#it's okay to write a bad show like it's not a crime

[foursaints]

no bc why does NOBODY talk abt dementors 😭😭 ur telling me criminals are getting permanently robbed of their souls and everyone is fine and dandy with that??!?! insanity. i feel like both the books and the fandom dont spend enough time dissecting how horrific and inhumane that is regardless of whatever crime ppl committed it’s so crazy to me

no yeah the carceral state as depicted in harry potter is bewildering and also probably the most scathing indictment of the centrist worldview that jkr represents tbqh!! like the concept of “justice” as written in hp is so consummately liberal (Ontological Good = defense of the status quo)

very very brainrotted marauders fans will sometimes try to make the argument that jkr showing wizard society’s ills is the same as criticism. but i’ve always disagreed with this and if anything it shows the callousness & entitlement of liberal ideology, i.e the belief that “things will always be bad for someone, but this system is the best we’ve got!” - this belief is what allows jkr to feel comfortable writing a society with deep & violent inequality BUT have the entire trajectory of her plot be about defending such society from violent insurgents, while never addressing or reforming the violence inherent to the system. it drives me bonkers because this is a fictional world where she easily could have done that lol

i think that jkr’s brand of liberalism is just such an indefensibly bloodthirsty ideology 🫥 and that her politics beliefs inform every inch of the text & its plot structure. and that’s also why it pisses me off sooo bad when fans are like “X Character is a Death Eater = Bad Guy. You’re Not Allowed To Stan Them Or Ur Bad, Ethically 😡” <- obvious reasons aside it’s like… okay but you’re implicitly aligning yourself uncritically with the ethical worldview outlined by jkr which is itself horrifically flawed!!!!! and azkaban/the unquestioned yet exaggeratedly inhumane treatment of “criminals” as an underclass in harry potter is the most easily spotted example of these flaws

i talked about it more here in the context of my les mis reread but it will never not be funny to me that jkr is seemingly writing according to the exact same cartoonishly evil view of carceral “justice”/ morality that victor hugo was doing an exaggerated critique of in the 19th century. like she is literally javert.

[idkanymoreaboutlife]

SPOTLIGHT: Rafael Barba x Reader

Hello everyone! First time writing anything that is not Ash Williams centered, so we'll see how this goes. I've been watching SVU for years now and I absolutely love Rafael Barba. (honestly I love anything Raul Esparza is in) I have the second chapter in the works, but it'll be slow to update due to my work schedule. Enjoy!!

Being in a relationship with Rafael was easy, especially since you worked at the hospital and him as an A.D.A. But what happens when his lover starts to be threatened by a serial stalker? What happens when she keeps this secret until it’s too late? And what happens when Rafael is forced to put his relationship in the spotlight?

word count: 3,346

The 16th precinct was in a lull for once, officers walking around the bullpen going from place to place, keeping up on their duties. Carisi sat at his desk, mulling over paperwork as a young blond man wearing dark green scrubs walks in, a nervous look on his face.

“Excuse me?” The man asked, catching Carisi’s attention. The detective looked up from his work.

“Yeah, how can I help?” The man stepped forward to the detectives desk.

“This is SVU, right? I looked at the plaque but I wanna make sure..” he trailed off as Rollins looked over at him quickly before resuming her work.

“Yeah it is, you got a crime to report?”

“Not yet, but I’m afraid if I don’t do something it can lead to one.” Carisi furrowed his brows before gesturing the man to take a seat next to his desk, gathering up his notepad and pen.

“Tell me what’s going on? And whats your name, kid?” The blond took a seat, raking his fingers through his hair.

“It’s my boss, well more like my friend, but I think she’s in trouble.” He took a pause, “my names Andy, Andy Novak.”

“And what sort of trouble is your friend in?”

“It’s, well it’s a sort of long story. She does shifts in our psych ward three times a week, and this guy was a patient for over a year. He had a real knack for her, only ever wanting to listen to her, giving her compliments and all.” Andy spoke, picking at his fingernails.

“Not to stop you, Andy.” Carisi started, “but I’m not seeing as how this is a sex crime.” Andy took a breath before leveling his gaze.

“I’m getting to it, I told you it’s a long story. Anyways, he got released a few months ago and he keeps showing up at the ER where we work mainly. And again, only ever wanting my friend.” Again, Carisi stopped him.

“This friend of yours have a name?” That’s when Andy stopped talking, biting his lip in contemplation.

“That’s the thing, she doesn’t know I’m here.” Before Carisi could say anything, Andy continued. “I know, I know! I talked to her so many times about this, but she insists that can handle this, that’s it’s nothing but a schizophrenic man with delusions.”

“Listen, all we wanna do is talk to her, get her side of the story and see if she wants to file herself.”

“You have to listen to me, she won’t. This guy, he has pictures of her! He waits outside the hospital and takes photos of her. I’ve seen him follow her home before.”

“And has she had any reservations about this?” Andy sighed, pulling at his hair some.

“She doesn’t see anything bad about this, she just brushes it off and says that it happens with the job and to let it slide.” Carisi stood up from his desk, clearing his throat.

“Listen, we’ll take a look, okay? I understand if your friend isn’t willing about coming forward herself. How about this. You give us her first name and the guys full name, and we’ll look into it.” Andy stood up as well, nodding some, producing a folder from his messenger bag.

“I figured that at best.” He gave a folder to Carisi. “This is the guys information and my friends name and picture. Please..I don’t wanna see her get hurt.” Carisi nodded and took the folder, placing it on his desk.

“I’ll see what we can do, okay?” Andy nodded before taking his leave.

Carisi sat back at his desk, opening the folder and leading through it.

“Hey Rollins, come take a look at this.” Rollins looked up from her computer.

“What you got?”

“Just come take a look.” Rollins suppressed an eye roll before she stood up and made her way to his desk, leaning over his side, scanning her eyes over the papers.

“This man sounds like a nutcase.” Rollins started, “diagnosed with schizophrenia at 13, killed his parents at 15 and was sent to a psychiatric hospital based on his mental state.” She looked over at Carisi. “Is this what that guy was talking to you about?” Carisi gave a nod, leaning back in his chair.

“Not sure what we can do about it though, technically she never made a complaint.”

“Can’t hurt to follow up, make sure everything is okay.” Rollins stood up, making her way back to her desk. “Get clearance from Liv and let her make that call.”

“You got it.” Carisi gathered the files and his notepad, making his way to Olivia’s office.

The ER was busy as ever, the constant flow of people kept (y/n)on her feet with no break in sight. Her back was aching, but that was furthest from her mind as she saw one of the receptionists leading two officers to her. She thought nothing of it and kept monitoring her patients. The clearing of a throat broke her train of concentration.

“(Y/n) Koval?” A man spoke, and she turned around to face the two officers she saw entering.

“Yes? Can I help you two?” The shorter of the two spoke up.

“I’m Detective Amanda Rollins and this is my partner Dominick Carisi.”

“We need to ask you a few questions. You have a minute?” (Y/n) glanced around at the busy ER.

“Not really, but if it’s important I can get another nurse down here.”

“Thank you.” Carisi nodded and stepped back with Rollins as (Y/N) made her way to a phone on the wall and made a call. It took a few moments before she can walking back to the two.

“Is this a private matter.” She asked cautiously.

“I’m afraid it is, is there somewhere more quieter we can talk?” She nodded and led the two to an on call room and shut the door behind them.

“Did something happen?” She took a seat on one of the beds, folding her hands in her lap. Rollins and Carisi took a seat across from her on another bed.

“Do you know someone by the name of Dylan Anderson?” Rollins spoke first.

“I do, yes. He was a patient in our psych ward last year.” She paused. “Is this about him?”

“We have a complaint, on your behalf, that he’s been stalking you for over six months.” Rollins continued. (Y/N) heaved a small sigh, shaking her head some.

“Listen, it’s really not what you think. He has schizophrenia, and sometimes he can get too into his head. He’s no harm at all.”

“Well.” Carisi started, “someone thinks that he is harmful, to you at least.” She sighed, leaning back some.

“I can handle myself, thank you Detectives. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“Well maybe you can actually. Are you in a relationship by chance? Anyone you’re close with that this guy can potentially go after?” Rollins asked and (Y/N) held back a small laugh.

“Listen, not that it’s any of your business, but I’m in a committed relationship. And trust me, Dylan won’t go after him, he can take care of himself just fine.”

“Can we have his name?” Carisi asked and she was quick to shake her head.

“He has a higher profile job, he doesn’t want our relationship to affect his work. And I’m completely fine with that.” She stood up. “Are we done here? Not to rush you out, but I have a busy ER and we’re understaffed as it is.”

“We understand, sorry for the inconvenience.” Rollins stood up and motioned Carisi to be quiet as he went to speak. “Take care of yourself.” (Y/N) left the room and the two shared a look.

Rollins and Carisi walked back into the precinct, talking over the conversation they had with (Y/N).

“I just don’t get it”, Rollins started “if she knows about his past, why wouldn’t she at least be more helpful? At least file her own complaint.” Carisi nodded along, stopping at the door.

“Maybe she actually believes he’s of no harm to her. I mean, she didn’t even seem concerned.”

“I still don’t get it, though. And the whole relationship thing? Kind of seems like she was lying there.” Carisi gave her a look.

“What makes you think that?”

“No girl wants to be hidden in the shadows, especially in a committed relationship like she said so. So, she’s either lying or the relationship isn’t as committed as she thinks.” The two made their way back into the bullpen, heading towards Olivia’s office to report their findings. Rollins knocked on the door and let herself in, Carisi right behind her. As they entered, they found A.D.A Rafael Barba sitting across from her at Olivia’s desk.

“Rollins, Carisi.” Olivia greeted, nodding to the two. “Howd everything go at the hospital?”

“Not well.” Rollins started, “(Y/N) the nurse, that Andy was worried about, was of no help. She believes that the guy is of no harm to her and can handle herself.” Olivia gave a sigh.

“Well there’s not much we can do there, then.” She paused before continuing. “Have your reports typed up by the end of the day.”

“That’s it? We aren’t gonna talk to the guy, Dylan Anderson?” Carisi spoke up, concern on his face. Olivia gave him a pointed look.

“If this guy is schizophrenic, then his word may not be good.”

“May I ask what this is about?” Barba spoke up, curiosity piquing.

“This nurse is currently being stalked by a prior psych ward patient for over six months, and she believes that he’s no harm.” Carisi spoke up.

“And,” continued Rollins, “her friend slash coworker filed the report, not herself. He really thinks that she’s in trouble and tie guy is dangerous.” Barba nodded in thought, his brows pinching together.

“Talk to the ex patient, see what his standpoint is.” Before Olivia could intervene, he continued. “And if he sounds competent, bring him in. We could have a case here.”

“Even without her filing a complaint?” Rollins raised a brow, arms crossed. “I know you’re the attorney and all, Barba, but this seems pretty useless to me.”

“Won’t be useless if she winds up dead.” He deadpanned, inclining his head to the side some. He stood up, fixing his suit and left the office.

“Well?” Carisi looked at Olivia, “we good to talk to this guy or what?” Olivia thought for a moment and sighed, nodding her head.

“Go, and if he says anything damming bring him in.” The two detectives took their leave, heading back on the streets.

Based on the reports and prior addressed listing Dylan Anderson, the two detectives found themselves standing in front of a shotty, run down apartment complex on the lower side of New York. Carisi was the first to enter the building, taking note of the broken elevator and the dingy interior. No one sat behind the desk and a small fan was buzzing annoyingly on said desk.

“What apartment does he live in?” Carisi asked, looking up the stairs.

“4d.” Replied Rollins, less than enthusiastically. Carisi heaved a sigh before shaking his head, making his way up the stairs with Rollins trailing close behind him.

“What do you think this guys deal is?” Carisi called out behind him.

“No idea, maybe (Y/N) was the first person to show him compassion or kindness and he took it as something else.” Carisi hummed in thought.

“Maybe. Honestly I don’t really know what to make of it all.”

“Guess we won’t know until we see and talk to this guy.”

A few more flights of rickety stairs the duo arrived at apartment 4d. Carisi knocked on the door firmly three times and waited for an answer. Some shuffling could be heard from inside as the door clicked open and a chubby cheeked young adult peeked through the slightly cracked door.

“Hello? Can I help you?” The man spoke in a soft manner, a slight rasp to his words.

“Hey there, we’re from the NYPD. Got a complaint and just checking off our boxes.” Carisi spoke, a tight lipped smile adorning his features. Rollins stood slightly behind him, gauging the man’s reaction. “You are Dylan Anderson, yeah.”

The man nodded, “yes, I am..” he paused. “What complaints are you talking about? I haven’t done anything to nobody.”

“While that may be true, we just have to check, get your side of the story.” Rollins spoke up and the man’s blue eyes shifted to her quickly, looking her up and down in a way that sent shivers up Rollins back. The man had bright blue eyes, but there was a dullness behind them that made Rollins uneasy.

“We just had a few questions about a woman (Y/N) Koval. She’s a registered nurse over at Mercy.” As Carisi said her name, Dylan’s eyes went slightly wide, a small spark coming to light.

“Oh I know who she is, I know her very well.”

“How well do you know her.” Rollins pressed on, flipping open her notepad and jotting down notes.

“She’s my girlfriend.” He spoke with such a casual tone that it caught the duo off guard.

“You two are together? She didn’t mention that part.” Carisi said, confusion lining his words.

“Well of course she didn’t, technically she’s not supposed to date me because I was a patient under her care.” He continued, opening the door more. Rollins casually looked into his apartment and saw the living space to be very clean with a few scatterings of magazines, books and photo albums lying on the coffee table and floor. “But she couldn’t resist, we’ve been together for two years now.” He sighed wistfully. Carisi glanced at Rollins briefly, not believing this guys story.

“Well if you don’t mind, we’d like to come inside and talk more privately.” Carisi said and Dylan hesitated for a moment before nodding, opening the door more and letting the detectives in. The two walked in and Rollins continued her observation of the small apartment, noticing how there were pictures hung up all over the place of (Y/N), but none of them had the two together. It was only (Y/N).

“What else would you like to know?” Dylan asked, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for the two to take a seat on the two armchairs. Carisi sat down while Rollins declined, instead she kept looking over at the pictures.

“For someone in a two year relationship, you guys don’t have any pictures together, why is that?” She asked, looking over at him. Dylan narrowed his eyes slightly before smiling some.

“She’s very busy, you know? I’ll take whatever pictures I can get of her. With or without me in them.” Dylan said, a bit too smugly for her liking.

“Anyways.” Carisi started, giving Rollins a look. “We’d just like to know why someone would report that you’re stalking Miss. Koval?”

“Well that’s easy; jealously.” Dylan said confidently. “Whoever accused me of that is obviously jealous of our relationship.” He crossed his arms and lent back into the cushions.

“Right.” Carisi stated.

“What? You don’t believe me?” Dylan became defensive, leaning forward now and glaring at Carisi. He held his hands up defensively.

“I’m not saying that, Mr. Anderson. I’m just trying to figure out both sides.” Dylan stood up to his full height, easily towering over Carisi as he also stood up.

“I’d like you two to leave now. I don’t like your questions.” Rollins immediately came over to Carisi’s side, the tone of Dylan’s voice concerning her.

“You’re right, we’re sorry to bother you about this, Mr. Anderson.” Rollins quickly blurted out and left with Carisi, Dylan following after them and slamming the door closed.

“He seemed a little defensive about their ‘relationship’.” Rollins stated as they made their way back down the stairs.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Well let’s head back and let Liv know.” Rollins said, slipping her notepad into her pocket.

Back at the precinct, Rollins and Carisi stood across from Benson in her office.

“So what I’m hearing is that this guy believes he’s in a relationship with Ms. Koval? And has multiple photos of her alone all over the apartment?” Benson said, glasses off, chewing on the end of the arm in thought.

“You should’ve seen him, he became so defensive when we told him that someone believes he’s stalking her.” Rollins said. “Like he couldn’t believe that someone would accuse him of that.”

“And you said that her partner holds a high profile position. Could she be lying to hide the fact that she’s with a prior patient?”

“I don’t know, Liv. The bracelet that (Y/N) had on was an expensive brand, not something that Dylan could afford looking at his housing situation. Not to mention she had a matching necklace.” Rollins continued.

“Maybe Liv is right.” Carisi interrupted, causing Rollins to shoot him an incredulous look.

“Do you hear yourself? There’s no way that type of woman is with that man.”

“Alright let’s settle down.” Benson spoke up, standing up from her desk and putting her glasses back on. “Talk to the friend again, who filed the complaint on her behalf and see what he knows about Ms. Koval’s partner.” At that, Benson dismissed her two detectives and they went back to the hospital to ask questions to Andy Novak.

The end of the day drew nearer than anybody else thought. Rollins and Carisi spent their day asking questions to Mr. Novak and other co workers who knew Ms. Koval on a more personal level and they were no more closer to finding out anything about Ms. Kovals personal life than the initial complaint filed. Rollins sat down at her desk, exhausted at all the questions asked and no viable answer given. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her face. Carisi was in no better shape, wheeling his chair over to her desk to sit closer.

“What a shit show. How can you work with someone and not know anything about their life?” Carisi said aloud, not expecting Rollins to answer.

“Look at Barba. We’ve been working with him for almost two years and we barely know anything about him.”

“Yeah.” He scoffed. “As if that man actually has a personal life. I swear he lives in that office.” Rollins let out a chuckle at that, her smile contagious to Carisi who smiled back earnestly. Speaking of said man, Barba walked into the precinct, heading towards Bensons office but stopped as he saw the duo at Rollins desk.

“Hey.” He nodded. “Any leads on that guy, Dylan?”

“No, but the woman who he’s supposedly stalking tells no one about her personal life. So we have no idea if he’s telling the truth.” Carisi said, a tired expression on his face.

“Sounds frustrating. Did you try talking with the woman again?”

“(Y/N) Koval?” Rollins raised an eyebrow, giving an eye roll. “She’s not giving us anything, she’s one of the most unhelpful persons I’ve ever questioned.” At the name, Barba tensed slightly. It would’ve been unnoticed by anyone but to the detectives, it didn’t go by unseen.

“Maybe it’s a loss cause.” He said flatly, continuing his way to Bensons office. As soon as he left the bullpen, Rollins turned to Carisi.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?” Rollins rolled her eyes and slapped his arm.

“When I said her name, he had a reaction. Like he knows this girl.”

“Oh come on, Rollins, you’re reading too much into it.”

“I may be, but something is not right with this situation.” On that note, Carisi packed up his things and headed out for the evening, leaving Rollins at her desk and the few officers still there.

[sapphic-agent]

I usually stay out of the Viv controversies, but...

Really? The misogyny card? You think if a cis man named his main lesbian character Vaggie, portrayed a primary gay relationship as a toxic power imbalance, constantly made his female characters one dimensional in favor of their male counterparts, whitewashed biblical figures, and constantly ridiculed fat characters, he wouldn't get an astronomical amount of hate?

Do you see how much hate Miraculous gets because of Thomas Astruc, a cis white man? Difference is Tommy boy blocks his critics and doesn't engage with them anymore.

Blaming bad writing on misogyny is wild

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i literally do not care about big emergencies on abc's 911. i want to see my characters talk to each other and have stories that are parallels to small, everyday (everyday for first responders) emergencies

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Part three let’s go. I also broke this into two parts because I’m impatient and I finally go to the scene I’ve been waiting for only to sit there and go “okay great. Now what? You want me to write it?”

Fear not I am working on it and maybe I’ll be able to get it done later tonight/early tomorrow… but it also might be tomorrow afternoon. Who knows. I sure don’t.

I’m not in love with this. The pacing is kinda jumpy and it’s just…. Idk… there is something off about it. I might come back and fix it later (I’m lying to myself)

Previous

Next

So Dropmix starts looking for his son.

Dropmix shoved his way through the battlefield, the smell of hot metal, ozone, and energon driving old programs wild. Bodies littered the ground in every direction—mechs fallen in twisted heaps, charred and broken. The battle raged on, explosions lighting up the sky with blinding flashes of color. The ground trembled under the force of the ongoing chaos, and gunfire echoed in the distance, the shrill whine of energy blasts punctuating the relentless war cry of destruction.

Screaming and yelling threatened to drown out the music that played gently in his internal comms. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep his sanity from unraveling completely. His armor pressed into him, suffocating and weighing him down. Heat building up the longer he was out, the longer he denied his battle programs from activating.

He didn’t need a massacre.

He needed to find Jeopardy.

The dark mech cursed to himself as he quickly ducked behind a crumbling wall, narrowly avoiding a stray gunshot. He itched to throw himself into the fray, to rip and tear like he was designed to. He absently ran the tips of his fingers against his palm—he should have claws, it would make it a lot easier. Dropmix looked down at the ground, vents heaving as he struggled to contain himself, a painful buzzing filling the back of his head.

Focus.

The medic began moving again, stalking through the battlefield. The roar of the battle surrounding him, mechs falling around him. He didn’t stop to heal them, not even when they called out to him. He instead focused on sending out private pings to Jeopardy, praying that he would eventually reply. Until he got a reply he needed to keep working his way towards the spot where he had last reported back.

A Decepticon shoved into his side, trying to topple him over. Dropmix braced himself, managing to keep his footing. He growled, filed teeth bore in an angry snarl. The dark mech twisted, one hand going to grab the mech’s shoulder, the other lifted his pistol with practiced ease to the other's chest. The gun went off before he even thought about it. The force of the blast shuddered through his arm, the heat of the shot leaving a dull sting in his plating. The Decepticon collapsed, energon already pooling beneath him.

Dropmix barely spared the body a glance. He had more important things to do. Medical programming would have made him hesitate. But he was no medic. Not currently.

No, Dropmix was a gladiator going to retrieve what was his.

Primus save anyone who stood in his way.

Without another wasted moment he continued his march, his BCP spiking through his mind as he watched the violence unfold around him. There was a reason he avoided field work. But he had raced to get out here the moment he heard that the caravan was moving to the front instead. He should have never sent Jeopardy in his place. Dropmix should have known better. It had been a calculated decision, but ultimately the benefits had outweighed the risks. Until the caravan leader decided to go and assist on the front lines.

His hands twitched, the pistol still held firmly. The gladiator clenched his jaw tightly, it ached with the force. Warnings popped up in his hud, he needed to cool down, his vents were stuck cycling the hot air trapped under his armor. Dropmix dismissed them, using his scanners to try and identify if Jeopardy was lying amongst the dead.

He didn’t know what he would do if Jeopardy was.

Dropmix wasn’t sure if he’d fall apart, give up, or simply massacre before his body gave out. None of them were good though. He wanted—no, needed—he needed Jeopardy to be alright. He needed to stumble across the smaller medic hunched over some wounded soldier instead of on the ground motionless. Dropmix had already failed Theremin, he couldn’t fail Jeopardy too.

He staggered as the ground creaked and groaned beneath him. The mechs surrounding him started yelling, some screamed—everyone started running. A building had been struck by a crashing seeker, the internal structures giving way and collapsing. The ground would be quick to follow, the intricate caverns and tunnels of long abandoned mines offering no support. The very air seemed to tremble as the building started to fall.

The gladiator sucked in a breath, pushing past the others around him. It didn’t matter if they were an Autobot or Decepticon, they were in his way. He needed to find Jeopardy, he couldn’t get caught under some collapsing building. Dropmix stumbled over the uneven ground, almost tripping over the dead, barely maaging to regain his balance as he kept rushing forward. His cursed armor still slowing him down too much.

The tremor jolted through Dropmix’s frame, rattling his joints as debris pelted his armor. The air filled with a suffocating cloud of dust and shrapnel, blinding his eyes in flashes of static. The roaring collapse drowned out every other sound, a deafening cacophony of metal crumbling under its own weight. He forced himself to keep moving forward blindly. Vents struggled even more as dust was added to the hot and heavy air they were already being forced to process.

He coughed as he continued to move, some small part of him wanting to laugh at the irony of it all. Escaping the pits had started just like this. Dropmix frantically searching for Theremin among the crowds, gladiators rising up at butchering anyone that stood in their way to escape. The crumbling walls of the pits as explosives tore through the ancient building.

Dropmix shook his head. No, he needed to focus. He wasn’t going to mess up again. He would save Jeopardy, he would not fall short.

This time he would be enough.

As he stumbled out of the cloud of dust a familiar green figure swooped in next to him. The slender green frame tugged on a stockier red one, pulling them out of the raining debris. Cometeater and Sideswipe. Dropmix muttered to himself, “Of course.”

Sideswipe looked up at him, his younger brother too caught up trying to tug him away to notice Dropmix. The red gladiator blinked, puzzled for a moment before he smiled and waved, shouting unnecessarily loudly as he hit his brother’s shoulder, “Hey! Hey Com look! It's Dropmix! Do you remember him? He totally caved Sunny’s face in!”

Dropmix could help but wince at the mechs shouting. They really weren't that far away. He narrowed his eye on the other. Cometeater turned to look at Dropmix, freezing when he finally spotted the dark gladiator. Dropmix didn’t have time for this, he needed to find Jeopardy, he could deal with these two later… unless.

“Cometeater, have you seen Jeopardy?” He growled out, stalking closer. He hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive or demanding, but he didn’t try to correct his tone. The green mech pulled Sideswipe a little closer.

The red gladiator had clearly hit his head or something, or was riding off some battle high. It had happened to Dropmix a few times himself, a common reaction among Gladiators when they were sent into a frenzy. Sideswipe looked at Comet, laughing almost hysterically before he spoke just as loudly as before, “What did he say?”

Dropmix winced again, he could see Comet flinch as well. Something must have been impairing Sideswipe’s hearing. It would be a quick fix, but the process would be too delicate to try and attempt to do it on the battlefield. It would need to wait until afterwards.

Comet’s eyes narrowed slightly with concern for his brother, though they quickly flicked back to watch Dropmix, “Jeopardy’s here?”

The large gladiator felt his jaw tighten, the buzzing of his programs trying to rear his mind back in. Music played delicately in the back of his processor, trying to ground him. He nodded curtly, “Can you track him?”

The green mech hesitated, looking over at his brother. Sideswipe had pulled away brandishing his gun to fire it into some Decepticon’s head. The red twin turned to look at Comet, patting him on the back briefly before starting to walk away. “I’m gonna go find Sunstreaker! You two have fun!”

Dropmix stepped forward, ignoring the other gladiator entirely. He couldn’t waste time addressing whatever his problem was currently. His armor groaning under the strain of his overheating systems. His voice getting louder, demanding the other’s attention over his battle high brother. “Can you track him or not?”

Cometeater’s lips pressed into a thin line. His posture remained tense, but he gave a sharp nod, shifting his weight as he scanned the battlefield. He looked back at Dropmix nervously, his voice a bit quieter than normal, “Yeah.”

The dark gladiator nodded and then started moving again without a second glance, his tone commanding and just as demanding, “I can get you to his last known location. You can track him from there.”

He was almost surprised when Comet trailed behind him, he had half expected the younger to sprint off last minute. Dropmix huffed, not waiting for his vents to finish cycling out the dust before he had resumed his rushed pace across the battlefield. His HUD glitched for a moment, more alarms going off. Temperature levels critical. Ventilation insufficient. Just like before Dropmix dimmissed them. He would be fine.

But Jeopardy might not be.

The silence between them was thick—tense. Neither of them had time for pleasantries, nor did Dropmix particularly care for them at the moment. Every second wasted was another second Jeopardy could be bleeding out, another moment closer to losing him.

Dropmix's armor groaned as he pushed forward, feet crunching over debris and corpses alike. His overheating systems were barely keeping up, his vents cycling in dust-laden air that only seemed to choke him further. The battlefield around them was still alive with chaos—gunfire rattled in the distance, explosions shook the ground, and the acrid scent of burning fuel filled every breath. It was a hellscape, but Dropmix didn't flinch. He had been raised in worse.

Cometeater trailed just behind him, glancing warily at the larger mech as though expecting him to snap. And maybe he would. The buzzing in Dropmix's head was getting louder, the pressure of his locked-down battle programs itching to be set loose. He clenched his fists tightly, the grip on his pistol nearly enough to make his hands creak. He couldn’t afford to lose control.

Not yet.

They reached the coordinates that Dropmix had from Jeopardy’s last report back. He stopped, quickly surveying the area for the young medic. He didn’t find the young white mech's body scattered on the ground, both relief and concern running through Dropmix. He could have sworn his spark stalled for a moment, he staggered.

Where the frag was Jeopardy?

The green mech behind him looked around, cautiously glancing at Dropmix when he staggered a bit. He moved a bit closer before backing up, almost in alarm. He looked the gladiator up and down, he neutrally stated, “You're overheating.”

Oh great, did the kid want a damn gold star? Dropmix cursed under his breath, fingers twitching slightly. For a moment he fought to remain composed. He didn’t need Cometeater here to point out the obvious, he needed to find Jeopardy. The large gladiator glared at Comet, choosing to ignore what he had said, “This is where he was last.”

It was short and clipped, it got the point across. Dropmix wasn’t here to worry about his own wellbeing. He’d sit down and force himself to cool down once they had made sure that Jeopardy was safe. Cometeater spared him one more glance before he looked around, slowly moving in a direction, his steps unsure. His light footsteps danced around the battlefield as he followed Jeopardy’s trail. Dropmix followed behind, scanning the bodies on the ground for Jeopardy.

They moved further into the scattered ruins of the battlefield, narrowly dodging a firefight. Eventually Comet froze, body tensing and breathing hitching. Dropmix looked around, hoping to find Jeopardy. When he didn’t see the familiar white mech he looked back at Comet and growled, his vents hissing. He stalked closer to Comet, who remained unresponsive other than glancing around frantically.

Dropmix snarled, voice raising in agitation, “What? Why the frag are you stopping?”

Comet looked at the larger mech with wide terror filled eyes. His body tensed as he locked onto the towering frame of the other, his breath hitching again. After a moment he opened his mouth but was cut off by a scream. They both froze.

That was Jeopardy.

Jeopardy was screaming.

The music was shut off within moments. Dropmix lurched into motion, finally letting battle programs start up, the painful heat numbing as he moved. There was a hole in the ground where the ground had collapsed, leading to the abandoned mines below. Comet reached out, panicked and called out to Dropmix. The gladiator didn’t hear him. Whatever he had to say didn’t matter, Jeopardy was in danger.

There was another cry.

Dropmix didn’t think twice before jumping down.

[meenaxskz]

when the bed gave up on life (hyung line)

ot8 reactions | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack | light smut warnings: language | suggestive content a/n : (testing new posts layout, it will probably change again idk) i always try to not write cliché gym rat changbin... but it has jokes potential so yeah lol. ✧ hyung line | maknae line

bang chan

“C’mere” Chan growls flipping you onto your stomach. You gasp, already dizzy “Holy shit-okay-aggressive!” “I said I’d make you feel it” he grunts, pressing into you, “so shut up and-” CRRREAK. SNAP. Silence. You’re on the floor. The mattress is sideways. A piece of the frame bounced. Chan’s still inside you “…Did the bed just die?” you whisper, stunned. He’s frozen. Still holding your hips. “I-I think I just alpha’d the IKEA out of it.” You collapse face first into the blanket, wheezing. Chan pulls out gently like he’s scared touching you will trigger another collapse. “I’m so sorry,” he says, horrified. “Are you hurt??” You look up with tears in your eyes...from laughing “You fucked us into poverty” He starts pacing. Still naked “I JUST WANTED TO MAKE YOU SEE STARS” “You did! But the bed saw heaven!” --- Five minutes later, you’re both wrapped in the blanket on the floor, drinking water and staring at the broken frame like it’s a crime scene. Chan sighs. “That was expensive.” You snort. “tell me about it” He looks at you, grins. “You still wanna finish?” You raise a brow. “On what the rug?” He shrugs. “Bet it won’t break.”

lee know

You’re clinging to the headboard. He’s behind you, low growling, full feral mode, hips snapping. “Don’t even try to run” he pants. “You wanted this.” You gasp “Min- the bed’s creaking-” He grips your hips tighter. “So are you. Guess which one I care about more.” CRRREEAAAK. SNAP. THUD. You drop. Flat on the mattress, now tilted at a cursed 45 degrees. Minho flops on top of you like a sweaty, breathless. Silence. “…Did we just fall?” You’re wheezing into the sheet. “THE BED BROKE YOU PSYCHO.” He slowly lifts himself off you, glancing around checking the crime scene. Then calmly : “…It was probably loose before we started.” You sit up, wild-eyed. “I literally heard you say ‘I wanna break you tonight.’” “I meant emotionally. That bed just had bad build quality.” “...Minho, one of the legs is across the room.” He shrugs. “That’s not my fault. That’s gravity. And weak screws.” You glare at him, tangled in sheets and shame. He wipes sweat off his chest with a smug little annoying smirk. “You’re welcome by the way.” “For WHAT?!?” “For the experience. You’re glowing.” "Oh my god" --- Later, you lie together on the mattress, which is on the floor now, panting and sore. You mutter “we need a new bed.” He hums, already falling asleep “...and it better be able to handle me”

changbin

It starts innocent enough... LIES. Sweat is dripping, you’re moaning, he’s muttering things like “You’re so tight,” “I love this angle” and “This is why I do leg day" (??) The bed is screaming. You clutch the headboard “It’s creaking-” “I’M CREAKING TOO BABY STAY FOCUSED—” CREEAAACKK. SNAP. BOOM. The bed dies. You both collapse mid-thrust like the mattress got drop-kicked by karma. You gasp. “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” Changbin is hovering above you, wide-eyed, hair sticking up like he got electrocuted “…Did I break the bed?” You stare. “Are you asking me while you’re still inside me?!” He slowly pulls out, rolls to the side, and looks around at the hurricane damage. One bed leg is completely gone. A bolt rolled under the dresser. He exhales. “That’s kinda hot though.” You blink. “You BROKE our BED Binnie!” “I told you I was strong” You smack his arm. “This isn’t CrossFit! This was my peaceful coochie session!” He giggles. --- He grabs his phone. “Wait. Wait. I need a pic. I gotta show the guys.” “DON’T YOU DARE” He grins. “I’m putting ‘broke the bed during sex’ on my gym progress tracker.”

hyunjin

You’re on top, breathless, hair sticking to your forehead, hands planted on his chest. Hyunjin’s gripping your thighs, eyes rolling back as you ride him. “Fuck-yes...just like that, baby...” CREAAKK. SNAP. THE WHOLE RIGHT SIDE DROPS. You scream as the mattress collapses, pitching sideways. Hyunjin yelps, legs flailing as you both go crashing down mid-thrust. A full thud echoes across the room. Silence. Then his voice : “…WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” You’re tangled in blankets, still half on top of him. “DID YOU JUST ASK ME LIKE I PLANNED THAT?!” He stares at you with wide, scandalized eyes. “YOU WERE ON TOP THIS IS YOUR FAULT.” You sit up, offended. “I was riding you into heaven and the bed flopped.” He throws a hand up dramatically. “EXACTLY I WAS LITERALLY JUST LYING THERE BEING SEXY AND SUPPORTIVE.” You glare “supportive?? You kept yelling FASTER like I was a fucking engine!” He rolls off the broken half of the bed and flops onto the floor like a naked fish “The bed wasn’t ready for that kind of passion. I wasn’t ready. My ass hit the wood slats” You cover your face. “I think I bruised my knee.” --- 10 minutes later, Hyunjin is sprawled across the mattress on the floor “we need a new bed. And... knees.” You open one eye “You still came though.” He chucks a pillow at you.

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[erwinsvow]

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: against better judgement, you send a letter to a man at folsom with very sad eyes. against even better judgement, you send letters every week for years until he stops replying one day. and against everything you know, when he shows up at your door, you invite him inside.

pairing: prison letters reader x andrew cody

word count: 12.4k

tags: reader is silly and does things i do not recommend. kids do not write letters to prisoners and fall in love with them. unless it's andrew cody obviously. lots of context no one asked for. nurse!reader, descriptions of wound (andrew cuts himself to get into your work because why wouldn't he!), descriptions of wound handling, smut (oral - f receiving and mating press and the tiniest hint of breeding). takes place in season one, but just imagine he's got season two's hair. you have to fully immerse yourself in the fact that it's andrew cody and then ask yourself—wouldn't you take him home too? it's not her fault!

author's note: here she is! thank you for the patience ♡

you honestly had signed up as a joke. the club was known through your campus to be run by a couple of bleeding hearts. no one had thought the school would approve their activities—letters to prisoners. it was a recipe for disaster.

you should have known better.

but a friend of a friend was involved, and you knew it would make your nursing school application look better, and honestly, you didn’t think anything would come of it. a couple of letters here and there. you had thought it’d be all anonymous, messages of motivation and prayers signed with a first name only.

until your friend—bleeding heart and hopeless romantic, trying to appeal to those very same qualities in you—had shown you the website. that’s when you should have realized it wasn’t just a recipe, it was going to be a disaster.

the prisoners recorded videos—thirty seconds, short and sweet. a name, a couple of sentences about them, hometown and hobbies. underneath the video you could see what they had been arrested for. only the ones who were in for petty crimes—drugs and robbery, things where no one else had really gotten hurt, were allowed to partake. that was good at least. didn’t need any murderers sending letters to pretty co-eds.

your friend picked the guy she thought was the cutest. you watched his video—he was handsome, you couldn’t deny it. but the more videos you watched, the less you wanted to write a letter. you could almost see it, the desperation behind their eyes. it seemed like every man had nefarious intent. like your prettily written letter would not be used for motivation and prayers of a better life outside.

you decided not to send one. you’d rather have an empty slot on your application than a bad feeling in your gut for the rest of the semester. it’s not like the prison was across the country—it was just a couple of hours away.

she asked you to give it one more chance, watch a couple more videos. just pick a cute one, she’d told you. when you’d made a noise of disapproval, she had rolled her eyes.

“okay, pick whoever seems the nicest, then.”

so you had.

the video had been labeled andrew cody. first degree robbery.

the man in the video had been incredibly genuine. you don’t remember exactly what he had said—just bits and pieces. you knew he was from oceanside, born and raised from the way he sounded. he said he had a lot of brothers and a sister back at home. that he spent his time working out and reading books to distract himself from how noisy it was inside. the first thing he’d do when he got out was go to the beach and listen to the waves and breathe in the clean salty air.

and deep down inside, you knew you were just as much of a bleeding heart as the rest of your friends. you had folded instantly.

but it wasn’t just that. you spent the next several nights thinking about him. sad eyes, a singular half-smile at his own joke and then a real one when he mentioned going to the beach once he was released. he’d followed it up with—not that it’ll be any time soon. that made you sad, in turn. you thought about what he was like before prison—did he smile more? was he always so sad?

you thought about a lot of things. more than whatever your friends did, telling you how they had sent their letters, flirty yet inherently professional, so as not to get in trouble with the advisor.

you took a while to send yours. first you couldn’t think of what to write—everything felt so stupid compared to what he must be going through. andrew would hardly want to hear about the mundaneness of your daily life, or the struggles of trying to get into the nursing program.

you thought about not sending a letter at all after the first few times you tried to put pen to paper.

and then you thought about how sad he must feel, how lonely and scared, how terrible it would be to see all the other prisoners get letters besides him.

so you drove to the beach. you surprisingly had more in common with andrew cody than you even realized when you selected him. there was nothing you loved more than the beach, which is why you had even picked your college to begin with. and now, four years later about to graduate, you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

you caught the sunrise. you brought your little notebook with you to the water after setting your bag down on the bench. the seagulls were flying around, a couple of other beach-goers walking along the border where the sand met the ocean. it was a day like any other.

there were two sides of you—a hopeless romantic inside of an inherently logical girl. one side argued how stupid it was to send letters to a stranger. the other wondered if this would be the day that changes your life. you push away the thought and focus on writing the damn thing.

you thought andrew might like if the letter smelled like the salt-water. the stupid idea felt a lot less silly when you were attempting it, bringing your notebook all the way down to the water and hovering it. a slightly bigger wave caught you by surprise, the corners getting wet where it splashed up.

cursing to yourself, you walked back to the bench with sandy feet. and then you started writing.

dear andrew, and then you paused. fuck. you got out some of the introductory stuff—your first name, that you were a nursing student. it took a while to get the rest of the page filled, until you stopped for a moment and thought about what you would tell the man with the sad eyes if he was sitting next to you.

i came to the beach to write this letter. i’m sorry if the corners are wrinkled when you get it, i almost dropped it in the water trying to get it to smell like the beach so you had a little piece of home with you. i’m not near oceanside but it’s still the pacific.

i can’t imagine how hard it must be to grow up near the water and then be so far away for so long. but at least you know it’ll always be waiting for you when you get released. they want us to write motivational things but i’m not sure how motivating it would be for you reading this letter about my silly life. so i thought i’d write about the beach instead.

it’s about seven in the morning. the weather isn’t too cold and sky is pink and orange right now. the waves were calmer an hour ago when i got here but now it’s getting more intense. there’s a couple with their dog, and another man running on the sand. i’m on a bench writing this, but i’ll walk along the water again before i leave. i would try to send you a shell but i’m sure they’d take it away. maybe sand?

i love the sound of the waves too. my school isn’t close enough to hear it, but i have one of those machines that makes the noises. it helps a lot when i’m trying to sleep. maybe you can get one when you get out too.

you fill up a page, and then another page. when you fold up the letter and slip it into the envelope, you take a couple grains of sand and drop it in there. a little piece of home for him.

then you mail the letter, and think that was that.

+

two weeks later, you get a letter in the mail. you’d heard some of the other girls had also gotten responses—some had been mildly wholesome, while others had been more along the lines of what are you wearing?

but you weren’t worried when you opened yours. andrew didn’t seem the creepy type to you, it felt more like… like he would be glad to have someone to talk to.

you read it in bed, holding an old stuffed animal tightly. his handwriting is stiff and neat, the evenness of the letters and dotted i’s and crossed t’s makes you smile. the way he wrote your name, with bleeding ink like he had pressed too hard into the paper while doing so, made you smile wider.

the first line—thanks for the sand—made you laugh.

andrew writes of the book he’s just read, how the beach you described sounds just like the one in his hometown, and a request that you tell him more about your life in the next letter. his letter isn’t as long as yours, which makes sense to you. he couldn’t have that much to write about. but the last line is what really gets you—thank you for the letter. it’s nice to talk to someone.

you blink away tears, unsure when you had started crying. you reread the letter twice over the next day and a half, deciding to head back to the beach early in the morning to write the next one.

and you’ve always been bad at this. your friends have always called you a hopeless romantic—but maybe you’re just in too deep. it was the product of having been alone for your entire life, not having the dreamy, intense love that so many of your friends had already gone through once or twice at this age. the result had manifested in how you treated the world around you. every door someone held open, every nice response, every lingering gaze could mean something more. that this could be the person, that this could be your soulmate.

you knew it was stupid. nothing could be stupider than assuming that a prisoner, for god’s sake, would be anything more than just that—a prisoner you write letters to. but your heart still beats faster each time you reread the letter, and when you think of his pretty, sad eyes and earnest expression, the urge to write another letter haunts over your entire body.

dear andrew, thank you for writing back. thank you again for writing back and not being creepy (like the responses some of my friends got). i could tell you more about my life but i really wasn’t lying—it’s pretty silly and mostly boring, but since you asked so nicely i’ll try for you. right now i’m getting ready for graduation. i bought a white dress last week. i’m waiting to hear if i got into the nursing program here. i majored in nursing so I just need to do one more year and then after that i can go work in the hospital. i’m thinking about labor and delivery since i think it would be so nice to see babies all day, but one of my friends said the emergency room is always hiring. she thinks it would toughen me up. but I’m not so sure i want to be tough. just incase all of this school talk is boring you, i’ll just tell you about my day on the condition that you'll tell me about yours. yesterday i woke up early and went on a walk. i made breakfast and went to class, and then studied in the library. my friend showed me a creepy response from one of the fellow inmates (by the way, thank you again for not being creepy.) i walked to get a chai—i don't really like coffee. and then i studied, watched the bachelor. it was terrible! my favorite contestant got sent home :(. and had dinner, then I went to sleep early because i woke up early to come to the beach today to write this for you. so i went to sleep thinking about this letter and woke up thinking about it too.

you add a little bit more about your routine this time, just so he has something to read about. you try to make yourself sound interesting where you can—but you’re really not. and you don’t want to force it, make your letters sound grand and full of lies.

you don’t know why—it’s not like you’ll ever meet him. but lying to andrew feels wrong, you guess.

stupid. you’re stupid for adding the last part—but something in your heart flutters reading the line again, because you did. andrew’s sad eyes are in your mind all the time, and you know it’s just a silly infatuation, that he’s a prisoner and you’re a random student and more likely than not, he’s not going to respond to this letter. but you still keep it in.

and so you send the letter. and what’s worse—the one you get back makes your heart swell. he says that you describe your routine so well he can almost see it happening in his head like a movie. he says that he could describe his day-to-day but that it might make you sad. you’re sure it will. he seems to know a lot about you from just a handful of letters.

you reply. he sends another. you reply. and before you can even discern what’s happened, this has been going on for the better part of a year and a half.

andrew gets all the life updates—your nursing school acceptance, how the first year goes. early morning clinicals, the mean preceptor who made your life hell for a month, the baby you got to help deliver, the cat you’re thinking about getting. and the not so great stuff—despite the nursing shortage, it seems the only available job at the hospital you like is in the emergency room.

you don’t give him names but he figures it out well enough. the program you sent the letters through was smart enough not to include the university’s name in the return address, but dumb enough to use a p.o. box in the same city. and in that city, there’s only two colleges, and only one of those has a nursing program.

these are the things he uses to figure out where you are after he gets out—not that you need to know any of that just yet.

after you get the job, the letters are stamped with the mark of the local post office. you must not know that they’re doing that, now that you can’t send the letters through the school anymore. that’s the last piece of the puzzle, figuring out which emergency room you had been working in.

he keeps those letters. they’re his sanctuary—pages and pages about your life. the highs and lows of an innocent girl who thought it would be a good idea to send letters to a prisoner. letters where you asked about him, how he was feeling, how he was doing. how much time he had left, how he thinks the next parole meeting will go, how that annoying guard has been recently. how’s your family, andrew?

if he closes his eyes, he can almost see you. you’re a faceless entity, a glowing angel with a halo hovering in his mind when he really needs you. you’re too perfect to be real—and he knows you would be outside too. if you can care this much through letters, go out of your way to send them even after you graduate, he can only imagine how you’d be if you stood in front of him.

the other students who sent letters stopped after one or two. he’s likely the only one who’s still getting them, and when someone questions who they’re from, he tells a story about his girl, waiting for him outside. a nurse—smart and pretty and devoted and who never fails to send him a weekly update. lives too far to drive up here but he’ll be there one day.

and then he gets sent to solitary.

he doesn’t like to think about it, if he can avoid it. sometimes the noises of the world get to him, brings him back to days and hours he wish he could wipe from his memory. the sound machine you recommended in your very first letter helps some. but the day he goes free, there’s only one sound he knows will calm him down—your voice, the first time he’ll get to hear it.

he has to go home first. he needs a car, the internet, a couple of phone calls to make sure he’s going to the right place.

days turn into weeks. unfortunately—very unfortunately. the only thing andrew wants is to finally see you in person, to finally hear what your voice sounds like. what color is your hair? what color are your eyes? he knows you like yellow—what would he find if he saw you? yellow hair clips? painted nails? how about your apartment? would the walls be yellow?

no, probably not. you rent. you wouldn’t do anything that wouldn’t get you your security deposit back. you’re too good for that, too safe.

yellow sheets, maybe. blankets, pillows. if he closes his eyes, he can imagine himself in it.

he tries to leave after the first job but there’s too many watchful eyes, too many moving pieces. he needs to get everything together—his truck, cash and some cards, a plausible excuse. he needs to make sure no one comes following him, needs to make sure that in his quest to come find you, he doesn’t get you tangled into the web of his family instead. he’s stuck somewhere between figuring out how to keep you safe and the realization that the safest you’ll ever be is right now, before he comes for you.

but fuck, if it doesn’t haunt him. the fact that he’s finally so close to you. that you’re a car ride away. that somewhere out there is the girl who, one day, realized another letter wouldn’t be coming.

had you cried then? been upset? wondered what had happened? bothered to find out if he was dead or freed or living without you? he hates that he couldn’t get you another letter to explain himself, but he figures explaining in person would be easier, and better. in all those years, you never once wrote him about a date or a boyfriend or anything in that realm.

the way your last few letters were, it were almost as if he was your boyfriend. (he lets the thought linger inside him for a few seconds, if that. any longer and it would possess him like a demon and he’d be rendered useless. unable to work, unable to think, unable to breathe. just him and the idea that he was that important to someone else.)

+

and then one day, a couple days after a job and after being fed up with the entire world being scared of him, he leaves to find you.

that’s just the thing—no one understands him. all his life, he’s been the unstable one, the one others are worried about, frightened of. but no one understands that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

no one, except maybe you.

so he says he’ll be back in a week, and he drives down to the hospital where you work.

he hasn’t gotten a real look at you yet. he spent the first night in the parking lot of the emergency room. he watches hordes of nurses go in and out, and no one stands out. he spends some time doing research—nurses only work three times a week.

his odds of seeing you for the rest of the time he’s in town are fifty/fifty. it feels like he should be able to pick you out from a crowd, with the way he knows you so intimately, but he can’t. he keeps an eye out for yellow water bottles or shoes or lunch bags, but he doesn’t see any for two days.

so he decides that he needs to get inside.

pope keeps a pocket knife on his person, and another one hidden in the car in case of emergencies. that’s what he uses to slice his palm open so he has an excuse to get inside. not too deep—he’s not stupid. just deep enough to need stitches, shallow enough that he can still feel all his fingers and wiggle them around.

and then he goes inside, and he waits.

each time the doors open, a different nurse steps out. some are too old, others too young. no one has anything yellow on them, or the personality that he knows could only belong to you. cheery, but serious. empathetic to a fault. you would probably cry if you saw a kid crying, just like how you used to write to andrew, telling him you had cried thinking about a patient you lost and their family, cried thinking about him alone in prison.

you’ve shed tears for him. a man you’ve never even met. he has to recognize you when he sees you. he knows he will—the two of you are bonded in more ways than one. through ink and blood and tears.

“david?” a voice calls out. so lost in his thoughts, he’d not realized the doors had opened again or the name he’d given them. he looks up, making eye contact with the nurse, his nurse, and she walks closer. “david?” the voice repeats, and he raises the non-bloody hand.

you are just like he thought you’d be. your hair is pulled back, which is a shame. he wants to see what it looks like when it’s down, what it smells like when you get close enough. pieces in the front fall out from behind your ear. his finger twitches momentarily.

and, he thinks with a pleasant sort of smugness, there is yellow—the plastic band around the stethoscope, the badge reel with a smiling cartoon on it, the pens tucked neatly in your scrub top pocket.

“hi david, i’m going to be your nurse today,” you start, looking at him in the eyes. your eyebrows furrow a little, like you’re trying to remember why this man looks so familiar—it’s not like he had expected it. his hair isn’t the same anymore, longer than the video you had seen of him. if that was your benchmark, he certainly looked somewhat different. he doesn’t fault you for not recognizing him right away. in fact, it’s better this way. “if you’re ready, i can take you back now.”

you smile at him, beautifully. a bright, wide smile, like there’s nothing in this world you’d rather do than take david back, and have a look at whatever’s bothering him. it’s genuine, it’s safe, it’s warm. how do you do it? he thinks briefly to himself, how do you make everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the world? just with a smile and a couple of sentences you must say a thousand times a shift.

andrew’s not one for many words, but his thoughts run rampant—he’s always thinking. he can’t get his brain to turn off, not now, not ever. even putting pen to paper was hard for him, even for you. but you seem to understand him, just like you did back then. without words, without talking, without touching or knowing. you just know him.

you take him to a bed behind a curtain and start rattling off a list of rehearsed questions. first name, age, date of birth. the more he says, the more you seem to get a step closer to recognizing him, but he doesn’t push it.

you come closer to the bed and gesture to his wrapped up, bleeding hand.

“may i?”

“yes. yes,” andrew says, unsure of how it’ll be to feel your hands on him for the first time. you start slowly, unpeeling the layers of gauze that he had brought with him from home as a just incase. he doesn’t flinch or wince, but you still speak up.

“i’m sorry, i know it’s not very comfortable.” you apologize without needing to, and he’s sure it’s because you want him to feel better about it. “how did this happen again?” you ask, staring at his wound closely. you’re not very far from his face. he can feel your breath even against his skin.

“accident. was cutting something.”

“well, you should be more careful, david.” his middle name has always felt foreign to him, though somehow, it doesn’t seem that way coming from your lips. andrew briefly feels like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, no one else he’d rather be than david, getting his hand tended to by you.

“yeah. i should.”

“well i’m going to go ahead and get this cleaned up. just to be sure, any drug allergies?” he shakes his head. “great. we’re gonna clean it and then the doctor will be in here to stitch it up and we’ll get you on your way back home. does that sound okay?”

you look at him earnestly. as if on the off chance he said it didn’t sound okay, you’d have an answer ready to go. nothing to shame him, nothing to make him feel bad. just to comfort him and make him feel better. like there’s nothing more important than getting him back home with aid instructions for the rest of the week.

memories of your letters wash over him like a warm wave over soft sand. you’ve known from the jump that you were meant for this, but it all suddenly makes sense. how kind you are, how gentle you are with him, how you’d be with anyone.

you were meant for this, just like how you were meant for him.

“that sounds okay.”

you sit on a stool at the level of his hand. you dab with the cleaning solution and tell him you’re sorry about the sting. it’s half a dozen apologies in the short time he’s known you, and he sits and wonders, staring at your pretty hair and the undoubtedly smooth skin of your neck, that he’ll have to work you out of that habit.

you shouldn’t be apologizing for anything, much less helping people the way you do.

he stares at you while you think of another question to ask him to distract him from the pain of cleaning his wound.

and your patient is nothing if not a starer. when you got up to add something to the chart and stopped to chat with a fellow nurse and friend of yours about how long it might take the doctor to see him—calling him by his nickname, mister sliced hand in bed four—she interrupted you half way through the conversation.

“the one who’s staring at us right now?” you turned your head too quickly to see what she was talking about, and were faced with sliced-hand david, looking at you and the other nurse.

not in a creepy way, like some other past patients of yours. he’s just…looking. like he’s waiting for you to come back. his gaze doesn’t leave you, you notice. he watches your friend as though he’s watching over you.

the thought is almost… sweet.

and then you shake your head and turn around, breaking the eye contact. you have a bad habit of doing this—turning every interaction, every look into your eyes and held-open door into something more than it was.

your new friends at the hospital also call you a hopeless romantic. you knew that you were just sort of an idiot when it came to these things. it was the long-standing result of still never having been in a real relationship. you’d never felt the fireworks, never known the rom-com sort of true love and happy ending. you had never even gotten to the angst-filled third act breakup.

so maybe you were still a bit of a projector—projecting every single interaction into something more than it was. a patient with a staring problem became a man who was looking out for you, worried for you, love at first sight.

and you shake your head again. snap out of it. you had a problem, seriously.

the closest you’d even come to anything remotely related to love at first sight was the insane amount of letters you’d written to a prisoner a few years ago, and even then—

stop. it. you barely knew what the guy looked like, and yet, you found yourself wondering all the time what had happened to him. if today would finally be the day you’d find out. he could be the stranger next to you in the coffee shop. the person buying fruit next to you in the grocery store.

for all you know, he could be the next guy who walks into your life, and yet—

“you are seriously such a goner,” she says with a laugh, playfully shoving your shoulder.

“what? i-i just got lost in my thoughts.”

“a guy could blink at you and you’d be imagining your embroidered towels and baby names-”

“that is not true-”

“right, i know. you’re right. you’re just gonna hold out for mister prisoner until you’re an old lady with a bunch of cats-”

“hey! i have one cat and he is adorable, okay-”

“yeah, yeah. that’s how it always starts. one cat.”

“i’m going to go take care of my patient now.”

“don’t let him blink at you.”

you roll your eyes and make your way back to bed four, where david stares up at you with pretty, sad eyes. eyes that seem a little familiar, but it’s hour eight of twelve and you’ve taken care of half a hundred people so far. your tiredness seeps through your pores but you still smile and sit on the stool.

“sorry about that, david.”

“are you okay?” he asks, incredibly earnestly. you blink at him dumbly. once, then twice.

“yes?” you reply slowly, unsure of what he means. maybe you’re more tired than you thought. “is everything okay?”

“i saw her push you.” you blink again.

“oh. oh. no, no, she’s my friend. that was just, um-” you blank momentarily. his concern is so palpable you can feel it in the air. “-a joke. she was joking.”

“oh. okay.” david goes silent but his eyes are still on you. you decide the best course of action is to change the subject.

“so! david. this might be hard but no going in the water for at least a couple days. maybe more, depending on what the doctor says.”

“sure. can i.. can i still go sit on the beach?”

“yeah. that should be fine.” you clean out the wound further, but he doesn’t wince. “do you do that often?”

“yes. it calms me down.”

“me too. something about the sand and the waves. the air is just-”

“cleaner.” for the first time that night, david interrupts you. your eyes leave his hand to look up at his face.

“yeah,” you agree, slowly, wondering why his words feel so familiar to you. “cleaner.”

there’s a brief pause, and david doesn’t say anything. you look back down at his hand, continuing your work. but something inside of you stirs, curiosity poking and prodding at your memories. you’ve heard that before, somewhere, and even then you had thought about how no one had ever used that word to describe the ocean air before, when—

“i thought you wanted to deliver babies. do you not want to do that anymore?”

as if it was in slow motion, you retract your hands away from his. you move your head to look up at him and your jaw falls open a little—you had known david looked a little familiar, but when you had seen that thirty second video of him, his hair had been short and his skin had been a little paler, and the man sitting in front of you now—

well he wasn’t cute anymore.

he was handsome now—dark brown curls grown out. he looked like he’d spent some time in the sun, recently. his eyes—sad and pretty as they were—seemed a bit softer now. and your gaze on him made them even softer, like he was trying his best not to frighten you. how someone takes care of a skittish animal, ready to bolt at any second.

you swallow, and then bring your hands back to his, keeping the piece of soaked gauze on top of his wound gently

“i-i do. want to. this was just the only job opening when i-” you pause, sucking in a deep breath. he already knows about this—andrew. it was in one of your letters. “when i finished school.”

you feel his hand move under your touch, and then his other hand, the unwounded one, over yours. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s tense. hard. like he wants to make sure you can’t just disappear like sand between his fingers.

“i thought you might have found another job by now.”

“it-it’s hard. you get used to something and it’s hard to leave.” you pause again. there’s a million and one questions storming through your mind, but you stare into hazel eyes and they all go quiet, one by one. “you said your name is david-”

“i wanted to see if you would recognize me.”

“i’m sorry, i-”

“don’t apologize.” andrew, like his letters, speaks concisely. you should have guessed. you would send him pages just to get a few paragraphs back—and he would always say it’s because he didn’t have much to talk about, that learning about your day to day was much better than whatever he could tell you.

it was the first time your heart fluttered with the knowledge that out there, somewhere, is a man who wants to hear about your day. the closest you had ever gotten to the semblance of a real relationship. a man who cared about you, even if he never said as much. it was always clear to you, through his carefully chosen words and the things he wrote you about and how much he said he liked hearing about you.

he used to ask you questions about things from a dozen letters ago. remember to follow up after some big exam or a really hard week at work. asked you what you did to feel better. tell you what he would do to help you feel better—nothing creepy, never creepy. if you were supposed to be scared of him, you never were. he never gave you any reason to.

“are you okay?” andrew asks, and you blink yourself out of your thoughts.

“yes. yes, sorry. i just-” it’s a little ridiculous.

you’re a smart girl. you’ve always been a smart girl. you don’t do stupid things—you don’t drink yourself silly at bars and go home with random men. you don’t say yes to dates with strangers, despite how much you believe that a stranger can become a soulmate in an instant. you don’t put yourself in situations you can’t get out of.

but when it comes to andrew, you haven’t listened to a single one of your own rules. you sent him letters for ages after the other girls in your class had stopped. you had opened up about your life and wanted to learn about his life in exchange.

and despite every greater instinct, you had fallen asleep for years thinking about the day he might walk back into your life.

“did you ever get my last letter, andrew?”

you’re not even sure where the words came from—that’s the last thing you should be saying right now. how did you find me? when did you get out of prison? why are you here right now? should have all come before.

but something inside you burns, like it has for years, with the knowledge that he never sent you another letter. and you need to know why.

andrew sits up a little straighter, taking heavy breaths and staring at you. it’s the first time he’s heard you say his name, his real name. you two haven’t moved an inch, his hand still on yours. he blinks slowly at you and you don’t realize it, but you’re holding your breath.

“i did. i-i was in solitary. they don’t let you write letters there.”

“oh. i’m so sorry,” you say, and it’s second nature. you hate what andrew went through, and seeing him in front of you brings you back to the first letter you ever got back from him. how polite he was in it, how sweet the whole thing seemed. it was never meant to get this far, but it had, and you—

you are nothing if not a believer of soulmates and fate.

“that’s okay. not your fault.”

“but still. that must have been really hard.”

“i wanted to write back. i-” he stops, pulling out something from the pocket of his button-up shirt. he unfolds a piece of white notebook paper—and the breath you were holding leaves you quickly. that’s the paper you used to write him letters on.

“is that my last letter?” when andrew moves to look at you, he’s expecting it. a nervous lilt to your voice, fear in your eyes. like he’s crazy, like you’re scared.

instead he glances over hesitantly and you’re beaming up at him.

“you carry around.. my last letter?” the words come out as a smile forms on your face—pretty and genuine and sincere. you stare at him expectantly, and he doesn’t know how to respond.

“i…” the words falter. “i just wanted to ask you about it. did you, did you get that cat?”

“i did!” it comes out louder than you meant it, drawing the attention of some other nurses around you. you turn briefly, using your free hand to push the curtain so it’s closed around you two. “sorry. i did, yes. he’s so cute. i don’t have my phone or i’d show you the pictures-”

“that’s okay. you-you can show me later.”

“but i didn’t say i was getting a cat in that one. i just said i was thinking about it,” you feel breathless.

“but there was another one before that. you mentioned it then too. i figured you’d get it since you were thinking about it so much.”

“yeah. yeah, exactly.” your brain can’t seem to compute what’s going on. any fear that had been in you, if there was any of it to begin with, has completely melted away, replaced with a warm, glowing feeling in your chest, slowly spreading out to your limbs.

you had been thinking about getting a cat for ages—a thought you had mentioned to andrew maybe twice. and your justification had been just as andrew said, because you were thinking about it so much.

how did he know that?

and then the curtain opens behind you, and the doctor comes in to stitch up andrew’s hand. you have to pull away from his hand and andrew thinks you’re leaving, eyes following you and his expression shifting, but you don’t leave. you go to the cabinets to pull the supplies and help the doctor and and keep your eyes focused on the wound while his hand gets stitched up. eight stitches and not a single wince of pain or discomfort.

and though the thought makes butterflies emerge and fly around your stomach, when you finally look up at andrew, he’s been staring at you the entire time.

+

you have a tiny apartment in a shitty neighbourhood. it doesn’t feel safe at all, save for the fact that one of the houses down the street is owned by a rookie cop and his wife. there’s not that much crime, but the area inherently feels bad.

maybe it’s just that way to him—since he doesn’t want you living in a place like this.

it’s fine for now though. he’ll get you a better place soon enough. it’s by the water, and when he closes his eyes, he can hear the waves crashing on the sand. the sound alone might be enough to justify why you’d live here.

he keeps his eyes shut, just for a half dozen heartbeats, when he pulls up against your curb. he just wants to hear it before he says goodbye—it’s getting late, almost dark, and you must be exhausted. you’ve been at work all day and though you act like you’re completely fine, he knows how intense it is. there’s other letters, safely stored away, where you told him about how breaks are far and few in between, how you barely get time to drink water and eat a snack because of how busy it gets. he offered to stop and pick you up something to eat but you refused, saying you had food at home that you shouldn’t waste.

you sit in the passenger seat of his truck, staring around it as if you’re looking for some more information about it. anything would help you—half-empty drinks or gum wrappers or extra clothes in the backseat, but there’s nothing. the truck looks like he just got it yesterday, no sign of use or anything branding it as andrew’s car.

“can i walk you to your door?” you snap out of your thoughts.

okay—maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea in the world to let a virtual stranger drive you home. but when his hand was taken care of and you give him the paper instructions with way too many sample packets of antibiotic gel, all he said was that he’ll wait for you.

“wait for what?”

“to make sure you get home safely.”

and, really, what are you supposed to say to that? no, i’m good, thanks. you’d be even stupider than you already are to say that to someone who is just trying to be nice to you.

(he’s more chivalrous than any guy you’ve ever talked to, and probably more than any guy your friends have ever complained to you about. and more than that, it’d be rude to say no, especially once he realized you wait for a shoddy-at-best bus to get you home because you don’t have a car and it’s too dark to walk. he wouldn’t take no for an answer after that.)

and more than that—he waited another two hours for you to get home. every time you’d step out to bring back another patient, you’d see him, sitting there, waiting patiently for you. glancing up when the door would open to get a glimpse of you, of the small smile you shot his way before taking back whoever’s turn it was.

and he’s not a real stranger, a voice in the back of your head keeps reminding you. you’ve known him for longer than some of your coworkers have known their fiancees and husbands. and in all the time you’ve known him (meaning all the letters you’ve sent and received), you’ve never gotten a creepy word or even a fragment of a sentence that frightened you.

so you think the least you can do is let him drive you home and walk you up the two flights of stairs.

“of course. thank you, for-” your sentence gets interrupted. andrew gets out of the car and you turn to do the same, but then you see him—walking around the front of his truck, coming to your side and then opening the door for you.

oh.

your heart thuds dully in your chest at the very idea of andrew opening his car’s door for you to get out. after driving you home and politely asking to walk you up. whatever inhibitions you had melt away and you briefly think that whatever he asked of you, you’d do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

if that made you stupid, then so be it. you’d gladly be the stupidest girl on the planet if you get to feel whatever it was that andrew cody has made you feel for the last couple of hours.

his truck is jacked up tall, and he gives you his hand, the one without the cut, to help you get down, and you accept. he closes the door for you and lets you lead the way up the stairs.

silently, you two walk up the creaky steps together. hands brush together for all of seconds and he briefly wishes seconds lasted longer, until you’re standing in front of your door.

you’d once had a cute spring-themed wreath on the door, bought on clearance from the local store after easter, and a matching door mat. your elderly neighbor had told you to get rid of it because it was basically an invitation to criminals that a young girl lived here alone. you’re stupid, but not that stupid.

and now your front door looks barren and empty. there’s a few plants you can see from the window sill but the curtains are drawn and there’s an extra dead bolt a fellow nurse from the hospital’s husband had helped you install.

you look up silently at andrew and he looks back at you. this is it—it’s supposed to be goodbye. any normal girl would know that this is where the night needs to end, that you need to process what all of this means and if you had any friends you trusted with this information, calling them and asking what to do.

but you don’t want to call your friends, because you know what they’d say—to lock your door and get a restraining order and burn andrew’s letters, the ones you kept in a cute box under your bed and reread much too often for anyone’s comfort.

and you’re not a normal girl.

“do you want to stay for dinner?”

there’s not much to study on andrew’s expression—he keeps it stern and serious for the most part. his eyes are soft when they look at you and they soften even further when you say those words.

“yes. yes, thank you.”

you think maybe he wasn’t expecting it. you think that you weren’t expecting it either, not exactly sure where the words had come from. but you still lead andrew inside, showing him the only slightly comfortable couch you had to get delivered since you didn’t have anyone to help you lug a used one up the stairs. the squeaky door that leads to the bathroom, the tiny space you called your kitchen. your bedroom is behind a closed door and andrew stares at it when you go inside to change out of your scrubs and come back out in the kind of clothes that you sleep in.

and then he stares at the shut door even after you leave, before realizing that you’ve already made your way to the space between the living room and kitchen, a narrow expanse with a small round table and some placemats with flowers on them. you set down your backpack and take your hair out of the clip that holds it back for you at work and suddenly, he’s staring again.

it’s just a little too close to everything he’s been dreaming about for years.

“i’m really sorry. i was supposed to go grocery shopping but i hate bringing everything up-”

“don’t apologize.”

“also, i’m-i’m not really a good cook. i’m sorry-”

“i don’t think anything you make can be worse than prison food.”

“i really doubt that. you’ve never had my cooking.”

you glance back him and he meets your eyes at the same time, and you both start laughing. it’s nothing crazy—andrew didn’t seem like the kind who laughs easily anyway, but he cracks a smile and the noise is indelible—all you can think of is how you can get him to laugh again.

“do you like spaghetti?”

+

if someone had told you yesterday that this time tomorrow, andrew from your letters would be sitting across from you at your dining table, eating spaghetti that you made while rushing, looking so in place in your tiny home that your heart hurts, you think you would have passed out.

you watch him while he eats, absentmindedly swirling your own noodles on the plate, unable to focus on eating when he’s really in front of you. after countless dreams and days spent wondering what had happened to him and if he was okay and if he ever thought about you. he’s… bigger than you thought he would be. shoulders broader than you had realized from that tiny video. his mannerisms interest you more than they should—how quiet he is, but how he seems to latch onto every word when you go on and on. just like the letters, it seems he’s still a listener.

(it doesn’t help matters when he tries to clear the table and wash the dishes after—you have to wrestle the plates out of his hand and tell him to go sit down, that he can’t get his bandage wet. jostling against his iron-hard body was not on the list of things you thought you’d get to do today, and the very realization that andrew is twice as strong as you on his worst day does…things to you. things that do not need to be named or explored right now. he’s still a stranger, you try to remind yourself. no he’s not.)

but it seems that he can’t sit still. he wipes down the counter and then comes back to help you dry your yellow dishes and when you both finish up, with you still smiling at him and unsure of what excuse you can conjure to get him to stay, he finds it all by himself. you tell andrew to go sit on the couch while you finish up and he does, and when you follow him out there, he’s standing in front of it. he turns his head to look at you and then back at the couch.

your cat is perched on his usual spot, and you go over to him, scratching the top of his head between his ears and making extremely childish, stupid-sounding noises at him.

“andrew this is wardy,” you say, picking him up and bringing him closer. “he’s really friendly. i promise.”

“hello, wardy.” when he says it, you look up at him with a look he can’t find words to describe. as close to love as you can get it when it’s a technically a stranger. the way he greets your cat and helps you clean and knows more about you than some of your friends and coworkers do.

there’s no words for it. it just is.

so you sit on the couch next to andrew, your cat between the two of you, and you wait for him to tell you that he wants to leave. you flick on the television, settling for whatever silly romance movie is playing on your netflix account, sitting in the almost-silence with andrew and wondering why still, it doesn’t feel necessarily uncomfortable.

eventually andrew reaches out to pet wardy, and he curls up into his touch, settling comfortably against his forearm. (his huge, thick, veiny forearm, you think briefly, before chasing the thought away with a broom. and then another one—no wonder he had bled so much at the hospital. with veins like these.)

“this area’s not the best,” andrew says, speaking as though you need to be reminded of it, to know that he doesn’t approve.

“i know. but it’s cheap and it’s near the beach.”

“but you live alone. it’s dangerous.”

“but-” you glance over at him. he takes up most of your couch, wardy’s head resting against his thigh now, while he continues petting him. he looks over at you and it’s clear—this isn’t an argument. “you’re right. but i mean, how bad can it be? if you’re here now?”

you pause. stupidly, you’ve just revealed whatever thoughts have been rattling around in your head. like the fact that you’re assuming he’s going to be here more often, when the truth is that you have no idea if that’s true.

why would it be true? you tried, in earnest, to make sure your life never seemed anything more than it really was in your letters. but andrew drives a brand new truck and wears an expensive watch and you have absolutely no idea what he was robbing or why he was doing it—and you never asked. the assumption that just because he found you, meant that he was going to keep you was completely insane. a misgiving on your part, because surely, whatever’s waiting for him back home is better than your crappy cooking and a tiny apartment and a cat that you—

“sorry, i’m sorry. that’s such a jump. we just met. i’m so sorry, i can-” you stand up, and so does andrew.

“why are you apologizing?”

“because i just.. i don’t know.” you try to pace around your apartment but you only get a few steps away before you have to come back. “this is crazy. we’re both crazy.”

you feel it in the air before you hear him say it. it gets tenser, quieter, more serious. like what you’ve both been dreading for the last few hours is about to happen.

“do…do you want me to leave?” you turn to face him quickly.

“no! no, i don’t. that’s why this is crazy. people are going to think we’re insane. i don’t want you to go. i want you stay. i want you to tell me everything i missed in the last year and a half. i want to know what you did with my letters. i want to know-”

and when andrew reaches forward to grab your forearm—gently, not meant to hurt you—you freeze in your tracks. staring up at him, all the words in your brain, every stupid thing your friends ever told you about this make-shift relationship you had concocted in your head melting away.

“i want that too.”

“oh. well, i just thought-”

and this time, he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in for a kiss that makes your knees give out. andrew’s mouth—wet and hot and on fire—kisses you like you two were made for each other.

as cheesy as the thought feels, you swallow it and wrap your arms around his neck. it’s every stupid romance movie you’ve ever seen coming to life, your life. all because of him. he doesn’t break the kiss, not even to breathe. you feel his tongue poke into your mouth and you accept it gladly. you fall back on the couch and the movement of it makes wardy scamper off, and you move your head just for a second to see where he runs off too, but andrew doesn’t stop. he lines kisses along your cheek and your jaw until you turn back and he gets your lips again.

you feel his weight on top of you, and briefly, you wonder if you should tell him.

countless nights spent wondering what this would feel like, how he would kiss you, all the things he would do to you. you have to keep reminding yourself, you’re just a stupid girl—it’s not your fault that a few nice letters was enough to make you head over heels for the last few years.

because somewhere deep down inside, you knew. you knew that it would be like this, that it would be perfect, that it would be everything you wanted. that he would take care of you and want you as badly as you want him. your crown title of hopeless romantic had finally paid off.

another thought stirs as he keeps kissing you. it’s feverish and hot and makes you warm all over—how long it’s been since he’s had someone, how he kisses you like he’s out of practice. his mouth is so hard against yours it almost hurts, but you welcome the pain. it’s like he’s proving to you that he’s really there now, that nothing can tear him away from you.

but then he does pull away. you catch your breath, hands traveling to his face and running your fingers through his hair. andrew’s pretty eyes close and you cherish it—that you made him feel like that. he leans into your touch, head resting against your hand while you both take long, heavy breaths.

andrew leans in, pressing your foreheads together.

“i-i’ve wanted to do that,” another breath. you feel butterflies continuously emerge and flutter around your chest and your stomach, all the way down to between your legs. “since your first letter.”

and then you can’t resist—leaning back in for another hard, wet kiss. you feel him shift, strong hands on your hips, but staying firmly there, not traveling despite how much you wish they would. he’s been polite again, you think. waiting for you to give him permission.

“you can-” you start, but andrew keeps pressing kisses against your neck that make it hard to finish your sentence. “you can touch me.” you expect his hands to spread—grope and grab and tease until you’re begging for more. for him to be impatient and hungry and not stop until he’s inside of you.

“i can’t believe you’re real,” he says quietly, one hand moving up to your waist and touching the soft skin there gently. he traces up your arms and then down before intertwining his fingers with yours. you stare up at him, stupid as ever. every time you think you know anything about andrew, he proves you wrong.

“i can’t believe you are, either,” you say, tilting your head up for another kiss. a short, chaste one this time. “you’re just as nice as i knew you’d be.”

“you think i’m nice?” he asks, voice low. you nod in response, words escaping you. you settle to answer with another kiss, hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself, tugging and pulling on his bottom lip with your teeth.

you push up until he understands, and he uses two huge hands to get you into his lap, sitting up with his back against your couch. you straddle him, trying your hardest to not lose your train of thought as you realize how hard he is against you.

“i think you’re too nice,” you tease, unsure where you’re finding the confidence. under you, andrew looks spacey and flushed and all kissed out, but you don’t plan to stop. you lean in to press kisses to his cheeks and work your way to his jaw and neck. when you stop to look at him again, he looks hopelessly up at you, and you think he’s waiting again, waiting for permission to do something. “i think you’re so nice that you’re not telling me everything you’ve wanted to do to me these last few years.”

the way andrew looks up at you after you said that—god. you wish you could engrain it into your memory. you’re not someone who does this often, but you might just be good at figuring out how to get andrew to crack. he looks up with some of the hunger you’d imagined there’d be, and it makes something stir inside of you.

it feels strange to be wanted the way andrew wants you right now. you’re just not used to it, not entirely sure that you’d ever feel this way. that someone would ever make you feel this way.

your thoughts are wiped again when he pulls you into another kiss, and you deepen it, moaning into his mouth. you’re being so loud that your older neighbor might be able to hear you, but you can hardly bring yourself to care right now. andrew is quiet, like you thought he would be, but each soft grunt and heavy sigh is enough to make your entire body tingle.

you think you’re being better at staying quiet yourself when andrew scoops you up into his arms, carrying you like it’s nothing for him. you yelp loudly, forgetting everything for a second, realizing how lovely it feels to be carried by him. he leads you two to your bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

you stare at him, hovering above you, wondering how you’ll get to do this. how you’ll get his clothes off and watch out for his hurt hand and that you’ll finally get to feel him inside of you—when he just stops moving.

andrew looks up and around your bedroom, craning his neck to take in all of it. you’re not sure why, stuck in a position under him that forces you to just watch.

“is everything okay, andrew?” when you say his name, he turns back to stare down at you.

“yes. yes, it is. it’s just-” he pauses, looking back up and then down. the room is decorated with lots of pretty frames. there’s yellow curtains on the windows and your sheets are yellow under you too, just like he’d suspected. seeing it in real life almost sends him back to years ago—the first time he’d wondered what your bedroom looks like. the place from where you write your letters, the place you read them. “it looks just like i thought it would.”

and just like every other part of tonight, your reaction continues to surprise him. you smile and then laugh, holding onto his shoulder even tighter.

“spend a lot of time thinking about my bedroom, huh?” you tease, and he remains just as confused as ever.

you are such a conundrum. andrew thinks that he wants you so badly he can’t form a proper thought—and then the thoughts merge and blend and anger at the very idea that you’re so trusting of him. you should be more careful. you shouldn’t trust anyone how much you’re trusting him right now—inviting him inside your home, letting him into your bedroom.

and then you pull him down for another kiss and it all washes away like letters in the sand.

eventually he does pull away—though it takes an enormous amount of self control. the words you said on the couch haven’t completely left him yet and he still needs to answer you. you claw and pull at his shirt so he lets you take it off of him, you trace a hand down his chest, stopping at his heart and pressing your palm flat against him.

you’re staring, he thinks, but you’re really just admiring. taking in every detail, every scar and bruise so you can ask him about it later, moving your fingers down his abs and biting your lip while you stare daggers at his chest.

he moves away from your touch though, as sad as it makes you.

“you wanted to know everything i’ve thought about you?” andrew says, and the words make you tense up—thighs clenching, walls fluttering just from words alone. your fingers tighten around his bicep where you’ve been holding on, and you nod up at him dumbly. “can i show you?”

your head falls back onto your pillow with a thud. you nod again.

you let andrew set the pace—he peels off your clothes and you lift your hips and raise your arms in compliance. he starts with a kiss to your stomach that makes you whine, fingers leaving his skin and grabbing onto your sheets instead just to have something to hold on to.

you’re embarrassingly wet—you already know you are. it’s almost painful how badly you want him, even against better judgement that tells you that you could have, at the very least, taken things slowly.

you guess andrew just brings it out of you.

his kisses move south and you brace yourself, every muscle tensing up in anticipation. andrew is silent except for his deep breaths and somehow, with each one deeper than the last, they make your entire body shudder in anticipation. when he finally gets to your leaking cunt, you hear it. a strangled moan, sounding painful and from the depth of his chest and filled with want and need. just from looking at you. you can’t imagine what he’ll sound like when—

“this is what i thought about. this is always what i thought about.”

and then andrew licks down the length of your cunt with the flat of his tongue, and you can’t think about anything else anymore. he’s relentless, exploring you with his mouth like he’s a man starved. you can hear the noises, obscene and sloppy and wet as they are.

and then you feel it—his mouth around your clit while one finger prods at your tight opening. your back rises off the bed but he holds you down with one huge hand over your stomach. his finger slips inside you more easily than he thought it would. though you’re wetter than he imagined, he doesn’t stop teasing your clit.

your wetness coats everything—his tongue, his lips, his chin. your thighs are wet too, and he’s sure he can get your yellow sheets soaked too if he could tease you long enough. but he’s been incredibly patient all these years, unsure if he can wait any longer to get what he’s wanted.

his hand keeps you pinned down while his mouth stays on your clit and then andrew adds another finger and you thrash up against him. it’s useless against the weight of his hand holding you down, but your body moves anyways, hands wrangling into his brown curls, likely making a complete mess of them. you keep pulling and he moans between your legs and the vibration makes you thrash harder, a completely exhilarating cycle.

when he finally releases you from his grip, you think the other hand will explore up and down your body, but true to form, you’re wrong. andrew finds your hand and holds onto it, lacing your fingers with his while he keeps going.

when adds a third finger, you realize that he’s saying something against you. you can’t quite make it out with your heart thudding in your ears and how loud you’re being, but then it becomes a little clearer—

“you taste even better than i thought you would-” and you can’t stop it, the tension in your stomach winding tighter and tighter before it snaps altogether. a white hot heat washes through your body and makes you shake even harder, but andrew’s hold on you keeps you completely grounded. he works you through it, not stopping even once, not until you’re trying your hardest to pull away from him. you try to catch your breath but it’s useless. your head feels completely empty.

incoherent, you grab at andrew, murmuring something about inside, please, and he really tries to stay level headed. but one glance at your naked, writhing body and your expression while you beg for him is enough to tip him over the edge.

resisting you requires a level of self control that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to have.

andrew doesn’t think he’s ever had any self control when it comes to you. it’s why he did this, isn’t it? showed up at your hospital with your sweet letter folded up and somehow convinced you, without saying much of anything at all, to trust him and let him back into your life. he doesn’t even know how he did it—he can’t recall most of what he said to you. it plays in his head like a movie, like how your letters used to.

he doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, just knows that he’ll do whatever he has to in order to keep it forever.

andrew’s thoughts about keeping you cloud him while he lifts up your legs, manhandling your body while you squeal under him. he pushes your knees to your chest and lets your legs hang in the air while he hovers over you. all he can think about is getting inside of you—-giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for, fulfilling every fantasy he’s had about you in the last three years. the noises you’ll make. how tight and wet and warm you’ll feel around him. how you’ll look with his cum dripping out of-

“andrew, please, please,” you plead, and he’s not sure that you understand exactly what you’re asking for. it’s good that it’s him you picked for those letters, good that he’s the one who tracked you down.

someone else, well, he thinks, lining himself up with your soaking wet entrance, someone else might have had bad intentions with you. not andrew, though.

his intentions for you are only good. intentions to keep you happy and safe and move you away from this tiny apartment and make sure you get the job that you want, no matter who he has to threaten in order to do so. intentions to keep everything taken care of so the only thing you ever have to worry about again is him, just like you’d done for all those years when you wrote to him.

and as he slips inside, he knows those letters are in this bedroom somewhere, that this bed is where you read them, that these were the pretty hands that held his letters and these were the pretty eyes that read them.

you stare at him while he hovers over you, not pushing in just yet. andrew’s dick is just like the rest of him—thick and broad and so wide that you don’t know how you’ll be able to walk tomorrow. there’s veins too, just like his arms, and it’s all you can think about with him enclosed over you.

when he pushes his thick head past your fluttering walls, you make a noise like nothing he’s ever heard before. pure want and heat wrapped up with pleasure and pain. you keep begging for more but he’s not sure you can even handle it—but who is andrew to deny you?

he pushes further inside of you, now half way, and you cry out. andrew leans in to kiss you again, swallowing the noise and letting you moan against his lips.

another thrust and he’s almost all the way in. he pulls out and pushes back in, and then he starts his rhythm. your tits bounce with every thrust and he watches entranced, until his eyes go back to where you and him meet. in this position, on his knees with you folded underneath him, he can see it perfectly.

it’s enough to make him finish instantly. you look completely fucked out under him, crying out with each push of his hips.

your open your wet eyes and glance up at him. through wet lashes and blinking eyes, you get out a few words, stopped by each thrust.

“is it-” you gasp, words getting caught in your throat because andrew is so deep inside of you that you can feel him in your stomach and your chest. “is it what you imagined, andrew?”

“god, yes,” he says, and the sound is so perfect to you. it comes out broken, in the form of a gasp and a moan combined, and you want to hear it again and again. he says your name like it’s a prayer grounding him to you and you keep your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close to you and bringing him in for another kiss. you can feel andrew’s pace start to stutter, his moans getting louder and his grip on you getting tighter. you hold his face in your hands, locking eyes again.

“inside, andrew, please, i want it inside, please, please,” and again, andrew thinks to himself, like some besotted fool, who is he to deny you? he releases whatever inhibitions he had left and fills you up with his cum—rivulets almost never ending. it leaks out around his dick, messing up your sheets and staining your thighs and making a mess of everything. he hears your heavy breaths and looks to see you smiling sweetly up at him.

and then he collapses next to you.

“hi andrew,” you say quietly next to him. your hands go to his, playing with his fingers and running the pad of your thumb over the veins on his hand. “was it how you thought it’d be?”

“it was better,” he says, breathless. you giggle and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek—and for a moment, he forgets everything. the circumstances of your introduction and the way he’d discovered you long forgotten for a few heartbeats. just you and the sound of your laugh and the promise of the future he wants with you before him.

“there’s still some things i thought about that we didn’t get to yet,” you tease, and he wonders, briefly, what he’s going to do with you.

and then you two hear it—scratching at your closed bedroom door.

“oh god,” you say, sitting up in bed.

you groan a little since your thighs are sore and it’s a wet, sticky mess between them. andrew keeps his hand on your arm and helps you sit up, and joins you in the position, like he’s preparing to help if you need something.

“warden, stop,” you say, but he doesn’t listen. you turn to andrew. “i’m gonna get him.” you try to move your legs and put weight on them, but you feel your knees buckle immediately, with andrew rushing to your side to help you back into bed.

“oh my god. you broke me.”

“i’ll get him. just-just sit down.”

andrew opens the door and picks up your cat like it’s second nature, bringing him to you on the bed before getting in right beside you. your cat is sweet but there’s not many people over at your apartment, and you worry for a moment that he won’t be nice to andrew when he wants your attention. but wardy doesn’t move from his position, staying curled up again andrew’s chest and arm, completely at ease.

“he likes you. that makes sense,” you say, smiling up at him, leaning in to pet wardy’s head.

but andrew doesn’t understand.

“warden. i thought you said his name was wardy?”

“that’s just a nickname.”

“why warden?”

“oh well. it’s silly, um-”

“tell me.”

“well, uh. well, warden is just the letters in andrew. uh, rearranged.”

“oh.”

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, is that creepy? i was really projecting, i guess, when i got him. i just loved your letters so much and i’ve never had a boyfriend or anything like that-”

“do you think we should get married?”

thanks for reading! ♡

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

[aomiiine]

I just read your works and god you write Caleb so well😫 So..with all due respect,my head is filled with Caleb doing..hole inspection after a frat party because duhhh

It’s a crime that I responded to this so soo late but I come w a peace offering ☝🏼AND thank you so much for loving the way I write Caleb!! it means a lot w how reluctant I am to write ab him nowadays 🫶🏼 🫶🏼 newayyss, here’s my long awaited 2 cents on fratboy!caleb <3

frat boy! caleb, pussy inspection?, jealous caleb, banter, sweaty, messy & uncoordinated pussy fingering in the car🧍🏻‍♀️ ‘pip-squeak’ once!!! wc. 733 turned out longer than expected but that’s okay :’)

A frat party.

Nothing special. Just same old loud music and even louder people. Caleb had no idea why you insisted on going to one of these parties with him. Sure, he came here often, but only because he was practically lured out to it by his mates who covered it up as an ‘emergency’.

so now, Caleb’s forced to watch you socialise around with these vultures. As much as he wanted to snatch every drink you gulped, he knew better than you restrain you of your own fun—and suffer being accused to be a hypocrite by you later.

Minutes passed and yet he stood as still as a rock at one of the many corners of the room, arms crossed and jaw clenched tight. His eyes were sharp and intent on staring at you from afar, holding a conversation with a few other guys. Socialising. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Except, it was the type of ‘socialising’ he loathed to see you doing—dating or not.

and when the heat burned too hot, his jealousy spilled from it’s pot—overflowing.

“Getting with someone else right in front of me, huh? Not bad, pip-squeak,” Caleb spat, uttering the ever-so-endearing name he used for you in such a condescending manner that it made you shiver.

His wandering hands between your collided bodies in the cramp space of his car only made it harder for you to protest, every word dying in your throat and changed to a pathetic mewl or moan that just spurred him on his possessive streak.

“I barely knew the damn guy, Caleb,” you whined, hand held on his shoulder drifting down to his firm bicep in the dark of the vehicle. His big hands mauling on your thighs made you squirm further, frustration at his control over your body that refrained you from shifting on his lap in the position you wanted.

“Oh and he definitely wants to get to know you though. You and dirty panties,” he retorted with a humourless scoff, curling his fingers beneath your crotch to cup your sex, insistently delving past the thin fabric of the damp panties you wore. Your brows furrow at the slightest show of a smirk on his lips, knowing he could feel your arousal seep through and smear the pads of his digits already.

“Don’t say a fucking thing,” you warned, tightening your grip on his muscular upper arm, nails burying crescent-shaped indents on his skin.

“What? Like you’re gonna do shit to stop me with that drooling cunt,” Calen refuted, hooded eyes looking down at you, finding your threat as feeble as a kitten’s hiss.

Before you could open your mouth to return his wit with your own, he decided slide your panties to the side, a finger finding your slit with ease before sinking it deep within your depth without warning. A second finger followed suit, stroking your fluttering walls immediately after entering.

The sudden invasion made your breath hitch, lips parting open in a silent moan then crying out his name in a whine that sounded little like complaint. Your thighs seized, muscles flexing and quivering in an effort to stay kneeling on the carseat over one of his thighs.

caleb’s fingers were relentless, plunging in and out of your warm channel languidly. His movements were effortless, but so damn effective still. And as if he hadn’t caught you by surprise enough, his thumb snuck near between your parted folds, finding your clit and adding just enough pressure on the sensitive bud to make you get louder, uncoordinated, needy like he wants you to be.

“Don’t be tease—fuck me proper,” you mumbled between pants, eyes narrowing at the careless way his fingers were moving inside your wet pussy, eager to suck him further inside to the spongy spot that he could’ve reached so easily if he weren’t so damn sloppy.

“Nah, I’ll do that later.. Need to make myself sure this pussy belongs to me first.” Caleb’s reply only annoyed you further, leaning in to him and grinding your hips in vain to plea for his mercy. But he remained firm, spreading your pussy open until you hissed at the burn of the stretch, his thumb circling and flicking on your swollen clit repeatedly.

When recalling his words, you realised he truly was serious with inspecting your depths all over again. Just to assure himself—and you especially.

[soobnny]

yellow sticker — seungmin x reader ; established relationship & happens in the universe of ‘cops and robbers’ (1.5k words)

kim seungmin, resident fuckboy turned soft boy, is on a mission to quit smoking

this was a request by @.notmyblogsblog and i loved it too much not to write it. i hope this is how u pictured it :) btw posting again bc it didn’t show up in the tags the first time

There’s a certain tone in Kim Seungmin’s voice that tells you he wants your attention. It’s partly whiny. Almost annoyed—though, only because he refuses to believe other things weigh heavier in gravity over him in your life.

“Babyyyy.” The drawl in his ‘y’s. The exasperation of his sigh. All very clear tells for the boy.

He hasn’t moved to interrupt you yet, hasn’t moved to block your line of vision and whatever the fuck picture you wanted to take, but you see him enough through your peripheral vision to see the pout of his expression.

You can only laugh. “I told you it’d be boring if you came with me, and you did anyway.”

“Is it such a crime to want to spend time with the girl I like? Besides, I like watching you. Passion looks very sexy on you.”

Well. You’d be lying if you said there was nothing you felt inside from that.

“Shut up.” You swallow, though you can sense relentless teasing from him with the way you set your camera on the desk behind you to try and avert his gaze from your heat-stricken cheeks. “Don’t you have to go now?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. “I… do. Yeah.”

“With the boys, right?”

Seungmin and his friends have this thing where they meet at specifically set times. You’d jokingly called it the Fuckboy Assembly, but stopped since the boy had expressed his distaste for the word “fuckboy”. He didn’t like the connotations anymore, didn’t feel like he deserved you if he kept at his ways before he’d met you.

And while he couldn’t get rid of his ties with that title fully, especially not from strangers who liked labelling him, he at least didn’t want it to come from you.

“Yeah.” There’s that surge of dejection in his voice.

You keep your eyes on him, the way his eyes look downcast on his phone to check for the time before looking back at you. He looks like he wants to say something. You start to feel guilt at your lack of attention to him whilst you’d practiced your shots.

“How about… you come over to my dorm later and I cook us dinner? You know, after you hangout with your friends? …If you want.”

The way he perks his head up is cute, and more so when his lips pull into a smile.

Seungmin looks at you like he needed that response, as if making sure you actually want to spend time with him too. He tries to sound suave with his response but all you hear is a giggle he fails to mask. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Then there’s a soft love tap on your cheek before he kisses it. “I’ll see you later?”

You hum. “Just knock four times so I know it’s you.”

“I’ll make up every excuse to get to you faster. I’m starting to get sick of the boys’ faces anyways.” You laugh. “See you later!”

–

“Earth to Seungmin?”

The younger boy perks up like he’s just realized what trance he had been in. “What?”

“What’s that on your jacket?” Hyunjin sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter, and the way Seungmin tilts his head down to look at it makes him look cute.

There, in the midst of his scruffed up bad boy image and the leather jacket he’s wearing is an uncharacteristic bright yellow star, just where his heart is.

All the boys lean close enough to notice the little sticker.

“(Name) gave it to me for not smoking for a week.” There is a soft smile on his lips at the memory of your eyes—the way you’d looked at him after he’d confessed he’d been a week clean of cigarettes. “Says it’s for my health. Plus, she doesn’t like the smell so I’m quitting.”

“Well, shit. He really has gone soft.”

There’s loud wolf whistles and tossing and turning coming from every direction, but it all just falls deaf on his ears. He doesn’t even care to be teased anymore, doesn’t find the reason to be defensive. All he really cares about is making you happy—only cares about the smile on your face if he’s clean for another week, and another week, and a month, and a year.

“He was probably with her earlier too. That’s why you were so late, hmmm, Seungminnie?”

“So what if I was?”

The whistles don’t stop, and certainly also not the playful shoving. Flits of moments like this with his friends are stupid, but it’s also endearing.

“Who was it that said she wasn’t even their type anyway?”

“Shut up. I lied, okay? I like her. A lot.” Seungmin shoves them back. “So stop fucking smoking in front of me because I plan on getting another sticker next week.”

“There’s just no hope for him anymore.” Changbin laughs.

“Yeah. I feel like I know everything about her, and I haven’t even met her yet.” Felix adds.

“Oh, none of you are meeting her. Absolutely not.”

“What the fuck? Why not?”

–

There’s four knocks on your door just when the clock hits 7pm, and you fumble to open the door while trying not to burn the dinner you’re cooking.

“You’re early.” You say sternly, pointing your ladle at him—almost accusing.

“I missed you, so I ditched them.”

Seungmin has no trouble admitting he’s attached. He likes being around you, even when you aren’t paying any attention to him. He likes the way you curl your lips when you concentrate, the way your eyes narrow at your viewfinder, the way you hold a smile to yourself when you take a shot you like.

He likes it even when you scold him for the smallest things.

“‘M not finished cooking dinner yet.” He sets his shoes aside, just by your shoe rack, before he moves towards the direction of the kitchen where you’d returned to after opening the door for him.

“Need any help?”

“I’d rather not burn my dorm down.”

Seungmin can’t quite see your face when you have your back turned towards him, but he can already picture the laugh-laced smile on your face.

He moves over to wrap his arms around your waist, chin rested on your shoulder as he gets himself comfortable. Your face feels ticklish to the strands of his hair, but you don’t make a move to push him away. “Missed you.”

“It’s only been 3 hours since we saw each other. You’re so dramatic.”

He hums. “How did your pictures turn up?”

Seungmin doesn’t miss the way your eyes lighten up at the question. “I got a really good shot. I think I’m gonna add it to my portfolio.”

“Yeah?” He asks, fingers toying with the ends of your shirt. “Can I see them later?”

“Really?” You pause your concentration to look at the boy, freezing from your stirring even. His head turns to the side so he can look at you better, and damn, what a sight he’s subjected to. Seungmin can’t help but coo at how adorable you look. Your eyes are little wide with something akin to childlike wonder and your smile is so genuine, and fuck, he is so in love.

“Of course.” He coos softly. You’re eye-to-eye, and it’s almost intimidating the honesty you see in his. Seungmin loves lying, considers it his pastime even, but not to you. He’s always honest with you.

“Okay.” You whisper more to yourself, turning your attention back on your cooking. He doesn’t miss the chance to pepper kisses from your ear down to your neck.

His lips feel soft against your skin.

You can’t help but drift back to when you’d first met him.

If you’d told yourself then about the compromising position you were in now, you wouldn’t have believed it true. But fuck, you’re thankful to yourself for giving him a chance, and you’re thankful to him for holding true to his words.

Here he is, bare with vulnerability and honesty, and so quiet and kind behind you, quitting the things he never thought he’d be able to just because you didn’t like them.

You know you care about Seungmin. And while maybe you aren’t in love quite just yet, you know you’re already on the way. The feelings you have for him is different than the ones you’ve felt before. Falling in love with Seungmin feels contradictingly safe. It doesn’t feel as scary as you thought, because he made it so easy for you to feel happy and secure.

There is comfort in the slowness of your relationship, in how he didn’t pressure you to feel as much as he did.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

“Among other boys?”

You laugh at the familiarity of the words. You’d thrown them at him just a few months ago. “Just you, and about how much I like you.”

“Well.” He smiles. “If it makes you feel any better, I really like you too.”

You feel yourself smile back at him, even bigger than before, and Seungmin feels his heart nearly burst at the sight.

“Go set the table. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Whatever you need, baby.”

Yeah, definitely in the process of falling in love.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader and how they life in manor started

Author's note 1: This part is huge, and it was a huge struggle for me to write (and rewrite), so I apologize if it feels crumpled T^T and there will be other author's notes

Warnings: long read, grammar mistakes (English is not my first language), mental issues, abuse

Bruce knew that eventually you will leave the madbay, you were there long enough to heal, but he had no idea how to bring you to the manor and he can't predict your reaction, seeing your reaction of everything in medbay, your confusion and fear that you showed looking at the simplest things. But other things concerned him even more.

Firstly, he knew that taking you to manor would include revealing of his identity to you, and identities of rest of the family. Secondly, the family.... he was worried about how they would react on you being there. So far, non of the kids interacted with you, and only Dick visited you while you were in the medbay, but he never saw you awake, thanks for the side effects of medicine that made you incredibly sleepy. And thirdly, you were a child of a villain, who knows what you are capable of? So what if you seemed harmless in the madbay? Plus, Bruce knew Tim and Jay expected only bad for you and Damians opinion of you was as bad if not worse somehow. Bruce knows it's going to be tough and he is not sure he can deal with it

Today was the day he would let you see his face and lead you up to the mansion. So, why did the world greatest detective was feeling icky? Was he afraid of you? No, you are just a kid, yes Joker's kid, but still a kid. Was he afraid your potential reaction? Not really, but he was troubled that he could predict it.

Maybe you didn't really show emotions, which was concerning, but also was made him feel more at ease, since you didn't show any signs of acting like your father.

You were sitting at your bed in medaby staring at your blurred reflection in the mirror. You couldn't clearly see yourself, but you were sure you looked a bit different and the clothes you were wearing now, simple t-shirt and pants, were much more comy and much more suited for a child, unlike that horrible suit.

- Hey, little one, how are you feeling? - he asked with strained gentleness

- I'm okay - you answered simply

- Since you are mostly recovered you will have to leave the medbay - he started saying. You were expecting something like that to happend, because why would he let you stick around? He alredy done much for you. As you were staying in the medbay you remember that Batman had a rule - a rule of not killing. Maybe that's why he helped you and healed you up, he probably just didn't want to let you die. You knew your father wouldn't really care of something happened to you, and he wouldn't even avange you, because why would he? You are just a pawn and he has bigger cards to cards to care about.

- So you will bring me back? -you asked, simply, which shoked Batman. You just now simply and dully asked him if he will bring you back to the crime alley ? How? Why? He felt his heart stinging at your emotionless reaction.

- No, I want to give you your new home

- New home? - you asked, confused. What did he meant by that?

- Yes. You will live with me, Alfred, and my sons. - he said calmly, looking at you, studying your reaction, he moved his hands closer to his mask. - that means you will know who I'm, and who are my allies are, which brings me to the point, before we could go to your new home, you must learn few rules, you understand right? - you only nodded in response. You were really confused. Why he wants you to live with you? Why is he okay with it? What was his reasoning?

The rules included: do not reveal our dentities to anyone, no wepons, no sharp object, no violence, no disobedience, mandatory emotional check-ins, mandatory seek of help when you need it, respect of boundaries and few other. You listened carefully when he explained every rule, trying to remember every detail, but you couldn't really understand that all. And you didn't really understood what will happened if you break the rule, but you didn't wanted to take chances.

After he explained the rules and you nodded to confirm you got the idea, he finally took his mask, and his face seemed to be familiar, and after few sections of thinking you said

- Oh, you are a man from newspapers - you remember seeing his face on some of the newspapers you used as blankets back in the crime alley.

- So I guess you know me? And you know my name - he asked, a bit confused by your reaction and use of wording

- uh.. I saw you, I don't really who you are - and it was true, you may saw him on newspapers, but you didn't really read them, there was too much words you didn't understand

- My name is Bruce Wayne, you can just call me Bruce. And since I introduced myself, it's time for you to introduce yourself too - he gave you a slight, gentle smile, encouraging you to speak up

- my name is (your name)

- Follow me, (your name)

So now you were following Bat...uh Bruce into various corridors of ... giant house? Castle? You didn't really know, but it was. You looked around, trying to take in at least some of the surroundings, but it was too much for you to remember. All you could say, the place was really luxurious... really like a castle, like one you saw in story book you manage to found one day.

Finally you arrived at the corridors there you assumed lived residents of the place. If you understood correctly while listening to Bruce, here manor two of his sons lived permanent: Tim and Damian, and two others, Richard and Jason, occasionally payed a visit. As you looked around corridor, you suddenly heard unfamiliar voice

- Father, you really decided to let them live here? - that voice sounded annoyed and angry

- Damian, we've talked about it - answered Bruce. You looked to father and son, who started conversation, taking in the appearance of short boy with spiky hair, and bright green eyes. So this is Damian.... as you looked at him, you noticed that his angry gaze never leaving you. His cold anger mixed with with annoyance made you visibly flinched.

- and I still stand my words, they are dangerous - young boy said, walking past his father, stopping in front of you - I was raised by assassins, don't think I won't see through your games - he said closing walking in his room and closing his door. You looked at him go, you expected this kind of greeting.

- Damian can be a little hostile at first- Bruce tried to soften up the atmosphere Damian created

- oh, it's fine, I understand -you answered calmly.

- so, most of those rooms are free so, feel free to chose one.

You walked through the corridor, checking if the room was taken or not, and you stopped at the far away room in the end for the corridor. Knowing that you would probably annoy others with your existence in the manor, you decided to choose exactly this room. You understood that your life here depended on how Batman, or how he told to call him Bruce, and his sons, and if you wanted to live peacefully you needed to try hard and not make him angry.

Bruce wanted to encourage you to take a room closer to others, but decided not to, so he would not discourage you

As you and and him walked in, you couldnt stop looking around. You would be living here now, and it felt like a dream.

- if you need anything call Alfred, and if you need me, just say so to him. - said Bruce as he left you to settle down. You looked around, taking in a surroundings by a bit empty previous guest room that just became yours. You sat down on the bed, feeling it's softness. You were still a confused, you felt fear as always, but also there was something else in the mix of your feelings, something much more lighter.

--------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ -----------------------

In the morning you was woken up by the rays of sun. You didn't figured out how to close the curtains. Previously you didn't feel like going to dinner, so Alfred brought you sandwiches in your room so you at least could have a bite.

You looked out if the window, seeing beautiful geen garden. The sight was new to you, who grew up in the surroundings of dirty bricks and broken concrete. You watched sky, which looked more clear than in crime alley, clouds, birds, trees. It felt surreal, and it made this light feeling in your chest become stronger.

Alfred knocked soon after, he reminded you to wash your face and brush your teeth (something old butler had to explain you how to do) and said that he would lead you to the dining room.

Damian was already there, he tensed up once he saw you. You sat far away from him, sinking in your chair under his gaze.

Soon after you heard yawning coming form the way you've just walked in.

-Morning, Dams, morning Alfred - you heard the sleepy voice say - B left already?

- yes, master Tim - said the old butler putting coffee on place on the table near Damian's one.

- Drake - Damian said through teeth

- oh, look someon in a bad mood since morning, how - the boy sat down, suddenly stopping when he noticed you. He looked at you, not a word leaving him as he quietly staredat you for a few seconds with unreadable expression. Not knowing you decided at least to try to make the situation more strange

- hello? - you mumbled. And he just nodded. His gaze lingered a bit longer on your hair, before he looked away, looking visible uncomfortable. Alfred served the food soon after. It was one of the most tasty things you've ever ate, even if you could feel tension in the air that could be cut with the knife.

After Alfred was lead you back to your room and Bruce made a quick check up on you few hours latter you were left alone. You didn't really had anything to do: the books that were in the room were a bit difficult for you, and you didn't really had an idea what to do with crayons, because all the paintings that came in your mind were ones that were present on your father's "show scene". As you were loking at the window, you heard a sudden knock on your room's door. You turned around, awaiting too see an old butler, but was greeted with the sight of tall young man with wavy black hair, blue eyes, and slightly akward but nonetheless friendly simile.

- Hey, little one - he greeted - what are you up to.

- Hello - you mumbled rather shyly, looking at the window, when back at him.

- Oh, good-old window watching huh - you nodded, soon after adding

- You are?

- Right, I'm Dick, and what's your name?

- (your name)

- Nice to meat you. So, how are you here so far - he tried to striked up the conversation, before you heard familiar annoyed voice of Damian

- Grayson, I require your presence, now!

- Dami, just a minute - he answered

- now! - Damian repeated

Richard gave you an apologetic look - sorry, gotta go, but I would like to hang around you next time, if you Don't mind.

-I do not mind - you mumbled as you watched him left. The way he talked to you was unusual for you. It reminded the way how Bruce or Alfred talked with you, but it was warmer. It made that light feeling in your chest stronger for a bit, until it was taken away. It was strange to be talked with like that, but it was nice. Suddenly, you couldn't help but wish but to be talked with like that more.

--------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ -----------------------

As day went by, you started slowly getting used to the life in here and rutine. You mostly spend your time around Alfred, following him as if you were a little ducking. He helped you around, explained how to do one or other things, helped you to find books you could read through, also old butler introduced to tw, but you quickly found out that cartoons were a bit much to you, so insted you settled on nature documentaries.

So here you were in the living room watching about life of animals in tropical jungle, when you heard heavy footsteps behind door, after that you hears how doors were heavily pushed open, you turned around, and saw tall and built tall and muscular guy, with short black hair with few white strands on them and book in his hands. Judging by his looks and what Alfeed told you so far you guessed it was Jason. Though, he seemed somehow familiar to you, yet you couldn't understand why...

- hello - you mumbled, looking at him.

He instantly frowned, you could see the same expression of anger on his face, the one you noticed on Damian constantly.

- what, old man really had his sanity kicked out? - he grumbled.

You were unsure of how to react, what to do. On one hand you could clearly see that Jason was mad at you the same way Damin were, so the plan was ether to hide in your room, or to stay quiet. On the other hand, even if you really didn't understand how to interact with others, in a short time you've been in the manor Alfred told you some basics of social interactions and politeness, one of which was to iniciate conversions, which made you want to give it a go.

- I just found out that some animals pretend to be dead so they wouldn't become a prey - you mumbled quietly, you really just learned that fact so you decided to share it. But it.your words seemed to make Jason even more mad.

- tsk, I see you, little psycho, are not so different from your crazy Dad - he spat out angrily, leaving you feeling down. You weren't like your dad, were you?

- I uh - you struggled to say, but you couldn't form your thought. What to answer to that? You weren't sure.

- don't even try, I don't like clowns -he spat out. Before you could say anything or he could continue saying things that left you sad, Alfred walked in.

- Master Jason, master Bruce awaits you in a batcave

- thanks - he said as he walked out, leaning you alone with your confusion and sadness, or so it was until you heard Alfred's cautious voice

- Master (your name)? Are you feeling alright? You seem to be a in your thoughts.

- I'm okay - you answered immediately, not wanting to worry old butler

- I see. - he answered, a bit thoughtfully, before speaking again - would you like to have some tea with cookies? - you nodded eagerly, remembering their sweet taste -when follow me to the kitchen

While you were enjoying tea with cookies, and looking how Alfred was busy preparing lunch, cutting greens with cooking scissors and chopping vegetables. He done this all fast and gracefully, leaving you amazed by his skills. In the middle of him cutting yet another green leaf, Alfeed was asked to go down to the cave by Jason, who walked away immediately after. Old butler put scissors near the edge of counter, and asked you if you knew how to get back to your room, before leaving. You just finished eating last cookie, when you heard metallic ring of fallen scissors. You walked to pick them up, but seeing your blurred reflection in them gave you an idea difference of original idea. Now you were on the way in your room.

Honestly speaking, you understood why your father was hated in this house, and you could understand why they hated you too, Joker is your dad after all, but you didn't like him to. In fact, he only brought you suffering. And you knew there wasn't a way to undone it,

But there is one thing you could do.

You walked in your room, I'm your bathroom, and in mirror you saw that one thing that reminded you of your father's the most. Your damaged green hair. Although while you were staying here, your hair grew longer and you could see your original color of hair, but green was still there and you hated longer green parts of your hair, his parts of your hair. Damian, Jason and Tim probably hated them too.

Chop.

You started cutting the green parts, leaving only strands of YOUR hair. It took awhile, it was hard. But few minutes after you were without them, and with fluffy uneven mess of a haircut on your head.

Putting all your green hair in a trash, you hurried back to kitchen. To your surprise, Alfred wasn't there yet. You put scissors in the sink, and returned to your tea, happy thay now you didn't had reminder of your dad on your head.

------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ -----------------------

After your sudden haircut, scolding, and another, but more professional haircut latter, Alfred decided to keep an eye on you. He had to admit that your desire to show difference form your dad finally made him warm up to you. But he was even more surprised when you said that you wanted to help him with tasks around the house and managing requests of boys and Bruce. Bruce found it a welcome change, but not all boys agreed with him

Which leads you to the present moment, you were cautiously carrying tray with coffee and snacks for Tim, since he skipped lunch yet again making Alfred worried yet again, when you were walking past Damian.To avoid him, you took a little to the other side, almost kicking off some sort of sculpture, which he caught, stopping in front of you, glaring at you

- Tt... use your eyes when you are going anywhere, pay attention - he grunted.

- I'm sorry - you said calmly, - cool move by the way - you said in attempt to soften the move

- I wasn't asking for your opinion. - he said, glaring at you one more time and saying - One false move and you'll find yourself dismantled faster than these figurines could hit the ground. Touch anything else in Father's collection, and you'll be practice dummy for my katana.

You tried not to flinch at Damian words, but did so anyways. It took you few minutes to calm down and continue your way towards Tim's room. You prepared to knock, but door was slightly agape.

- Tim? - you called, imitating Alfreds tone of voice. You saw how his hand gestured you to come in, so you did. You placed tray with coffee and snacks on his table. He glanced at you only for a second, before his eyes returned to the screen of his laptop, in that moment some sort of text appeared there, making him jolt, put laptop down and run away. You just stood there, not knowing what to do, you looked between door from which he left, and screen of his computer device, when another text appeared on it, and this time you could read it - "low battery. connect the charger"

Thanks to Alfred, you already knew what charger is, you just have to find it! You looked around, seeing too many wires around the room. You looked at the laptop, and saw too many ports. As you were unsuccessfully trying to find the right wire and right port, laptop's screen went dark. In that moment Tim walked in.

- What did you do?! - he asked almost yelling. Immediately going to the laptop

Nothing! - you panicked, and stepped away. He raised a hand and wave it. Not noticing yor flinch.

- just go, go away! You are messing all up!

If you thought you were shaky after encounter with Damian, this one definitely did.

Judging by Tim's reaction, you broke his computer. You didn't mean to, and you didn't knew if anyone will believe you that you didn't mean to do so. Maybe you'll need to apologize later, but right now, all you wanted is to talk with Alfred or to use up Bruces offer and talk with him if you needed it. In the state of panick you must have took the wrong turn, and bot seeing clearly before yourself, you bumped into Jason, after what you was pushed back and fell down in the process.

- you, little psycho! Don't you dare to touch me! - he yelled, making you flinch. For a second you felt like you was back with your father, pushed around, beaten and yelled at. As you were processing what happened, you didn't hear soft footsteps,

Jay, it was an accident. They just didn't not you - said Richard, trying to calm Jason down -yes, little one? - he said turning to you, but you were already running back to your room.

You cruled up in your blanket, hiding from the world and trying to calm down. You felt like crying. You probably did cry. It was all your fault. You almost broke figurine from Bruces collection, you probably broke Tim's computer, and you made Jason angry, so , Dick too was probably angry at you. Why had you just break thing, make everything worse. Maybe you should talk to Bruce.

--------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ ---------------------

You didn't even notice how you feel asleep for a short time, but when you woke up, you decided to see Bruce, if anyone, he should know how to get allong with boys. And that's what you really wanted, to get along with them, just to feel safe.

The problem however was to find Bruce. You remember Bruce showing you where his cabinet and room was, however, you don't remember where exactly they are. You managed to find Alfred, who gave you a concerned look, but explained you where he was. He also said that all of them were having a movie night - Richard decided that everyone needed at least one bounding day a month, where all of them would gather and do something together. That got you a bit worried, because what if you ruin their movie night just like how you ruined everything today. But maybe you could apologize in front of everyone for being inconvenience and making them angry? You'll have to brace yourself . While thinking about it, you walked through various corridors, until you reached movie room.

There they were: While movie were playing on a big screen they sat on cozy sofa and armchairs. Bruce sat in the armchair, occasionally looking on the boys. You could see smile on his face. Dick sat in the middle of the sofa, watching with enthusiasm and actively commenting on the plot, eating popcorn. On one side if him, putting his head on Dick's shoulder, sat Tim, who was lazily laying on sofa. He sometimes corrected Dick or commented on CGI, whatever it is. On the other side of the Dick sat Damian, who tried to make an impression that he didn't like being here, yet even you could see through his act, and who tried to keep Tim's and Jason's hands away from popcorn. And near Tim, in the corner of sofa sat Jason, who teased Damian and Tim most of the time, argued with Dick on which character is better and successfully stole Dick's popcorn.

You've never seen a sight, that was as warm as this. It felt so warm, so cozy, so homy

It felt like family.

And here you were: in the shadow, not daring to make a step, to come in to join them, to afraid to ruin this perfect moment

You've never had a family in that sense of word, and what you had as a family, you wouldn't dare to call as such. In your family was no warmth, no care. There weren't a moment like this. But you needed them.

After you were taken in my Bruce you found out what care was, but even so it felt like it still was too far away from you, so far that you couldn't reach it. Maybe you didn't deserve it, but you wanted care you wanted love. You wished you could be a part of family you see right now. You want to come in. But you know you can't, you know you will ruin the moment if you will walk in now. You know that Damian will add another threat to a previous one, Jason will yell, Tim will shoosh away, and probably Dick and Bruce will silently agree with them and will say to you to come another time.

Your father is Joker, that's instantly makes you undeserving of care and attention. Well, whay to say if your own mother left you. And as for the batfamily, it's only natural to hate a child of their main enemy.

But what if you can prove you are not like your father? What if love and care are earned, and that's exactly why you didn't get them. When you will have to try and earn it. But for now, all you could do now, is to hide behind the door in another room, listen intently on every sound they make, cry silently, afraid of making any noise so you couldn't ruin the moment and wish you could be with them. Wish you was loved at least once in your life. Wish you were a part of their family.

--------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ ----------------------

Thank you for reading and feel free to share your opinion 💖 have a good day

Author's note 2: I really badly wanna draw Joker's kid. I'd you are interested in my artworks , please let me know

Author's note 3: (1) In one of anonymous asks (here) one user had similar idea of what I had in mind. I hope I've done it good > - < (2) And I wanted to fit this idea from another ask (here) in the plot to, but I couldn't done it fully, I'm sorry T^T

Author's note 4 : to be honest, I have no idea what is tag list and how it works (I'm really sorry, but I'm not active social-media user), but few amazing people asked to tag them, and i hope I'm doing it right: @socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr

[yanderemasquerade]

Hacker Yandere who gained access to all of your devices and accounts very easily, as you're no cyber genius yourself. However, you would never have much cause to suspect that you've been compromised. You don't socialize much online, not totally by your own accord, but people don't seem to interact with your posts very much. If you would only open your block lists you would learn why. Pretty much everyone who has even tried to send you a message or get a bit over zealous with likes, especially men, have been blocked across all platforms. He's a little jealous, sure, but he's not a bad guy!

Hacker Yandere who deposits money into your bank under names you wouldn't find suspicious. Maybe it's disguised as a bonus, or school refund, or under a loved ones name. Any time you mention it no one knows what you're talking about, but you just shrug it off. Who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth? He waits anxiously for the notification that you posted about the new things you bought with the money, it warms his heart to be able to take care of you even if he can't in a conventional sense. He's too insecure to introduce himself, so he lives in a fantasy where you're together and happy that the distance protects.

Hacker Yandere who sends you anonymous messages to learn the things that cyber stalking can't teach him. He keeps organized notes with links and screenshots so he never forgets a thing. Holidays are his favorite time, he can use his cheat sheet to get you the best gifts! And when he sends them to your house during these times it doesn't raise as much of an eyebrow, maybe it was a relative who forgot to write their name. You never noticed either that you had the premium version of every app you use, paying for just an ad free experience would seem like a joke to you!

Hacker Yandere who wasn't a perfect person, who is? Okay, so maybe he also catalogued any nude or lewd photos he found. Is it a crime to love someone so deeply that no one else does it for you? And maybe he uses the location tracker on your device to show up where you are and watch you from afar. He's just making sure you're safe! There's only so much he can do from behind a screen, if someone tried to hurt you in real life he had to be there too. He would never dream of doing anything malicious with these perks, and especially never share them with anyone else. You didn't know it, but with him around every corner, you lived a privileged life, where you would want for nothing, and all he wanted was you.

[chunghasweetie]

𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x gangsta!jjk

— summary | gangsta jk wants to crash at her place but she got a lil some up her sleeve

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

cussing, angst, smut, unprotected sex, illegal activities, gun play, mention of head, oc gets fucked with a gun, whining, cum eating, dirty talk.

— word count | 3.9k words

— song suggestion | gangsta (orchestra ver) —kehlani

It was the same thing everyday.

Work, go home, sleep.

Nothing ever changed and it had been like that for way too long.

She needed to switch things up somehow but she didn’t even have the energy to think of what could solve her issues.

Until he came along.

The two met at the liquor store randomly at around 2am. They reached for the same bottle, chuckling at the similar intention.

She immediately caught his eye. Which was surprising to her since she was in her pajamas with messy hair and no makeup.

He asked for her number and they had little meetups here and there.

He was so secretive and mysterious about what he was doing. Not in a gross, womanizer way. In a way that made her want to learn more about him.

He was ‘Jeon’ in her phone. She didn’t even have his full name.

He was inked up in tattoos. Tall and definitely bulky with muscle all over him. He was crafted beautifully.

He had a nice car. She noticed the extremely dark tint and possibly illegal modifications applied to the vehicle.

She had no clue what kind of job he worked or what he did in his day to day life.

Until one day he finally told her. He was the Jeon Jungkook that had been on the run for multiple crimes and ran a large gang in the city.

And she’d been fucking him the entire time.

He knew from the start she wouldn’t turn him in. He had her wrapped around her finger.

He knew all about her dilemma. How she needed that change in her life.

He was more than willing to provide that escape.

She craved something new, and he was just the man to give it to her.

“Let me come over baby.” He spoke on the other line. “Miss you.”

She was on her couch, biting her lip.

She knew he was not a good man at all. She knew that from the beginning. For years she promised herself she’d never be associated with any one of the sort.

Always following the rules got so boring.

“Don’t be like that.” Jungkook hummed. “I just wanna see you. You don’t want to see me Y/n?”

His voice was so dominant and demanding. He was strict and for right to it.

He somehow was able to have his own phone number that was untraceable by the police.

He was crazy good at avoiding getting caught.

“Okay.” Y/n gave in.

“Mm knew you’d be smart about this.” Jungkook chuckled to her, hanging up and getting in his car to head to her apartment.

She tilted her head back on her couch, sighing.

She didn’t think it would come to this. She thought things like this only happened in stories or in the movies.

This was the last thing she was thinking about. She couldn’t help herself though.

How could she? Jungkook may have been a criminal but he was so hot.

His voice was like a pied piper.

She was so drawn to him. His looks, his charisma, his body, everything.

She wouldn’t call it love. She couldn’t call it love. It was mere attraction and that’s all she labeled it as.

She always thought he looked like he was straight out of a TV show. Although he was rough around the edges, he was super sweet and caring considering what his lifestyle was like.

“Open up mama! Cold as fuck out here!” He yelled out, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Jungkook was at her apartment door, dressed in his white tank and tan cargo pants. His tank emphasized his muscular, tattooed arms so well.

He had a bouquet of roses in his hand, waiting for his girl to answer the door.

He was always doing such romantic gestures for her. There would be nights he wouldn’t want to do anything sexual. Simply coming over to spend time with her.

Once Y/n opened the door, he couldn’t help but curve his lips into a smile.

“Well look at you.” His eyes moved from the bottom to the top of her body. “Gorgeous.” He stepped in, immediately wrapping his arms around her once she shut the door.

She took a silent inhale. He smelt so damn good.

Maybe it was something in the cologne he was wearing that made her so attached to him. His scent instantly sent her into a trance.

“Hey.” Y/n replied. “Was just about to make dinner.”

“You were?” He mumbled against her neck. “Make me something baby.”

She nodded, agreeing. “You’re gonna have to let go of me.”

“Ugh fine.” He groaned. “Spending the night again. Cops looking for me alllll over.”

He knew they’d never find him, but the excuse always worked.

“That’s fine.” She nodded.

She did get anxious when he’d say things like that.

He was a fugitive and she was keeping him in her home.

Jungkook went up to her room, getting comfy in the clothes he already had over there.

She had started cooking for the both of them, making some chicken and rice dish she seen online.

As Y/n focused on her cooking, Jungkook was leaning back on the counter, simply staring at her.

“I like this.”

“You like what?” She blinked.

“Seeing you all domestic and shit.” He chuckled.

“I’m just cooking dinner.” She smiled.

“Mm it’s more than that.” He chuckled. “Making me a nice meal, having clean clothes for me, gonna tuck me into bed later. Love when we play house like this Y/n.”

She blushed. “I guess it is nice.”

“Food smells good.” Jungkook inhaled. “You smell better.” He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’m wearing that perfume you bought me last week.” She told him as she was making his plate.

“Oh really? It smells even better than it did in the store.” He hummed against her neck. “You’re wearing the jewelry I bought you too.”

“Of course. Never taking it off.” She chuckled.

“Good. If I’m iced out my girl gotta be too.” He planted a kiss on her neck.

“Well it’s very nice to be spoiled like this.” She giggled, handing him his plate. “Now go eat while it’s hot.”

He removed his body from hers, taking a seat at the table.

“Taste test it baby.” She told him, “I’ll start eating in a minute.”

He nodded, trying the food.

“How is it? Good?”

"Good's an understatement. Shit's fucking amazing, baby." He takes another bite and watches her.

“Yay! Happy you like it.” Y/n replied from the kitchen, trying to clean up some of her mess.

"You ain't made yourself a plate yet? Come here and sit." He looked over at her.

“Okay okay.” She nodded, getting a beer from the fridge for him. She made herself a plate finally and sat down at the table.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest after she set the beer down in front of him. "Ain't no one else gonna take care of me like this. I’m lucky to have you.”

“You are.” She laughed. “Doubt any of those other girls know how to care of you.”

“What other girls?” He rose his eyebrow. “Jealous of the girls I’m around?”

“How could I not be?” She questioned. “I just don’t understand.”

He smirks as he picks up the beer and takes a long swig, his throat moving as he swallows.

“Don’t understand what?”

“Why you stick around me.” She spoke. “There’s girls who do the same shit you do. You and your boys go out and there’s strippers and bottle girls. I’m a regular ass person.”

He frowned at her, looking honestly confused. "What the fuck you talking about mama?" He asked as he leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

"I chose you because of you. Fuck all these other bitches. You're the only one who can handle my shit." He said honestly.

“That can’t just be it.” She shook her head.

“So what? You think I’m just in it for a good fuck?”

“That’s not— exactly it.” She sighed.

She could tell he’s growing a bit irritated but it was bugging her.

She knew guys hated that sappy shit. But she couldn’t help that she was getting her emotions get in the way.

He leaned back again, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared at her from across the table before speaking.

"Then fucking tell me, Y/n. What is it?" He asked, his voice growing softer but still holding onto that edge of annoyance.

“Forget it. Nevermind.” She sighed, finishing her food and taking her plate to the sink to wash it.

He watched her finish her food and take the plate to the sink. "You can't start a conversation like that and then drop it, babe." He said.

He began walking up behind her as she washed the plate. "You wanna know why I'm with you?

“I just want to know what we’re doing here. You’ve been coming over for months now and you’re doing all these romantic things for me and I just want to know what’s up.” She spoke honestly.

He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist gently, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I like you here, like this. I like showing you a good time, you know?" He turned her around in his arms and gazed down at her.

“What does that even mean” She mumbled as she washed plates.

He lifted a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing against it gently. "It means I like being with you, mama. It feels...right.”

He leaned in closer to her, eyes searching hers. "I like spoiling you, taking care of you. Feels different than anyone before..."

As much as she wanted to pester him more about the subject, she didn’t say anything else.

He seemed to notice the hesitance and smiled softly, ducking his head to press a soft kiss against her lips. "You don't gotta overthink it, Y/n. It's just...good, okay? You know I love you.”

She finished up the dishes, putting them away to dry.

He watched her for a moment, before moving to her side and starting to help her with cleaning.

His hand brushed against yours, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Y/n, it's okay. I promise you." He whispered, leaning in to press another kiss against her temple. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She thanked him. Her lips curved into a smile. “I mean it is cute to see this buff tattooed bad guy get all sappy and shit for me for me.”

He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes crinkling up with amusement. "You better not tell anyone" He threatened, his voice dropping lower as he spoke. "You love it though...”

“I guess I do.”

He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I know you do." He whispered, his arms tightening around her as he let out a content sigh. "You're the only one who gets to see this side of me.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky then.” She laughed. “I was successfully able to tame the beast.”

He chuckled lightly and pressed a kiss to her neck, holding his arms tighter around her.

"You did more than tame the beast, baby...you own me completely. Shit, you could put a leash and collar on my ass anytime." He whispered hotly against her neck, his lips ghosting over her skin as he spoke.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his joke.

“I could keep you laughing and satisfied all day, if you'll just let me." He mumbled.

“Oh I’d let you anyyyy day of the week.” She laughed. “See what you’ve done to me?”

“I haven’t done shit baby that was all you.” He chuckled.

“Whatever.”

"Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever you say, baby." He picked her up effortlessly, “Let’s go upstairs hm?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” She agreed, allowing him to take her.

He chuckled, lifting her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs as he kissed her thighs and gave your ass a playful squeeze. "Look at you...so fucking fine. You know I can't resist."

“Oh my gosh Jungkook.” She blushed as they got inside her room.

"That's right, babe. I got you...right where I want you." He tossed her onto the bed before crawling up to her body, kissing and nibbling at her neck. "If only these walls could talk..."

“Jungkook!” She hid her face in embarrassment, getting flashbacks of all the different things they had done in her room.

"Oh come on, don't hide from me now, Y/n." He kissed her cheek as he caressed her face.

"Do you remember the first time we fucked in this room?" Jungkook smirked and laughed. "You were begging for my cock, mama.”

“That’s not what happened!” She instantly denied.

Jungkook laughed harder, his eyes shining mischievously.

"Oh yes, you were mama don’t play! And when you finally got it you were screaming your lungs out. Kept going on and on about how it was the best sex you’ve ever had…” He continued, not giving her the chance to speak.

“This is so humiliating.” She groaned, hiding her face in embarrassment by flipping the blanket over her face.

Jungkook tugged the blanket down a little, showing her face again. "Don't be shy, Y/n. I fucking loved it when I made you scream my name. And made you cum on the first try?" He crawled on top of her again, his knees on either side of her hips.

“You’re so annoying.”

Jungkook chuckled. "That's not what you were saying when I had my cock in your mouth, babe."

His eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned down to kiss her. "I can make you forget all about your embarrassment again, if you want?"

“How’re you going to do that?” She asked, playing dumb.

Jungkook kissed her slowly, running his tongue along the edge of her lips.

He reached down between her legs and began rubbing, his touch firm and confident. "Do I need to give you a reminder right now?"

He immediately earned a soft moan from her, making him to smirk to himself.

Jungkook smiled mischievously, his fingers never leaving that soft spot between her thighs.

"That's a good girl. Just like that." He began driving his fingers in rhythm with his tongue, letting out a moan of his own. "Is this better, Y/n?”

“Mhm!” She moaned, nodding her head quickly.

Jungkook chuckled against her lips, picking up the pace at her small moan.

"You're fucking soaked, you know that, right mama?" His voice was low, amused. "Looks like I can still make you wet."

She could feel his gun pressed against her from his waistband. It drove her fucking insane with lust.

Jungkook felt her press closer, rubbing against his gun. He smirked at her before moving his hand, placing the gun in plain sight for her.

"See something you like, babe?" He said with a chuckle, twirling it around his finger.

“I-I feel it.” She croaked. She had always been curious about his gun in ways she never thought she was the type to fantasize about.

Jungkook grinned, setting it down gently. "Wanna touch it, babe?" His voice was low and inviting.

He took a step back, giving her room to move. "Just be careful, though. It's loaded." He teased.

She nodded quietly, “I do.”

Jungkook watched her grab the gun, letting you get a feel for its weight. He didn't interrupt, just watch her curiously.

"You like?" He asked with a smirk. "Don't tell me you have some kind of fetish for guns."

“I- um.” She swallowed, “Something like that? Well I’ve never done anything but— I’ve been curious.” She handed his gun back to him.

Jungkook took the gun carefully, his smirk growing into a full-on grin. "I knew it."

He whispered seductively. "Why don't we test out that curiosity of yours?" He suggested with a raise of his eyebrow.

“How?”

Jungkook pulled her a little bit closer, his free hand wandering up her side before resting on the edge of her waist.

"Do you want me to fuck you with it? How does that sound?" He smirked, unloading the gun in front of her. He places the gullets on her nightstand.

She nodded, letting a quiet ‘please’ slip from her lips.

Jungkook let out a low growl at her response, his grip on the gun tightening.

"You like that idea, Y/n?" He asked. His free hand wandered to the hem of her shirt, slowly lifting it upwards. "Lay back."

She didn’t hesitate to do so, laying back.

Jungkook bit his lip seductively as he looked down at her, the gun clicking gently in his fingers. "Fuck, yes." He said admiringly.

He bit his lip, placing the gun down in a position of reach before trailing his fingers lower and low on her stomach.

Her pussy was sopping wet with need. Her core aching as she watched the now unloaded gun in his hand.

Jungkook watched her with a lustful gaze as he heard her words, biting his lip again before placing the gun on her lip.

"You're so fucking wet for me already, huh? Mama so ready to get fucked with my gun huh baby?" He asked.

“So pretty Y/n.” His hand sliding lower still until he could feel her wetness. “Get the gun all nice and wet for me baby.”

She kept her gaze on him, spitting and sucking on the muzzle the gun like she was told to.

Jungkook groaned at the sight, glancing down at her almost hungrily. "Fucking hell you're such a hungry little girl, y'know that?"

Jungkook couldn't resist her whiny plea any longer, as he pulled the gun out of her mouth.

He lined the gun muzzle up with her entrance. He slowly slid the gun inside of her, gasping at the sight.

A gasp and an ‘oh fuck’ left her lips. Once adjusted, she instantly melted into the feeling, a moan leaving her lips.

It felt better than how she ever could’ve imagined it to be.

Jungkook groaned at her reaction, watching as he slowly slid the gun in and out of her.

"Fuck Y/n you're loving this aren't you? You're such a slut for my gun and I just now put it in you.” He chuckled.

“J-Jungkook” She moaned out his name, biting her lip. “Fuck that feels good.”

With her voice echoing his name, Jungkook lost control of his actions.

He began thrusting the gun in and out of her faster, even pulling her legs over his shoulders.

"Shit you like watching me fuck your pussy with my gun huh?” He spoke to her. “Been practically humping me for weeks. All that to get to my gun huh baby?”

It was so true.

Whenever they made out she would get super close and grind herself on the imprint of his gun. She almost could cum off just rubbing against it.

“Oh fuck yes!” She whined, “Jungkook I fucking love this.”

Jungkook loved her weak voice. Watching her squirm only made him plunge the gun faster.

"Looking so good taking it in. I wanna fuck you all day like this." He whispered seductively in her ear, sucking on her bottom lip.

Her wetness coated the gun, “F-Fuck oh my gosh” She whimpered. “A-All this time I— Fuck” She could hardly talk.

With the gun still inside of her, Jungkook grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

"All this time you wanted my gun? Every day I'd bend you over and plow you right... fucking... here..." He grunted. “But this gun was all you really wanted hm?”

“Mmm I— just wanted it so bad jungkook you don’t understand.” She quivered her lip.

A smirk appeared on his face as he began to thrust the gun harder and deeper inside her.

"I understand now baby. I know how badly you wanted it." He growled, grabbing her hips with both hands.

Jungkook smirked, thrusting the gun even harder, making her whimper. "You're such a dirty little slut for me. That's right baby, tell me how much you need my gun to get off.”

“Jungkook please— Feels so fucking good. Never had anything like this. Mm— such a slut.” She was rambling.

The way the gun was penetrating her made her whine with pleasure as it stretched her in the best way possible.

“Came so— so many times. Just from the thought.” She kept going. “Fuck— I was changing the sheets every damn hour”

His cocky grin widened as he pressed the gun deeper, his other hand traveling down to her soaked pussy.

He teased her clit with his fingers, "That's my girl. I want you soaked for me every damn hour.”

“Fuck— You’re killing me.” The double stimulation overwhelmed her.

"Is that too much for you baby? Can't handle it?" He chuckled, thrusting the gun harder, before pressing his fingers deeper, curling them to hit her g-spot.

She gasped again, gripping onto the sheets. “I-I can just— Shit it’s too fucking good” She cursed, grabbing onto her breast with her other hand.

"You love it, don't you baby? When I take control like this." He leaned down, pressing his lips against her ear. "I own every inch of you, and you fucking know it. Whether it’s my cock or my gun.”

She was milking his gun with her juices, whimpering and whining. The gun was fucking her absolutely stupid.

“D-Don’t think I can take any more.” She managed to get out, “W-Wanna cum on the gun”

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head as he continued to thrust the gun into her, pulling the trigger back twice.

The empty clicks filling the room, while he got to touch her throbbing pussy. "You want to cum, huh mama?”

“Jungkook please” She begged him to cum. The sounds of the empty clicks driving her insane.

“You're crazy mama. Absolutely insane." He groaned.

He pulled the trigger back one last time, hearing the empty click after he was spent.

“Jungkook please! I want to cum so bad!” tears of pleasure ran down her cheeks.

"You're more desperate than I thought." Jungkook grabbed her hair, pulling hard as his other hand began rubbing your needy little clit hard.

"Cum on the gun Y/n."

She didn’t waste a second, letting her juices flow and drop down the gun barrel.

He felt his cock twitch at her screams as she came, splashing hot cum all over his hand and the gun.

"Good fucking girl. Now clean this shit up.” He aimed the muzzle of the gun facing her mouth.

“W-What? You want me to clean it?”

“That's what I said." He replied with a snarl as he began stroking his cock again, dripping wet cum from the tip of it.

She obeyed him, sucking and licking her cum off of the gun. She dragged her tongue all over the barrel, looking into his eyes as she did so.

His hands gripped the gun tightly as he watched her sucking and licking her cum off. It was perverted as hell, but his cock was twitching again.

His eyes darkened, and he felt his cock twitch at her words, the sight of her on her knees with his cum mixing with hers.

"I know.." He purred as he pulled the gun away from your her. "Now come here. I got something else for you to suck.”

[myloveobbsessed]

Hii!! I read your genderbend Astrid fic and was wondering if you can write some more of that or a dark! Hiccup x fem reader? You don't have too!😸

𝐀𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

•••

Genre: fluff

Warnings: some unhealthy behaviors

Characters: slight yandere! Hiccup Haddock x femreader

Notes: I'm kinda getting used to writing this kind of genre so it might be a bit bad.

•••

Obsessed.

That’s what Hiccup Haddock was.

Ever since the two of you were in diapers, he never wanted you far from his side. He didn’t like you making other friends. according to him, he was all you needed.

Wherever you were, the brunette wasn’t far behind. The two of you even discovered Toothless together. For the longest time, he was too nervous to confess his feelings. But the moment he saw someone else showing interest in you, that hesitation vanished. He blurted out his feelings on the spot and was overjoyed when you accepted them.

Unlike everyone else who eventually bonded with and rode their own dragons, your boyfriend insisted you always ride with him on Toothless. “It’s too dangerous to ride alone,” he’d say.

And honestly if you had to describe him in a word or two it be possessive and…overprotective. He thinks that you should even consider yourself lucky that's he's letting you step off berk.

“Look Hiccup I think they like me” the dragon nuzzles it head against you licking your face. You were on feeding duty for the dragons when one began showing you a bit more attention.

Your boyfriend strides over to you “they don't ‘like you’ you just smell like fish is all”. Hiccup plucks one of the fresh dead fish from the bucket and tossing it away causing the dragon to immediately go after it.

“Hey!” You look at him a bit offended by his words almost discreetly smeeling yourself. “I do not”.

Hiccup just gave you a triumphant little smirk, arms crossed as he watched the dragon chase after the tossed fish like an eager puppy. “Told you,” he said smugly.

You gave him a look. “They were being sweet! It’s not a crime to be loved, you know.” you huff “if you're jealous you can just say that”

Hiccup scoffs with a chuckle “Jealous? Of a flying reptile? Please I'm more mature than that”

You roll your eyes but perk up a bit “so then you'll let me have my own dragon now?” your boyfriend shakes his head moving a hand to your shoulder.

“You already know this” you sigh when hearing his response and try to bargain with him. “Oh c'mon ill be the safest rider you know. Plus its not like I'm just going to just jump off its back”

Hiccup’s hold on your shoulder slightly tightens as a more irritated look forms on his face. “I don't see any reason why you would need one. I don't know why you continue to pester me about it”

A frown appears on your face, your brows furrowing. “Why not? Everyone else has one even the twins and I wouldn't exactly call them the sharpest tools in the shed…do you think I'm just too stupid or something?” you huff crossing your arms “I'm just as much as a Viking as you, I can take care of myself Hiccup”

Even if you attempted to go against your boyfriends words and connect with another dragon. he would always make toothless scare the winged beast off.

A dark look flickers in hiccups eyes at your defiance but it quickly disappears. “I know you can..but you would be safer just riding with me. I mean look at this is what happens when dragon riding”

He motions down to his pegleg and staring at it makes you feel a bit guilty and sighing you reluctantly nod. “Okay..”

Your agreement, quiet and reluctant, seems to satisfy him. Hiccup’s expression softens immediately. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, his voice dropping to that familiar soothing tone he always used when he felt like he was winning.

“See?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just want what’s best for you.”

You nod again, though it feels more like surrender than agreement. He always said the right words caring, thoughtful, even reasonable. But it was getting harder to ignore how often his “care” came with silent ultimatums.

Toothless padded up beside you both. You reached out and ran your hand along his scales, but the gesture felt hollow now. You weren’t sure whether the dragon was truly your friend anymore…or just another set of eyes for Hiccup.

“Maybe one day,” you say quietly, “you’ll trust me to fly on my own.”

Hiccup didn’t respond right away.

And when he did, it was with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe,” he said. But you didn’t believe him.

•••

You kick your shoes off and sit down on your bed with a long sigh. The silence only stays for a few moments before hiccup enters the house. You suppress a small groan as he sets his things down on the table before going on a. Rant about his father again. While you just nod along and hum still in a bit of a sour mood.

“He wants me to take over berk” the brunette paces around the room. “Being chief just isn't fit for me and he can't see that”

“Mhm”

“I don't want to stay in the village all day, I want to be free and discover new islands”

“Mhm”

Hiccups stops and looks at you who's staring off into space his brows furrowing a bit. “Are you even listening to me?”

His comment snaps you put of it as your gaze travels back to him. Though you just shrug “I don't know Hiccup maybe you should be chief…then you wont be looking over my shoulder twenty-four seven..” you suggest mumbling the last part.

His eyes narrow arms crossing. “what? You're on his side?”

The shift in Hiccup’s tone is immediate defensive, sharp. You feel it more than hear it. That subtle but familiar tension that always creeps in whenever you try to push back, even just a little.

You sit up straighter. “I’m not on anyone’s side, Hiccup,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm. “Im just saying maybe being chief would be good for you, with all your quailtes you'd be a great leader! And then you won't have to keep an eye on me”

The young viking steps closer to you. “You will always be in my line of sight” he says in slight possessive tone. “Especially when we're married my dad pesters me about that as well”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words not expecting them. “Marriage?! Isn't a bit too early for that? I mean what if I'm not the right person you want? People fall out of love you know”

For some reason the thought of marrying your childhood friend now boyfriend seemed to have you debating whether or not you wanted too.

Hiccup’s expression darkens just a little, the sharp glint returning to his eyes.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he says firmly, almost too firmly. “I’ve known since we were kids that it was always going to be you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out right away. As the weight of his words settle. You’d always cared for him of course you had. He was your best friend for as long as you could remember. But things… changed. The older you got, the more you realized that his care often came with tight reins.

You force a laugh, trying to lighten the moment. “Yeah, well, maybe you always knew, but I didn’t really get a say in it, did I?”

His brow furrows, and for a second, his confidence falters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You hesitate. “It means I’m still figuring things out. About what I want. About who I want. And… it kind of feels like you’ve already made every decision for me before I had the chance to think.”

Hiccup’s jaw clenches, a flicker of something hurt flashing through his expression. “I just wanted to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But sometimes it feels like you want to own me.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Hiccup looks away, shoulders tense. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t have a quick answer or a comforting phrase to win you back over.

You stand slowly, brushing past him, needing the space. “I’m not saying I don’t care about you,” you add. “But I need to know who I am outside of us. And you need to let me.”

He watches you, unmoving, And though he doesn’t reach for you this time, his voice follows you as you start to walk away.

“I’m not letting you go.”

It’s quiet, low but not uncertain.

And that, more than anything, is what sends a chill down your spine.

•••

[sapphicstrawcore]

✄ Modern loser!sevika au: Headcanons pt3

—college version!

I’m such a dumb fuck I forgot to add the tags so I’m writing it again 😍

part one, part two, part three

masterlist ᰔ

At first, she wanted to study mechanical engineering. But through time with her mech arm, she decided it’s not bc she lives with a prosthetic that it means she wants her entire academic identity wrapped up in it. So— math major Sevika, there she is.

She likes maths, one of the only class she didn’t fail and actually almost enjoyed. She’s a good student, and was okay in highschool, but her grades in college are so much better for some reasons. Maybe it’s because she can do whatever she wants in her own student life. Like she’s more free and alone in her dorm so she can study in peace and all… she likes college better than she liked highschool. She didn’t like highschool actually.

Her short hair was a complete accident. But the thing is— she was fully sober.

It was the night right before her first day in college. She tried to tie up her hair like she always used to—but now? Her prosthetic fingers won’t grip the elastic right. It kept slipping. She’s was trying not to cry. Tried again. Failed again. So she went crazy and just cut it all until she realized in the mirror of her small bathroom how terrible it looked. But fuck it, at least she didn’t have to tie it up anymore.

It was one of her most and worst loser moment.

So when she shows up to class like everything was fine and someone asks her if it was her own choice or— “yeah, it was.”

When you catch her nervously tugging the back of her hoodie to hide how bad the cut is, and it’s kind of… heartbreakingly cute? Ridiculous but tenderly so.

If someone’s sitting there? she’ll just hover until they leave. It’s her spot now.

She always has big-ass over-ear headphones on. Not Beats—like, vintage Sony or something clunky.

College ? She’s not there to flirt, she’s not there to vibe, she’s not even there to “find herself.” Nah she came to college to shut up, study, and survive. But sometimes when she has three hours of the same class she just can’t anymore and play games too cause all the students are so tired of this shit.

The first two hours are good. She’s focused, on the verge of renaming herself Oppenheimer. But the third ? She can’t. She silently pulls out her Nintendo Switch from her ratty backpack like she’s committing a federal crime. No shame at all though— Just pops in headphones and starts playing Breath of the Wild, Hades, or Hollow Knight. Something chill to help her survive the last two hours.

Loser Sevika but Ykw ? College change her just a little bit— and she joins the baseball team of her uni:

She’s not a team player at first. Hates the locker room noise. Barely speaks at practice. But when she hits the ball? Her form is raw, unpolished but explosive.

The coach sees her swing once and didn’t hesitate.

Big ass tank woman she is doesn’t even like running bases, she just wants to hit and stand around. But even if she’s quite the weird frightening girl of her team, the other girls respect and some of them quite like her.

During finals week it’s more like it’s her final week. Her desk is a graveyard of crumpled cans: Monster, Red Bull, whatever cheap energy drink the vending machine sells. She drinks them warm, psycho.

She keeps forgetting to eat, but somehow doesn’t forget to smoke ?? She’ll disappear for 6 minutes, come back reeking of Marlboros and renewed rage.

Her handwriting becomes illegible by the third day. One professor calls her “enigmatic.” The others say “concerning.”

dividers @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug, @riotstemple29

[mangocurist]

@daylilie @jumped-for-the-yaoi be normal this time pleaseeee. anyway so zincewam writing(ls s6 zam and uu wemmbu :)) and now im gonna fuck off to go watch zams stream

✶⋆.˚⋆˙⟡𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✶⋆.˚⋆˙⟡𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✶⋆.˚⋆˙⟡𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✶⋆.˚⋆˙⟡𖤓

Zam isn’t sure what she’s expecting when she meets Wemmbu again, somewhere around ninety-seven days plus a month or so since his (as of now) final death on Lifesteal. 

Honestly, Zam hadn’t even thought he’d ever be talking to Wemmbu again— at least, not before Season Six ended. But her return to the server had its consequences: namely, being kidnapped by one SpokeIsHere and being brought to a random private server to ‘wait until Wemmbu shows up.’ 

Because that was a totally valid way to treat someone you hadn’t talked to in ninety seven days! Yeah, Spoke, let’s just— drag Prince Zam wherever you want! Seriously, if she hadn’t burned her Oath already, she’d be considering it now because of that guy.

Still. It’s… Zam supposes it’s not such a bad thing to talk to Wemmbu again, even if he is still a bit mad at the way this was set up.

After all, he’s not the same Wemmbu who tormented her for the sole crime of caring more about building than she did chaos. That Wemmbu— well, Zam’s pretty sure that Wemmbu had died long before now, even. But… she doesn’t know what she’ll make of this one. And frankly, Zam isn’t sure what this Wemmbu will make of him, either, because he’s not the same Prince Zam that he was ninety-seven days ago. And she certainly isn’t the same Prince Zam who was around at the start of the server.

But— well. Whatever she could have been expecting, this isn’t it.

“Oh. It’s you,” Wemmbu says after he finally logs on, his eyes widening for a second before lowering into a tired glare, and he sounds— defeated. He looks defeated, even if he doesn’t necessarily dress like it, clad in an unfamiliar copper-trimmed cyan cloak and sporting a glowing eye halo above his head. It isn’t right— the Wemmbu Zam knows would be gloating or annoying or doing his best to make Zam upset right about now, flexing status or clothes or whatever the hell he holds against him this time. He wouldn’t be… well. He wouldn’t be looking at Zam like he’s afraid of him.

It gives Zam a bad, bad rush of deja vu, like that same sickening feeling he’d felt when he talked to Mapicc, only to find out that in the time she’d spent away from the rest of the server they’d managed to break her Mapicc down to nothing. 

What the hell had happened?

“Wemmbu?” Zam says, the word coming out as more of a question than a greeting. “Hey, man… uh. Long time no see?”

“It’s been a few months,” Wemmbu acknowledges, and… yeah. Okay. Seems like Zam wasn’t the only one keeping score, then. “...Sooo. Are you building another Empire or something? Seems like a pretty bad move. You know. With what happened last time.” He motions to her clothes, and Zam blinks, confused for just a second, before he remembers what he’s wearing.

“No, no, um— I— I left behind building empires a while ago. You… uh. You shouldn’t know about the Prince Zam Empire, anyway,” Zam coughs awkwardly into the crook of her arm, suddenly a little self conscious of how overgeared she looks compared to an armor-less Wemmbu. Maybe that’s why he looked so… downtrodden? He thought she’d try and jump him, maybe? The armor he and Derap had gathered earlier that day suddenly feels a little heavier, a little bit too much for her to wear, and she hurriedly strips herself of her chestplate, pants and helmet, leaving her only in Atlas’s netherite-trimmed diamond boots and her plain clothes without any other protection. “That was— that was like, a Season Three thing. I think. You weren’t around for that.” 

Wemmbu’s eyebrows furrow. “What? Season Three? I wasn’t… what do you mean?” 

“Yeah— yeah! I, uh. You know. Got executed and like, toyed with, by a rainbow-bandanna wearing God, or whatever. Bad times. But you shouldn’t… you weren’t around for that,” Zam explains hurriedly, hands fiddling with the edge of her cloak. He pauses when his fingers hit the edge of the Wemmbu pin on the cloak, and drops it like a hot potato. Wemmbu’s probably looking at her weird now. She doesn’t blame him. “I’m… uh. Not a pacifist now anymore, either. But— I’m never doing an Empire again. Just… just Zaun, but that’s like, a commune of sorts, you know?” 

Wemmbu’s expression flickers, and then, his eyes seem to harden. “Riiiiiight. So, we’re just making shit up now?”

“What?” Zam blinks, bewildered. This was not the way he was expecting this conversation to go. “Uh— no….? I don’t know what you mean, dude.”

“The Empire. Your Empire, that you betrayed me over,” Wemmbu says, his hands flying to his hair, looking like a mess. “All the shit you did to me, in— in the Prince Zam Empire, in the Proton Prison— all of that, are you just gonna pretend none of that shit ever happened?”

“Wemmbu, I—”

“Yippity yappity, whatever, bro, I literally don’t care what you have to say about— your make believe ‘Season Three’ shit, you, like— can you be fucking serious? And, like, talk about what you did to me?” Wemmbu grips his own wrists, as if he wants to reach out and shake Zam by the shoulders but doesn’t trust himself to. Zam just watches, that awful feeling sinking deeper and deeper into his gut. 

This isn’t the Wemmbu she knows, is he?

“I don’t know what— what this… what your Zam did to you. Because— I don’t think you’re the Wemmbu I know. So, I don’t— think we’re on the same page here,” Zam tells him, voice level. She forces her hands to stay still, clenching them at the sides of her body as she meets Wemmbu in his red-rimmed eyes. “Look. Just— I know, I know, it sounds stupid, and I probably sound like I’m lying, but— but just hear me out for a second, alright? And if I say anything you don’t get, or want me to explain, I’ll… I’ll do that. Just… give me a moment.”

“...Fine.” Wemmbu says. A tear slips down his cheek, and Zam wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe it off, but when she reaches out, he steps back, a little jittery motion that makes her heart crack a little more.

“Okay. Okay. That’s… alright. I— I’ll start with Season Five, where we first met.” Zam inhales, and still holding Wemmbu’s gaze, she starts to explain.

She can only hope that this Wemmbu will be able to trust him with whatever his Zam did to him.