that. Jisung smiles, tweaking your nose.

“I’ve never been mad about that stuff,” he says gently. “Not at you. At your dick dad, sure. But that has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m emotional like him,” you say, tears slowing to a lip wobble. “I fight him all the time but maybe that just proves it. All that anger inside me.”

“Anger isn’t bad,” Jisung says. “It’s a feeling just like anything else. Some people do bad shit while smiling the whole time. Remember that guy who bullied Felix that time at school, and how you hit him with that book? Or other times you just snapped back at some stupid dick? That wasn’t bad!”

You don’t have an argument in you. You just exhale, dabbing under your eyes with the crumpled tissue. Jisung continues to rub your arm.

Your eyes drift and land on one of his baseball caps. It is perched on a stack of schoolbooks. You think back through the years, all those school days, all those stolen parties and late nights. It was a slow beginning, then one day you realized he was your friend, your first ever friend, that he was making you laugh and you had inside jokes and you wanted to spend more time with him. You weren’t afraid to be around him and you knew he wouldn’t make fun of you or push you or judge you.

You feel his arm around your shoulder now and realize you are not afraid of it. You can no longer remember the first time you hugged Jisung, probably because it wasn’t a kiss or anything romantic and so you did not really register it. It was a moment that arrived silently, without any heart palpitations or fanfare, no sweaty palms or hot cheeks. He would have just put his arm around you like he is doing now, asking for nothing in return for it.

You realize he must have been the first person to hug you. Your mother passed away when you were in infancy and the only family you ever knew was your father and his now-late father. They did not hug each other and they did not hug you. The only kind of love you knew was a violent, controlling one, and it made you into a distrustful, feral little child in return.

You have reflected before how it took a long time to warm to Felix. Bit by bit. Touch by touch. It would have taken longer if you had never known Jisung. He drew you out of your shell before anyone else did. You were able to reach for Felix because Jisung reached for you. You were able to befriend Hyunjin because Jisung befriended you.

You find yourself choking back a different sob, one conjured by the realization of just how much Jisung has done by being there. You understand what Hyunjin meant, about a friend making all the difference.

Before you can say anything, Jisung gently asks, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

You sit straight to look at him, brow furrowed.

“Your dad,” he says. “Things are… they’re bad, aren’t they? Worse than just not letting you hang out?”

Tears spill over again. You realize he is sniffling now too but holding back tears. He reaches across to wipe your face with his bare hands, swiping at your tears.

“I knew for a while,” Jisung says in a strained voice. “I could see the bruises. I didn’t know what to do. And I felt like I was letting you down because—”

He chokes on his breath. It gives you a moment to interject.

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” you say. You wipe his tears too, laughing at your equal dramatics. “Seriously, Jisungie.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, grabbing your hands and pulling them off his face. He shakes his head like he is trying to shake his tears out of him. It seems to work. After another breath, he manages to speak clearly. “Do you remember our first conversation? At school?”

“About the weather?” you say, thinking back to the first time Jisung started a conversation.

“No, before that,” he says. “We sat beside each other for months but we never spoke. Then I missed a week of school because I made myself sick, all my stupid anxiety and whatever. My mom, you know, she tries but she… It’s just easier for her to ignore me most of the time, I think. I know she didn’t want kids. So I was taking care of myself. And I missed school sometimes because of it, but no one ever noticed when I was gone. It’s like I was invisible everywhere I went. And I got so sick that week that I just wanted to die. But then I went back to school and I got my homework from the teachers and then you—” He slaps his hands in his lap and looks at you, smiling a teary-eyed smile. “You were the first person to ask where I was and if I was all right. And you made a face like you didn’t believe me when I said I was. Then I started talking about the weather.”

“Oh,” you say, shredding the tissue in your lap for something to look at, trying to keep your tears at bay. “I didn’t remember that part.”

“You’re really good at seeing people,” Jisung says. “Even when they’re trying to hide or pull away. I don’t know how you think you can’t love when you’re like that. You know how to do it better than the rest of us who forget to even look.” He takes your hand again, drawing your eyes up to his. “But I’m looking back now, okay? And I’m gonna save you.”

It is so frank and sincere that it makes you laugh.

“I am!” he says, laughing through his own watery voice. “Don’t laugh at me! You saved me and now I’m gonna save you too.”

“It’s not that easy, Jisung,” you say. “You have no idea how crazy everything in my life is—”

“It is that easy,” he says. “You’ll see. I promise. And a best friend promise is a forever promise, okay?”

You cannot bring yourself to argue. You just nod, your bottom lip wobbling again.

“Okay,” Jisung says. “Now come hug me so you can’t see me when I start crying like a baby.”

You laugh but fall into his arms nonetheless. You sit under that window for a long time. At least, it feels like a long time. You don’t look at the clock and you don’t count the minutes. It is not the kind of hug that is leading to anything because he doesn’t want to kiss you and he has no other motivation. He just hugs you until you are both calm, when your tears feel silly and dramatic and your eyes are sore but you feel strangely refreshed.

“I need to go,” you say, to which he whines in complaint. You laugh. “Saving me will have to wait for another day. For now, if I don’t get home…”

As if summoned by that very thought, your phone erupts with buzzes and rings. You sigh and fish it out of the pocket of your shorts, watching messages from your father, his security, and Felix come flooding in. The others are making commands and demanding your whereabouts. Felix asks, Are you okay? Then, I have to turn on your GPS. They’re gonna come get you wherever you are.

You answer Felix, telling him you’re fine, that you’re with Jisung. He sends an emoji that manages to look very unimpressed, then just says, that’s what the boss gets for sending amateurs.

Your father’s men are far from amateurs but it is still funny when Felix insults them.

You turn your phone to silent after that, not bothering to answer the others. They will find you in no time with Felix’s help.

“I better go,” you say. “My dad is sending someone to pick me up. I’ll be fine tonight, I promise. But I’m gonna start walking because I don’t want you mixed up in any of this when they get here.”

Jisung tries to argue but lets you go when he sees how serious you are. He insists you take a hoodie for warmth so you do. You give him one last wave before you begin the trek down the block, hoping to get far away before your father’s men find you.

You have made it two blocks over when a sleek black car approaches. You start to walk towards it because there is no other reason for a car that nice to be slowing down on a street like this. Only when it gets closer do you realize you the make and model of the car is not one that your father usually uses, and you do not recognize the driver.

Your heart kicks up with a startled, frantic flutter as the car comes to a slow stop not far from you. You swerve, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it. You try to act nonchalant, reassuring yourself that it is coincidence, that your father’s insanity is seeping into your brain and making you paranoid.

By the time you realize your anxieties are not baseless, it is too late. Not that you stood much of a chance in the first place.

You try running but there are three of them overall, one driver and two armed muscle guys. They chase you down and cover your mouth before you can scream. You kick and jostle but all of Felix’s self-defence lessons fly out of your brain in your panic. Your tears are all used up so you don’t cry. Even terror passes, leaving only nausea in its wake.

It doesn’t feel real, being shoved into the back of a car by men in black suits. This is not something real that happens. This is something your father threatens, something inane and melodramatic, something out of a movie or a book, not real life. Not your life.

Yet here you are, flanked by two strange men while the driver peels across the tarmac. They do not cuff or gag you, simply buckle you into a seatbelt and point a gun at you. You are shaking too bad to do anything useful anyway, and your voice feels clogged in your suddenly dry throat.

They are talking to you but it takes you a minute to register any word, everything fuzzy and out of focus.

“—just be a good girl and co-operate and everything will be fine.”

That is all you hear.

That and the name Miroh.

You try to calm yourself. You think rationally. Miroh has no reason to kill you or even torture you, as far as you know. In all likelihood, he is using you as leverage to get something from your father. That is why your father is always worried about you being taken. He doesn’t talk about damage to you, just his business.

You manage to calm the worst of your shaking. Then the one with the gun yanks on your hair and you jerk away violently.

“She’s better behaved than Miroh said,” he says with a laugh. “Might not even have to take a finger.”

You clutch your hands tightly together, glaring at him, but it just garners more chuckles. The driver laughs too, peering at you through the rear-view mirror.

“Too well behaved,” he suddenly says, eyes narrowing. “You check her pockets?”

It is then you remember your phone. Felix turned on your GPS. They can track where you are going. Felix can track where you are going. If nothing else, you trust that Felix can do something. Felix, Felix, Felix. It is all you can think about. Felix will find you. You will be back with Felix tonight, safe in your shared bed. You are always safe with Felix. You want to be there right now. You can’t even remember how you got here. Your whole day is turning into one blacked out nothingness, a dreary bleak empty before you found yourself in this car hurtling to god-knows-what fate.

The man finds your phone. You try to reach for it but then you feel the gun at your temple and your whole body locks up. You have seen a gun before, many times, but you have never had one pointed at you. You always thought you would be brave, having been around them your whole life. Maybe that is why you are afraid. Your body is trying to protect you, freezing you like it always does.

The man rolls down the window and throws your phone into the wind.

You sit back and close your eyes, willing this nightmare to end. You try to convince yourself that this is your father’s doing, that he is just trying to teach you a lesson. You wouldn’t even be mad. You just want to go home.

But there is no sign of your father’s security team. You pass dozens then hundreds of cars as you leave the residential area and take the highway. None of your father’s vehicles are among them. And how could they be? They can track as far as your phone and then they have nothing. There is no way for them to know where Miroh’s men are taking you. You have no idea what they want. You can’t even cry or panic because your body is shutting itself down in its panic. The periphery of your gaze is obscured in shadow. Their voices fade in and out, rarely directed at you anyway. They seem to know you will not answer. They have experience with this sort of thing.

Of course they do. Miroh is your father’s only equal. Your father does nothing by halves. Miroh would only send the best.

You leave the highway and turn onto a country road out of the city. Wherever they are taking you, it is far and they are unhurried. You have a long time to stew in your anxiety.

You can only see directly in front of you, through the windshield and the rear-view mirror. You stare, willing one of your father’s black cars to appear in it even though you know that will not happen. The only cars are civilian cars and even those begin to disappear as they take side roads to their own destinations. Soon it is just one other car trailing you at a distance. It is a beat-up civilian truck, not very big, a splotchy, peeling burgundy. The rims are muddy from frequent use and little washing.

It is ugly but it could be the last thing you see for a while. It makes you stare more intensely.

You are focussing so hard on the tiny details that you do not even notice it is speeding up. It goes from a distant spot to filling the rear-view in moments.

The driver mumbles a curse to himself, shaking his head and frowning.

“What’s this idiot doing?” he grumbles. “As if we don’t have enough to deal with. Now we got some drunk on the road.”

The truck is swerving, back and forth, then it speeds up and whips past your car. It startles the driver, making him veer a hard right as the truck goes left around him. He shouts a curse even though the other driver can’t hear, the truck already speeding away into the darkness. There are no street lamps on the country road so it completely vanishes, disappearing when it leaves the glow of your headlights.

There is a moment of quiet. A tunnel of light. Darkness around it.

The truck appears again in the middle of it, parked and blocking the entire road lengthwise. The driver shouts another curse and slams on the brakes to stop from barrelling into it.

The whole car lurches with the sudden halt. You snap forward and back again, held down by the seatbelt. The other two hit the seats in front of them, cursing as they fix themselves. The weapons guy drops his gun and it clatters somewhere on the ground of the vehicle. You watch him dive down, cursing to himself before he finds it.

“Get him out of the way!” the driver shouts, pointing to the stopped vehicle. The two men get out of the car, sounding more aggravated by the obstacle than afraid. The other one pulls a gun so they are both armed as they approach the vehicle.

The men circle the truck. You can see they are yelling and cursing again. They come stomping back over to the vehicle. Even with all the windows rolled up, you can hear him as he shouts, “There’s no one fucking there!”

“What!” the driver returns, pointing ahead. “He didn’t just disappear! Check the—”

He is interrupted by the rattle of unexpected thunder – what sounds like someone running up and over the car from behind. You both look up as if you can see through the car roof. The men outside react just as fast, guns raised. Shots are swiftly fired and you cover your ears, flinching.

The figure comes into view. It feels like your heart stops.

Felix takes a flying leap off the roof of the car and comes swinging into view. He lands on the shoulders of one of the men. In one sharp move, Felix snaps the man’s neck. When his body crumples, Felix jumps, tackling the other man and knocking his gun out of the way. He pulls his own gun out of his waistband and you don’t even have time to cover your eyes before a bullet shatters the man’s temple. That body falls too.

It was a matter of seconds. The driver scarcely has time to react. He is fumbling with the glove compartment when Felix walks up to the car and shoots his window. The bullet does not penetrate the glass but it fractures it, sending shards flying onto the man.

You shriek, your voice coming back to you. Felix smacks the broken window with the butt of the gun, shattering it completely. He unlocks the car, his face devoid of all emotion as he throws open the door and reaches in. He grabs the man by the scruff of his neck and repeatedly slams his head against the steering wheel, knocking him out cold.

He closes the door with a kick and tucks his gun back in his waistband.

Adrenaline completely takes over your body. You do not think or reflect, only feel and act. Felix steps toward the car to open your door but you are already pushing it open. He steps back when it flies past him, already breathing hard when you stumble out of the vehicle on shaky legs.

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, his deep voice breaking. “Any, any idea how worried I was? And those stupid, fucking, incompetent—”

He is pointing to nowhere, just gesticulating in his emotions. It all seems to pour of him, terror and agony, anger and helplessness. He is wearing casual clothes, ripped jeans, a sleeveless red flannel over a t-shirt. He was probably sitting at home when he jumped into action.

His dark roots are starting show in his golden hair. You will have to colour that for him, you think, giddily, half-mad.

“You could have died,” he is saying. “They could have—”

You throw your arms around his neck and crash into him. It is a collision of a kiss, more teeth than lips until you figure out to close your mouth.

Those men could not move him but you can. He backs up under the guiding push of your soft hands, walking, walking, walking, each quick backward step until you have him pressed up against the truck, your lips still locked. When you finally separate it is with a gasping, wet split. You stare at each other, taking in the reality of the other person. Him, with blood disappearing into the red threads of his flannel. You, alive, unharmed, right here in front of him with no one to stop him from kissing you again.

He grabs you by the neck and pulls you back to him, kissing you with an open-mouthed desperation that has you practically sobbing with need. He flips your positions, cupping the back of your head so you are not hurt when he pins you to the truck. You sink your fingers into his hair, wrapping a leg around his waist as he grinds against the softest spot of you. He licks into your mouth, making a rumbling noise of deep, heartfelt satisfaction that makes you throb.

His lips are pink and raw when he stops for a breath. You kiss the side of his face, clinging to him, making a pleading noise when he does not resume kissing you.

He steps back and points to the car.

“Get in the truck,” he says firmly. “This isn’t the time. Don’t argue.”

You have no desire whatsoever to argue. You climb into the passenger seat while Felix makes a phone call. You watch him through the window, running a hand through his hair, his mouth pink, his shirt blood-stained.

You have always known Felix was capable of this sort of thing, but seeing it is very different than imagining it. Before it was some nebulous concept of a person but now the reality of him collides with the boy who has been sharing your bed for years. This is the same boy who needed your help to tie his school tie. Cartoon-watching, computer-building Felix, with his dry wit and toothy smiles.

You are not sure what it says about you that you are not afraid of him, not even a little bit. Maybe it is because you are not surprised. Maybe it is something else. But the only thing you want right now is for him to put his arms around you.

He gets into the truck and sits there for a moment, just breathing as he looks down at his phone. A thought flickers across his eyes, a twitch of his brows, then he turns off the phone and tosses it into the backseat. The gun follows with a clatter. You look back at both then at him with shock.

Felix has never turned off that phone. It is always completely charged and within reach. The GPS cannot be tracked if it is off. Your father cannot reach him if it is off. It is never supposed to be off.

You stare at him, tracing his profile as he pushes his hair back then starts the car. You only look away when you pass the other vehicle, the unconscious driver still slumped over the wheel. You turn your head, watching the scene disappear into the darkness behind you.

“Your father’s men will clean it up,” Felix says, drawing your eyes back to him. He does not look away from the road, resolutely focussed despite the lack of traffic on the country road.

“You left one alive,” you say. “What if he wakes up?”

“Uhh, he’ll be lucky if he is conscious in two days,” Felix says with a scoff. His lips draw into that thin line. “Your father will want someone to interrogate.”

You look out the windshield and sigh. You feel like you have aged years tonight yet it also feels like none of this really happened. It seems impossible that moments ago you were staring through a different windshield, petrified.

Felix looks at you. You turn your head and meet his gaze, watching grief twist his features before he looks ahead again.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, gripping the wheel tight with both hands.

You shake your head, still facing him, studying him.

“I was thinking about you,” you say, the words escaping in a breathless slur. “It was the only thing that made me feel safe.” You find it easier to speak your feelings after everything. It’s like all that fear blasted through a barricade. You thought you might never see him again and all those feelings were trapped inside you. You cannot help but let them pour out now, like blood seeping from an open wound, your hand shaking as you reach across the console to touch the side of his face.

His breath stutters. He takes your hand and for a moment holds it, squeezing it in his. He does not look away from the road. Eventually he puts your hand in your lap, curling it around your thigh and squeezing, then he grabs the wheel again.

Your gaze drifts to the wheel then the overall truck. The rest of reality comes back to you in increments and you suddenly realize this is obviously not one of your father’s cars.

“Where did you get this truck?” you ask.

“I stole it,” he says.

“You stole a car?!” you shriek, voice naturally pitching up with surprise.

He looks at you incredulously.

“I just killed two men,” he says. “You’re worried about the car?”

“I don’t know!” You slouch in your seat, looking out the window. “Don’t talk to me, I’m traumatized.”

He shakes his head but laughs a little. You do not speak for a bit, the only sound the tires rolling over the gravel road. Then Felix sighs.

“They wouldn’t listen,” he says. “Your father’s, hmmm, ‘professionals’.” He rolls his eyes and clicks his jaw, clearly still pissed about it. “I knew it had to be Miroh. You were heading west to the highway when your GPS stopped. I knew where they’d be taking you. But your father’s geniuses thought you threw your phone and were running. But you wouldn’t do that, yeah. You want to be found. That’s why you run. You want him to care enough to chase you and bring you home.”

You look out your window, resting your head in your hand as rows of dark trees pass you by.

“Home,” you say. “Miroh. Not sure there’s going to be a difference in what’s waiting, is there?”

Felix says nothing to this. The gravel road comes to an end as you approach tarmac. Instead of turning left to return to the highway, Felix turns right. You look back through the window, confused, wondering if you mistook your location. But no, you are definitely driving further into the countryside.

“The highway is that way,” you say, looking at him. His whole body is tense, eyes locked on the road. “Aren’t we going home?”

“Yes,” he says, then turns up a different country road. “Eventually.”

You do not know what to expect with Felix. His emotional fluctuation is not as blatant as yours, but he does waver unpredictably, one moment leaning towards you and then pulling away. You do not know what he is planning and you do not ask. You simply stare through the window as you turn up a few more roads, getting further and further from the main road until you turn into a small gravel lane between some fields. Bushes surround the car on either side, the main road very far behind you.

Felix turns off the car but keeps both hands on the wheel, still staring intensely out the front window.

“Where are we?” you ask, squinting through the dark at the fields. It feels exceptionally quiet without the engine running.

“This cannot happen again,” Felix says.

He is still facing forward, concentrating on nothing that you can see. You look ahead then back at him, sighing with exasperation. If he drove you out here to just to lecture you some more…

“I know,” you say. “I shouldn’t have left in the first place. I’m sorry. I know it’s your job to—”

“This has nothing to do with my job,” he says. He shakes his head. “I— You—Do you understand how I— This is— This is reckless. Stupid. It cannot happen again, yeah? Do you get me?”

“I know,” you say. “And it won’t. I get it. No more running, I just—”

Your breath catches when he looks at you. There is so much heat in his gaze that you feel immediately flushed.

He undoes his seatbelt then reaches across the console and undoes yours. When you hear the click, it all registers. You reach for him as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls. This kiss is a crash as well, but a stumbling one, less vicious than thirsty. Arms get tangled in seatbelts but he manages to whip them aside. He guides you into his lap as you climb ungracefully over the console with all your shaking limbs.

You make a sound like relief when you are in his lap, chests touching, knees pressing into his hips, arms around his neck. His hands are under your borrowed hoodie, then under your shirt, palms splayed against the bare skin of your back as he kisses you with a wet open mouth, hungry and seeking, asking and taking.

He reaches to the side and fumbles for something. You squeal with surprise when the seat abruptly drops, your combined weight pushing it flat when he flips the lever. The surprise passes and he spills back, taking you with him. He yanks at your hoodie and you sit up to pull your arms through. Embarrassingly enough, you get tangled trying to remove it at the same time as your shirt. You get them both off, laughing shyly and feeling ridiculous with your ungraceful action.

He blinks up at you, his face full of much more wonder and affection than you think you merit. It is almost more embarrassing than your clumsiness.

Your awkward hand covers your collarbone but he takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing you palm then your fingertips. You throb with the recollection of the last time he took your fingers in his mouth, except this time he doesn’t look away, all that heat centred on you.

He grasps your hips then slides his hands up your body. You wonder if other people feel like one big shivering mess at such simple touches. You blame it on today’s chaotic episode. For a moment, you were nothing and no one, floating in a bleak emptiness with no past or future. Just a bartering tool, business collateral, a thing sitting in a car for transport to be used by a different bad man for financial leverage.

Felix touches you and your body comes to life, all that humanity rushing back. You’re a person and so is he, flushed and excited, just a little messy but earnest. You find yourselves in a stolen moment in a stolen car, nothing yours but each other.

He palms your breasts through your bra then fumbles with the clasp, his usually dexterous hands suddenly jumpy. It makes you both laugh, tittering little sounds as you get it off and toss it aside. His calloused hands on your bare skin erases any lingering embarrassment.

Straddling his hips, you rock against him. The hard line of him is pushing at the fly of his jeans, as receptive and eager as you. You make similar sounds, soft low hums, used to keeping quiet. You remember you don’t have to restrain yourself so you moan when he cups you through your shorts, grinding the heel of his palm against the soft wet heat of you. You push his shirt up, running your hands over his chest, noticing a few scars but not lingering much right now.

You touch him like he touches you, hands wandering, working each other up until you are wild in your wanting. He makes a rough sound when you squeeze him through his jeans, then he is trying to work off your shorts while you unbutton his fly. You have to get off him to take the rest of your clothes off. His fingers are twitchy as they scrabble over his fly, unzipping then shuffling his jeans down his hips.

You are confronted with that moment of intention again, when his jeans are at his knees and his shirt is pushed up, when you are completely naked in a car in the middle of nowhere and climbing back on top of him, making the deliberate choice to do what you are doing. It is exhilarating. It is scary. You have big fears, about the repercussions in the world outside this vehicle, and you have little fears, like what if you are not good at this and you let him down after everything.

But that seems impossible when he looks at you like that, warm and desirous, breathing hard as he drags his fingers down your body and slips them between your thighs. You touch him too, marvelling in his sounds and faces, the flush of his cheeks, his mussed hair. With just his fingers inside you, he is already looking at you like you are a singular miracle.

It does feel miraculous. When you think of where you started, when you think of who you are, this seems so impossible. But you are here, losing yourself to his steady touch and tender gaze. You grab his wrist, instinctively seeking control when he works you up to an orgasm, making you clench around his fingers. You shudder on top of him, your head tipping back.

“Fuck,” he says, so low and guttural it hardly sounds like a word. Then he says softly, “Sweetheart.” This is accompanied with a long touch inside you, dragging his fingers so slowly, drawing out your orgasm until your whole body feels soft and pliant. You ache with the loss of him when he withdraws his touch, just his thumb rolling across that oversensitive nub of pleasure. Your skin already feels sweaty where you are touching, your hand curled around the length of him as you position yourself above him.

Even with his effort, it is a stretch and burn when you first sink down. You smack a hand on the roof of the truck, scratching your nails over it as you sit in his lap with him inside you.

He curses. His head falls back, his eyes closing.

“Is it okay?” you ask in a strained voice.

He replies, “Ahh…” then, “Uh!” then “Uhhhahh…” then finally, “Yes, yes. God yes.” He lifts his head and looks at where he is inside you, then he looks up at you. “Are you, uh, are you okay?”

His voice is a raspy thing, his face so raw with pleasure that you find yourself giggling in spite of yourself.

“Yeah,” you say on a breath. “Just… a lot.”

He sits up, careful not to jostle you too much. You still feel him moving inside you. When you clench, he makes a sound, but he is not distracted from his mission, cupping the back of your head and bringing you close for a kiss. You sink into it, your hands sliding onto his shoulders as his tongue slips past your lips.

He helps you move, both of you following base instinct and little else. It starts to feel deliriously good. You are light-headed from kissing, worked up from knowing he is as close to you as he possibly can be.

You move slowly, hands roaming over each other. You get his flannel off and toss it into the passenger seat. Then he braces himself to move his hips better, holding you steady. You touch the roof so you don’t hit your head, rolling your hips to meet him. It’s good but not enough and soon he is turning you over, laying you on your back under him. He has to separate from you to get comfortable.

You whine, touching yourself, and he smacks his head hard against the roof with surprise. You laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth while he winces and rubs his head.

“Are you okay?” you ask, still giggling. Fortunately, he chuckles, wincing again for show before sighing.

“Never better,” he says, and takes off his shirt. You are both perspiring and not just from exertion, the car trapping all your combined heat and breathing. The windows have completely fogged over and it shields you completely. You have never felt more safe. You eagerly open your legs to him as he settles on top of you and finds his place again.

You wrap around him, whimpering and moaning and sighing when he finds a rhythm in this position. He cradles you in his arms, rocking into you until you are dizzy with it. He somehow feels deeper and deeper with every motion. He kisses your chest and throat, up to your ear, across your face, your mouth.�� You kiss him back, hooking your ankles behind his back and pulling him hard against you like you want more.

“Got you,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “Got you, sweetheart.”

He makes you come again, tears springing to your eyes from the sensation of it all. When his breathing gets frantic and his hips erratic, you let him go. You breathe hard under him as he sits back and grabs his discarded flannel, coming into that.

He tosses it aside after, then runs his fingers through his hair as he stares down at you. You slowly sit up and lean in for one more kiss. He obliges, cupping your face and kissing you deeply.

You want to wrap around him again, hold him to your chest and lay there until you are both ready for more.

You take what you can get. This was dangerous, but you have no regrets. Even when you are both dressed and in your own seats, you feel enflamed and alive and glowing.

He tosses his flannel out the window, leaving it on the ground behind you. You roll down the windows and return to the highway. It is a long drive home.

Your father does not punish you. He does not punish Felix in place of you. The house is deathly silent when you arrive home. Your father is in his office and Felix takes you there to see him.

Your father does not even look up from his book. After a moment he asks, “Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head but he isn’t looking at you, so you are forced to find your voice and answer, “No.”

“Good,” he says and turns the page to his book.

You are teetering on the edge of panic all over again, waiting for him to erupt, to throw something at you, to grab you by the hair and give you a beating worse than anything ever before. But he just turns another page to his book, so it’s you that erupts.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you say in a frantic rush. “Hyunjin and I broke up and I was upset so I wanted to see Jisung, that’s it, I just wanted to see my friend. It’s just because—”

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from running your mouth when you don’t need to do so. It succeeds in silencing you, your voice breaking. You swallow down a sob.

Your father finally lifts his head. His expression is completely blank. There is no trace of anger, no sadness, no guilt. You do not know what to do when he is like this. He is giving you nothing worth a reaction so all your emotions bubble inside you with nowhere to go, spilling over and scalding you like a boiling pot.

“Go to bed,” your father says. “What’s done is done.”

It is not surprising that you have a nightmare, waking in a fit that even Felix cannot comfort. Your half-asleep mind panics when he grabs you, forgetting who he is. Only when he repeats your name in that sweet, low voice do you remember yourself. You collapse against him, shaking while he strokes your back and talks gently to you, lulling you back to sleep. It remains fitful and uneven but you get through the night.

You are expecting the punishment to come in the morning but your father does not speak to you even though he is in the house. You do not see him all day. You have another restless night of bad dreams, Felix comforting you as best he can. You wake the next morning thinking that surely, the punishment would come today. There is no way your father is letting you get away with this. He is planning something, something big, something you will never forget.

But your father is gone and so is the security team. Felix phones him and your father informs him that he had some impromptu business to take care of, that he would be gone for the next week.

You are driving to school on Monday morning when Felix says, “Maybe he thinks it was punishment enough on its own.”

“Do you really believe that?” you ask.

Felix does not answer because he knows how far-fetched that is. He knows your father as well as you do.

There are only a couple more days of school. This late in the semester, the lessons are completed, exams being graded. Everyone is gearing up for graduation, signing yearbooks, taking pictures. Classes offer more down time than work, letting students mingle. It is easy few handful of days, the most exceptionally fun days of the whole year.

Jisung would not miss it. And he would not abandon you after your conversation. When he is missing from school on Monday, you are immediately filled with horror.

Felix looks at you when he realizes Jisung is missing, doing his best to calm you with his eyes.

“He wouldn’t,” you murmur, just loud enough for Felix to hear. “Tell me he wouldn’t…”

Felix says nothing. He knows your father as well as you do.

You try phoning Jisung at various intervals through the day but it keeps going straight to voicemail. Jisung is not great at keeping his phone charged so this is not unusual on its own, but you cannot shake the dread in the pit of your gut.

Before the day ends, you all but throw yourself at Felix. All it takes is one teary-eyed please for him to nod, understanding.

You have the driver take you to Jisung’s house. Felix steps out of the car and calls your father, needing to report your diversion from routine, but also hopefully gleaning some intel into your father’s potential involvement. Meanwhile, you run up the porch and frantically bang on the door, not stopping until Jisung’s mother whips it open.

“What?” she snaps. “Why are you banging— oh it’s you.”

“Where is he?” you ask. “Is he sick? Can I see him?”

“He’s just at the hospital,” she says like this is no big deal at all, even while you are sweating through your clothes with anxious terror.

“The hospital?” you ask. “Why is he—”

“Calm down! He just had an allergic reaction,” she says. “Stupid child ate peanuts and didn’t have his pen. He’ll be fine.”

“Can you tell me which hospital?” you say. Some tension leaves your body with this revelation but even so, you will not feel truly at ease until you can see that Jisung is safe with your own two eyes.

His mother tells you where to find him and you thank her while she closes the door in your face. You are feeling lighter already, heart bursting with light when you spin and jump off the porch.

You rush up to Felix, eager to report your good news, but you draw to a slow stop at the look on his face. This is not his professional indifference, listening to commands, but instead an expression of obvious remorse. He looks apologetic, eyes full of pity, as he extends his arm, handing you the phone.

You press the device to your ear, heart skipping beats in the worst way.

“Hello?” you say.

“After everything I have done for you,” your father says. “After everything I have given you. After my leniency despite your repeated abominable behaviour. For you to end things with an appropriate boy to go chasing after some no-count, miscreant loser with no future and no—”

“What are you talking about?” you say. “I don’t even know—”

“You stupid little—” You can picture his face, mouth frothing with rage, brows pinched in fury. You can picture him catching his breath as he slams a hand on his desk. “Do you think I couldn’t see it all over your face? That you were out whoring around with that nobody boy you call a friend? I could see your commitment to the Hwang boy was a front but I foolishly thought you were making an effort to improve yourself. How long have you been deceiving me? Fronting with the Hwang boy while you run around with your schoolboy behind my back?”

He thinks you’re dating Jisung. He thinks this is all because of Jisung. You cannot tell him the truth without ruining your life, Felix’s life, and Hyunjin’s life.

You scramble for a defence, a denial, but memories of you and Felix flood your mind, the panic of that night takes over you, and soon you are freezing up.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” you eventually manage, your voice quivering with the rest of you. “Please, Jisung is completely innocent, he’s just my friend, he—”

“Please,” your father says derisively. “You have the audacity to say please to me now. To ask for my permission now. You listen to me and you listen well. What I did to this boy was nothing. Having an allergen slipped into his food was a warning to you. Your one and only warning, a warning I am only giving you because I prefer not to deal with civilian messes when I can avoid it. But I whole-heartedly assure you, that if I find out you are in contact with this boy, if I find out you are even thinking about looking in his direction, it is over for him. I will have him shot in the fucking head in front of you if that’s what it will take to get through to you.”

You are bombarded with the image of Felix shooting those men. Suddenly, you imagine it is Jisung across from him instead. You look at Felix with a frantic, terrified look. Your voice is weak when you say, “Dad, please, he’s—”

“Do not talk to back me!” he screams. “You spoiled little slut! He’s trash, is what he is! Do you know what kind of life I have given you? How dare you insult me this way. How dare you throw it all on that waste of a person. You go to that boy and you tell him to stay away or it will be the end of him. Do you understand me? Say yes or so help me—”

“Yes,” you say, sucking in a hard breath to keep your tears at bay. “Yes, fine, just leave him alone. Don’t hurt him, please.”

Your father hangs up without another word.

You look up at Felix. He takes the phone, sucking in a breath of his own.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” you say.

Jisung is sitting up in his hospital bed when you find him. His phone is a dead brick sitting on his bedside table, uncharged as anticipated. He is sipping from a carton and watching television when you walk into the room, surprising him. His face lights up with delight and he chokes on his drink, dribbling a bit down his front.

You hurry to his side, worried, but he just laughs and wipes his chin.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” he says. “It was just a flare-up. They’re just keeping me for observation to make sure I don’t, you know, suffocate and die in my sleep.” He says this like it is ridiculous and funny but you are overwhelmed with the image of Jisung lying still in this bed, all the life and colour of your wonderful and vibrant best friend drained to nothing.

Jisung can see something is wrong. The humour falls from his expression, replaced with concern as he sees you well up with tears.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “I said I’m fine. Don’t worry. Is this about something else? Are you okay?”

You are not crying but you can feel the emotion in your throat. If you speak, you think it will pour out in a flood. You can only sit there, perched on the edge of his bed, staring at him. He still looks strange without his hat. Although he is joking around, there is an admitted pallor to his complexion. He is on the mend but he has clearly been very ill for a day at least.

That pallor and serious expression look so wrong on his face. When you think of Jisung, you think of happiness, the first burst of sunshine in your life after growing up in shade. You think about his awkward laughter during your first conversation, his many hugs, his stupid jokes, his winks and encouragements. You did not know how to love anyone or anything until you met him.

In your silence, he looks around, spotting Felix hovering in the doorway.

“Felix!” he says. “Hey! What’s going on?”

“Hey,” Felix says gently. He looks at you, sees your downturned face as you gather yourself. He smiles at Jisung with his best distracting grin, like everything is fine, like everything has always been fine. “Just saying bye, man,” Felix says.

“Bye?” Jisung asks. “Where are you going? Right before grad? Not back to Australia, are you?” Jisung looks at you and pets your head. “Is Felix leaving? Is that why you’re upset?”

“No, Jisung,” you say, forcing your voice. You shake your head. “No, it’s not Felix. I just…” You look up and meet his eyes, so big and concerned. You see him at age twelve, thirteen, fourteen, all those years he coaxed you out of your shell and ran around with you. He was the first person to look back at you, to see something worth reaching for. You want to touch his face and hug him, but you are certain if you start any of that, you will not be able to do what you need to do. “Jisung, I’m leaving,” you say. “I won’t be able to see you again.”

“What?” he asks, confused for just a moment before he shakes his head and frowns. “This is about your dad, isn’t it? Is he doing something? You have to let me help you—”

“Jisung, you can’t help me—”

“Yes, I can—”

“You can’t—”

“Then who’s going to?” he demands.

“Not you!” Anger and sadness combine and you look away, staring at the crinkled juice carton on his bedside table. He is here because of you. “Jisung, he made you sick. He will try to kill you.”

“What?” Jisung asks, barely above a whisper. “H-how? I don’t even—”

“He has professionals,” you say, meeting his bewildered gaze again. “And he can do much worse than this.”

Jisung opens and closes his mouth, failing to find the words, then finally he shakes his head and says, “No. I don’t care. I’m not scared, I’m—”

“I’m scared,” you say. “Jisung, I don��t want to see you ever again, because if something happened to you—” You cannot conceive of a world where this is no Han Jisung. You would not be the person you are now if he had never existed. You would not have any emotions at all. For the first time, you do not curse your sensitive feelings, rather you relish in feeling them at all, that you have a friend that it hurts to lose. “Jisung, please,” you say. “Don’t make this harder for me. I’m going to go and we can’t see each other again. The best thing you can do for me is have a good life.”

Jisung starts crying, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “What about you? What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry,” you say. You laugh dryly, looking aside. “It would have been better for you if you never knew me.”

“You already know that’s not true,” he says in a small voice.

You are certain his face is full of pain but you cannot bring yourself to look at him again. You try to say the word goodbye but it gets stuck in your throat, so finally you just stand up to leave.

He grabs your arm, tugging you back. You stare at the bed, not at him.

“I said my promise was forever,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s in five years, or ten years, or fifty. I know I’m not—I know I can’t do much but—if you need me—”

You just nod, scrunching your face to stop the tears. It does not work. You pull your arm away and he lets you go, his hands falling helplessly limp to the bed. You stare at the ground as you walk away, not looking back at him, not even looking at Felix.

You are standing in the doorway when Jisung says your name one more time, barely more than a whisper yet stopping you faster than all your father’s screaming.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he says.

You look up at Felix. You know when you leave this place, you are going to take his hand. When you climb into bed tonight, you are going to wrap your arms around him and let him hold and comfort you. You are going to soothe his nightmares the way he does yours. You are going to carve out a corner of light and happiness in your otherwise dark life. You are going to do that because you know how, because having a friend made all the difference.

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, wiping your face. “You did save me.”

You do not stop again, walking past Felix and into the corridor. He follows swiftly behind, laying a hand on your lower back then taking your hand. You squeeze it and he squeezes back. You let him guide you out of the building, your vision blurry. He knows there is nothing he can say to help right now, but he touches you gently and helps you along. When you get home, he trails behind you as you trudge up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Can I do something?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Not right now, thank you.” Your voice is still weak. “Maybe later.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

You nod and continue up the stairs, not even sure what your plan is right now. It feels strange to go about your usual routine but that is what you do, your body carrying you automatically through each task, changing clothes, putting your uniform away, washing your face.

You sit at your desk and decide you might as well go through your stack of school supplies. You have been dumping textbooks and notebooks here as the semester ends. You sort the empty notebooks from the used ones, the books you will never re-read from the ones to shelve. You find your yearbook in the middle of it all. You realize you never actually read Jisung’s message.

You open the book, skimming the other messages from other students. Lots of Have a Great Summer from Hyunjin’s friends, but a few cute personalized memos too. Felix’s joking scrawl is at the bottom of a page and it makes you smile and shake your head. You smile again when you read Hyunjin’s note: Our lives will not be meaningless. He ended it with a playful, LOVE YOU MY GIRLFRIEND!!

You flip through the book. You were not in any clubs or on any teams so there are very few pictures of you, just your posed portrait and one photo on a collage page – you, Jisung, and Felix awkwardly smiling as the yearbook photographer snapped a picture of you at lunchtime.

You swallow. You already know turning to the last page is going to make you cry. You could avoid it. You could close this book and never think about it again. Your father would never walk into any situation that would deliberately compromise his mental and emotional integrity. He would deride you for doing so. You used to think he was right, that your feelings were a weakness.

You realize your feelings make him weak, not you. He wants you to be a robotic doll, devoid of feelings, blindly obedient, but you are not. You will never strive to be that.

You flip to the final page, filled with Jisung’s writing. You smile and cry and curse out your father, then close the book and hug it to your chest, your heart beating steadily where you cradle it close.

To the bestest most awesome girl in the world (not just saying that because you’re the only girl I know) from the bestest most awesome boy in the world (including your evil boyfriend, sorry!)

Usually it’s easy for me to put my thoughts in writing but I’m drawing a blank. How can I tell you in words how important your friendship is when that friendship is made up of more than words? I never thought I’d be someone who runs off to parties or sneaks out onto rooftops, and I never thought I’d have so many friends. Thank you for giving me the world. I hope we can keep exploring it together. I know no matter what, we’ll still be friends, even if we’re far away after school ends. Our parents might suck and we might be kinda weird as hell, but we have each other and that counts for something. We loved each other first so no matter what else happens that will be always true. Boyfriends will come and go but your best friend is forever!! And you know I’ll be ready with a shovel if anyone breaks your heart. I know it’s sappy to say, but it’s always safe with me.

Times might be hard and we might drift apart, but I know we’ll see each other again and it will be like we never left. Take care of yourself if I’m not there. Keep fighting!!! Nothing will be impossible for you.

Your best friend now + always,

Han Jisung ♡

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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dear-wormwoods · 5 months

Text

Kyle's Mannerisms

@fanartvoid requested a list of Kyle's mannerisms in the show for fic reference, so here I am, rising from the dead!

I really racked my brain for this one. Some of these he may have only done once or twice, but I still associate them with him. And I feel like I'm probably missing some, but here's what I came up with, with examples:

The most common: the half lidded look of exasperation

The head in hand pose (often accompanied by previous bullet, as shown)

Head on desk/head against a wall

Steepled fingers deep in thought

The head tilt

Tongue out when concentrating (may have only been once)

Arms crossed in judgment

Hands on face - very cute, but only in early seasons

And my personal favorite - hands over mouth when laughing

Conclusion: Kyle is the cutest.

#south park #kyle broflovski #long post

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hazelfoureyes · 21 days

Text

HateJokeFuck

*very sacrilegious*

Alastor knew the best way to have a laugh on Halloween! Bother the fuck out of Lucifer. Literally. Nuns don’t wear pants, right?

For my sweetest @minkdelovely

「warnings/promises: TopLucifer x BottomNun!Alastor, hate fucking, clawing skin, wings come out, HCU (hazel cinematic universe), threats to tear Alastor apart, The Lords Prayer bastardized, anal creampie, still ace ass Alastor, rough sex」

Minors dni

Alastor wasn’t particularly excited for a Halloween party at the hotel, even if he knew watching the others could be fun.

But then he had an idea to make the evening positively entertaining.

Which led him to where he was now, pressed against Niffty’s various cleaning supplies in a hallway closet, ass pounded by his furious majesty.

Alastor had thought it would be funny to wear a nun’s habit, having hand stitched little X’s and an inverted cross in red thread to personalize the outfit.

While heaven did exile Lucifer and systemically murder his subjects, Luci still had a soft spot for what was now religious imagery. Devoting your life and body to the Lord was something he thought to be quite admirable.

So when Alastor walked into the party dressed in holy attire, Luci saw red. And black. And white. The colors of Alastor’s sinful costume. Dressed as Dadcula, Dad Dracula, obviously (Which was just Lucifer in a black cape and bat ear headband), Luci marched up to the radio demon.

“Hallway, now.” He grabbed Alastor by the arm, the nun leaving the party as quickly as he had arrived. Charlie saw the men rush out the room and worried a fight was brewing.

“Yes, your majesty?” Alastor steepled his hands together, “what’s the matter, pray tell?”

Lucifer smacked his hands down, “Stop that! You are making a mockery of centuries of worship!” Sputtering, he gestured up and down. “Take that off right fucking now!” He stomped his foot and managed a calming breath, “Please.”

The grin should have been enough to tell Luci he’d walked into a trap, “Who am I to deny my liege?” Alastor found the zipper in the back and pulled it down, letting the smock open and fall forward off his arms. Lucifer’s eyes followed the habit down from neck, to bare chest, to toned stomach, to-

“Are you-!” Lucifer’s hands came out to hide Alastor’s exposed cock, “naked!?” He seethed.

A voice called from the ballroom entrance, “Dad? Is everything alright?” Charlie was positive her father and Alastor were already tearing into each other.

To her credit, they would be soon enough.

Panicked and terrible under pressure, Lucifer opened the closest door and shoved both himself and the now nude Alastor into it.

It was, to his despair, a broom closet. Perhaps two people could fit comfortably had it not been occupied with a shelving system of supplies, mops, brooms, and a large outdated vacuum cleaner.

As soon as he pushed them in and closed the door, he found his body pressing into Alastor’s bare ass.

Alastor was certain there was a God now, and he a favored child. What hilarious developments. Even he couldn’t orchestrate such comedy gold.

“Oh, Father, is this confessional? I have a mighty long list.”

Lucifer smacked at Alastor’s back, “Do not call me Father!”

“Daddy?” Alastor asked, coyly looking over his shoulder to the smaller man.

“Dad?” Charlie echoed.

Lucifer’s hands shot up to cover Alastor’s mouth, “Shhh, or I will kill you once and for aAAH,” a moan breaking through his sentence as Alastor ground back into his crotch.

Alastor mumbled into Luci’s palm.

“What’s wrong?” Vaggie joined, her and Charlie now feet from the door.

“I thought Dad and Al were out here bickering…”

Alastor began grinding himself into Luci, feeling something there for him in the King of Hell’s lap.

Lucifer couldn’t help the reaction, Alastor had been intentionally winding him up for weeks.

Reaching for the newspaper and slipping, hand coming down onto Luci’s crotch. Needing something on a high shelf and just having to press his much larger body upon Luci’s smaller frame. He even sat on Lucifer once, joking, “Oh I didn’t see you there, hmm.” A size joke and groping combo.

He was touch starved and primed, so when he looked down to see skin and curves and warmth offered to him, he simply lost it.

Angel Dust had been so kind as to teach him the word hatefuck recently. And he was going to hatefuck the sass out of Alastor.

Was he using that correctly? Unimportant, a fleeting concern as he fought to undo his belt with one hand.

“They’re probably here somewhere fucking around, don’t worry about it babe. Come back and enjoy your party.” Vaggie, a psychic of some sorts, led her love away just in time.

Luci wasn’t sure he could keep it up knowing his daughter was just outside the door. But that little obstacle was gone. When Luci didn’t immediately remove his hand Alastor snaked his tongue out and around his fingers.

“Gross,” Lucifer took back his hand, thinking for a second as he stared at the wet fingers before sliding them between Alastor’s cheeks. The taller man shivered. “Did you…” the realization he had been played hit him like a piano, oddly familiar but still quite heavy. “Why are you already lubed and stretched?”

Alastor reached down slowly, face smug as he slipped a tiny bottom from a single garter belt on his right thigh.

“Holy water?” Luci took it from Alastor before his face fell flat, nose curling as he sniffed the air, “Is this coconut lube oil? You’re foul.” He used his teeth to unscrew the lid and poured the contents down Alastor’s lower back, “I hope you understand. You make me regret millennia of human free will more than I already did.”

“Your majesty I cannot get any harder, please stop the dirty talk.” Alastor shimmied his hips, elusive plush black-topped, red-bottomed tail swishing along.

Lucifer was briefly mesmerized, why was it so cute? Alastor should enter every room ass first, tail out. He’d be much more palatable. Blinking away the thought he swiped his leaking member up and down the demon’s ass as he spread lubricant on himself.

“I hate you, please don’t forget that.” Lucifer lined himself up and pressed in, groaning as he effortlessly was taken to the hilt. Alastor had prepared well. Another second to imagine Alastor in the nuns' habit, legs spread and hands busy working himself open for Lucifer. Alastor’s breath hitched as Luci’s twitched and grew slightly in him.

Alastor hadn’t started the night planning to get fucked. Once the outfit was on and he decided pants weren’t necessary, he began to consider all the ways he could fluster Lucifer. Nothing would be funnier than making the king of hell fuck a nun.

So here he was, gripping the shelves as Lucifer’s hips snapped into him.

“Oh fuck,” Luci moaned, Alastor was so tight and hot, how could someone so horrid feel so damn good? His nails dug into Alastor’s hips, pulling him back to meet every thrust.

Lucifer was enjoying himself. It felt good, Alastor not numb to pleasure, but he wanted to rile up Luci even more.

“Our Lucifer, who art in hell,” Alastor began his bastardized prayer. It worked, Luci’s hips slowing.

“Alastor.” He warned.

“Sullied be thy name; my king shall cum,” Alastor’s grin was audible. A growl came from behind him as a faint glow of fire illuminated his face, “thy sin be done,” he choked, Luci’s hips snapping into him with a sting to his ass. The fallen angel’s wings erupting and knocking the supplies off the shelves around them, no space for them to flex. Even though he knew Lucifer couldn’t hear him over the sounds of crashing bottles and broom handles, even though he could barely speak through the painfully rough fucking he was taking, he finished his prayer.

“On earth as it is in hell,” the sentence was squeaked out in staccato, air sucked in with every stretch of his hole by his king. Alastor gripped the metal shelf side so tightly his fingers were losing blood flow, the rage behind Luci’s punishing cock making his eyes roll back.

Lucifer gripped onto Alastor’s tail with a silent show of force, “You will stop this sacrilege.” Words forced through clenched teeth, “Or I will rent your dirty existence,” a pause to momentarily bury himself as deep as he could reach, “body and soul, asunder.”

Alastor couldn’t respond, mind slipping into a new realm entirely. He understood a threat had been made, and nodded as best he could with his head hung low between his hunched shoulders. He was making sounds as Lucifer’s nails cut into him, but he couldn’t place from where they came, pain or pleasure, only that his chest rumbled and his mouth was going dry.

As his hips returned to their literally bruising speed, Lucifer felt his orgasm nearing. He’d never been so angry and so determined to fuck his own seed into someone else. It felt like giving a punishment, like a humiliation. He wanted Alastor to wobble out of the fucking closet, cum dripping out much later from the previously unreached place Lucifer marked.

Alastor’s body was hit up against the shelves as his knees gave out, Lucifer’s strength too much for him to withstand. As Lucifer came his wings pulled back before coming down and in. Alastor felt a heat deep in him, pooling in his guts. On his arms and forehead the soft touch of feathers caressed sweat slick skin.

They both stayed connected, only their chests moving as they heaved in and out. Lucifer waited for himself to go soft before he pulled out, forehead resting on Alastor’s back, both men on their knees.

Sometime after Luci’s wings folded back in and disappeared, Alastor regained enough sense to speak.

“Amen.”

Lucifer pulled him to the floor by his neck, fist cocked back when the door opened.

“Oh sir, not again*. Your jokes are really not funny.” Niffty scurried over Lucifer’s back to retrieve a roll of paper towels before flitting out the room. Before closing the door she huffed, “Please stop telling them. No one ever laughs.”

“Dad, why do you smell like a piña colada?” Charlie leaned into Lucifer, taking in the aroma. “Wait a minute…. I know that smell.” Angel brightened,’“Awww baby’s first hatefuck!!”

*Alastor’s other bad joke

ଳ⊹₊ ⋆ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

#nun alastor #radioapple #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #alastor #hazbin alastor

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fandomwritingbit · 8 months

Note

hi!! would like to req a priest william smut with a fem sub reader :>> the events taking place at night would be great since it’s hotter that way lmao but the plot can be abt anything! tysm and super love ur work btw <3

Hiya, thank you so much for this request, I just love playing with religion, you and my pfp make eye contact like that one monkey meme. That being said, I’m gonna warn you, I’m Church of England, I only know basic things about Catholicism from studying history. But I done some research, and I think it’s decent- feel free to correct me though if something is grossly wrong.

Again, thank you!

Priest William x (fem) sub reader

Warnings: smut, inappropriate relationships, corruption, guilt.

A little over thirty minutes ago, you’d thrown yourself through the wooden doors of the church, the pouring rain making your clothes cling to your body and your hair stick to your forehead. The stormy weather perfectly summed up the torrential feelings, it was like a bomb exploded inside you and shattered any illusion of control or power you thought you had in your life. Your life, that notion is almost ridiculous. You hate it, and everyone, and everything. Your overbearing mother who demanded perfection, forced you to smile even though it killed a part of you to do so. Your father, god, if you could even call him that. Your work, the stress it caused you. All of it.

The emotions were so strong you couldn’t stay in your room and push past them. You were drowning in them and the only way to feel any semblance of sanity was to kneel in a pew and pray for some miracle to help you overcome your troubles. So you replaced your nightclothes with something more acceptable and fled your house, not even noticing the rain until you’re halfway to the church with a rosary painfully clutched in your hand, the beads pressing indents into your palms.

You don’t know what time it is when you arrive and enter the old building, the steeple silver-lined by the light of the moon looking like the cover of a horror story. Gothic and dark but strangely beautiful.

Inside a sudden calm came over you, the stained glass window over the altar casting stunning colours across the floor, intense twists of blue and purple swirling together and diluting the image of Jesus it portrayed. You drop to your knees before it, pressing your eyes shut and trying to ignore the warm tears that seeped between them. You shiver when you clasp your hands together, beginning to mouth your words of prayer.

You’re so lost in your worship, you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you, seeking to investigate the source of the doors banging open then shut again at this time of night. The church didn’t 'close', but a responsibility lies on the clergy to make sure people coming in so late are legitimate and not youths after a laugh.

The priest moves near silently, watching your figure before him. He recognises you from service, how could he not, sometimes he spoke directly to you, mesmerised by how you slung on to his every word. And now, the arch of your back is so pretty as you kneel there praying. A rhythmic sniffling makes him realise that you’re crying, a thought crossing him mind that whoever could make a sweet thing like you cry, deserves more than hell.

You pause in between prayers, needing a moment to catch your breath as your sobbing finally begins to subside. You knew this would work, something about the calmness of a place of worship settling your bones and making you realise your problems weren’t as massive as they seemed. Inhaling through your nose, you hold it for a few seconds to force your body to adjust to a more peaceful state. But a hand landing on your shoulder causes the breath to tear from you in a shuddered gasp.

“Ah-” you turn to the man standing beside you, your eyes moving from his hand on your skin to his face looking down at you with a small smile, “God, you scared me… father.” It takes you a moment to take notice of his collar, obviously there’s someone here, you feel like an idiot.

He chuckles, shaking his head with an almost mocking expression. “Blasphemy will add another Hail Mary to your list.” The words are professional but that hand on your shoulder didn’t feel so.

“Yes- I’m sorry.”

“Apologies mean nothing," The smile on his face grew wider, becoming a smirk that wouldn't have looked out of place on the devil himself. He pauses briefly, his fingers rising from your skin and catching a loose strand of hair, beginning to twirl it around his finger, the action making your browns furrow instantly. “You have to… demonstrate your repentance.” The way he plays with those words gives you goosebumps and you look up to the priest with a growing knowledge spreading across your face.

How you found yourself here is a mystery. A dark, twisted and sinful mystery. It’s almost an out of body experience, the rain bouncing off the stone building not helping to ground you but rather pulling you further and further from your senses. This is nothing like you, you wouldn’t dream of doing anything like this, or anyone like this.

A large hand traces over your naked breast, your nipples hard in the cold air making them achingly sensitive to the touch of this man. You couldn’t think for how wrong this was, your mind clouded by a guilty need spreading through your core. You don’t know how he got you here, laid back on a sheet of fabric draped across the floor, your skin prickling with anticipation, it’s sheer madness. You’re bare before him, completely naked but not freezing because the arousal kept you warm. And his touch dragging down to your stomach and then between your legs was more than enough to distract you from any thought of the cold night air.

The father kneels between your legs toying with the desperation there, your slick quickly coating his fingers. You don’t even realise what you’re doing until his lips are against yours, your hands around his neck pulling his body on top of you, letting him feel the gasp he elicits when he begins playing with your clit. He grins at your instant reaction, your hips rising to meet his touch and trembling at the patterns he draws on your sensitive nerves.

You felt so perfect underneath him, your smooth skin and the curves of your body reminding him of all the things he was supposed to give up under his occupation. He slowly moved his long middle finger down through your folds savouring the delicious heat of your need, before pressing it inside you, joining it with his index finger he pushed them both down to the knuckle, the most lascivious moan escaping you. Then he settled at a torturously slow and deep pace of fucking his fingers in and out of you. Each time his fingers curl inside you forces you to become more of a moaning mess, your hand grabbing his wrist as you get closer to reaching your peak.

You’re so close already, needily grinding your hips up against his hand, all sensible thoughts of caution or regret long lost in favour for feeling good. His pace adjusts like he can read your mind, now pressing his digits in and out of you faster, how deep it felt coupled with him brushing against your g-spot so perfectly brings you to the height. Your back arching and walls clamping down around his fingers tight whilst you ride out the waves of unreal pleasure. You can feel him hard against your thigh, eager to feel how good your fluttering walls feel squeezing around him, silently asking for him to fill you up.

The priest kisses you again, a firm hand on the back of your neck holding your position while the other raises your left leg to tilt your slick hold towards him. You smirk breathlessly as he positions himself, cock brushing achingly against your entrance, his head teasing you as it rubbed through the hot wetness there. A sudden feeling of nervousness spreads through you, he’s still dressed, his clerical collar a glaring reminder of what this was, but instead of having second thoughts all you want is to see just what celibacy does to a man.

He has to force his eyes from your face as he presses the tip of his cock into your heat, ducking his head into your shoulder so you didn’t see the shameful snarl on his face as he pushed inside, your blissful walls making room for him. He makes it halfway inside you before you reach out to still him for a moment, he’s big, stretching you open so much you almost cry. It feels good, almost ruthlessly so, but once he starts to shallowly move in and out, still not fully inside, you realise that the slight burn was more than worth it. There’s little patience left in him and so, with a cast iron grip on the plush of your arse he lifts you against him and fully sheathes himself. God, you nearly scream, falling instead to a breathless groan into the crook of his neck.

It’s crazy how good it feels, your body taking charge of itself and rutting into his movements hooked on the delightful feeling of corruption, though who is corrupting the other more, you don’t know. He doesn’t fuck you rough, the steady pace is more than enough to make you come undone, but there’s a selfishness to it and it get’s you off that he needs this, needs what your sweet little cunt can give him. These words in your internal monologue shock you, that kind of language feeling unnatural from you but so right simultaneously.

He brings you impossibly closer to him, bodies completely flush, his head buried in your neck, breathing you in and it’s perfect for hearing him grunting as he thrusts in and out of your pussy. He can hardly bear it, your walls wrapped around him harshly, stuck in that state of wanting to go slow to keep himself under control and wanting to push himself to climax all at once. But you feel too good. His pace grows quicker, a desperate edge to it and this change makes another climax raise its head, gaining on you so quickly it’s frightening. He could tell you were close, your fingernails digging into his arms and the prettiest of moans fleeing your lips.

At that point he's greedy, wanting more than anything to feel you clamp around him, to see your eyes roll back as he fills you with his release. That when you cum, pussy clenching tight as a vice around him, fluttering with the waves of your pleasure, he reaches his end, his thrusts becoming harder as he grunts, that warm feeling of his cum inside you apparent even as you twitch through your climax.

He groans before pulling away from you, quickly fixing himself, leaving you laid back to watch him whilst the knowledge of what you've just done trickles between your legs.

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf william afton #william afton x you #fnaf smut #afab reader #william afton x reader smut #fnaf au #william afton imagines

202 notes · View notes

jahayla-parker · 11 months

Note

hi! I was wondering if you could do Kaz with a tour her sister or something where he doesn’t want her to get hurt but she thinks that he thinks that she’s weak? (That sounded so confusing sorry) if you can’t it’s fine though. Don’t forget to drink water! And maybe take a little walk?

-🍁

Worrier and Warrior : Platonic/Sibling Kaz Brekker x Sister!Reader

Part 1

Desc: Kaz’s little sister is the latest victim of Kaz’s lack of communication and transparency. This results in actions that cause even more tension between them. Will Kaz ever get over his toxic habits and be truthful with his sister or will it be too late?

Warnings: SoC type content and applicable warnings, including mentions of trauma, violence, sickness, injuries, death, etc.

Part Two Can Be Found Here

Both parts can be found here

Y/n groaned to herself as she sat in the chair across from Kaz’s desk. She’d had enough of his behavior lately. He’d been excluding her from heists and even refused to let her work nights at the Crow’s Club. Y/n knew her brother well enough to know there had to be a reason for his behavior. Kaz never did anything without thinking it through.

Kaz limped into the room exuding his annoyance, having had to follow his sister into his office. He did not want to talk. Much less talk about this matter. He had his reasons behind his behaviors and he didn’t feel he needed to explain them to her.

Yet, she’d snapped at her brother moments ago. She hasn’t intended on doing so, but she couldn’t help it. She felt excluded and unwanted thanks to Kaz’s actions. So, when he gave out shift assignments and once again left her off of it, she snapped and called him out on it. Kaz ordered her to head to his office, hence why they were both sitting in the dusty room in the attic.

Y/n stared silently at her brother as he sat down across from her. Kaz copied her and silently shook his head as his eyes glowered at her. Neither sibling spoke for awhile. It was only when y/n huffed and stood up to leave that Kaz elected to speak.

“You have nothing to say?” Kaz remarked, raising his right eyebrow at her.

Turning back to him, she glared, “you’re the one who ordered me to your office”.

“Because you raised your voice at me before my crew” Kaz argued, shifting his jaw.

Y/n laughed sarcastically, “I raised my voice before your crew?”

Kaz steepled his hands as he stared at her silently.

“First, you’re not my parent Kaz! You’re my older brother, but you’re not in charge of me” y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kaz flinched faintly at the mention of their family. Y/n noticed and thought about apologizing. But, she knew that would only make him more mad. Besides, his immediate return to his dismissive body language removed any guilt she felt.

“Second, I am part of your crew! Yet, you treat me like I’m different” y/n pointed out, stepping closer to him.

Kaz tilted his head slightly to the left, “you are different”.

“Why? Because I’m your sister?” She groaned, throwing her head back.

“Younger sister” he corrected stoically.

She squinted at him as she returned to her seat before him, “so?”

“So you need to trust me. I am better equipped to handle these matters” he said confidently, an egotistical glimmer in his eyes. It made y/n want to reach across the table and punch it out.

“Just because you’re older? I can handle myself Kaz. Just last week I handled Guiblan and his crew by myself” y/n pointedly reminded him.

Kaz scoffed, leaning back in his seat dismissively. “Last week as in when you were stabbed during what should’ve been a simple task?” He remarked.

Y/n sank in her seat. She was suddenly weighed down with self-doubt and embarrassment. These weren’t often feelings that her brother made her feel. However, for that exact reason it felt extra heavy.

“Is that what this is about? That’s why I’m no longer assigned tasks or shifts?” She questioned quietly.

Her mind raced as she waited for his reply. It wasn’t like she tried to get hurt last week. Saints, she fought off numerous large men by herself even though no one else was supposed to even be there. She even still successfully completed her task. Yet, that wasn’t enough for him?

Kaz stayed silent. Instead of responding, he looked away from her. His eyes were now staring sharply at one of the cracks in his wall.

Y/n stood up to leave. “For the record, I was out numbered. Besides, there weren’t supposed to be any guards in the first place”.

“Not everything goes according to plan all the time” Kaz acknowledged with a small dismissive shrug.

Y/n bit her lip as her head lowered slightly at his comment. “I’m aware of that, but-“

“But, you weren’t able to handle it without getting injured” Kaz said, his eyes snapping back towards her. He quickly realized he almost revealed the real reason behind keeping y/n from being involved in any Crow or Dreg business. As such, he puffed his chest and added, “and then Nina had to waste her energy taking care of it and couldn’t work her next shift.”

Y/n balked, her already pale skin losing color. “Wasted her energy? Fuck you Kaz. I never asked for her to take care of my injury-“ y/n defended.

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped, slamming his gloved hands on table as he rose from his seat. “I take care of my Crows. This whole business doesn’t work without my investments operating at full capacity” Kaz reminded her.

She stated at Kaz silently for a second. Did he really just call his own sister an investment to his business? He was mad because she was utilizing too many resources? Resources she never asked for?

Y/n wasn’t sure what to say. But it didn’t matter. Because just as she opened her mouth to speak, Kaz interrupted.

“You were decommissioned for days and took Nina down with you. I cannot have that” he said, much more calmly this time. However, there was still a burning anger to his eyes.

“The others get hurt too Kaz, why am I the one needing to apologize for it?” Y/n questioned. She was hoping there was something she was missing. After all, if she were only an investment like the others, why was she being targeted by him?

Kaz once again broke eye contact. His gaze drifted to his cluttered desk this time. “I needed more from you” He said simply.

Y/n squinted, “tell me what you want and I’ll do it”. She didn’t understand what was happening. If her brother needed something from her, he would always just tell her. Why did that change?

“You cannot do it” Kaz stated emotionlessly.

Was that what it was? He was mad not just because she was utilizing too many resources. But because she was utilizing too many resources while not contributing enough in exchange?

Even more than that, he didn’t think she could? Kaz wasn’t an idiot. So was she truly that weak and incompetent? Y/n hadn’t thought so, but maybe she was wrong. “Ka-“ She began, hoping to clear the air.

“Y/n, listen to me. I know what I can and cannot assign you” He said dismissively, shaking his head in frustration.

She stared at the side of his face as he actively ignored her. There was suddenly this defeated heaviness settling into her chest. She took a deep breath before reluctantly asking one of the pressing questions in her mind. “So I’m done with it all?” Y/n questioned.

“If there are tasks I think you can handle, then I will inform you of such. Until then, drop this attitude” Kaz ordered.

She shook her head. The action mostly for herself over her disbelief; after all, he still wasn’t looking at her. “What do you expect me to do in meantime?” Y/n sighed.

Kaz groaned as he ran a leather glove covered hand through his tousled hair. “I don’t care. Read. Have a music session with Wylan. Saints, maybe have Inej or Jesper train you to handle fights.” He remarked, eyes flickering up to her frame.

Kaz watched as she visibly sank. Y/n shrunk in both posture and confidence right before his eyes. And then she was gone. It was all his fault; he knew that.

He even felt a morsel of guilt and regret over it. But that diminished when he recalled seeing his younger sister bleeding from a stab wound. Y/n had gotten the injury because of him. But that wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t.

Kaz couldn’t let it happen again. He wasn’t sure if he could survive that. Sure, y/n had healed fine. But, it very easily could’ve ended in her death instead. That was something Kaz would do whatever necessary to prevent.

He’d lost his older brother Jordie. He couldn’t lose his younger sister as well. He loved and cherished her too much. Kaz and y/n had always been close.

They were both little when Jordie passed. All three siblings had gotten sick; but only two survived. His brother’s death tore apart almost every aspect of Kaz’s life. All the way down to his morals and life’s motivation. Yet, he didn’t let it tear his relationship with his little sister away.

Kaz had fought to keep himself and y/n alive ever since that day. Y/n had always looked up to Kaz. And while his behaviors changed drastically after Jordie’s death, hers didn’t. She continued to look up to Kaz and tried to be like him. That infuriated Kaz at first, until he realized it was the one thing that would truly keep her safe.

Yet, when she was stabbed last week, that notion evaporated. Kaz knew who was responsible. And he knew why they did it. He’d pissed off the wrong person.

Well, to Kaz there was no such thing. But when it came to getting his sister involved, that was different. She wasn’t supposed to be connected to or impacted by his actions. Yet, that night he’d sent her off on an errand only for her to come back bleeding because of him.

Kaz knew his words tonight made y/n think he saw her as weak. He also knew she took everything he said to her or thought of her to heart. He hated being the reason she now believed she wasn’t strong enough.

But, he told himself it was best this way. She’d likely not push as hard when he refused to let her attend heists or deny her shifts at the club. Both of which he needed to do to keep her safe. To keep her alive. To keep the last piece of himself afloat and alive.

“Kaz, that makes no sense” y/n argued.

It had only taken a few hours for y/n to decide she was going to prove Kaz wrong. Last night she’d elected to show him she wasn’t weak. That she was capable of contributing and keeping up with the others.

Therefore, when she overheard the plans for the crows to meet with Evrin Golding, a wealthy merchant, she tried to convince Kaz to let her join them. Much to Kaz’s dismay. However, he abruptly shut that down with a vague excuse as to why she couldn’t go.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you” Kaz sighed, grabbing his hat from the coat rack by his door.

Y/n huffed and glares at him. He was being so difficult. How could she prove herself if he wouldn’t let her go? “Yes, you do. Because I deserve to go. Plus you could use an extra set of eyes” she smirked.

Kaz rolled his eyes, “you’re not going.”

“That’s irrational and you know it” y/n argued weakly.

Her brother merely surged as he put his hat on, “clearly it runs in the family”.

She groaned and walked until she was blocking the door with her body, “Kaz,-“.

“You’re not going. I don’t want or need you there. End of discussion” Kaz spat.

Y/n frowned and stepped aside. She hadn’t expected herself to cave so quickly. Especially when she had the upper hand by blocking the door. Yet, Kaz’s words stung more than she’d expected.

It had only been a few moments of sulking in her self loathing before she ventured outside. Y/n knew where the meeting was to take place. So while Kaz may not have allowed her to go with, he couldn’t stop her from following after them. Sure it was somewhat childish, but it was the option she was left with if she didn’t want to just accept Kaz’s analysis of her.

Y/n quietly lowered herself to the ground beside Inej. They laid on their bellies atop an old abandoned building just outside of the Barrel. Inej of course had heard y/n coming, but the others hadn’t. As such, y/n allowed herself to get comfortable on the rooftop before watching the scene below.

“I tried to get him to let you come” Inej whispered as the wind whipped past them. It was just loud enough for y/n to hear before the wind carried the sound behind them; away from the others below.

Y/n smiled to herself as she whispered a grateful thank you to her friend. She was pleased to know at least Inej didn’t find her too weak to take part in tonight’s activities. However, it seemed even Inej couldn’t convince y/n’s older brother of her strength.

Y/n and Inej made hushed small talk as they watched from a distance. It was mostly about their latest events in their lives outside of the tasks they did for Kaz. Y/n knew Inej was trying to keep her mind off the fact y/n’s brother thought she was too weak to be here. It helped some; it always helped to talk with Inej.

However, a small disagreement between her brother and their contact easily caught her attention. Y/n and Inej immediately silenced in order to listen closer. They shared a knowing look as Kaz’s attitude only worsened the situation.

Y/n smirked to herself when she realized she could help Kaz. She knew she’d be able to not only help him get out unharmed, but also still complete the task at hand. Kaz was great at reading people. So he had to know how his behavior was worsening the situation.

But Y/n knew when it came to Pekka, Kaz’s vision blurred. This man Kaz was trying to get intel from was part of Pekka’s crew and could be yanking his chain.

Of course y/n hated Pekka with her entirety as well. But, she was able to separate his crew from him. They hadn’t been there. It didn’t mean she liked them, but rather could tolerate them just long enough to handle the task without her emotions taking over. Part of it had to do with her dissociating from her emotions and traumas; but it worked. At least for matters like this. Matters in which her remaining older brother’s fury blinded him and endangered his life. She wouldn’t lose another brother, and certainly not at the hands of Pekka again. So she’d mastered over the years how to not let Pekka or his crew impact her the way it did Kaz. It wasn’t healthy for her as she had to dismiss her traumatic experiences. But, it kept Kaz from taking it too far and getting killed in his search for revenge.

“Excuse me, I have to go make a scene." Y/n whispered to Inej. She slowly rose from the ground and walked to the far end of the building. It would be best if she acted like she stumbled upon the two of them. Kaz wouldn’t believe it for a second, but the Dime Lion easily would if she did it right.

“Y/n, I wouldn’t cross Kaz. His sister or not, no one crosses him” Inej warned, looking over her shoulder at y/n. She sighed when she saw the determined look in y/n’s eyes. It was the same look Kaz got when he was set firmly on a decision he’d made.

“Well, what can I say? I'm a badass." She winked as she jumped down from the back of the building. Y/n quickly made her way around the building to join the scene she’d witnessed from above. She noticed the way the Dime Lion grinned at her as his eyes scanned her body.

She also noticed how livid her brother was. Of course she did, he was practically steaming. Anyone could see how Kaz’s eyes bore into her as he watched her approach. But, she ignored his unspoken order to leave.

“Hi, I’m y/n” y/n greeted, smiling innocently as she stood before their contact.

Kaz remained by her side, his hand tight on the crows head of his cane. If he hadn’t wanted to kill the Dime Lion earlier, he certainly did now. He despised y/n ignoring him and following him out here. But he could have killed the man before him for falling for y/N’s faux innocent play. Especially when the man kept checking her out.

“Well hello there beautiful, I’m Dan-“ the contact began, extending his hand towards y/n.

Kaz cut him off by swinging his cane down between them and shook his head. “Your name does not matter. Nor do her looks. We are here for one thing-“ Kaz barked.

“What my brother means to say,” y/n forced a giggle, “is that I could really use some help from you”.

This was one of the ways y/n and her brother Kaz differed greatly. Kaz refused to show weakness, even if it was fake. Y/n however, didn’t mind pretending. She knew better than to show her true weakness(es). But she was willing to utilize faux ones.

After all, y/n knew she men -especially those in Ketterdam- saw women as far weaker. While y/n knew she could easily take most of these men by herself, she saw their ignorance as a tool. It made it a lot easier to get someone off guard if they let their own guard down due to thinking she was merely a weak girl.

However, she was now wondering if that’s why Kaz saw her the same way. Did he fall for her pretend innocence and ignorance? How could he have? Did he still see her as the little girl she was before they lost Jordie?

She had to push these thoughts aside and refocus on the current moment. Y/n forced on a tender smile as she waited for the man to respond.

He seemed to be intelligent enough to not fall for it immediately. However, as he looked back over at y/n’s ‘shy’ body language, he caved. “Of course darling, I was just telling your brother that I’d love to help. Especially for a damsel like yourself” the man smiled, pretending he hadn’t been arguing with Kaz moments ago.

Kaz’s grip on his cane tightened dangerously. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he snapped off the crows head at the top of the cane. It was all Kaz could do to get himself to silently go along with y/n’s fake storyline. It was all he could do to control his brotherly protectiveness. It was all Kaz could do to not kill the man where he stood.

To say Kaz was pissed would be a grave understatement. Yet, no one could truly find the right word to describe his current state. He stood rigid, his sharp eyes burning holes in y/n’s. The tension in the air palpable.

Kaz had ignored her the entire return to the slat. He refused to go off on her in the streets where others could see or hear. He didn’t need anyone knowing how much she mattered to him. How much her actions and safety swayed him.

As such, he kicked everyone out of the slat as they returned. Well, everyone but his crows. He’d ordered them out but didn’t have enough focus or concern to force them to leave. They already knew how Kaz was with his sister anyways.

This meant the crows all stood silently as they watched in anxious anticipation. While Inej had been the only one to have seen what happened, it wasn’t hard to piece it together. The crows knew stubbornness ran in the Brekker family. So they knew it was only a matter of time before y/n pissed Kaz off by disobeying his latest orders for her.

Kaz tried to control his anger towards his sister. He could feel the raging fury alive and consuming inside of him. But he didn’t want to be mad at her much less act out against her (especially if it was only due to said emotions). Yet, as the scene replayed in his mind, he felt panic merge with his anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Kaz spat, stalking closer to where she sat.

Jesper’s eyes widened as he watched his friends nervously. “Kaz, man, maybe-“ he awkwardly interjected. His goal was to calm Kaz down before he said something he’d regret. But his interruption only resulted in him getting chewed out as well.

The crows froze in their places as they listened to the loud bickering between y/n and Kaz. They weren’t sure what to have expected. The siblings disagreed from time to time, but this was something very different. To make matters worse, both of them were stubborn and angry. That wasn’t a good mix in anyone, but much less in a Brekker.

“I told you I cannot rely on you” Kaz stated, adding another insult to the mix he’d already thrown her way tonight. He refused to look at her as he said it. But, he kept his head high and voice loud and authoritative nonetheless.

Y/n shook her head at him as she took a deep breath. It wasn’t that this comment was worse than the others. But she’d had enough. Y/n may have acted out of an attempt to prove herself, but she also did it to protect him. Yet, he still shouted insults at her.

She once again found herself feeling ashamed and weak. Y/n might have no problem pretending to be these things to get people to do what she wanted. But that didn’t mean she wanted people to actually believe them. Much less her fellow crows. Much less her brother. And much less herself.

Y/n quietly stood and turned to head to bed before her emotions could show. She heard Kaz ordering her to stay where she was. But, what was one more disappointment from her?

Y/n had barely made it to her room before she broke down. She locked her door and slid down the thin wood until her butt hit the floor. Maybe Kaz was right. Maybe she was too weak to handle this. After all, here she was, practically sobbing over an argument with her brother.

Kaz entered her room later that night. By then, she’d composed herself and removed any signs of her heartbreak. Which was good because he’d only come to lecture her further.

Y/n spaced off early on into his latest speech about how she had let him down. She didn’t care to hear it anymore. It hurt and she was furious that Kaz was the one hurting her.

As Kaz went to continue venting his annoyance, he noticed she seemed distant. Furrowing his brows, he asked "Are you even listening to me?"

Y/n let her eyes return to focus, and shook her head. “No, but you don’t want me to be” she admitted, clicking her tongue.

Kaz growled quietly, “Hmm and why is that?”

"I will break your nose if you keep talking about how weak I am. I’ve heard it enough” she explained, looking away from his intense stare.

Kaz saw the pain flickering in her eyes despite her response. He sighed and took a long deep breath before speaking. His tone was much less harsh as he told her, “I did not say you are weak”.

Y/N’s eyes snapped back to him, annoyance overtaking her pain. “Not directly, but you still did” she argued.

“What do you want from me? To coddle you and your feelings?” Kaz retorted. Guilt hit him instantly but he held his ground. He would ignore his guilt if it meant keping y/n safe.

“Why are you treating me like I’m your enemy and not a friend?” Y/n whispered, her voice soft again.

“You’re not my friend y/n” Kaz groaned. He hated the way her face fell even more at his words. But, this was what needed to be done.

“You’re right, I’m your sister. That’s worse” she acknowledged, her voice cracking.

Kaz wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to make her feel worse. But, he also couldn’t apologize. So, he leaned against her desk silently.

“Get out” y/n ordered meekly.

While Kaz debated ignoring her, he decided against it. He could see how defeated his sister was. So, while he wouldn’t act on his guilt and apologize, he could at least offer her some space. Kaz glanced back at her one more time before leaving her room.

“Aren’t you in a cheery mood” Jesper teased sarcastically as y/n rolled her eyes yet again when Kaz was speaking.

“I have a right to be angry." Y/n retorted, shaking her head.

“Could you be any more annoying?” Kaz asked as he stopped reading off his list of today’s assignments.

Y/n glared across the room at him, “Excuse me?”

Kaz rolled his eyes back at her. “You heard me y/n” he stated calmly. “You’re making us go in circles. We’ve been over this. You’re not taking part in any of the Crows’ or Dregs’ tasks unless I say so” Kaz reminded her. “So stop interrupting the meeting with your infuriatingly annoying emotions” he ordered.

“Kaz,” Inej sighed, shaking her head at him as she gave him a knowing look.

Jesper bravely jumped in again as Kaz glared at Inej. “Y/n has been training with Inej and I, daily. She’s great” Jesper informed him. He watched as y/n nodded in acknowledgment of the training sessions they’d had the last few weeks.

Y/n noticed how Kaz froze and seemed to be pondering Jesper’s remark. “Told you, I’m not weak” she huffed, sending him a glare.

“Y/n, I-“ Kaz sighed, shaking his head.

“Just let me come, I can keep up” y/n pleaded, sitting up straight thanks to Jesper’s compliment.

Kaz took a deep breath. “No” he responded defiantly.

“But Kaz,-“ y/n argued, leaning forward in her seat.

“No” was all he responded with again as he shook his head.

“Come on, you know I am not too weak for this life. Admit I’m right” y/n said. Part of her was teasing in hopes he’d loosen up some. But the other part of her wanted him to say she wasn’t weak. She was still struggling with her own belief on the topic and needed him to clarify it for her.

“I will do not such thing” Kaz said.

Y/n chose to ignore the clenching of her chest and lungs at his refusal. Instead, she reminded herself that he never liked to give others compliments. But there was one thing he hated more. As such, she pressed her luck by responding, “Fine, then admit you’re wrong”.

“No” he groaned, dismissing her with that one word sentiment again.

Y/n threw her hands in the air dramatically. “Quit acting like this you stupid wet sock” she sighed. Y/n could hear the quiet laughter of the crows over the unusual insult. But she knew Kaz would pick up on it.

Y/n hated wet socks and Kaz knew that. She’d hated them ever since she was old enough to say so. It was her final straw when the orphaned siblings had found themselves out on the streets of Ketterdam. She couldn’t handle the feeling on her feet and the cold nights only made it worse. In fact, she had verbally blamed the wet socks for the three of them having caught the illness that took Jordie from them.

So, while it seemed like a humorously random insult to the Crows, Kaz was actually impacted by it. He knew it hadn’t been her intention to bring his mind back to that night. Much less to insult him by calling him the one thing she blamed for what happened. Kaz knew she’d never do that, even if she were furious with him.

But, that didn’t mean he was able to keep it from impacting him or his response. He glared across his desk at her before walking to the door. “You’re staying here! It's better for everyone!” Kaz shouted as he angrily walked out.

Y/n once again elected to ignore Kaz. She was determined to prove him wrong. Y/n was also determined to prove to herself she could handle it. As a result, she was once again on a sketchy rooftop with Inej.

The girls silently watched the scene below. In which Kaz was pretending to bargain with the merchant. The plan was for Nina to pickpocket the merchant while Kaz and Jesper had him distracted.

It all seemed to be going according to plan at first. However, that quickly changed when one of the merchant’s men noticed and let out a calling sound. Suddenly, twelve armed men appeared, surrounding Kaz and Jesper.

The sharpshooter had drawn his pistols but was waiting on a sign from Kaz to pull the trigger. However, Kaz calmly shifted his gaze up to the rooftop instead. Y/n flattened herself out even further, hiding behind the ledge of the roof. Inej gave her a soft giggle as she rose to join Kaz.

Once Kaz saw Inej caught his signal, he finally gave Jesper his. Within seconds the trade meeting erupted into a battle. Y/n wanted to go down and help, but she still feared that Kaz might be right. If he was and she went down there, she’d only make it worse.

So she remained steady on the rooftop. Her eyes danced over the chaos, checking everyone’s safety. That was when she saw her brother had been knocked down. Kaz was struggling to return to his feet when a gun was placed against the back of his head.

Y/n didn’t hesitate any longer. She flung her quiver over her shoulder, grabbing a single arrow before setting the quiver beside her. As she loaded the arrow into her bow, she took a deep breath and stared intently at her target.

Kaz looked up from the ground and over to where the arrow had come from. His eyes narrowed as he saw his sister on the roof. Despite his orders to stay at the Slat. Kaz shook his head as his relief quickly changed into anger.

“Nice shot” Jesper grinned, slinging his arm over y/n’s shoulder after she’d made her way down to them.

“Y/n,” Nina smiled, “glad you could join us!”

Y/n smiled back and shrugged, “Well, it’s more like I crashed the party, since I wasn’t invited, but-“.

”You weren't invited because no one wanted you to come." Kaz spat, staring her down.

“I just saved your life Kaz-“ y/n argued, waving her arm around to the now-dead bodies on the street.

Kaz shook his head and gritted his teeth. “You just risked my life and everyone else’s” he replied.

“Excuse me? He’s dead, he was going to kill you. I handled it” y/n pointed out in disbelief. She’d literally taken someone’s life to keep him safe and he was still mad?

Kaz remained angry. “You weren’t to be here. You risked everyone’s safety by throwing the plan off” he rebutted. He knew it wasn’t entirely true and that it might sound like a stretch even to his Crows. But he hoped y/n would focus on his need to be in charge of the plans at all times.

“Having a gun pointed to your head while knocked on the ground was part of the plan?!” Y/n snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Y/n” Kaz warned, his voice clipped.

She shook her head, “No, if you don’t want me throwing off the plan then just include me to start with”.

“How many times must I tell you no?” Kaz groaned, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Until it makes sense!” She retorted, smirking at him confidently.

Kaz moved his hand back down and laid it over his other on top of his cane. “It does make sense! You were not included because I did not want you here. You are more of a risk than you are helpful.” He told her, eyes staring at her abdomen as he spoke.

“So you killed the man, good for you, who cares? “ Kaz asked rhetorically. He regretted that remark as he knew killing someone wasn’t something y/n took lightly. But, Kaz nonetheless continued to berate her for risking herself. “If you were here from the start, it would’ve been worse. You’re a weakness and liability. When will you comprehend that?” Kaz huffed.

“Is that truly how little you think of me?" Y/n asked, her voice weak and shallow.

Kaz felt himself wanting to give in and confess the reality behind his anger. To express that he didn’t see her as weak, but still worried about her being taken from him. But, he wouldn’t let himself. He merely nodded even though it weren’t one hundred percent true.

“Fine. I comprehend that” y/n stated emotionlessly as she turned around and left.

Kaz sighed in relief that the conversation was over. He had the feeling this time he finally got through to her. Her dejected response and giving up on the argument suggested such.

Kaz had assumed y/n went back to The Crow’s Club or the Slat when she left the scene earlier that night. As such, when he arrived, he sent Inej to check on her state. He knew his Crows were all judging him for having said the things he did to her. But, he only asked Inej to check on her because he wanted to know she had made it back safely, not because he was going to apologize.

Kaz was sitting in his office, resting his head in his hands. He was nursing a headache and his leg was brutally assaulting him with pain. Yet, his mind couldn’t stop thinking about how to keep y/n from trying to dismiss his orders again. He couldn’t face losing her. But what levels would he go to if it meant hurting her along the way?

Before he’d had time to analyze that question, Inej entered his room. He glanced up from his hands and squinted at her. She seemed concerned which set him on high alert. “Well?” Kaz asked impatiently.

“She’s not here” Inej whispered, wincing as he watched fear flash through his eyes.

“What do you mean she’s not here?” Kaz asked sharply.

“She’s not here Kaz, it’s straightforward” Inej remarked, “she must have headed elsewhere”.

Kaz stiffly breathed in and out through his flared nostrils. “Go” he ordered. “Find her” Kaz clarified, closing his eyes.

Inej falteted. She wasn’t sure bothering y/n was the best solution. Inej also doubted Kaz would respond well to y/n when she got back from wherever she’d gone off to. “Kaz-“ she drawled.

“Find her and bring her ho-“ Kaz coughed. “-back here” he corrected, eyes still squeezed shut.

Inej silently nodded and left to track down her friend.

Part Two Here

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