#(Shadow lost the ring LMAO)

[val-of-the-north]

Tibia Mariners and Those Lost in Death

While I am at it, I should talk about a detail found in Messmer's Shadow Keep. On the way to the Specimen Storehouse, you'll be faced with a peculiar sight: boats lit on fire.

This seems to be a callback to Viking funerals, except the boats are placed in a row and burnt on land. It's certainly an odd practice, but it might only be done this way because Messmer's forces are far from an accessible shore or water that's deep enough to perform it normally.

However, something else caught my eye. The boats looked quite familiar so I went back to check and...

It was the EXACT model as the boats used by the Tibia Mariners! Perhaps it is obvious seeing as the Messmer boats are used in a funerary rite, but I think it's still quite a significant connection, especially since the old Mariners have gotten quite a bit of new lore in the DLC. In Charo's Hidden Grave we can find the skulls of boatmen as a crafting material, presumably that of previous Tibia Mariners.

This is outright confirmed after finding the lone Tibia Mariner in the area, who upon defeat drops the Tibia's Cookbook, which describes them as the oldest of grave keepers.

(Btw I love the detail of the piece of lace cloth and golden ornaments, they are the same found on the Mariners themselves. They even come with the same ghostly glow)

This is quite the revelation, as prior to Shadow of the Erdtree we had no way of knowing that these guys actually predated the spread of Deathroot and Godwyn's transformation into the Prince of Death. And how could we doubt that, since they even drop Deathroot themselves? But there was something that most people have neglected to note about the Mariners, me included.

In the base game, the Tibia Mariner found in the Wyndham Ruins drops a spell called Tibia's Summons. This inconspicuous sorcery of the servants of death actually holds a perplexing description which mentions a group known as "Those Lost in Death".

There was something seemingly redundant and unexplained about these guys. What does "Lost in Death" mean? Why aren't they simply called "Those Who Live in Death"? It wouldn't blame anyone for assuming that this description just contains an outdated term for the undead before they stuck with the one used in-game. However, through the Tibia's Cookbook, we find a NEW reference to this same concept.

Roughly the same title (Those Lost in Death = one lost in death), the same underlying sentiment, and we have verifiable proof that the Tibia Mariners are outright ancient... so what's the deal with this? Well, I have a theory.

The descriptions of these things hint at the fact that the dead have been wandering for a very long time, and that they are in need of leadership. Before the DLC, it was easy to assume that the undead were simply a result of Deathroot, and the game seemed to suggest the same thing by stating multiple times that it was the origin of Those Who Live in Death...

... but that's the thing! Prior to Deathroot connecting them to Godwyn, the undead amounted only to shambling corpses. They were not LIVING in Death, but simply LOST in it, which is how the Mariners were able to control them in ancient times through the use of sounds, both their horns and the Calls of Tibia. It's only through the guidance of a lord, in this case the Prince of Death, that they found an identity and new life.

It's likely the undead waned in the era of Marika because of her elaborate Erdtree burials and general control of life and death. Heck, the figure of Rosus, who guides us to the Catacombs, must have also played a big part in their disappearance. His axe has a similar power to the Tibia's Summons and it's called Rosus's Summons. Its description also mentions that the dead easily lose their way, meaning that Rosus was meant to lend the dead a guiding hand. "Those Lost in Death" would be lost no more.

Without people Lost in Death, the Mariners kind of lost their purpose and vanished for a long time... until the Shattering and the rise of Those Who Live in Death of course. It might mean that the only reason they hold onto Deathroot is because it attracts and connects the new undead.

I guess Godwyn was meant to be a sort of "lighthouse" for all undead. He would make sure they never lost themselves but also that they would be allowed to live instead of being forced back to rest like with Rosus and Marika. Him being a "lighthouse" also fits the marine theme that all this death business is going for quite neatly I think...

But to return to what started this... maybe those boats lit on fire are Messmer's way of making sure the soldiers of his army aren't lost to death after their passing. A way to give them a proper rest the way Marika would have wanted, even though he is limited in what he can do about it. The Catacombs are now corrupted with Deathroots and Godwyn's corpse bodies, and guarded by his fervent golden Death Knights.

(P.S. - I didn't know where to put this, but "Charo" is one letter off from Charon, the ferryman of the dead in Greek mythology. Seeing as the place is connected to the Tibia Mariners, who shepherded Those Lost in Death in an age long past, I find that this connection might not be mere coincidence...)

[tales-of-green-hill]

This comic follows Sonic's story after the conclusion of the Shadow Arc

You might also want to check out This Comic!

Also, this is the beginning of the following arc!

After activating the gateway ring and going through it.

[Next Part]

Here's some old art! (The design of the gateway ring has been altered since)

It's supposed to look pretty and magical instead of icky and gross

[mydadleft471]

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Messmer decides to surprise you in more ways than one.

Spoilers for both Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings tho, just me loving my fiery redhead.

MESSMER LOVERS COME EAT!

I finally got the courage to upload the fic I was working on! Everyone was so nice (and starving for Messmer content) so I folded lmao. Please enjoy and understand that I have never written anything like this, especially with ye olde English. It's a pain.

“I have something I wish to show thee.” Messmer’s low voice cut through the silence reverberating in his chamber.

“What is it?” You look up from patching a hole in one of his cloaks.

“I cannot say. It is a surprise.” His eye twinkled with something akin to mischief. You put down your needle and gently fold his cloak, putting it on your chair to finish later.

“A surprise for me? Are you feeling alright, My Lord?” You smile at him from where he towers above you. 

“Shush. Wilt thou follow?” 

“Always,” you say.

He leads you down countless flights of stairs and through the castle’s corridors. Down a hallway, you follow him as he steps into a lift that takes you to a part of the castle that is unfamiliar to you. You assumed you had explored everything by now, but it seems you were wrong. Messmer had given you permission to freely roam the castle, and you had spent a lot of time exploring the various rooms. You had gotten lost many times within the many twisting and confusing hallways, but the castle staff always led you back to your quarters. 

The path from the lift leads out to a part of the castle almost entirely flooded. This seems like a place that hasn’t been occupied in many years. Some of the buildings you can see appear to be collapsing and debris litters the area. The water churns uneasily below you, as if something lurks in the depths. Taking a few steps away from the ledge, you stare out into the water that swallows surrounding buildings.

“What is it?” Messmer asks. He senses your trepidation in going any further, though you don’t think you have much to worry about with a powerful demigod at your side. Still, this place sets your nerves alight and has you on high alert.

“I’ve never seen this place before. Where are we?”

He speaks as if it’s common knowledge. “The Church District.”

“What happened here?”

He takes a second before he responds in a flat tone. “It does not matter.” Noticing your face falling slightly, he gives you a small smile. “Thy surprise is near. Come.”

You continue to follow him, your footfalls mere echoes of his much heavier ones. You wonder where he is taking you, and why he decided to surprise you. Though you have gotten much closer to him throughout your time in the Realm of Shadow, you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he wants to show you something himself. So many unanswered questions, though Messmer brings about many of those. Still, you cannot complain about how well he treats you now after you’ve earned some of his trust. You are safe within his walls, and you are welcome.

Though you wish he’d let you into his heart and mind more often, you take what you can get.

Finally, he stops in a room with a large, and complete, statue of Queen Marika. Many throughout the Realm of Shadow have been beheaded, sending icy chills through you when you first arrived, but this one is intact. The only signs of damage have been from the apparent age of the statue.

“Dost thou trust me?”

His question catches you off guard. Looking up at him, he looks vulnerable and almost uncomfortable. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have followed if I didn’t.” You smile at him to ease his tension.

He relaxes slightly. “Of course. I will ask thee to trust me again.”

You shoot him a puzzled look. How could you trust him any more than you already have?

“Close thine eyes. I shall lead thee, hand in hand.”

The prospect of him holding your hand makes heat rush to your cheeks, but you comply. Closing your eyes, you hold out your hands, and a few seconds later, he grabs them in his much larger ones. He holds them delicately, as if you might break if he dares to squeeze your hands. His skin is surprisingly smooth and warm. 

“I will ensure thou dost not fall and injure thyself..” 

“I’d appreciate that.”

He chuckles at your comment, a sound so rare and pleasant you want to hear it again and again. He begins walking, gently guiding you down a hill and you soon feel sunlight on your skin. The air feels lighter and there is a pleasant smell of lavender and fresh grass in the air. You wonder where you could possibly be. You haven’t seen much greenery in the Realm of Shadow.

After a few minutes he stops and lets go of your hands. You instantly miss his warmth, but you soon feel the heat of him behind you. You keep your eyes closed out of obedience and trust; you know he would not harm you.

His hands gently find your waist and he moves you a few steps to the left. Satisfied, he lowers a hand over your eyes to ensure you will not open them prematurely.

“This place is sacred. Inviting thee here was not a spontaneous act.” His voice is a mere whisper in your ear. You can’t tell whether to be scared or excited for what he will soon allow you to see.

He moves his hand away from your eyes, but they remain closed. You will not sully his trust. 

You can hear the smile in his voice. He’s pleased by your obedience. 

“Open thine eyes.”

You do, and you are immediately greeted with a grassy field speckled with vibrant flowers. You’ve never seen so many in one place. You think it would take all day to identify them. Trickles of gold sit suspended in the air like shattered stained glass and the sunlight kisses your skin sweetly. Not far up a hill is a small village made up of a few wooden houses. They look old and mostly abandoned. You take in the beauty before you. Not even Leyendell was this spectacular.

“Thou’rt pleased, I take it?” His voice wavers slightly with uncertainty.

“This is a most wonderful surprise, My Lord. Thank you for bringing me here.” You look up at Messmer, whose golden eye seems to shine brighter in the sanctity of this place.

“Forget formalities here.” He sits down in the soft grass and you are soon to join him. He looks relaxed, even happy, here.

“May I ask where we are now?” You idly skim your fingertips over the silky petals of the flowers swaying in the breeze around your skirt.

“Mother’s home. Her village before she became a God.” 

Your mouth hangs open in shock. It takes you a few moments to gather yourself enough to speak. “Queen Marika lived here?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Long ago.”

You wonder if Marika wanted Messmer to guard her old home, or if he does it out of love for her. You’ve seen the state of other Shamans within his infirmary, his medics working day and night to try and reverse the torture they’d went through. You knew Marika was a Shaman herself, but you’d never realized this place was originally her home. Your heart hurts for the God-Queen. Behind all her power was a girl who wanted her people safe.

You sigh, and Messmer shoots you a curious look. “This is the first time I’ve seen Marika as a person. Knowing she lived here, knowing she suffered… I understand now.”

Messmer reaches up and takes his helmet off, gently placing it to his side. “Mother desired revenge for her peoples’ suffering, and I became her instrument to do so here, in the Land of Shadow.”

“Did you want this?” 

He closes his eye. “Mother has endured what a thousand people could not. I will ensure she receives her long-awaited deliverance.” He dodged the question. He does not want this, but he desires to avenge Marika.

“I know you won’t answer me truthfully, and we don’t have to talk about this anymore. But know this: you are not ‘The Impaler’ to me.”

“Thank you.” His response is so quiet you almost can’t hear it, despite being right next to him.

As promised, you change the subject. “Have you brought others here?”

He looks away and you can see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I have not. The first to lay eyes on this place is thee.” He admits.

“Why?”

“I-“ he begins. “Surely thou must know thy importance to me, yes?” 

The realization hits you. 

This is his way of saying he loves you.

You scoot closer to him and lay your head against his arm. You feel him tense, then slowly begin to relax. One of his snakes gently perches itself on your shoulder. You smile.

“You can touch me, you know.” You reassure him. “You won’t break me.”

Silence hangs in the breeze as you wait for him to respond.

“Dost thou understand my reason for bringing thee here?”

You nod against him. “I think so.”

He moves away from you, earning himself a confused look, then he slowly grabs your hands and pulls you closer until you are comfortably sitting between his legs. You look up at him and see that his face is almost as red as his hair. He is adorable when he blushes.

You could get used to this.

“You will forgive me if I am too presumptuous. I am… not accustomed to touch, yet I want thee closer.” His soft, silky voice makes your heart melt.

“I want you closer too. It’s okay.” You cup his face with both hands, and though it’s a simple gesture, he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. His eye closes and you try to memorize the look of peace etched on his face.

“With thee, I am content.” He whispers to you.

“Then I’ll see to it that we’re never separated.” 

His eye flutters open and he hazily looks down at your lips. His hand engulfs your cheek and you feel the warmth radiating from his palm.

So many have met their demise from the man sitting in front of you now, content and complacent, and that thought sends shivers down your spine.

“No man nor God could tear thee away from me. That is a promise.” 

He leans forward and kisses you. His lips are soft and he pulls you closer to him and his hands are splayed possessively over your face and back. You don’t want to pull away, and you get the feeling he doesn’t want to either.

You are his as he is yours.

[cowboybeepboop]

Wild ride

"Damn, Y/N," he murmured, running his hand through your mildly tangled hair. "You're something else."

You smile, feeling utterly sated and content. "And don't you forget it, cowboy," you reply, planting a lazy kiss onto his bare chest.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 5206

Summary: Tyler comforts you through a panic attack after a storm. He then rescues you from your fight with Javi. You take a drive to a hotel and then things get very heated.

a/n: this is entirely a reader insert to the movie bc I thought it would fit so perfectly. Also this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever wrote lmao 😭 Hopefully you enjoy!

When you moved to New York it wasn’t just to get away from the place where your friends all died. It was because you couldn’t live there without feeling guilt about being the reason everyone was out there to begin with. The shame and guilt was burning you, inside and out. All for what? What did it get you? Nothing. If you couldn’t tame a tornado you were going to do everything in your power to help people prepare and get out before it was too late. So when Javi came to you asking for help with storm par, you wanted to tell him no. You wanted to say that there was no way you could ever possibly go back not after what you did.

But when he was explaining how they would be making a perfect 3D scan of the tornado and how it can be used to help save lives, you knew you had to help. He was right. You could get him close enough to the tornado in order to set up the portable units.

As time passes you find yourself more intrigued by the self proclaimed “Tornado Wrangler”, whatever that’s supposed to mean. At the same time though, he’s frustrating. Like all he cares about is chasing the storm and making money instead of realizing how much damage these things cause.

“Javi, we have to help.” You say sternly as he keeps talking about the stupid sensor. “Javi! It’s a small town, they’re going to need all the help they can get, we need to help.” He sighs.

“Alright, alright. I’ll look for it later, okay?” You press a hand to his arm gently. “You made a good call. They really do need our help.” Javi pulls off to the side of the road, taking the keys out. You quickly leave the truck and go off to help.

We worked through the afternoon, finding lost heirlooms, important documents, and small mementos that people had thought were lost forever. Each time, their faces would light up with relief, and I’d feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing I could make a difference.

The sun had broken through the clouds, casting long shadows over the town. The cleanup was far from over, but the worst was behind us. People were starting to talk again, making plans to rebuild. There was a sense of hope in the air, fragile but growing stronger with each passing minute.

You’re watching Javi and Scott interacting with an old guy and someone who lost their bar. Your eyebrows furrow as they offer him a card. “Didn’t know storm par was in the business of helping people,” you hear the familiar cowboy’s voice ringing through the air.

”Well, from what I see they’re trying to make a difference.” You turn to look at Tyler, wrapping your arms around your upper body.

”That’s one way of putting it,” he narrows his eyes while looking behind you at Javi.

“What?” you clench your jaw.

“Do you even know who you’re chasing for?”, his voice raises slightly. ”How much more do these people got to lose before y’all are done making a difference?” His face tightens as he grinds his teeth slightly.

”Sorry, says the guy setting up shop selling t-shirts and mugs after a storm’s hit.” You turn around before he can answer. Pulling the keys Javi gave you out of your pocket. Right as you’re reaching for the door, Lily yells your name.

”Hey, take some food,” she hands you a brown takeout box and a water bottle.

”Oh, I don’t have any cash on me,” you give a half smile.

”It’s okay, that’s why we're always selling shirts and mugs, so we can help give people food.” You shake your head as your eyes widen slightly.

”Then you should keep it, in case you run out.” She hands you the water bottle.

“At least take the water, stay hydrated.” You nod and tell her to stay safe.

Once you get back to the motel you quickly take a shower. Sitting down on the bed with your laptop you look up “Marshall Riggs” you bite down on your cheek, your eyes closing after you read up on him. Pinching your nose bridge you let out a sigh, closing the device.

There’s a knock at the door, you get up slowly and open it. “Some of Javi’s crew said you were staying down by the rodeo.” You don’t say anything in return so he offers you a small pizza box. “Thought you might be hungry,” you take it and shut the door in his face.

You reopen the door, “Thank you, Tyler.” He smiles sweetly.

“How are you doin’, after all that?” Your head nods softly. “How about I show you something nice, city girl.” He offers you his arm.

”And what’s that?” Stepping out of your room you close and lock the door before taking his arm. He doesn’t reply but instead leads you to the stadium at the rodeo. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the dusty rodeo grounds. The air buzzed with excitement and the scent of grilled food, mingling with the earthy smell of the arena. Families filled the bleachers, kids waving flags and clutching cotton candy, while seasoned rodeo-goers leaned against the rails, hats tipped low, eyes sharp with anticipation.

As the night wore on, the rodeo continued—steer wrestling, bronc riding, and more, each event bringing its own excitement and challenges. The crowd cheered, laughed, and gasped, caught up in the spectacle. In the arena, cowboys were competing in the team roping event. Dust kicked up as the horses thundered forward, riders expertly casting their lassos around the horns of the steers. The crowd roared with approval when a duo managed to secure a flawless catch, the announcer’s voice booming in congratulations.

“So tell me about yourself city girl,” Tyler’s voice is low and gentle.

“You know you keep calling me that,” you turn to him, “ but this isn’t my first rodeo, I grew up here in Oklahoma.” Turning back to the events in front of you.

“Would you look at that, I finally learned something about you.” His lips curve up as he admires your side profile.

Back behind the scenes, in the holding pens, a few of the seasoned ranch hands started to glance nervously at the sky. They could see it now—a line of dark, swirling clouds on the horizon, moving faster than seemed natural. A wind had picked up, too, sharper and colder than it had been just minutes ago. But the rodeo continued, the excitement and noise drowning out any sense of unease.

A leaf falls onto your head, you reach your hand up into the air as you watch the leaves fall around you. “Tyler, the air feels heavy, this isn’t right.”

In the ring, the next event was starting: the barrel racing. A young girl was about to make her run when a sharp crack of thunder boomed overhead, so loud it momentarily drowned out the announcer. The crowd murmured, looking up at the sky as the first raindrops began to fall. But as she rounded the first barrel, the wind hit, strong and fierce, whipping dust and debris across the arena. The rain intensified, turning into a heavy downpour that sent people in the stands scrambling for cover. The announcer tried to keep up the energy, but his voice was lost in the wind. In the distance, a low, ominous rumble filled the air—not thunder this time, but something far more menacing.

There's barely time to react before the rodeo’s emergency siren began to wail, a long, shrill warning that sent a chill down everyone’s spine. People were running, some heading for their cars, others diving for the nearest ditch or sturdy structure. The craze of people began pushing and trampling one another, Tyler quickly grabs a woman who fell. He helps her up to her feet and guides you toward the hotel you’re staying at.

“There! Let’s check for a basement,” you nod as you both run inside. There’s a couple arguing with the clerk, you’re checking around for a doorway that might lead to a basement. Tyler tries to ask the man working the front desk but to no avail. “Outside, there’s an empty pool.” You yell to Tyler, “we can try there” he nods and you begin leading the young mother and daughter out the door, Owen’s and the man follow close behind. Once you get the mother and girl down you jump in. Directing them toward the open piping. “Hold on there, cover her head.”

You grasp onto the pipes holding on tight as you feel Tyler’s chest pressing against your back. He keeps his hands tight around the bars, he keeps himself tight against you making sure you don’t move.

“You’re gonna be okay, keep holding on. I’ve got you. I’ve got you” he’s whispering into your ear. You tightly squeeze your eyes shut feeling as though you’re being transported back to the day when you lost everything.

It started with a flutter in your chest, like the faint rustling of wings. You tried to ignore it, chalking it up to nerves, but the flutter didn’t go away. Instead, it grew stronger, spreading through your body like wildfire. Your breathing quickened, shallow and rapid, each breath feeling like it wasn’t enough, like there wasn’t enough air.

It started with trembling hands, and then your whole body followed, shaking uncontrollably. Feeling lightheaded, as if the ground beneath you had suddenly disappeared, leaving you suspended in a void. My chest tightened, squeezing tighter and tighter, making it even harder to breathe.

As quickly as the storm had begun, it passed over. Tyler wraps his arms around you. “Y/N? Is everything okay?” Your body continues to shake as you can’t seem to breathe. “It’s okay, just follow my breathing,” he turns you around so your face is in his chest.

”Deep breaths, in and out,” Tyler gives gentle directions as he rubs his palms over your arms.

”I think I’m okay now..” your voice is soft and hoarse as you choke the words out. His cold, rough hand gently brushes the hair from your face.

“You look like you’ve been through hell tonight.” He says, while helping you out of the pool. You stifle a small laugh in response. Boone and the rest of his crew come up to the pair of you, asking if you’re both alright.

“Y/N, baby. Are you okay?” Javi appears behind you, his hands gently pressing into your hips as he pulls you into a tight hug.

Tyler feels a pang of jealousy as he watches Javi slide his hands lovingly around your hips and pull you into the hug. He tries to shake the feeling, reminding himself that it’s not his place to care. Still, he can’t help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him.

“I came as soon as I heard,” his eyes filled with worry as you looked up at him. “Where did you hide out? The pool?” You just nod in response, finding comfort in his arms. Javi keeps repeatedly asking if you’re okay, running his fingers through your hair and resting one hand on your waist.

“Yes, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you pull away from him, giving a soft smile. “I was with Tyler the whole time, he made sure I was okay.” He nods but his eyes flicker behind you.

“Javi, your little girlfriend is fine, now let's get to work.” Scott says loudly, catching the attention of Tyler and Lily. “Apparently this place was family owned so I’m gonna start working on numbers. Riggs is gonna want those first thing.” His voice and face are both emotionless and cold, sending a slight shiver down your spine.

“Wait wait,” you hold onto his arm. “What exactly is Riggs getting out of all your data collection?”

“What’s the matter?” He scratches his neck and awkward expression flashing over his features.

“Is profiting off of people’s tragedy part of your business plan? Why are you doing this?” You pull away from his body.

“Riggs is offering these people a way to move on with their lives.” He takes a step back from you, his voice raising slightly.

“Swooping in and taking advantage of people, who have just lost everything” you take a deep breath to steady your shaky voice “You have no idea what that’s like”

“I don’t know what that’s like?” His fist clenches “How about losing three of my best friends while you were trying to land a big fat grant for your science project?”

Your eyes fill with fresh tears as you look up at him, lip quivering. “Take your keys, I’m done.” You toss them at his feet walking off as fast as you can. Finding yourself drawn to Tyler and his wrangler team.

Tyler witnessed the whole exchange, and his protective instinct flares up again. He watches you stomp away from Javi, a mixture of anger and concern etched on his face. He notices the tears in your eyes and the wobble in your lip. He steps forward and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

“Can you just take me somewhere please?” Your voice trembles while Javi yells after you. Asking you not to leave like this.

Tyler shoots a warning glare over his shoulder at Javi before turning back to you. “Of course, darling. Anywhere you want to go.” Owen’s voice is soft and soothing, a stark contrast to his rough exterior.

He gently takes your elbow, steering you away from Javi, and his crew. Tyler leads you over to his Truck in the parking lot where the motel once was, his hand still on your elbow. Tyler opens the passenger door and guides you onto the seat, shutting the door before making his way around to the driver's side.

A sigh escapes your lips as you relax into the seat. You softly massage your nose bridge keeping your eyes squeezed shut as a tear escapes one of your eyes.

Tyler watches you silently as you try to regain your composure. He can sense the pain and hurt radiating off of you, and he wishes he could take it all away. After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Hey, look at me for a second.” He puts his hand on your knee rubbing small circles into your skin.

You open up your eyes, turning to look at him. Your lip still quivering slightly. Tyler’s heart aches as he looks into your tearful eyes. He reaches out and gently wipes the tear away with his thumb, his rough hands surprisingly tender against your face.

“Hey, you don’t need to worry about anything right now. You’re gonna stay with me tonight, okay?” His hand travels down your cheek as he leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Before he starts the car he reaches into the backseat pulling out one of his hats, putting it on with his signature smile.

“You know, you deserve way better than that,” he turns the keys in the ignition. “You can do way better than him anyway.” You giggle while brushing your teary eyes.

“Do you think Javi and I are a couple?” Your once sorrow filled eyes light up with your laugh. A small smile tugs at the corner of Tyler's mouth as he watches you laugh. The sight of your smile warms his heart, and the pang of jealousy eases a bit.

“I mean, he seemed pretty possessive of you back there. And the way he was touchin’ up on you…” he lets his voice trail off, his jaw clenching slightly at the memory.

“Don’t tell me that makes you jealous,” a small smirk decorates your lips. You lean closer to his side, turning your body to further face him.

Tyler’s breath hitches as you lean closer to him, a wave of electricity coursing through his veins. He tries to keep his cool, but the hint of possessiveness flickers in his eyes once again.

“Jealous? Me?” he scoffs, trying to convince himself more than you.

Your eyes light up “Oh you’re totally jealous,” you brush your fingers over the skin on his arms, moving your hand to meet his.

A shiver runs down Tyler’s spine as your fingers travel along his skin, his heartbeat quickening at your touch. He tries to maintain a cool demeanor, but the flutter in his chest gives him away.

“Jealous? Of that jackass?”, his voice a little rougher this time. He looks down at your hand in his, noticing how small and delicate it looks against his own, rough and calloused hands. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to interlace his fingers with yours.

“Is that so?” You interlock your fingers with his as you lean over to kiss his temple. “It’s okay to be jealous, just tell me you don’t like seeing other men touching me,” you whisper into his ear, your voice filled with amusement.

Tyler takes a sharp breath as you interlace your fingers with his, his hand clamping tight around yours. “It does make me jealous,” he admits, his voice a gravelly whisper. His free hand squeezes the steering wheel, the muscles in his arm flexing tightly. “Alright, I don’t like seeing other men touchin’ you.” He brushes his thumb over the top of your hand.

A blush quickly rises up your face as you squeeze his hand firmly. Resting your head against his shoulder you bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Are we almost to a hotel?” Your heart races as you feel the muscles in his arm flexing.

Tyler glances out the window at the passing scenery, trying to distract himself from the feeling of you resting against his shoulder. He clears his throat before speaking, his voice still low and rough.

“We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes.” He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, the gentle movement betraying the tension in his body. He can’t help but steal a glance down at you, taking in your blushing face and the way you bite down on your lip. He fights the urge to pull you into his lap and press his lips against yours.

Using your free hand you run your fingers over his thigh, letting your mind wander as you think about your plans for the night. Trailing your hand closer and closer to his hips teasingly.

Tyler’s breath hitches as you run your fingers along his thigh, his body tense as you trail your hand closer to his hips. His mind starts racing with impure thoughts, visions of you pinned beneath him, your skin against his. He swallows hard, his muscles tensing further as he tries to control himself.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game, you know that?” his voice low and rough, almost coming out as a growl.

“Yeah?” You run your fingers over his golden belt buckle, “I like dangerous games,” your tongue poking out as you lick your bottom lip.

Tyler swallows hard when you touch his golden belt buckle, his body shuddering under your touch. He shifts in his seat, trying to hide the effect you’re having on him while also struggling to keep his eyes on the road.

“Oh yeah? How dangerous are you willing to go?” he asks, his voice thick with desire. He glances down at your tongue on your lip, his eyes darkening as he imagines what it would feel like against his skin.

“That depends, love,” you press soft kisses into his neck, moving your hand from his, resting it on his chest. “How far are you gonna wanna go?” Your eyes flicker to the hotel sign as the truck pulls into the parking lot.

Tyler lets out a shaky breath as you pepper kisses along his neck, his heart stuttering at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He places a hand over yours on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart thundering beneath your touch.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re really testing my limits right now.” he manages to say, his voice a growl. “But if it were up to me I’d go as far as you’d let me.”

He looks out the window as the truck pulls into the hotel parking lot, his mind racing with all the possibilities that the night holds. He leaps out of the truck running to your side to open the door for you.

“Well, you better hurry up and find us a room then,” you shut the door behind you. You pull the hat from his head, placing it on yours.

Tyler watches you stride ahead of him, his eyes drinking in the sight of his hat sitting on your head. He adjusts his jeans, trying to hide the stiffness growing in his groin as he follows you up to the hotel check-in desk.

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?” he mutters to you as he gets the room keys from the attendant. You flash him an innocent smile as you step into the elevator.

“But you’re too cute when you’re flustered.” Looking up at him you press both hands against his well-built abs. You slip your thigh between his legs as he reaches for the buttons on the elevator, pressing into his groin.

Tyler’s breath hitches at the feel of your hands on his stomach, his muscles flexing under your touch. His heart nearly pounds out of his chest as your thigh brushes against his stiffness, a guttural groan escaping his lips at the contact.

“Jesus, darlin'...you’re gonna be the death of me.” he pants, the words thick with lust. He struggles with the elevator buttons, his hands fumbling as his mind becomes increasingly clouded with need.

You stand up on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear “That’s the plan,”. You move one hand up to his jaw, pulling his face to yours. “Are you gonna kiss me yet?” You mumble.

Tyler swallows hard as you tease his ear with your hot breath, his body growing taut with desire. He looks down at your face, his gaze fixated on your lips as you speak. The words send a shiver down his spine, his restraint slipping by the second.

“You want me to kiss you, darlin’?” his lips hover just above your own. He runs a thumb across your lower lip, his eyes darkened by lust.

“Tyler, I want you to do much more than just kiss me.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you press your chest against his. “Please,” you breathe out. The elevator dings as you get to the floor of your room.

Tyler’s control snaps at your words, a low growl escaping his lips as you press against him. He grabs your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you close, the pleading tone of your voice nearly undoing him.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice, darlin’” He mutters, his voice low and gravelly. He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you out of the elevator and towards your room. You giggle into his ear while he unlocks the door.

Tyler grins at the sound of your giggles, his chest rumbling with a satisfied chuckle. He kicks the hotel door open, his eyes locking on the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. He sets you down on the edge of the bed, towering over you as he places his hands on your thighs. You both kick your shoes off really quickly before getting back to it.

Your hand goes to the back of his neck as you pull his face to yours. You kiss him with hunger. Your free hand sliding up his shirt as you feel his smooth abs.

Tyler groans deep in his throat as you pull him towards you, his body responding instantly to your touch. He devours your lips with a primal need, his tongue exploring your mouth as he presses his body up against yours. His muscles twitch under your hand, fire spreading through his veins as you glide your fingers across his abs.

“Goddamn it, Y/N… you're makin' me crazy.” he gasps, his voice thick with desire. He kisses you again, his hands roaming up your thighs, tracing the curves of your body with rough yet tender caresses.

Your hands trail down his abdomen, landing on his belt buckle once again. Your fingers fumble with his belt before successfully pulling it out. Breaking the kiss you quickly remove your shirt, throwing it to the corner of the room.

“Mm Ty…” sucking on your bottom lip as you lean back on your hands while looking up at him seductively.

Tyler sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing under your touch. Once you remove your shirt, revealing the soft skin beneath, his gaze trails over your body, his eyes darkened by lust. He watches you lean back on the bed, your eyes locking with his in a sultry gaze.

“Mmm darlin’...” you sit up and pull him closer by the loops on his jeans, his strong legs coming between your own, spreading them apart. Lifting up his shirt you press kisses all over his tanned skin.

He reaches his hand out to touch your exposed skin, his fingers gently tracing your collarbone. “Then why don’t you do something about it baby?” You ask in a low tone.

His hands rest on your waist, pulling you closer as you spread your legs even wider for him. “Oh baby, you don't know what you're gettin' yourself into” he whispers, his voice rumbling with need.

He suddenly grips your hips tightly and flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he pins you against the bed. Reaching up you pull his shirt over his head almost moaning at the sight of his toned body.

He smirks as he watches your eyes rake over him, his ego growing at your reaction. “You like what you see, Y/N?” He asks, his voice rough with desire as he looks down at you, his body pressing against yours.

“Most definitely,” you capture his lips in a deep kiss, maneuvering to put him on his back, straddling his hips. Moving back you unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper down. Pulling the pants off his hips you smile to yourself as you see how worked up you got him. Your hand slips into his boxers wrapping around his length.

He lets out a guttural moan, body arching into yours at the contact. “Oh God, baby…” he gasps, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a string of curses. Tyler's sharp intake of breath was your reward, and you relish in the feeling of power it gives you. He grips the bed sheets tightly as you pull his dick out, wrapping your lips around the tip.

“Fuck,” he moans as you pull off and sit back on the bed, making sure your teasing antics continue. All you really want is for Tyler to take complete control and you know exactly how to make him. With slow, purposeful movements, you remove your bra, freeing your breasts and running gentle hands over your own body, nipples hardening under your touch. Then you sit back, pulling your panties off, giving him a show.

Tyler's breathing quickens, his desire palpable. "Damn it, Y/N, you know what I want," he said, his voice thick with need. "Stop teasing and give it to me."

A slow, seductive smile spreads across your face. "I'm not teasing, Tyler," you say, reaching for his hand and placing it on your thigh. "I'm just getting started." Guiding his hand, you slowly part your legs, exposing your wet, eager pussy to his touch. Tyler's fingers delve between the folds, his touch both gentle and demanding. You moan, eyebrows furrowing as you squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back while you relish in the sensation.

"That's it," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as your eyebrows furrow with pleasure. "Touch me, Tyler. Make me cum." Your voice comes out in a gentle beg.

Tyler's other hand joins the first, exploring your most intimate places, his thumbs circling your clit as he plunged his fingers into the tight hole. Your hips buck as you begin riding his hands with waves of pleasure crashing over you.

"Yes, just like that," you pant, your body trembling. "Oh, God, Tyler, don't stop. I'm so close."

Tyler quickens his pace, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "Cum for me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let me feel you fall apart."

With a sharp cry, you climax, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure rips through your entire body. Tyler continues working his magic, drawing out your orgasm and prolonging the exquisite sensation.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse into the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch a breath. Tyler hovers over your frame, his eyes smoldering with a mixture of triumph and desire.

"That," he said, his voice raw, "was just the beginning. Especially after all of that teasing you did,” his voice low and sultry. Tyler's lips curve into a devilish smile as he positions himself between your trembling legs. In one smooth thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. Moaning at the stretch, your body welcomes the invasion.

Tyler begin to move, his hips driving into you with a rhythmic pace. Meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his back as you urge him on. The bed creaks in time with their passionate dance, the sound of your guys’s passionate gasps and moans filling the room.

"Harder, Tyler," you moan, your body craving much more. "Fuck me harder."

Tyler obliges, his movements becoming more urgent as he plunges into you again and again. The room echos with the sounds of your carnal coupling, the air heavy with the scent of sex.

Your body coils tight once more, climbing towards another orgasm. "I'm gonna cum again," you cry out, voice hoarse. "Don't stop, Tyler, please don't stop."

Tyler grunts his response, his own orgasm building. He reaches between their bodies, his fingers finding your slightly swollen clit and rubbing it in circles. It was all the stimulation you needed, and with a shout of release, you shatter into pieces, juices flooding around Tyler's hard cock.

Feeling you contracting around him, Tyler finally let go, thrusting deeply into you. Moaning into your ear as he spilled his seed, filling you with his warmth. You both cling to each other, breathing coming in ragged gasps as the two of you ride out the waves of your shared ecstasy. Collapsing onto the bed, bodies still joined, Tyler rolls onto his back, bringing your exhausted body with him so laying sprawled on top of him.

"Damn, Y/N," he murmured, running his hand through your mildly tangled hair. "You're something else."

You smile, feeling utterly sated and content. "And don't you forget it, cowboy," you reply, planting a lazy kiss onto his bare chest.

a/n (again): sorry just wanted to say that I’m working on making some more twisters smut, but i also have top gun maverick smut if y’all wanna check that out 😝🙏

[taevbears]

Movie Night

When horror movies don't scare you anymore, your boyfriend wants to figure out what you are afraid of.

⤑ pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader (feat. the Daegu boys) ⤑ genre: horror, mystery, suspense, one-shot ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.1k ⤑ warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, depictions of kidnapping, torture, and multiple murders, hidden camera, non-explicit sex, a bit of angst, open ending. this fic gets pretty dark, so please be cautious of the warnings! ⤑ note: happy halloween! this started as a little spooky shower thought i had a little over a month ago and became this lol. i love reading scary stories, but lmao, i feel like i'm not very good at writing them. thank you @angelicyoongie for assuring me that this isn't as terrible as i think it is. also please note that this is a work of fiction and i don't think IRL jungkook is like the character in this fic at all

“No, please! Don’t hurt me!”

The shadow of a muscular, male figure looms over the female protagonist. His breaths are heavy from chasing her around, barely visible against the chilly, October air. Finally, he has her cornered. He holds up a sharp knife in the air.

The woman trembles on the ground, sobbing and pleading for her life to be spared. Mascara runs down her cheeks, and a look of hopelessness and despair fills her eyes. She holds her hands in front of her in a feeble attempt to defend herself.

The camera pans away as the killer violently stabs the woman. Her terrifying screams of pain and anguish echoes from the TV screen as fake blood splatters on the wall.

Blue and white light bathes over you and your date in the dim living room. You try to suppress a long yawn with the back of your hand.

You’re so bored, you’re practically in tears.

“You didn’t like it?” Jungkook asks you, chuckling at your reaction.

“It didn’t scare me,” you admit sheepishly, hoping he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

You love horror movies. It’s what inspired you to become a film student. You love being on the edge of your seat from the thrill and suspense that the main character acts out. You love being genuinely shocked from unexpected twists and jump-scares. You love a good ghost story that haunts you long after the credits roll, or the paranoia of a similar terrifying incident happening to you.

But perhaps, over time, they’ve lost a bit of their magic.

Although the production of movies has become phenomenal in recent years, movies these days seem to rely too heavily on shock value and nostalgia. Once popular franchises are milking out their legacies to a newer audience. There are so many retellings of the same, old stories that you can already accurately predict what will happen before you reach the ending. Even some of the most climactic scenes of the movie are so over-the-top, they’re almost comical.

Honestly, it has nothing to do with your date or even the so-called horror movie itself. You just don’t scare as easily anymore.

Jungkook peers are you curiously, a boyish grin on his face. “Then, what are you scared of?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

“Yeah? That’s a bold statement.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Jungkook laughs. “You have to be scared of something.”

You throw the question back at him. “Then, what are you afraid of?”

He thinks about it, rubbing his chin in thought and pushing his tongue against the lip rings on his mouth. Then, he meets your gaze. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he smiles at you. “Hmm, I think I’d be scared to lose you.”

You find yourself smiling back at him.

“You’re so sweet, Kook,” you tell him, leaning over to kiss him.

Only recently, you and Jungkook started dating officially, and you really like him a lot. He’s very cute, funny, handsome, and perfect in many ways. Butterflies flutter in your stomach when you’re around him, and there’s still that exciting giddiness and eagerness of new love whenever he messages you or visits you in the evening.

In some ways, Jungkook is almost too good to be true.

Part of you wonders if there’s a catch.

But with his lips on yours, it’s easy to push that thought aside.

Credits roll on the screen as the movie comes to an end. His fingers glide up your thigh as yours tangle into his hair. The cool piercing on his lips presses against your bottom lip as he slips his tongue in your mouth, and a soft moan escapes you.

Suddenly, Jungkook pulls away and faces the TV. He uses the remote to tap out of the movie credits and browse through the list of recommended shows on your streaming service. Casually, trying to hide a teasing smirk, he asks, “How about we watch a different movie, then?”

You stare back at him, a bit stunned and flustered. But your own smile touches your lips.

“Or,” you suggest, grabbing his wrist to lower the remote. He turns away from the screen to look at you, eyes lingering on the sultry smile on your lips. “I know something else we can do instead.”

When you first saw Jungkook, you thought you were being catfished.

His selfie on the dating app included a slight head tilt, a pucker of his pierced lips, and a peace sign. Big, doe-shaped eyes stared back at you from your phone screen, and you noticed the tiny moles below his lip, on the tip of his nose, and on his cheek.

The second picture was of him and his brown doberman, affectionately named Bam. The picture was taken of them outside. One of his hands was holding a tennis ball and the other was gently touching the dog’s long ears. A small, fond smile tugged on your lips when you looked between them and realized that they kind of looked alike.

The third picture was him at the gym. It was a back-shot where he was using the equipment. Broad shoulders, buff arms and back, a tiny waist. You stared way too long at his strong muscles and the ink on his arm before you finally swiped right.

Turned out, much to your surprise, he liked your pictures too. The two of you were a match.

And it wasn’t long until he sent his first message to you. In your inbox, a simple: “hey :)”

On your first date, the two of you agreed to meet at a very public, very crowded bistro. You stood nervously by the building, dressed nice for the occasion. And in case anything went wrong or if this Jungkook guy wasn’t who you expected him to be, you shared your location and had a “send help lol” message on standby for your bestie, Min Yoongi.

As you waited, scrolling through and jumping around different apps on your phone, you found yourself to be surprised yet again.

Someone who looked like the guy you’ve been chatting with called out your name. And soon, he was standing in front of you: big eyes, bigger muscles, tiny beauty marks on his face, colorful ink on his arm, a charming smile, and a simple, “Hey, I’m Jungkook.”

One date turned to a second date. Then, a third. And by the fourth date, as he laid in your bed that night and snuggled close to you, it finally started to sink in that Jungkook wasn’t some figment of your imagination.

He was real, and sweet, and seemed to really like you as well.

Jungkook, like you, had an interest in filming. He especially liked editing videos for his dance challenges, short clips, and a series he called “Golden Closet Film” on his channel. While you imagined yourself to be a big director, working in movie sets, and making scripts come to life with your vision, Jungkook told you he’d like to film a project where you’re the star.

“I don’t think I’m on-screen material,” you replied, amused by the idea. You’re not an actress. You don’t think you have the kind of beauty filmmakers seek out for their lead roles. Hell, if anything, Jungkook would be a better fit for an acting gig.

“You are,” he insisted, brushing his thumb against your knuckles. “To me, you’re perfect.”

You smiled at him then, your heart fluttering by his words. “You are to me, too.”

It was shortly after that conversation when you both decided to date each other exclusively. And it felt like the kind of romance you’d see in the movies. Picture perfect, a little corny at times, and a thrilling whirlwind of laughter, teasing remarks, and intimate touches.

“Am I who you thought I’d be?” Jungkook asks you the next morning after the movie-night bust, propping himself up on the side and peering down on you. His arm flexes, colorful ink decorating it, as the thick comforter wraps around his bare body.

“No,” you confessed, still a bit tired from last night. You keep your eyes closed as you quietly murmur, “You’re even better.”

“Yeah?”

You don’t need to open your eyes to see the pleased look on his face. As you feel him press his lips against your cheek, you ask, “What about me? Am I who you thought I’d be?”

Had you opened your eyes then, perhaps you would’ve seen it. The blank look on his face as he pulls away from you, how the light in his eyes suddenly seems to vanish, as if he isn’t really looking at you anymore.

Jungkook doesn’t answer you right away. When you open your eyes, you see him shaking his head. The same, sweet boyish smile appears on his lips.

“You’re exactly what I’m looking for.”

The topic about exes inevitably came up early on in your relationship with Jungkook. You’ve dated casually before. Even thought you’d be getting somewhere with some of the guys you were talking to.

But none of them quite compared to Kim Taehyung.

You were a film student. He was a photography major. The two of you were bound to end up in some of the same classes together in the art division.

To you, it was love at first sight. You fell for him so hard and so fast.

What started as bumping into each other at the library and helping each other with assignments led to making out at each other’s dorms with the text books left unopened. Coffee dates between classes became anniversary dinners at nice restaurants. He introduced you to his parents, and you proposed going on a romantic getaway together.

The day you didn’t think you’d ever love anyone else was when he snapped a photo of you looking out at the scenery during that weekend trip. It was just you and him, and a natural setting that looked straight out of a movie.

He smiled to himself as he looked at the picture through his camera. That day, he called you his muse.

And in return, you told him that you loved him.

When you fell for Taehyung, you fell hard and fast. Eventually, it occurred to you that Taehyung didn’t do the same.

Sure, he cared about you. Sure, he loved you. But while you heard wedding bells and dreamed about your future with him, Taehyung was just starting to put himself out there in the world. His art was being recognized, and he was getting booked to shoot at weddings, parties, and other big events every week.

Soon, the dates happened less frequently. The romantic gestures of bringing you flowers, surprising you on nice dates or small gifts, or even renting your favorite movies to watch together happened even less. He would promise that he’d make it to a party or an important event to you, just to let you down. And it felt like him giving you a bit of affection or attention was a chore.

Taehyung was the world to you, but the petty arguments and the distance that started growing between you two made it clear to you where his priorities were. And it wasn’t with you.

Breaking up with him was the hardest thing you had to do. Both of you knew it was coming. It was just a matter of who broke up with who first.

Just as Taehyung came into your life, quickly and effortlessly, he was gone. Nothing but bittersweet memories of what once was and what could have been weighed heavily on you for months.

What made it worse was that Taehyung, a man you loved with all your heart, had moved on from you so fast and so easily.

You saw him and his new girlfriend at a mutual friend’s party. You were warned that he’d be there, that he was already seeing someone. But it still hurt like hell to see him happy and in love with another person.

But if Taehyung could move on, so could you.

It felt weird at first, but you started to put yourself out there again. You joined dating apps. You went out with the people that fancied your interest. You met Jungkook.

And from there, everything was history.

With Jungkook, you started to think about Taehyung a lot less. The plaguing “what ifs” have quieted down, and the hurt from heartbreak began to heal. With Jungkook, you started to feel like yourself again: you started to smile more, laugh more loudly, enjoy watching movies again, became passionate about cinematic ideas you’d like to create one day.

With Jungkook, you’re also cautiously optimistic.

Because like Taehyung, you feel yourself falling hard and fast for Jungkook. It’s almost scary how truly perfect he is.

“I think you’re just psyching yourself out,” Yoongi tells you, sliding into the chair opposite of you with two cups of coffee in his hands. He smells like freshly-baked cookies. A spot of flour stains his apron as he uses his fifteen-minute break to hang out with you.

“Maybe,” you sigh, gratefully taking the drink he hands you. “What do you think about him?”

“Does my opinion even matter at this point? You’re in love with him,” he drawls before taking a sip of his Iced Americano.

“Of course it does, best friend. Why else would I keep you around?” you remark, taking a sip of your own drink. “Besides the free coffee and cookies. Thank you, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. The perks of being friends with the cookie boy at your local bakery is a free cup of coffee and getting dibs on leftover treats that didn’t sell the day.

“He’s fine. Kind of annoying. A little too energetic,” he answers as his eyes flit toward the TV screen that his boss keeps on. A woman dressed in bright, business clothing holds a microphone as she reports on the recent news. There’s a grim look on her face.

You have your back turned to it, but you can hear Yoongi’s boss turning up the volume.

Breaking news. Missing woman found dead near home. The victim has succumbed to multiple stab wounds. It is believed that she has been kidnapped and tortured prior to her violent death. The attacker is currently unknown and still at large. Local authorities advise staying indoors and to please report any suspicious activity.

Your heart sinks as you look over your shoulder, seeing police taping off the crime scene and answering what they can to the news outlets. The location is so close to where you are.

“This is the second victim,” a customer mutters with a frown.

The person they’re with nods their head and asks, “Do you think they’re connected?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. We’ll have a serial killer in our hands.”

“Hey,” Yoongi calls your attention. When you look at him, there’s concern on his face. “If you need a ride anywhere, make sure you call me. Doesn’t matter what time.”

“I’ll be okay, Yoongi. Jungkook usually comes to my place anyway.”

“Still. Just let me know that you’re still alive when I check in, all right?” he says as he stares at the screen. You don’t blame him for being worried. As you follow his gaze, you see a picture of the latest victim of the ongoing case that has the whole town on edge.

This woman, like the others, kind of looks like you.

“If you’re with me, you have nothing to worry about,” Jungkook assures you, throwing a tennis ball as Bam hurriedly chases after it. 

The two of you are at a park with his dobermann. Despite how scary it’s been lately with the news, it’s a nice day. Children are screaming and playing together on the playground as their parents watch them nearby. A group of teenage boys are playing basketball on the outdoor court. Middle-aged and elderly couples are paired up and are getting their daily steps in.

“My hero,” you joke half-heartedly, but you’re still a bit concerned. Yoongi being worried about you makes you feel paranoid.

Jungkook turns to you. He holds out his hand as Bam retrieves the ball and drops it for another throw. “I thought you weren't afraid of anything.”

“Movie-wise, I’m not. But this is different.”

Jungkook throws the slobbery ball again. Further this time as Bam barks happily and takes off. He takes a seat next to you on the park bench. “I can leave Bam with you when I have my evening shifts. He makes a good guard dog.”

He works as an editor and cameraman for a big content creator, which gives him lots of flexible hours to work on his projects when he isn’t busy filming. Since the beginning of autumn, his boss has been giving him evening work to film ghost-hunting videos and other spooky content for Halloween.

“That’ll be nice,” you reply with a small smile. The two of them have been coming to your place so often, it might as well be their second home.

From a short distance, Bam lies on the grass with the tennis ball by his paws. His tongue is out, needing a short break from running around, as he faces you and Jungkook. Even with other dogs and kids around, he’s very well-behaved.

Just as Jungkook tells you that he’ll get Bam, the sound of small, excited barks grab your attention. A familiar black and brown pomeranian approaches you like an old friend, wagging its tail and perking its ears up when it sees you.

Your heart nearly jumps when you recognize the dog.

“Tan!”

You know that voice. How could you not?

That deep, smooth baritone has haunted you for months.

Taehyung, your ex-boyfriend, stops in his tracks when he realizes why his pomeranian took off. The two of you were still together when he adopted Yeontan, and you were there to help raise him when he was still a puppy.

“Who’s this?” Jungkook asks, drawing your attention back to him. He reaches out to pet Yeontan, but the pomeranian growls at him. Almost like he wants to protect you from him.

“Sorry, he’s mine,” Taehyung apologizes, stepping closer to you two and picking his dog up. He looks at you as he tries to soothe the agitated Yeontan in his arms. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you reply politely. Old feelings start to pull on your heart strings that you fervently try to ignore. “I’m good.”

“You look good,” Taehyung starts, but then he purses his lips in regret. It’s obvious that he’s nervous to talk to you. Maybe he feels the same as you.

Softly, you reply, “You do, too.”

“Who’s this?” Jungkook repeats. This time, there’s an annoyed look on his face as he stares at Taehyung. 

It puts you off a bit. Jungkook is usually a friendly guy.

“Oh, this is Taehyung. We used to date,” you tell him honestly. Though, the information seems to just annoy him more. “Taehyung, this is—”

“I’m Jungkook. She’s my girlfriend now.”

His arm snakes around you possessively. He holds a steady gaze, but it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Dark, threatening, and angry. It’s almost unnerving.

“I see…” Taehyung trails off as his gaze shifts toward him. Yeontan is still in his arms, growling and barking at Jungkook. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the pup so aggressive toward someone. Even Bam comes over, ditching his ball to guard over you and Jungkook.

“It was nice to see you, Taehyung,” you tell him, sensing the tension in the air and deciding to cut things off. He seems reluctant to leave.

“Yeah…” he continues to trail off, finally pulling his gaze away to look at you. It looks like there’s a million things he wants to say to you. In a lower tone, he tells you, “My number is still the same. If you ever want to talk.”

You frown. After the breakup, you’ve deleted his number and unfollowed him on social media. “Oh, I don’t—”

“Then I’ll call you,” he promises, firm with his decision.

You don’t get it. You and Taehyung have run into each other after the breakup before, and he’s never had an issue with you dating anyone after him. He clearly has moved on, and so have you. 

Why now?

What is it about Jungkook that has him worried for you?

“I don’t like that guy.”

Jungkook is still heated as he drives you home. His grip is tight around the steering wheel, and the tires screech when he makes a sharp turn. Bam stumbles a bit in the back before sticking his head out the window again.

“Slow down, Kook. You have nothing to be worried about.”

The radio blasts in the car, too much in a rush to connect his playlist to the stereo. It’s playing the week’s top music, and a catchy song from a popular artist fills the car.

Curious, you open your phone and check your followers. You’ve unfollowed Taehyung a long time ago on all your social platforms, finding it hard to look at any of his recent pictures – even just his scenic photography – without thinking about how he had once called you his muse.

But Taehyung never unfollowed you. He had always kept his inbox open for you.

“Did you see the way he was looking at me? It’s like he was looking down on me,” he continues to rant, speeding over a yellow light. He glances over at you and sees that you’re distracted with your phone. “I don’t like how you were looking at him either.”

“Are you serious?” you ask, turning your attention to him. “We barely talked. What the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

On the radio, the program is interrupted. One of the hosts makes a grim announcement.

Ladies and gentlemen, we just received unfortunate news that a third body has been found pertaining to a series of brutal deaths. 

“You still love him! You’ll go back and leave me again!” he suddenly snaps, throwing you off guard.

Silence follows the tension.

Then, you inquire, “Again?”

The third victim is a young female. Hair color and eye color match the previous victims as well, indicating that this might be a targeted attack by the killer.

Not once have you been unfaithful to Jungkook. Even when you were starting to message each other, you weren’t talking to anyone else. The two of you haven’t even been dating that long.

“Forget I said anything,” he starts with a frustrated sigh. But he realizes he’s fucked up.

“No, I’m not just going to forget it. What do you mean by that, Jungkook?”

As of now, authorities have no leads on a suspect. All victims have been kidnapped, tied up, and tortured prior to their deaths. We are led to believe that this is the work of a potential serial killer. 

He nearly slams to a stop. The seatbelt around you yanks you back from hitting the dashboard. Bam falls to the floor and you gasp as the back of your head hits your seat.

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, but for the first time, it feels like the rose-tinted glasses you have on him have fallen off. He’s always been perfect to you: sweet, athletic, talented, and kind. But the Jungkook before you is someone completely different.

This Jungkook scares you.

Stay inside. Lock your doors. Call the police if you see anything suspicious. Be safe out there, folks.

“I told you to forget about it, didn’t I?” he asks through gritted teeth and a harsh look in his eye.

You nod your head, hands trembling a bit as you hold onto your vibrating phone. The screen shows an unknown number trying to contact you.

“Is there a reason why your boyfriend called me?” Yoongi asks you from the other line. He has you on face-time, awkwardly propping up the camera to show his elbow as he mixes a batch of cookies.

It’s been about a week since you saw Jungkook.

After he dropped you off at home, he wanted to put it all behind him. He kissed you sweetly and murmured apologies for overreacting as his hands slipped under your shirt. But you sent him home before he could convince you to sleep with him. You were still upset about how hostile he was toward Taehyung, his accusations about you, and what his outburst meant.

That hasn’t stopped him from trying to get back to your good graces, though.

The number of missed calls from him keeps increasing by the hour. Ones that you leave unanswered or send straight to your voicemail. 

You don’t want to talk to him.

At your door, you hear him rapping his knuckles against the wooden frame and insistently ringing at your doorbell. From the other side of the door, he begs for a chance to explain. 

You don’t want to see him.

Clearly, after reaching you directly hasn’t worked, he’s starting to contact your friends.

“He’s probably trying to find me,” you tell Yoongi, poking at a bowl of fresh strawberries. You’re still dressed in your pajamas, sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter.

The sound of a small dog can be heard in the background of your line. It dawns on him that you’re not at your place or Jungkook’s.

Yoongi is silent for a moment. Then, he grabs the phone and asks, “What do you mean? Where are you?”

You don’t feel safe in your own home. And that day, while you were in Jungkook’s car, Taehyung called to check up on you. He was always good at reading people, and he warned you that he had a bad vibe about Jungkook.

And you’re starting to see what he meant.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

When you turn your phone, you reveal Taehyung busy in the kitchen, cutting off the crusts from his sandwiches. He looks over his shoulder and gives a sheepish smile at the scandalized expression on your best friend’s face. “Hey Yoongi.”

“Can you please explain what’s going on? Why are you at your ex’s?”

So, you do. You tell him that Jungkook wouldn’t leave you alone, that you needed some space to cool off but he wouldn’t let you breathe. It was becoming overbearing and overwhelming.

Against your better judgment, you call Taehyung. He invites you to stay over at his place until you’re ready to talk things out with Jungkook. Because even if you’re not together, he still cares about you. Because a part of him will always love you. And at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

“I didn’t want to be alone, especially with a killer targeting women like me out there,” you explain quietly. It feels like the murders have increased in a shorter period of time. If the town wasn’t on edge before, they certainly are now. “But I was still mad at Jungkook, and he was starting to scare me.”

“So the first person you go to is your ex-boyfriend?”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

That ship has sailed. You know it has when you walked in and saw his engagement pictures hanging on the wall.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m sure he would’ve figured out that I’d be with you,” you tell him with a frown.

“I just wanted to help her, hyung,” Taehyung adds as he stands behind you. “I worry about her too. That guy gives me and Tan a bad feeling.”

Yoongi sighs. “Listen, I don’t think this is a good idea either. You shouldn’t stay with Taehyung. It’ll just make things look a lot worse.”

“I guess you’re right,” you reluctantly agree. Taehyung grimaces, but he can see Yoongi’s point too.

“I’ll pick you up after my shift. You can stay with me until you’re ready to talk to Jungkook,” Yoongi tells you, looking rather serious. “Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime, okay?”

Hey. It’s Jungkook.

You stare at the message on your phone. Three dots that indicate that he’s typing something, but he keeps erasing and re-typing them again. As if he’s trying to properly convey his words.

Are we breaking up?

You stare at that message even longer. It feels childish to break up with him without trying to talk to him. For the first time in a week, you pick up your phone and type back.

You scared me, Kook.

His response is immediate.

I thought you weren’t scared of anything.

You huff when you realize he’s teasing you, even now.

Movie-wise, I’m not. But this. This is different, Kook. You were really scaring me.

Again, you see the dots appear and disappear before a handful of responses appear.

I know, babe. I’m sorry. Can you please come over? I want to show you something I’ve been working on.

You think about it.

I miss you. Bam misses you too.

Yoongi said not to do anything stupid.

Please, baby. We can just watch a movie, if you want.

But, like in every horror movie, the protagonist finds themselves making a plethora of stupid decisions.

Okay, Kook. I’ll come tonight.

Movie nights with Jungkook was one of the things you always looked forward to throughout the week. Nothing appealed to you more than a night-in with your boyfriend, food delivered at your door, and checking out new shows and movies.

You have your list of favorites, but nothing quite holds a place in your heart than a good ol’ horror movie. Tellings of urban legends, supernatural forces, paranormal activities, true crime, and slasher films. 

As you step into Jungkook’s house, it almost feels like you’re in one of those movies.

His place is dark, almost pitched black. You could barely see what’s in front of you.

“Come inside,” Jungkook says, grabbing your hand. He pulls you in and deadbolts the door behind you.

“It’s so dark,” you remark, gingerly stepping forward. You have a bad feeling about this. You almost pull back toward the door, thinking of waiting for Yoongi or going back to Taehyung instead.

But Jungkook has a firm grip on you. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“This is different, Kook,” you try to reason. “You’re really freaking me out.”

He pulls you further inside. In the living room, nothing but the TV is on. The screen is paused on a homemade film.

This must be the project that Jungkook is talking about.

Everything is set. The living room is clean, a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of alcohol sits on the coffee table, the lights are off, and the show is ready to play. He sits you down in the middle and keeps an arm around you.

“You know, when we met, you were exactly what I was looking for,” he starts as he presses play.

The tape shows you. Bam lying on your lap as you affectionately pet his face and kiss the top of his head. You, holding Jungkook’s hand and leading him down a busy sidewalk. You, in the kitchen, trying to swat his hand away as he steals your ingredients. You and Jungkook, peering into the camera lens, and your bashful face as he kisses your cheek. 

A smile tugs on your lips as you watch yourself on the screen. Jungkook leans over, copying his onscreen self and kisses your face.

One thing you liked about filming is seeing things from a different perspective. In this case, seeing yourself through Jungkook’s eyes. You look so happy, so incredibly in love with him.

Like with Taehyung, you fell for Jungkook hard and fast.

But Jungkook fell for you harder and faster.

Your smile fades as the next scene shows.

The camera points to the bed, and a couple walks in. It’s you and Jungkook, stumbling in together after drinks at a bar. You’re laughing and trying to wrap your arms around him as he leads you onto the bed. The kiss you share is messy, heated. You tug off his clothes to feel more of him.

You remember that night, but…

“Jungkook. When did you record this?”

You had no idea he was filming you then.

You don’t realize it then, but he makes eye contact with the camera, as if to check that it’s on. He maneuvers you to get a good angle of your body as you busy yourself with your own clothes, wanting him to touch you more as well.

“Jungkook, stop. I didn’t—” 

You feel so sick to your stomach.

“Don’t cry, baby. Here, I’ll fast-forward.”

But you don’t want to watch anymore. You want to leave. You shouldn’t have come here.

The screen shows you and Yoongi. The two of you are at the bakery he works at, and you’re wearing an old cardigan that you got rid of . You smile and eagerly reach for one of the coffees in his hands and take the bag of cookies he’s holding between his lips. He rolls his eyes at something you say before he takes his first sip of his Iced Americano. It’s a typical hangout between you and him.

It looks like it was taken across the street. Your heart plummets even further when you realize that the old cardigan you’re wearing was a piece of clothing you got rid of before you met Jungkook.

The scene changes. You’re sitting at the fountain at your university, looking over a script you wrote for an assignment. Taehyung comes to take a seat next to you. He greets you with a boxy smile and a kiss. The two of you were still dating at the time.

How long has Jungkook known about you?

How long has he been targeting you?

It’s you and Taehyung again. This time, it was filmed from the other night. When Taehyung came to pick you up from your house. He helps you carry some of your things into his car and hugs you when he sees the distressed look on your face. 

“Jungkook, what the fuck?”

It dawns on you that you don’t really know your boyfriend at all.

You try to stand up, but Jungkook has a firm hold on you. His grip tightens when you try to resist him, and his hand seizes your neck as he pushes you down. Your heart hammers against your ribs when you quickly realize you can’t escape him. Jungkook is much stronger and faster than you are.

More images flash through the screen. It’s Jungkook this time, taking a mirror-selfie of himself dressed in all black. He has his hood up and a Halloween mask covering his face. 

It cuts to his feet walking across the sidewalk. Carefully, the camera tilts up, showing that there’s a woman just ahead of him. She’s about your height, her hair the same as yours. She doesn’t notice him as she listens to music playing in her earbuds. 

The scene cuts again, and the same woman is bound and gagged on a chair. Fear shines through her eyes as a shadow of a knife reflects from her body. Behind the camera, Jungkook demands, “Say your line.”

He removes the gag from her mouth. Her voice pitches in a high shrill as she quickly says, “I-I love you. I won’t leave you.”

You recognize her as the latest victim of the latest killings.

And the realization hits you like a truck. Jungkook and his night shifts, the increasing deaths, his interest in filming, having you as the star.

“I practiced, you know. I’ll get it right this time,” he tells you, pulling out some rope he had hidden behind the cushion. You’re trembling as he wraps them tightly around your wrist. “I’ll make sure you don’t leave me again.”

“You’re so bad,” the Jungkook on the screen says, showing what looks like an abandoned warehouse. It’s dimly lit, but you can hear someone running from him. But he doesn’t seem worried, his heavy footsteps casually echo across the concrete. In his hand is a sharp and bloody knife. Mockingly, he asks, “Where did you think you’d go?”

The victim has been let go, but she isn’t free. Ahead, she finds herself cornered as Jungkook catches up to her. Terrified, she holds her hands out in front of her, as if that would stop him.

It’s like seeing your own fate on the screen.

The woman begs and screams before her blood splatters across the floor. You find yourself quoting her, staring up at his darkened eyes. “No, please. Don’t hurt me.”

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, staring right at you. His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “I thought you liked horror movies.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

[lilywastaken]

⇝ shadow .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.

A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.

Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.

Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.

Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.

And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.

It was like a slap in the face.

One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.

"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."

"I was gone."

"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."

"You don't understa-"

"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"

Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"

"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."

Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just

"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"

The door slammed shut.

Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.

You'd closed the door on him.

You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.

He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.

It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-

The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.

You were letting him in.

That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.

No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.

The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.

Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.

It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.

Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.

You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.

You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.

A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.

His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.

It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.

You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.

Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.

"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."

Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.

The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.

When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.

But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.

So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.

You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.

But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.

"Are y-"

"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."

Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.

"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…

Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.

"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."

He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.

The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.

"...so? Are you going to explain?"

Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.

But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.

He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.

"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"

"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."

His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?

"What do you work in?"

"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."

Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.

Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.

And it was terrifying.

You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.

You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.

"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.

"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."

You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.

"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.

"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.

"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"

You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.

"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.

"That doesn't explain why you were gone."

Silence.

The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.

"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."

"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.

"I'm not raising my vo-"

A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.

You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.

"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."

Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."

His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.

Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.

"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.

"I want to see him."

You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.

"You haven't even told me his name."

Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.

"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.

He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.

"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.

"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.

"You still don't believe me, d'you?"

A beat.

The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.

You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.

"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.

Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.

And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.

And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.

"They're real. I promise."

His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.

"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.

A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.

Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.

God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.

His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.

"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."

And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.

And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.

"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.

Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.

"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."

Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.

"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.

"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.

Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.

For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.

Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.

Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).

"How d'you pay for all this?"

"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"

"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"

You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.

"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."

He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.

He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.

"Let me help you."

You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.

"Help me?"

Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.

But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.

"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."

Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.

You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.

"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."

He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.

"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"

Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.

"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."

God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.

So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.

And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.

"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.

"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"

"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."

Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.

"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.

Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.

"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.

"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.

"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."

"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.

Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.

"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.

"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"

"It's fine. I've slept worse."

He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.

That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.

Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.

And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.

And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.

Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.

Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.

But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.

"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.

You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.

This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.

He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.

"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."

Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.

Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.

A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.

A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.

"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"

As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.

"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"

He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.

But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.

Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.

He could… he could really get used to this.

Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.

He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.

"-mon."

"Simon!"

The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.

He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.

Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?

"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"

"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."

"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.

"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."

His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.

"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."

"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."

He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."

I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.

"Alright."

You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.

Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.

After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."

He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.

"O-okay."

He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."

You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.

Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.

"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.

"Right, I'm s-"

"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."

"Well you can shut him up-"

"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"

"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."

"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.

"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."

Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.

He'd be back. He promised.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics it means I couldn't tag you!)

[c0ld0utside]

hey don’t push yourself to post a work every day, you’ll get brunt out. Go at your own pace, we’ll wait :)

also, have you thought of a human father with a monster child? Like he just grabbed a monster off the street lmao

OHOHO I LOVE THIS IDEA- And you're too kind tysm ;-;

Warnings: Child abandonment (Circle of life scenario), Reader unknowingly eats weed raw, Reader gets chased, Reader accidentally knocks themself out, Kidnapping, Reader gets tied up, Reader just has a lot of oopsie-daisies in general, Obsessive, Possessive, Delusional and Ignorant behavior

“***” means POV swap! Gonna try these out in this story. 

Growing up, you never thought about the day you had to “leave the nest.” Sure, it was a thing that your species did, but you never thought about it too much. …Until you hit a certain age. 

You still remember it all. The rain was pouring down hard and making you shiver. You called out to your parent, whining about wanting to return home, but they pressed forward and expected you to follow. So you did. You walked for hours, feet getting covered in mud and feeling icky. The two of you reached some black river with white dots in the middle, going in a perfectly straight line. 

Your parent turned to you, said that you were old enough to take care of yourself, that you weren’t allowed to come back, and that they wished you well. They left you there. You tried to follow them, tried to track their scent, tried begging and pleading and calling, but you never found them. Somehow, you managed to find the black river again, and you followed it. 

You followed it for a long time, only stopping during the day so you wouldn’t be seen. At night you stuck to the shadows, trying not to get scared when one of the husks roared past you, bright yellow eyes lighting up the darkness for a few moments. The smell it left behind was always awful. You lost count of the days, and at one point you thought you came across a forest fire, only to find that it was the sunlight reflecting on several somethings in tall structures.

You know now that the “black river” is called a road, and that the weird loud husks humans travel in are called “cars.” You’ve grown used to the smells and the loud noises. You’ve also learned that living in human environments got you free food since the morons just threw the stuff out. Like, come on, why would you dump an edible “burger” over some pickles? Just take ‘em out! 

Hiding your appearance, on the other hand, was harder. Your horns were coming in and from what you’ve seen, humans don’t have those, or naturally brightly colored irises and star-like pupils. …Or tails. Or pointed ears. Just your luck, though! Some guy forgot to lock the backdoor into the mall, and the shops you “borrowed” from were out of the cameras’ view. 

Finding a home was hard, too. It took a lot of trial and error, but you eventually found a good spot in an abandoned building after scaring a few squatters. They even left their blankets and strange leaves behind. You found out the hard way that those leaves are not good for you, especially after coughing them back up out the window. But hey, it’s all trial and error. Just like your parent said it would be. 

You’re comfortable, living in the abandoned home with ratty blankets and a mattress. Sneaking around the city after dark to snack on the unwanted leftovers thrown in trash cans. “Borrowing” shiny things off of people while they weren’t looking. Like that one guy’s watch, or that girl’s bracelet. Or some kid’s fidget ring. You even have a few things called “wallets.” Humans make interesting things, you’ve come to find. 

Like money.

Money, you’ve come to find, makes it so you don’t have to dig wasted food out of the garbage. You’ve managed to get some new clothes as well, which was a relief because your horns are very noticeable now without a beanie, and they ripped a hole in your old one. You had a hard time throwing it away, but the new one you have is the best thing you’ve ever gotten. You even bought a few things called “pins” to decorate it with.

The issue with money, however, is that it runs out quick, and getting more is harder than getting food. Which brings you back to your collection of empty wallets. You don’t want to go back to digging food out of garbage cans, trying to find scraps that were clean enough to eat. Your blankets are worn to shit, too. So, eating the last of your food and slipping your beloved beanie on, you head out of your abandoned home and into the city. 

***

A man in his late twenties enters the shop, and he cheerfully says “Hello” back to the greeter. “What you looking for, Tim?” The greeter asks, recognizing the regular. “Pins,” He replies simply. “I’m getting bored of the ones I have.” 

The greeter nods slightly. “Well, we got some new ones recently. Maybe you’ll like one of those.” She offers. The two exchange friendly smiles and Tim heads over to the pin basket, giving it a once over before starting to dig through it. He plucks out a Mothman one. A bit standard, he knows, but it’s adorable and Tim likes it so that’s that. 

Tim plucks out a few more monster pins and a few goofy animal ones, like a spider pin with the words “I cry from every eye” printed on it and a duck with a knife. Satisfied with his haul that only costs around fifteen bucks, Tim looks up and spots the best thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. It’s just a keychain with a ghost plush, but it’s probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life and he needs it. It even has a little smile on its face. A smile. It’s so precious and tiny and he just wants to hold it in his palms and dub it “Bartholomew the First.” 

So he feels less alone. 

Tim frowns at the sudden thought. Yeah, he’s a loner. Yes, he has friends, but they’re more work buddies and classmates than anything. He’d like to get a pet, something funky like a ferret or a rat or a lizard. But no, his landlord says no pets, so no pets for Tim. He’s always been sympathetic to others, having a lot of love to give but no one close to share it with. People from the past always found him odd because of it, but never told him why. Never told him what to do instead. 

He knows he’s not alone. Most people want someone to care about them, and most people want someone to care for. Because no one really wants to be alone. Especially not him.  So why does everyone treat him funny? How can he make it better? The kids don't think he's weird. They love it when he babysits. Please just- 

Tim’s snapped out of his thoughts when he feels something slip out of his back pocket. A teen wearing a beanie with a rabid possum and “peace was never an option” duck pin on it quickly leaves the store, brushing past him. It takes him a few seconds, but he puts two and two together and rushes over to the greeter. 

“Kathy hold onto these please some brat just took my money,” Tim says in a rush, shoving the items into her hands before booking it out of the shop. Kathy stands there, a bit stunned and processing what just happened. With a sigh, she heads over to the register and buys the pins and keychain. 

“Don’t you already have that one?” One of her coworkers asks, squinting at the spider pin. 

“I’m buying it for Tim. Some kid just took his wallet.” Kathy explains, blushing slightly at the teasing glance her coworker gives her. 

***

This guy is stubborn. So stubborn, it’s scary. Scarier than that one wolf that would not stop chasing you after you got too close to its pups. It was an accident and you wish your parent was here to charge through the street and intercept the damn guy who’s still chasing you. Like they did with the wolf. 

You know your parent had some love for you because they listened to your screams and begs and let the poor thing go. They also immediately scolded you for the whole thing afterward. Reckless, stupid little joey, poking around where they shouldn’t be. Just go back home and stay there. Food will come, I’ll bring some back. 

Running away from the threat is harder, too. Especially when you have to shove and weave past hordes of people who are either really slow or just aren’t paying attention. It feels suffocating. Claustrophobic. You can’t get out and you can’t take a moment to breathe. You can’t give this up though, you need it. 

I wish you were still here. I wish things were different. I wish I could’ve stayed. 

Without a second thought, you round the corner and scramble up the old fire escape, throwing yourself through the open dirtied window and tumbling into your blankets. Safe, safe, safe, your mind chants. You’re safe. You lost him. You got your money, so you won’t need to get your hands dirty.  You pull your beanie off of your head. It was starting to feel uncomfortable on your head and make your horns ache. 

There’s a clang outside, and a few muffled curses. Wait. What. What? You immediately stand up, pocketing the “borrowed” wallet. A familiar scent wafts into your nose- sweat and palm leaves. Funny for a guy who’s a regular at the most “teenage angst” store you’ve ever been in. The man from before hops through the window and dusts himself off. His gaze screams murder as he looks up at you.

…Only to fall the moment he spots your odd eyes and horns that are starting to curl. 

Okay. Okay. Stay calm. The dude managed to track you home. He’s a human- he’s weaker. He has no defense. Do what your parent taught you. 

Like a stag, you take a defensive stance and show off your horns. Don’t wanna get hit with these. They’ll hurt really bad. Go away, please. Wait- please? No! Go away now! 

You expect the guy to get the memo and leave. 

Instead, he coos at you.

***

Tim was wrong. The creature was the most cutest, precious thing he’s ever seen.  “Awwwww, look’t you!” He coos, relaxing and taking a friendly stance. “Wait hold on- no, this could be a cosplay. This is a cosplay, isn’t-” 

He yelps as the creature charges, narrowly moving out of the way. Its horns slam into the wall and when it pulls away, there’s a noticeable dent and cracks in it. The beast grunts, teeth flashing in a snarl. Fangs with some flat teeth. Its tail slips out of its hiding place and lashes angrily. 

Tim kneels, holding his hand out and trying to How To Train Your Dragon his way out of this. “Hey buddy, it’s alright. I just need my wallet back. Can I have it, please?” He asks sweetly, making a small motion with his hand. "We can talk about this. I can help."

Tim frowns when it hisses at him, an idea blooming in his head. When the monster charges again, he moves to the side and wraps his arms around them. “Easy, easy, aw…it’s alright. Shhhh…” 

“LET ME GO!” The creature screams, making him pause. It can speak? It sounds young, too. Tim glances around the room, taking in the empty bags of chips and other generally bad stuff that kids eat without a second thought. He notices the ratty blankets and worn, moldy mattress on a broken bedframe.

“...How old are you?” Tim asks, tone full of pity. He winces when he feels claws dig and scratch at his arms, but doesn’t let go. “Ow- hey, it’s okay, I can help you. Let me help you.” The creature doesn’t give up, continuing to struggle. He feels his grip slipping, and he has to take several steps back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa- hey, chill out-!” 

The creature breaks free and slams into a wall. 

***

When you wake up you know you’re not in your home. It doesn’t smell rancid and there are soft, silky textures brushing against you. Your head in resting on something soft and fluffy. The smell of palm trees is everywhere, and the world seems brighter. The noise is still there, though.

Outside, a car’s horn goes off repeatedly, resulting in you shifting around and trying to bury your head in the soft object. 

…Your hands are bound. So are your legs. The softness rubs against you. It’s a new sensation, one you aren’t used to. The smell gets stronger and you start to panic. So, like any scared joey, you start to call out for your parent. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hear the man call. You hear him head over and enter the room, immediately joining your side. He starts to rub your back gently, shushing you. Stop it- stop it- you try to protest but he interrupts you. “I know, I know. It’s all new and confusing. But it’s okay! I’ll take care of you now. Don’t worry, I know you’re not a pet. You’re…uh…well, I don’t know, but you’re a person.” 

“Oh, don’t cry, it’s okay. I’m helping. I had to tie you up ‘cause I didn’t want you to hurt yourself again! It’ll be okay, I promise. No more of that nasty stuff for you.”

“I know you’re scared, but look at it this way! You’re not alone anymore! And now I’m not alone either. I wanna guess you’re…what? Seventeen? Y’know, most humans think you’re an adult when you hit eighteen, but I think twenty-one is more reasonable. No “teen” in “twenty-one,” is there?”

-

I was actually thinking of this while writing the werewolf story! And I gave “Dad” a name this time. Speaking of which, I feel like giving the other guys names. Is there a way to vote on it or something? I want to hear your guys’s ideas

I will definitely add onto this as well.

You're looking spectacular today! Drink water! Eat something that isn't chips! SLEEP!

[shadowdaddies]

Hey, love your fic ‘Between a Rock and a Hard Place’! Could I request an alternative where Cassian and reader are having sex at the house of wind one night and Cassian leaves the room to get reader some water or something (because he’s an aftercare king ofc) and Azriel’s standing there with a hard on and Cassian realises he heard and smelt everything and he goes feral and absolutely pummels him? It’s a scenario I can’t get out of my head 🤣

thank you! lmao I wrote this where it works basically as a prequel to BARAHP so hope you enjoy😘

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Listening In

Cassian x Reader smut (ft. Azriel)

warnings: smut, voyeurism?, very slight violence, minors dni

Cassian’s broad hand was threaded through your hair, holding your head in place against the mattress as he pounded into you relentlessly. You’d lost track of how many orgasms he had wrung out of you, limp in his hold as hit cock hit impossibly deep inside of you. 

Eyes rolling back, you clawed at the sheets, a drooling mess as your voice turned hoarse from shouting Cassian’s name. “Good girl, taking me so well,” Cassian grunted, landing a smack on your ass. You mewled at the painful pleasure, legs now shaking as Cassian brought his other hand to your clit.

You writhed against the mattress, struggling against the overstimulation Cassian forced on you in his firm hold. “Give me one more, sweetheart. You can do it,” he murmured, his thrusts growing sloppy as he grew closer to his own high. 

Cassian twitched inside of you, cumming with a shout as he doubled down his efforts on your clit. You screamed, chanting his name as you hit your high, vision blurring when you collapsed against the mattress. Cassian leaned down, pressing kisses to the bare skin of your back and shoulder as he murmured praises to you. 

“I’ll be right back with some water and get a bath ready for you, sweetheart,” he promised, sliding off the bed and padding out into the hall. 

As Cassian exited your bedroom, heading for the kitchen, an all-too familiar shadow slipped around the corner. If he wasn’t as well-acquainted with those shadows as he was, he might have missed the motion. 

Seething with anger, Cassian stormed around the corner and flung open the door to Azriel’s room. Azriel stood in the room, blush creeping over his features as he awkwardly tried to cover the evidence of his arousal. 

“What the fuck, Az? Were you listening just now?”

Despite his embarrassment, Azriel scoffed. “I think the entire city of Velaris was listening just now. You weren’t exactly quiet.” 

Cassian’s fist met Azriel’s jaw with a solid crack, the shadowsinger setting the bone back in place with a grunt. “You’ve made your point,” Az retreated, hands up in a placating position. 

Cassian huffed, ringing out his hand, a tinge of regret sweeping over him at his protective fae instincts getting the better of him. “Just don’t let on or make this awkward for her at training tomorrow,” he mumbled, bidding Azriel a good night and heading to the kitchen for your water.

[xenglitch]

animatic of an AU ive been working on

(theyre cats cuz i was not feeling like drawing humans/humanoids today)

more info abt the AU (+ character references) below the cut

okay so ive actually been working on this AU since before SOTE even had a trailer lmao which meant i had to redesign most of SOTE to fit with the rest of the AU; i havent completely rewritten everything yet plot-wise so its a little wonky atm

basically its a tarnished!miquella AU where miquella (and by extension st trina) is reincarnated as a tarnished. as one might guess from the name. miquella didn't survive the cocooning in the haligtree so his soul was reborn while his now hollow shell remained in the haligtree. something else nestled inside the now empty empyrean body (similiar to shabriri and yura's situation) and began its own plotting while miquella's soul was lost in the sea of souls or whatever until he got reincarnated. who or what exactly body-napped miquella's corpse? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ who knows

either way tarnished!miquella does the whole elden ring song and dance (with boc as a permanent travel companion cuz he has a special place in my heart (hence why he's on the character refs)) until before SOTE. Mohg isn't dead or anything but is pretty much stuck in eternal sleep. varre thinks miquella did it which he didnt and thru trina they figure out someone or something used sleeping mohg to enter the land of shadow. from there miquella follows whoever is responsible for perma-sleeping mohg (whether varre and/or others get to follow or not is still up for debate so *shrug*)

eventually miquella runs into people who claim to be following his footsteps, which. obviously makes no sense. miquella has never been to the land of shadow before. he then is approached by mimiquella (mimic miquella, which is how ive been calling fake miquella so i dont constantly have to say fake miquella & tarnished miquella) who tries to convince miquella to join them but miquella rejects them. mimiquella is also the one who has bewitched all of the followers into blinding following their lead, though miquella later manages to figure out how to break the bewitchment for good (despite being portrayed in the vid freyja & hornsent dont die or anything, they do get injured but arent killed)

and yeah thats pretty much what the video is about. mimiquella trying to convince miquella to join them while showing off all the fucked up cult stuff that is going on.

i might go back and color the frames in the video properly if i find the time and energy and motivation to do so, but for now take the vid as is + the character refs below

characters from top left to bottom right:

image 1: fake miquella/mimiquella

image 2: freyja, moore, thiollier, ansbach

image 3: marika & boc (dont show up in the vid, i had something planned for them tho)

image 4: miquella, trina, leda, hornsent

[possibly-a-table-or-just-gay]

I Had All And Then Most Of You, Some And Now None Of You

"This is a horrible idea."

Alador shifted awkwardly on his feet, mumbling to himself. What in Titan's name was he doing here?! He should be at the house, with his kids. Not standing on his exes doorstep like a stray dog. He wasn't a teenager anymore. It was about time he fucking accepted that already.

Fuck it.

Chapter: 1 2

________________________

Dumb little fic that wouldn't leave my head, my moots are already well acquainted with it (sorry besties). This was my first time writing fanfic so just please be nice lmao.

Thank you @theninjabozo & @genderlessjacky for helping me with this, ye are the best.

________________________

"This is a horrible idea."

Alador shifted awkwardly on his feet, mumbling to himself. What in Titan's name was he doing here?! He should be at the house, with his kids. Not standing on his exes doorstep like a stray dog. He wasn't a teenager anymore. It was about time he fucking accepted that already.

Fuck it.

He slammed his palm against the ornate doorbell, the sharp ding ringing in his ears.

Immediately the instant regret hit him like a ton of bricks. Guilt and shame rising up in his gut, he swiveled on his heel and began legging it down the driveway. It wasn't too late. He could leave now, whatever was left of his self-respect still intact.

Until he heard the door handle turning and saw the light from inside cast his shadow in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat, his entire body screeching to a halt.

"Alador?"

He turned around to face the speaker like he was waiting for an endless berating, wringing his hands.

Standing in the doorway was Darius Deamonne. He was dressed in a luxurious looking bathrobe, clearly not expecting company at this hour. His face was creased into a confused frown, not that Alador could blame him.

The accused felt his face flush and stammered to explain himself.

"Uh, um H-hi-"

Darius' expression softened for a split second. Titan, this was low, even for Alador's standards. Ah well, no going back now.

/

It was just past midnight. Hunter had gone up to bed. Whether he managed to sleep or not was up for debate, but with how he had dragged himself up the stairs, yawning and stumbling, Darius was willing to bet  the little prince was out cold.

With Eberwolf retiring to their room down the hall early, Darius was left alone downstairs. Normally he valued beauty sleep above all else, however tonight he couldn't bring himself to turn in for the night.

Leaning against the kitchen island, aimlessly scrolling through Pentstagram, the ringing of the doorbell dragged him out of his thoughts. Mother Titan, he thought he told that short pig thing trying to sell him cheap waistcoats to get lost. No advertiser had the right to rock up at his door at this time, surely.

Grumbling, he wrenched open the front door, words of annoyance his tongue. They caught at the back of his throat however, when it was not a ludicrously irritating salesman greeting him.

"Alador?"

Darius saw the guilty look in his past lover's eyes, the ashamed way he forced himself to meet his gaze. Alador's entire body shook as he scrambled to find an excuse.

Glancing up at the overcast sky, a tell-tale sign of bad weather, he huffed a sigh through his nose.

Darius didn't do pity, but he wasn't cruel.

Turning around he gestured over his shoulder for the witch on his doorstep to follow him. Upon seeing in the corner of his eye Alador standing stock-still in shock, he reached behind him and yanked the man inside by his wrist, just as the pitter-patter of boiling rain started to fall.

/

"You can sit."

Alador gingerly perched himself on the lush purple couch, not sure if he was entirely welcome.

"Do you still drink coffee?"

Darius looked his guest up and down, noting the deep eye bags and tired posture.

"Nevermind, looks like you've had enough of that to last a lifetime."

Alador's cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment but he didn't deny it.

Setting two freshly brewed mugs of goreberry tea on the coffee table, Darius took a seat opposite Alador. After sipping their tea in silence for a few minutes, he decided to cut to the question that hung over the living room like a dark cloud.

"What are you doing here, Alador?"

Darius asked, in the gentlest voice he could muster. 

His guest squirmed uncomfortably, his eyes darting across the room as if he could find a dignified excuse on the picture frames decorating the walls.

"I um, I didn't- I dont- I- "

He looked down at his feet, avoiding Darius' eyes.

"I didn't want to be alone... again..."

/

Darius frowned.

"Don't you have a wife?"

Alador laughed hoarsely.

"Yeah, she's dead to me now. I'm done with her bullshit."

He kept his eyes focused on the floor.

"I spent most of my marriage in the workshop. I worked there, I slept there. I don't even know my kids anymore. I've wasted my life attached to that woman."

"......"

"In the end, it was my choice, wasn't it though? I could have stood up to my parents, could have grown a backbone. Could have stayed with you."

Darius felt his throat block up, like the wad of emotion he had thoroughly stamped down for twenty years had taken a physical form.

"I don't deserve it. Whatever they've given me is more than I earned. I never saw them grow up. Never saw them change, become independent. I'm not worth their forgiveness."

A tear rolled its way down Aladors face and as much as he tried to quell them, they kept coming.

Darius awkwardly stood. Tears were never his strong suit. He sat down next to his old sweetheart, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Alador laughed again, if you could even call it that.

"And here I am, a grown man, crying in his exes living room. Titan Darius, I'm sorry I- "

"I don't need your apology."

The words came out harsher than intended, but there they were.

Darius sighed.

"Are you okay?"

It was a pointless question, but one that needed asking anyway.

"No, not really."

Darius wrapped his arm around Alador's shoulders, Alador just barely rested his head on Darius' chest and for a second they were teenagers again, not knowing who they were, where they were going but naively clinging onto the hope they'd do it together.

/

"I'd better leave. I've taken up too much of your time and energy already."

Darius firmly shook his head.

"No. It's pouring rain outside. I can't send you home in this weather."

And I can't send you home to an empty bed.

That last part went unsaid for the sake of dignity but Darius knew from the twist in the pit of his stomach it was true.

Reaching forward and grasping Alador's hand- Titan why had it been so long since he'd done that? -he lead the man up the staircase.

Something made him completely bypass the guest room and lead Alador further down the hall, arriving at the door to his own bedroom. He turned the door handle as slowly and quietly as he could, praying to the Titan Eber was asleep. If they heard this he would never hear the end of it.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back in a minute"

Alador didn't make a sound, just kind of looked stunned, like he was a bird that had just discovered glass the hard way.

Darius softly padded downstairs with the intention of grabbing a glass of water but instead found himself sitting on the arm of the couch, feeling the weight of the impulsive decision he'd just made.

Was he actually doing this? It wasn't too late, he could go back on it now and-

No. Alador needed this, and even though he would never admit it to himself, Darius wanted it too.

Making his way up those stairs again, he took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold into his bedroom.

Alador was asleep, his breathing heavy and slow as he was curled up under the covers. Darius climbed in the other side, with his back to the other witch.

And well, he wouldn't ever say it, but something about... this made that night the best he'd ever slept.

/

"It's getting dark."

They had been there for hours, talking about nothing. It didn't matter, they were young and in love. Nothing mattered because they were together, the entirety of the Boiling Isles could have been ablaze but all they cared about was that his head was in Alador's lap, the breeze that tousled Alador's hair was warm and they were the only people in the world.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I think- I think I love you."

Darius felt his face grow warm.

"You don't mean that."

"I do. I think so anyway."

Darius laughed, which made Alador grin.

"Yeah, that's so reassuring."

"Do you think- Do you think when we're older, we'll get married?"

"... do you want that?"

"... I don't know."

"Neither do I. But do you know what I do know?"

"What?"

"I know that I love you."

He reached his hand up and gently held  Alador's blushing face, moving one of his fluffy locks behind his ear and before either of them knew it, they were kissing and they were the only people in the world again.

/

Darius awoke, that familiar feeling already settling in his stomach. Disappointment. He should be used to it by now, it had been decades, but every time those stupid memories floated to the surface, every time reality came round to break the fantasy, the emptiness always felt as fresh as all those years ago.

Groaning, he turned over to face the empty sheets but-

Oh.

Right.

He wasn't sure how he managed to get so lost in his head to not notice the arms wrapped around his torso, or the soft slow breathing against his chest.

Rolling onto his back as quietly as possible as to not wake the witch sleeping at his side, Darius closed his eyes, trying to ground himself back to reality again. Taking deep slow breaths through his nose, he absently combed his fingers through Alador's fluffy mane.

He heard the thumps and bumps of people moving around downstairs and let them melt into the background, focusing on the little slice of comfort he was in right now, until he remembered-

"FUCK."

Darius sat bolt upright, throwing the duvet off himself and practically flying out of the bed.

"Shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuck Mother Titan- Mother-fucking-Titan-"

Alador clumsily sat up, squinting sleepily.

"Dare? What's..."

Scrambling to find his slippers, Darius almost didn't notice Alador using the old stupid nickname he used to make a huge show of pretending to not like. Almost. He let it slide, for the time being they had bigger problems to deal with.

"Well, Alador, it seems both of us forgot it was a weekday, which means I have a very eager kid waiting for me to drop him to school at this exact moment."

"... Ah."

"And what happened last night was very irresponsible and impulsive and there is a time and a date to explain that to Hunter, but that time is not now."

Grabbing several coat hangers out of his closet, he leaned back to give Alador his final message.

"So if you could keep quiet and pretend you're not here for a second, that'd be great."

"Uh-"

He slammed the door after him, leaving Alador sitting up in the bed, his brain taking a moment to process what just happened, before-

"SHIT I NEED TO GET THE KIDS TO SCHOOL-"

__________________________

@non-bee-knees probably not as angsty as you were hoping, but I hope you liked it!

It'll probably be up on ao3 as soon as I understand how it works lmao-

[vivemonroi]

Ok, first of all, I’m not an artist, I don’t even know how to draw and use my pencil only while art therapy. I’ve never learned anatomy (only theory lmao) or academic painting, so I apologise to any real artist who sees it.

But I do have an inspiration to draw these two.

It’s based on my AU, where is Charlie is an angel from the beginning, but she still wants to redeem sinners (she knows about the extermination), she goes down to hell to ask Lucifer to help end this cruel thing.

She ends up in the Forest between Mortal world and Hell (yes, from Dante’s), shadows try to assault her, but the strange looking shadow-thing kills them. It’s Alastor.

Alastor was banned from the Pride Ring by Lucifer 7 years ago, he lost most of his power and haunting weak souls to feed himself. He dwells in the threshold of hell, where the all miserable live (Dante again)

But when he finds an angel who asks him to help her? Well, let’s just say he sees potential he can guide.

These two must overcome all the circles of hell and descend to the Ring of Pride.

[heliads]

'wckd is good' part 2 - newt

Based on a past request for a Maze Runner fic set in the MCU where Newt was Venom, Reader was Spider-Woman.

part one / masterlist

a/n yes this is wayy longer than i expected lmao but i choose to see this as a good thing

Running has always been easier than staying to face the truth. As you swing back through the dark city, you hear Newt’s words echoing in your head with every snap of web hitting concrete and glass. It is foolish to let one conversation shatter your entire worldview, but even running can’t convince your mind to settle back the way it had been. Newt has done his part well. 

Worst of all, you think he was right about you, about everything. Usually, when the moon hangs low over the city such that its glow can be hidden by the shadows of the skyscrapers around you, your worst fears about this city seem like they couldn’t be more true. On nights like these, you always see a monster lurking in the face of every man, the darkness bleeding from every eye. Now, though, in every face you see only a blond boy grinning back at you. If the worst monster you’ve seen lately was just a kid like you, what does that say about every creature you’ve killed in the name of preserving the peace? What does that say about you?

You don’t get into any more confrontations that night, electing instead to perch on the edge of a dark roof and watch the lights of the cars go by far below you. Your shift ends, but you only return to WCKD headquarters when you’re certain no one else will be there. A few rooms have lights on, but you avoid them as best you can. There is no one you want to see right now. No, not true— there is one person you want to see, but if he’s in WCKD’s clutches, it’s all over. 

Sleep comes fitfully that night, as it has every night before that and will every night again. You see Newt reaching out a hand to you, smiling easily, but then his jaw ripples and the monster’s awful fangs come out again, distorting his charm into something terrible. You wake up screaming; for you or for him, you can’t be sure. 

Even more restless than usual that morning, you decide to go on a walk to clear your head. Normally, walking around in the bright sunshine, seeing the smiling families, the upturned faces, all serves to lift your mood. A strong city is a happy city; this is why you do it, remember? You protect these people, all of them. It’s worth every sacrifice. 

Turning down another street, though, your spirits refuse to lift. How many more people would be here if you hadn’t been in charge of taking them out? How many times did you get it wrong? How many Albys do there have to be before you realize that you can’t make judgment calls on someone’s life?

Lost in thought, your guard slips unconsciously. You don’t notice the hand snaking out to grab your arm until someone’s already pulled you under a shadowy overhang. Immediately, you’re on high alert, grabbing a knife from your belt to press against their throat, but your attacker just laughs. It is this sound and this sound alone, that call like the high-pitched ring of a bell, that stops you from slitting his throat. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Newt,” you warn him as you pull your knife away from his neck. 

For someone who’s life almost ended, he seems remarkably unaffected by your words. “It’s lovely to see you, too. Didn’t realize you remembered my name.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s my job to know things. Don’t take it personally.”

“Yes, Y/N, because it would be terrible to not be as affectionate as you,” Newt muses. “Forgive me for wanting to be friendly.”

“Being friendly gets you killed.” You remark plainly. “So does trying to sneak up on an assassin. Don’t let that happen again.”

You turn away and walk back onto the sidewalk. Newt, however, just joins you without a heartbeat’s delay. “It’s not up to me whether this happens again. I think you wanted to see me a little more than you care to admit.”

You shoot him an angry look, but Newt remains resolutely cheerful. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Newt asks. Without giving you a chance to interject, he carried on blithely, “Or maybe you’re right. Here, I’ll give you a chance to prove it. I’m meeting up with some friends tonight to discuss our favorite enemy. If you don’t want any of this, feel free to stay away. Or don’t.”

He casually passes you a folded paper that’s been creased from staying in his pocket. A quick glance towards its contents reveals a place and time. 

You arch a brow. “If this little gathering is happening so you can denounce WCKD, I don’t think giving the location to one of its best soldiers is really the brightest idea.”

Newt lifts a shoulder. “That’s what they said too, but I know what I saw last night. They don’t have a chokehold on you, Y/N, despite what you might try to tell me. Somewhere in there,” he says, brushing a hand against your temples, “you want out. Let me help you with that.”

You press your lips together, thinking. Going could be suicide. What if this is just a trap to take out WCKD’s finest agents one by one, and Newt’s just telling you this so he can lure you into letting your guard down?

At the same time, your mind whispers selfishly, what if he isn’t lying? What if there was a world without WCKD? You haven’t dared to let yourself imagine such a thing in a long time; security cracked down after Thomas and Minho ran away a year or so ago. There’s no way they’d let you go without a fight. If Newt’s friends had your back, then maybe, just maybe, you might win this one. 

“You told your friends about me? Moving awfully fast, aren’t you?” You question. 

Newt grins. “Don’t take it personally, baby. I tell them a lot. Doesn’t mean we aren’t special, of course, but you wouldn’t be the first girl I’ve brought home.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “No need to get carried away.”

“Too late,” he says, smiling back at you, and then he turns down a corner and disappears into the crowd. You’re left clutching the note, wondering if this mistake might cost you your life, and if you’re leading any sort of life that’s worth saving to avoid a chance like this. 

You shouldn’t go. Odds are, WCKD has someone tailing you, and even though you’re always careful to shake anyone you even suspect to be following you, there’s no way to tell for certain that you got rid of everyone. You check your clothes and personal items thoroughly for recording devices every time you leave WCKD headquarters, but what’s the precautions of one girl against such a massive organization?

You check the note once, twice, and then again. The time is later tonight, the pickup location outside the docks near the south of the city. Newt hasn’t given you many hours to deliberate, although you suspect that was intentional. The less time you have to ponder about whether or not you’ll take him up on his offer, the less time you have to turn them into WCKD if you decide to betray him instead of trying to run.

In the end, you put away your sense of self-preservation and head out again. You aren’t scheduled to go out on patrol until tomorrow, so you’ll have plenty of time in case something happens. You don nondescript clothing and pull a baseball cap low over your head to disguise your face. After taking a long, roundabout way to the docks to avoid suspicion, you stand on a pier, watching the dark water go by.

It was smart of them to pick this place. The sound of the tides, the churning of the boats up and down the water, the roaring of distant traffic echoing off of the tall buildings, all serve to muffle the sound of the strangers as they walk up to you. Normally, you’re able to sense trouble when it comes to you, but maybe your reflexes decide that your assailants aren’t a threat before your head makes that call, because you don’t notice anyone sneaking up behind you until they’ve already shoved a dark hood over your head and clamped a mouth over your hand to silence any shouts.

The second the hood is pulled over your eyes, you’re swimming in dark danger. You can feel the heartbeats of the people around you; four of them, men, young men. Boys. Newt’s age. Your age. They’re desperate, you can taste their fear like metal on your tongue. One of them has a limp. If you strike now, you could break a leg, roll away long enough to get the hood off of your head, then kill them all. They’d be dead before they even hit the ground. The blood would run scarlet into the river and ruin your last chances of leaving this hell. You’d be alive, though. Isn’t that why you do all of this, to live? Isn’t that the only motivation any of us have ever had?

A whisper in your ear, sharp and urgent:  “Trust me. Please.”

Newt.

You don’t trust people. You shouldn’t. He knows this. If Newt set you up to die, though, he would have killed you already. Newt’s monster doesn’t need to sneak up on you and blind you to kill you. One snap of those jaws would do the trick. If Newt wants you to play by these shifty rules, there must be a reason. Strangely enough, you realize that you believe in him enough to want to know what that reason is.

You comply, going limp long enough for the others to seize hold of your arms and take you with them into a waiting car. They intentionally take a confusing, circuitous route so as to confuse you. Still, you carefully note each turn, how long you stop at traffic lights or stop signs. Then you’re bustled out of the car again and into a building with tall ceilings; you can tell from how your footsteps echo against the top that the sound has a long way to go.

Eventually, you’re sat down on a chair, your hands bound behind you. The others hover nearby, you can sense their presences. There are more of them now, probably a dozen. Mostly inhumans, with the occasional exception. Not bad numbers, but not enough to really challenge WCKD. That’s why they’ve gone to you, though, you suppose. Foolhardy, but not completely insane.

A voice, loud and challenging, calls you sharply back to reality. “Y/N. You work for WCKD, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer deadpan. “None of you do. That’s why you were so kind as to bring me here, right? You were desperate. Now, can you take this hood off of my head? I would hate for you to miss anything I said.”

The loud boy scoffs. “There’s no way we’re letting you get a good look at us. You’d just turn us in.”

You cock your head to the side, staring exactly where you think the boy’s eyes are. “Would I? I don’t need my sight to do that. There are fifteen of you in this room right now, but that’s not all of you. About five leaders, I think. All teenagers. One adult, though. He drove. And one little boy. I can hear your heartbeats. I know who you are.”

A young voice lets out a muffled complaint from the far side of the room. “I’m not a little boy.”

Instantly, he’s shamed into silence. “Shut it, Chuck. Don’t give yourself away.”

A weakness. You grin, even though they can’t see it. “Chuck? That’s the boy, then. If I looked up connections between boys named Newt and Chuck, how long do you think it would take for me to track all of you down? I’d start by checking security cams near the docks. We’re in the warehouses near the docks. I’d guess the third from the left in the second row, yes? Usually used for temporary storage of agricultural products, but you’re in between seasons, so it’s empty for now and you’ve been borrowing it for meetings.”

A collection of gasps confirms your theory. You press on. “I know where you are, I know who you are. Bonds and a hood won’t keep me. Hell, I don’t even need you to undo me. I can manage that by myself.”

See, your would-be captors were so distracted by their own seeming safety that they didn’t check to make sure your wrists were fully together when they tied you down. Also, they were so stunned by you being able to catch onto them that they didn’t notice you slowly pulling a blade from your sleeve, nor spot when you sawed through your bonds. You stand up easily, toss the ropes to the ground, and pull the hood from your head.

You’re greeted with fifteen shocked faces. Well, fourteen. One’s grinning proudly. Newt. He winks when you catch his eye, but he’s careful not to let his friends see. Another boy, with close-cropped hair and a dark glare, looks particularly unhappy about your little escape. This is the one who had been speaking to you, you assume, and there’s the man in the back who drove you here. Silver touches his dark hair near his temples, but he looks intimidating enough anyway. Close by him is a girl about your age.

The angry boy who had spoken earlier groans in disgust. The angrier he gets, the more his eyes start to flicker, turning from green to a fiery red. Sparks flash along his clenched fists. Another inhuman, then. Fire powers. He’s probably somewhere on your list. “Who tied her up? Winston, you know to make the bonds stronger than that.”

“Wasn’t his fault,” you call out, and hold up the knife you’d disguised in your sleeve to make your point.

The boy groans again. “What is that? No one checked her for weapons?”

“You certainly didn’t, Gally,” Newt points out.

The boy– Gally– tosses Newt an irritated look. “Don’t start with me, Newt. I bet you’re just delighted with her for this bit of showmanship, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Newt says, grinning over at you.

Gally looks like he can’t decide who he wants to throttle more, you or Newt. “Fine. Fine. Let’s get started, if that’s what you really want. How do we know we can trust you?”

“You’re the ones who kidnapped me,” you argue. “I think I should be asking that question first.”

Gally might actually try to kill you this time, so Newt quickly steps in before things can escalate further. “Play along, will you?” Newt asks. “We’ll get nowhere if both of you are bickering the whole time.”

You sigh. “Alright, fine. If I wanted to turn you guys in, you’d already be dead. WCKD doesn’t cut corners, you know that. We would have burned your entire establishment to the ground. Happy?”

“Very,” Gally remarks dryly. “We’re familiar with your typical way of handling things, thank you very much. We know how WCKD operates.”

“If you know so much, why do you need me?” You ask. “Newt knew where to find me even on my off day. I’m assuming you’ve done your research thoroughly or you’ve got a source, in which case you’d have no reason to reach out to me, too. Why take a risk like this?”

“Because our source is no longer in WCKD,” Newt interjects. “Our information is out of date. We want more relevant gossip, to put it plainly.”

You frown. “You used to have a source in WCKD? Who?”

Newt goes silent, something almost like pity in his eyes. Gally, unencumbered by weak things like empathy, answers your question. “Thomas.”

You draw in a harsh breath. “You know Thomas?”

This changes the whole situation. Thomas– Thomas was everything. He and Teresa were the very first to show up to WCKD. You were the third, but they’d been there for at least a year before you. It changed them, you think. It made them closer than anyone else. When Thomas left, it destroyed Teresa. You and Teresa have known each other for years now, but it’s nowhere remotely close to the bond she shared with Thomas. Nothing can ever match that.

Thomas had been the last of the good ones, you think. After he left, everything was ruined. It was the first sign of the end of days. If Thomas, Thomas the believer, Thomas, the one who was willing to give everything to cause even when it left him broken and bloody, could walk away, what claim did the rest of you have to anything at all?

Thomas’ departure changed the way that WCKD worked. Neither Thomas nor Teresa had been true experiments. Teresa was trained as a Black Widow, and Thomas made himself an indestructible shield, running around the city as Captain America and saving people wherever he went. They juiced him up a little to make him stronger, but nothing as intense as the rest of you. No cuts were made.

Thomas was the last ideal any of you had that humanity could be protected by other humans. Once Thomas was gone, WCKD started up their labs in earnest. Now, almost every one of their teenage recruits is modified in some way. They say it’s because you have to fight fire with fire, that you can’t possibly compete with mutants if you’re not more than human yourself, but many terrible things have been done in the name of scientific progress. This would not be the first.

And now you find out that Thomas had once been here. Thomas had been friends with everyone in this room. You look wildly from face to face, expecting to find the boy you had once pledged to defend until your dying breath. The two of you had saved each other on countless dangerous missions, but now he’s just gone, and you aren’t even entirely sure that you would recognize him were you to see him again.

Newt saves you from the peril of not knowing. “He’s not here,” he answers you gently. “Thomas got out. He told us to try to reach you, though. Said you could be trusted.”

“Not Teresa?” You ask softly. That surprises you. If Thomas could save anyone, wouldn’t it be her?

Newt shakes his head. “He said Teresa was better than him. She would never leave.”

“But I would?” You say bitterly.

“He knew you could save us, not just the city,” Newt supplies. You’re not sure if that makes it all better or worse, but it is an answer to fill the empty silence curling between your ribs, so that helps with something, at least.

You nod curtly. “Alright, then. If you’ve got Thomas on your side, I’ll help. Just– have you seen him recently? Is he still alive? I would ask on my end, but I don’t know if WCKD would tell us if they– if they killed him.”

Gally looks vaguely irritated. “No, the asshole’s still alive. He’s a major pain, won’t stop asking questions or getting in the way we do things, but he’s still kicking.”

You grin in spite of yourself. “That’s Thomas for you. He has a way of getting under your skin. He means well, though.”

Newt laughs. “That’s one way of putting it. He skipped town a week or so back. Said he was going to try to look for an old friend.”

At first, you’re confused about who that would be except for you and Teresa, and then– Oh. It hits you like a tidal wave. “Minho.”

Newt nods. “You knew him too?”

You smile. “The four of us were always the closest. Maybe we can do a little family reunion if I can get away without WCKD always watching my back.”

Gally coughs pointedly. “Let’s get back to business. You can reminisce later about the good old days of killing mutants together. You’re willing to help?”

You incline your head. “As best I can. Tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to get it. It might be slow going at first, I’ve got to divert suspicion, but I have access to just about everything. Perks of working for them since I was small. Satellite feeds, location tracking, anything.”

For the first time all night, you think Gally smiles. “You know what, I think we just might be friends after all.”

Isn’t that a lovely thought? As it turns out, Gally isn’t wrong. Days turn into weeks, and the information you accumulate for Newt’s friends steadily turns into a virtual mountain. You find mutants for them, people with abilities who WCKD would kill but they can save. They have friends, too, who are already on WCKD’s radar and need to be removed from the list. You pretend to kill them to erase any sign of their existence. After that, they can run without getting gunned down when they try to leave the city. WCKD has this place on lockdown, the only way you can escape their clutches is in a bodybag, so you fake that part and everything goes according to plan.

You usually rotate members of Newt’s group when handing off information to avoid suspicion, but your favorite blond shows up the most often. You heard one of the other boys grumbling once that Newt has a habit of insisting that it be him to meet up with you, even threatening to set his monster on someone who argued too hard against it, but that just makes you laugh. Newt’s a sweetheart. He wouldn’t hurt any of his friends to stop them from flirting with you. Hopefully.

One evening, the two of you are walking along the river for such a handoff when Newt breaks the one boundary both of you have had the good sense to maintain and asks you when you’re going to leave along with them. Newt’s friends aren’t interested in making a stand against WCKD, they just want to get the last of their allies out of the city before the whole thing burns down.

The more you research on Newt’s behalf, the more you realize how precarious the whole affair is. WCKD has no surefire way of keeping crime out. Their only solution for stopping violence is to nip it in the bud, so to speak, but innocents get caught in the crossfires more often than not. The murder rate is skyrocketing anyway. Nothing any of you do will matter in the long run, and it just puts the teenagers WCKD hires in harm’s way more than the adults who hide in the wings and keep their hands clean.

It’s like working just downhill from a volcano. At some point, the lava will flood into your streets and engulf you all in an inferno of blood and tears. You pretend that you can just work hard enough to fight that, but it isn’t working. It hasn’t since the start. You can push off the inevitable a few weeks, but it always comes in the end.

That’s why Newt and his friends are so interested in getting out. WCKD keeps clear tags on all mutants and inhumans in the area. The second any of you try to run, they send an assassin out to kill you. Supposedly, it’s all about containing the threat, but none of this has ever been about having a good motive, no matter what you say. Everything leads back to power. If you run the city with all the inhumans, you have more power than the rest. Easy as that.

You’ve been steadily helping people escape. Chuck was one of the first to go, all of you agreed. He was just a kid, hardly twelve. He ended up on WCKD’s list because he figured out how to turn his flesh and bone into any material. Soft skin could become as hard as diamond or as pliable as water in a second if he just thought about it. Often, he didn’t, electing instead to just ignore his mutation in favor of trying to blend in with the rest of the guys he idolized, but WCKD doesn’t forget as easily as a preteen.

There were others, too. Clint, a boy about your age, who could heal from any injury. Frypan found an old spell book and learned how to cook up portals to other places and fantastic rings of glowing energy. Zart could shrink as small as an ant or grow taller than a skyscraper. Jorge had a mechanical suit impervious to most attacks that let him fly so long as he kept it up to date; he taught a girl named Brenda how to do the same. They don’t like being apart.

Only a few remain now. Newt, with his monster. Gally, with his fire abilities. You, with your webs. Thomas has appeared a few times now to help ferry people out of the city. The first time you saw him, you nearly wept. It was like seeing a ghost. You assumed he had died a long time ago, but then you’d walked into the warehouse one day and there he was, making a sarcastic joke to Newt. He’d turned to look at you as you slowly approached, and said it was good to see you again. It had taken everything in you not to break down at that very moment.

So he’s alive, then, and Minho is too. Hypothetically, the rest of the boys you’ve been slowly ferrying out are with them. In reality, you have no idea if any of them managed to survive past the edge of the city, but you can hope. That’s all any of you have at this point, hope that someday, you’ll all live past WCKD’s imposed expiration date.

There is, of course, the idea that once the last of them leave, you’ll be left alone with the organization you’ve been steadily betraying, but truth be told, you thought you’d be found out long before the last of Newt’s crew left, so that decision was never going to be yours to make anyway.

Newt doesn’t care about that, though. Newt has told you that he’d break into WCKD headquarters all by himself if you were captured or discovered. So of course it makes sense that Newt is the one to look you in the eyes at last and ask when– not if, but when– you’d be leaving with the rest of them.

You let out a shaky breath. “I wasn’t under the impression that I would be going with you.”

Newt reacts as if you’ve slapped him. “Why wouldn’t you? You don’t believe in WCKD anymore. Burn them to the ground one last time, then leave with us.”

You sigh. “I would be abandoning the only life I’ve ever known. If I leave, WCKD would know for certain that I’d betrayed them, if they haven’t figured it out already. They have evidence of dozens of murders I’ve committed. If they wanted to, they could release that information and have the police drag me back to them. WCKD doesn’t like it when their experiments try to run away.”

You learned that lesson well enough with Thomas. Newt’s jaw locks at the mention of what WCKD had done to you, but he manages to keep his cool. “Exactly why you should leave. Where we’re going, no one will find us. It’s wild land in the middle of nowhere. There’s a total maze of forest cutting off outside access. We’ve got farmland and a big house for all of us. It’ll be a simpler life than we’re used to leading, sure, but no one can find us there. You’ll be safe, Y/N. We all will.”

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry at the fierce hope in his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” Newt says decisively. “We’re so close, Y/N. Most of us are gone, only a few left. Promise me that you’ll go with us when the last of us leave. Maybe we can fake our deaths or something to stop them from looking. Just promise me you won’t let me leave alone.”

Promises are dangerous. They have a way of being broken. Still, you nod, and press your fingers against his when Newt takes your hand. “I’ll do it. I promise.”

A sunrise of a smile splits Newt’s face. “I’m holding you to that.”

You hope against everything that he does. To be honest, hearing him talk, you almost think that you could do it; make it out alive. The last few kids are shipped out of the city, and then Newt meets up with you, says that only he and Gally are left. It’s time to go. You agree to meet him that night to run. You haven’t let your hopes truly rise all this time, but it’s impossible to avoid now. A life without killing. It seems like a dream, but it might be yours after all.

And then, a few hours before you’re scheduled to meet Newt to leave the city behind, you get a call from WCKD saying they want to meet with you to discuss recent progress. You text Newt from a burner phone telling him that you might be late and to go on without you if you take too long. You know he won’t, but the comforting lie that he might make it out without getting caught up in your capture carries you to WCKD.

Your heels click on the tiled floor. You know everyone here, you have since you were small. That fact used to fill you with pride; after years of watching people get replaced, you alone stayed, along with Teresa. You had what it took to put your life on the line and keep going. You were the best of the best.

Now, it just seems like another betrayal. How could all of those people watch you grow up and still condone what they had forced you to do? You try to imagine making Chuck go out and hunt down kids his age. It makes you sick to your stomach. All of these people are complicit in the blood caking your hands, and they will never, ever be accountable for it.

You’re certain that they must know what you’ve done. You walk to the conference room in a haze. Newt is on the other side of the city by now. Maybe he’s already out. Maybe they’re all out. If there was one good thing you did in your life, you couldn’t be more proud that it was for him. After years of senseless death, you saved the lives of other mutants just like you. It won’t be enough to wash your ledger clean, but it’s a start. It’s a shame it’s all over now. No more chances to improve. Just one last opportunity to die.

You walk into the meeting room and take the only empty seat. Around you are many familiar faces. Dr. Ava Paige sits at the head of the table, her second in command, a sickly man named Janson at one side, Teresa at the other. Teresa eyes you with no small amount of judgment. How righteous she must feel, knowing that of the three kids who started it all, she alone was capable of carrying out the blessed mission without getting corrupted. How challenging, to wonder why both you and Thomas needed to leave and she could never find a reason why.

Other WCKD officials and high-level agents crowd the ranks. There are only a dozen people in here, maximum, but Ava Paige has chosen them well. They’re all older than you, making the aura in here quite sinister indeed.

Once you’ve sat down and the door closes behind you (do you hear a lock slide shut, or are you just paranoid?), Dr. Paige begins. “We’ve had reason to worry about you, Y/N,” she says. “You’ve always been one of our best agents, but your quotas have been down as of late.”

“By quotas, you mean the people that I’ve killed, correct?” You clarify, sending a ripple of whispers around the room.

Dr. Paige’s face tightens. “I refer to the threats you have eliminated from our glorious city, but if that’s the way you’d like to put it, fine. You have killed fewer times, yes. Why?”

“Maybe I didn’t find any more threats,” you reply.

Janson arches a brow. “There are always threats. Have you lost your stomach for it?”

You smile, although the expression is cold. “I have a question, Dr. Janson. Why is it always me?”

He frowns. “Pardon?”

“Why is it always me out there in the field?” You repeat. “All of you in this room would rather send a child out to kill inhumans than do it yourselves. Does that ease your conscience? Does it reduce variables of concern for human life if you force a teenager to kill instead of doing it yourself?”

Ava Paige rises to her feet. “Y/N L/N, you have been a part of this organization since the start. I remember when you were fiercely dedicated to the cause. Don’t tell me you’re walking away now because you’ve decided to reinsert morals into the equation. What about the people who will die because you are no longer willing to protect them?”

“I’ll find another way to protect them,” you shoot back, “One that doesn’t involve murdering people just because you think they might one day become a problem.”

“That’s naive and you know it. You can’t leave,” Dr. Paige says, her face bleached pale.

“Why not?” You ask. “Are you afraid that I’ll tell people what you had me do? What will you do to stop me?”

When she remains silent, you realize that it’s not just you who has something to fear from WCKD’s actions becoming public. They’ve sanctioned killing dozens if not hundreds of times. They can’t afford to call you back without letting all of their dirty secrets go, and that is a loophole you will most certainly exploit.

You stand. “I think we’re done here. I am.”

They don’t try to stop you. Teresa, however, runs out the door after you. “Don’t you leave us, Y/N. You know what WCKD means to this city.”

“I know what it means to innocent inhumans who have to fear for their lives every time they leave their homes,” you retort.

She pulls you into an empty room. In the half-light of the nearby windows, her eyes are frantic. “You’re the only one I have left. The only one who believed like I did. You know we have a responsibility to this city.”

“Not like this,” you whisper sadly. “Teresa, you know this isn’t the way. We can still save the world in our own right, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of this much blood. There are other ways.”

“What, like with that little group of mutants you’ve been running around with recently?” Teresa’s voice is shrill, and you feel your blood ice over in your veins. “I know, Y/N. I know everything. I know you’ve been feeding them information. You’ve been working with the enemy all along.”

“Then why haven’t you turned me in yet?” You ask quietly. “That would be what WCKD wanted, to know about moles or liars. Why are you telling me this now?”

She’s silent for a while, then:  “I wanted to know why you would throw all of this away for nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” you tell her. “I made friends there. Real friends, who wanted me to be safe.”

“They’re not your friends, I am. Those are perfect strangers who could be planning to kill you the second you all leave the city. You can’t trust any of them.” Teresa argues.

You look her steadily in the eyes. “Maybe not, but I trust Thomas.”

That finally gets through to her. Teresa rears back. “No. He wouldn’t–”

“He would,” you continue. “I’ve seen him, Teresa. He knows all of my friends. Thomas is the one who wants us to get out alive.”

She shakes her head, but the fight is gone from her eyes, you can see it. “No. That can’t be true.”

“It is, Teresa,” you say, then on a sudden urge, “Come with us. There’s still time. WCKD is going to destroy itself in a matter of months, you know this. I don’t want you there when the whole thing goes up in flames. Come with me. Stay alive.”

You reach out to her, but Teresa backs away slowly. “I can’t abandon the cause,” she whispers.

It hurts like a broken bone, but you can’t say you didn’t see it coming. “Goodbye,” you tell her at last. “Thank you for being my friend.”

She nods once, tight and controlled. “You should go now. Before they try to stop you.”

There is nothing else to say, so you take one last look at her and run. She’s saved you one final time by not turning you in, but she’ll do no more for you from here on out. This is the end of you and her, although if you were going to be honest, you would know that your friendship effectively ended when you first started going against WCKD. Everything past that was a betrayal of your work with her, and Teresa knew it all along but didn’t say a word. She has always been the best at sacrifices, hasn’t she?

You should still have time to get to Newt before their car leaves. He’s probably stalling with everything he has so you can make it to him, and you won’t let him down now. You practically sprint out the door and down the sidewalk, hurtling towards the pickup location. Secrecy doesn’t matter anymore. WCKD caught on to the fact that you no longer want anything to do with them, and they’ll be sending someone after you to kill you soon if they haven’t already.

You whip around a few corners. You’re meeting at the docks one last time, it’s just a few corners down. You take a shortcut across a parking lot, but several dark cars screech into the space behind you just as you enter. WCKD already. You swear under your breath and pick up speed, turning down an alley so they can’t follow you except on foot.

One of your stalkers is crazy enough to run after you. He’s bigger than you, and gains ground quicker than you’d like. You take several quick turns, but can’t shake him. The alley opens up to the docks, and you sprint towards the empty pavement of the loading area. You’ve hardly left the shade of the alleys behind when someone collides with you from behind, sending both of you toppling to the ground.

You shove the man off of you, staggering to your knees to come eye to eye with Janson. “Experiments can’t leave,” he growls. “We’ll learn from your bones if not your missions.”

He draws a gun from his belt and points it at you. “Come with me, now. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. I can collect your corpse if that’s easier.”

You wonder if Newt is still here, if he can hear you. You hope that he’s already gone. It’ll be far worse for him to watch you die. He’s already watched too many of his friends lose their lives to WCKD, you cannot be another one.

You hold up your hand slowly. “Don’t do something you’d regret.”

“I should be telling you that,” Janson snarls.

You wait for him to be distracted trying to move across the uneven ground, then lunge for the ground, shooting a web at his hand to muffle the trigger. He shifts at the last second, and the spider web hits the trigger instead, sending a rogue shot against the side of a nearby shipping container instead of you.

You duck on instinct, rolling away in case he tries to shoot again. Janson looks half mad as he aims at you again. “You can’t leave us,” he says, “We made you. You cannot abandon your creators.”

There’s a shadow moving somewhere behind him. With a chill, you realize you know who it is. Newt doesn’t know that Janson has reinforcements; although they’re still a little behind, they’ll catch up soon enough. You cannot afford for Newt to be caught, not now.

You shout as loud as you can, “Don’t do it! You have to run!”

Janson glances at you, confused. “Who are you talking to?”

You ignore him, calling again to the shifting mass of shadows steadily growing darker by the edge of the shipping containers. “You have to go! Leave me!”

“No,” answers the darkness slithering across the ground, forming into a massive monster behind Janson.

Janson whips around, and his eyes grow large at the sight of Newt’s monster. It snarls at him, displaying rows of wickedly sharp teeth. He tries to shoot, but the monster grabs the gun with one muscular hand, forcing it away and snapping several of the bones in Janson’s hand at the same time.

Janson screams in pain. “This is what you leave us for, Y/N? This monster? You’re no better than everyone you killed. You’ll always be a disease upon this earth.”

“Actually,” the monster corrects, “You are.”

Before your eyes, the shadows start to run away from Newt all at once, but instead of disappearing like normal, they coalesce onto Janson instead. Janson’s head is flung back as the monster enters him, eyes shot with dark veins. When it’s over, Janson is comatose on the ground, arms and face shadowed with the monster, and Newt is running over to you, human, anxiously searching you for any sign of harm.

“I’m fine,” you promise him, “But– what did you do?”

“I gave it up,” Newt says wryly. “I didn’t need the hate anymore. I just needed you to be alive.”

At last, you understand. Newt needed the monster so he could protect his friends from WCKD, but that’s over now. The last car is about to leave, and then the city, the dying, all of it will be a nightmare that has finally ended.

He grabs your hand. “We need to hurry. Jorge’s waiting, but he won’t want to stick around much longer.”

You run with him towards the waiting car. Gally’s in shotgun, and although he’s always sworn that he doesn’t need any of you, you swear he almost smiles in relief when he sees you and Newt slide in. “Way to cut it close, you guys,” he admonishes you.

Newt rolls his eyes. “We’re here now, aren’t we? Let’s go.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that,” Jorge says, and pulls away into the night.

You watch the dock disappear behind you into a web of roads and street lights. You thought it would be impossible somehow, leaving, like there would be an invisible wall to keep you here. When the lights of the city fade into a dim skyline, then vanish behind the safety of miles of distance crossed, you realize at last that you’ve done it, you’ve left. Now, all that exists for you is a wild dream of a simple life, one with your friends where no one tries to hunt you down.

Newt takes your hand and squeezes it. “We’re out,” he says.

“We’re out,” you repeat in somewhat of a daze. “Where are we going again? What’s that place where everyone’s waiting?”

Newt chuckles. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. It’s just us in the middle of nowhere, but that’s the way we like it. Thomas managed to acquire a property surrounded by parkland so no one could build nearby. It’s just us. Nice place, though. Lots of green space. We’re thinking about calling it the Glade.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “The Glade. I like that.”

It sounds good. It sounds, at last, like a quiet end to your otherwise violent story. Sometimes, though, quiet isn’t always bad. It lets you know that you’re alive, that you made it. Quiet tells you that you’re going to be okay.

first part requested by @thornyrose463

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[beevean]

Sonic games described badly:

Sonic 1: Don’t harm nature kids!

Sonic 2: A Hedgehog and a Fox stop a fat man from breaking some copyright laws

Sonic CD: Don’t harm nature kids, but the timestream? Nah fuck that shit!

Sonic 3: Gaming’s first ever surprise Pikachu face moment, courtesy of Knuckles

Sonic Adventure: Violence creates more violence, so don’t do violence kids

Sonic Adventure 2: The government sucks

Sonic Heroes: I FFFFFUCKING LOVE TEAMWORK SO MUCH *slams head on pure concrete

Shadow the Hedgehog: “So instead of asking us about your past, even Rouge, you decided to trust an obviously evil alien!?” “Well in my defense I did drop my head by falling from outer space”

Sonic Rush: Local Hedgehog teaches a Cat a lesson on friendship by beating the snot out of her and throwing her off a platform

Sonic 06: Marty McFly:

Sonic Rush Adventure: “Hey Sonic do you think Oda will try to sue us for this?”

Sonic Unleashed: Chip: I have to go now, the planet needs me (Editor’s note: Chip’s Temple Megazord bonked its head on the last planetary piece as it made its way back into place)

Sonic and the Secret Rings: Don’t tell Amy that, unlike her, Shahra actually managed to put a ring on Sonic

Sonic and the Black Knight: Where literally everyone not named Sonic sucks!

Sonic Colors: Eggman “I have changed!” Tails “Has he changed?” Sonic “Lmao no”

Sonic Generations: Suck it Link, this is how you screw around with the timeline!

Sonic Lost World: Maybe the real Lost Hex was the lesson learned along the way

Sonic Forces: Do you think Eggman ever made some racist, WW2 era-style cartoons against Sonic and friends?

Sonic Mania: A game made with fan input for fans :D

Sonic Frontiers: A game made with fan input for fans D:

Sonic Superstars: The game that sucks because it has the worst bosses known to man and features uninspired level design and a monster final boss that comes out of nowhere. I’d rather play Sonic Rush, Sonic Frontiers and Sonic Adventure 2!

Sonic 4 Episode 3:

[not-goldy]

You can't reason with insane people. Esp those who refuse reality and will take anything and fit it to their needs. Take IU for example. Her song. Her music. Her lyrics. Her movie video. Her concept. Tae is just an actor and they have already started threads saying its a follow up to 7, cause they are sitting at a table and IU has a lip ring. Hijacked this woman's entire video from her to make it about Taekook. Like IU decided to make a song for TK and cosplay as JK and hire Tae to tell their love story. Where was JK's permission in all this planning, using his likeness and cosplaying as him to send a queer message about their relationship? This is what I want to know. Did JK give his approval or did IU and Tae conjure this up on their own without his consent, I mean we do know Tae does impromptu things without permission like starting up lives in people's homes, so did he along with IU do this, since this is what Taekookers are running with and truly believe. Oh let me guess, JK was hiding on set in the shadows and directing them. Also are we surprised when Umi said she wrote that song for her grandma about facetiming and suddenly it became about Taekook facetiming and Tae posting that Facetime screenshot to show everyone the music was written for JK. Just like they claim Harry Styles wore Purple and Green at the Seoul Concert to represent Taekook cause he knows about them. To them every collab TK works with knows about them and the songs are for TK, even if its the artists song and they are only a feature. LMAO

I hope the entire video top to bottom is a total recreation of 7, this way when tkk start trending and taking over IU's work and making it all about TK like they are already starting, then her fans are gonna come for them and then congrats, she won't wanna work with your fav again since its too much drama and Tae will blame you entirely for your insanity. You've all lost your brains, but finding out Tae was in a straight relationship and hard core fucking jennie in every hole for 2 years and not your fav, will do that to a person.

IU cosplaying JK is wild but I do see the semblance 😩😭😹😹😹😹😹😹😹 3D

[foap-enjoyer]

Alone mission unfinished drabble

Work I did following Soap (and of course Ghost) up until the tunnel scene in his 'Alone' mission.

This was the first ever drabble I made for Modern Warfare ii

Dropping random unfinished drabbles cause I know someone will at least like em lmao (also because I'm sick and can't finish any of my other works rn lol, sorryyyy)

~

“Soap- This is Ghost, how copy?”

There was blood everywhere - his hands slipped, slick with blood, from the wall he had dragged himself to rest against, tilting his body. He crashed unceremoniously into the cold, wet ground. His hands reached out in front of him. He saw the way they trembled and shook. 

“Johnny…?”

Faintly, he could hear voices - soldiers - there were screams surrounding him, echoing into the night, sounds of gunshots ringing out. His head ached horribly, his arm even worse. He groaned, the sound small in the chaos, pressing his forehead into the floor below him. His shoulders shook violently.

“Johnny, how copy?”

Vaguely, he felt his arm shift - his good one. It moved on its own volition, coming to rest against his chest. He felt his fingers press a button, and, before he knew it, a hoarse voice, his own, he recognised faintly, ground out a tiny, “Solid.”

Ghost let out a low sigh, which rattled through the radio. “Thought we lost you.” He said, sounding almost relieved.

Soap began moving himself upwards, pushing desperately against the floor until he was on his knees. He tilted his head to stare up into the gloomy night’s sky. It was beautiful. Rain, or maybe teardrops fell slowly down his face. Maybe it was blood. He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to know.

“You injured?”

“I’m no’a medic.” Was all he cared to say, finally grappling himself up to his feet. He wobbled dangerously, a hand flying out to catch himself against a wall. His head spun wildly, and he groaned. 

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” Ghost deadpanned, “You got shot back there.”

“Yeah, well,” He began moving toward, testing the waters. His knees wobbled, but they didn’t buckle. He eased himself along the wall, bloodied nails hooked between the cracks of brick. “Nothin’ we can really do ‘bout that, L.T.”

There was a brief pause of silence. Then, Ghost spoke; “Keep your blood in, you’ll need every drop.” 

He honestly couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not. He pushed himself away from the wall, finally standing on his own two feet, void of help. “Thanks for the tip,” He walked further down the road he was on, his ears catching onto the sounds of none other than Graves himself. Soap grit his teeth, “Where are you?”

Ghost responded immediately. Faintly, he could hear the rushing of wind - the man was moving, and fast. “There’s a church, I’m heading to it.” A brief pause, “Let’s RV there. You know where it is?”

“We passed it when we came in with Alejandro and Rudy.” He moved closer to the sound of voices, and to the growing light of flashlights and cars. “I remember. I think.”

“Gonna hafta remember, Johnny. Your life depends on it.” He peered out from the darkness of the alleyway, past the parked cars, their lights still on, and towards Graves and his shadows. He was lining people up against a wall. Women, men. It made him feel sick. 

“Graves ‘n’ Shadow are on a killing-spree.” He slowly moved behind the vehicles, using them for cover. His fingers ghosted over the floor as he crouched, helping him to quietly ease himself past the soldiers. There was a house up ahead, the front door open. They must have already ransacked the house. He hoped that, at least. Just as he made it through the door, shots rang out in the heavy air. The sound of bodies hitting the ground, killed by men he had seen as allies not so long ago, friends, even… It was disgusting. 

Still, he couldn’t think too hard about it. His eyes scoured the room he found himself in. It was a mess, like someone had tried to pack and leave. He hoped they got out, but that hope crumpled in his chest as he slowly opened one of the doors, the only unlocked one, peering in. Laying before him was a corpse, bruises littering their olive toned skin. Ropes bound their legs and arms together. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever seen, far from it, but it still made him frown. He hoped the man didn’t have a family. He unbound the rope slowly from their cold wrists. It could come in handy. He eyed a broken fan off to the left of him. One of the blades was half chipped. It tore off easily.

“Tie off the blade with the rope.” Ghost instructed him. Soap realised he’d been speaking his thoughts out loud, rambling softly to himself. His radio was clicked to unmute. When had he done that? “Works as a weapon, barely - better as a pry tool.”

Shaky fingers quickly did as Ghost said, and soon, he had himself a tool. It was something, better than nothing. “Sounds like you’ve done this before,”

There was a sad sort of tone in the lieutenant’s voice, “Years of practice.” 

Soap didn’t want to know what he meant by that. He made his way back outside of the room, using his newfound tool to pry open one of the doors. His arm ached horribly, feeling like it was going to snap in half - it didn’t, but his tool did snap, luckily, so did the lock. He pushed the door open carefully. “Busted the fan blade.”

“Got you through the door?” 

Ghost already knew the answer, he’d heard the door creak open on its hinges, but Soap humoured him anyway with words of confirmation as he travelled further into the room. Sounds of screams picked up again. A mother, screaming for her child. His mouth went dry.

“Move it, Johnny,” Came Ghost’s firm voice over the radio. “Ignore them.” 

There was a gunshot. A child screamed out for their parents in turn. A soldier was attempting to console them in shitty, unintelligible Spanish.

“Johnny. Ignore them.”

“They’re ruthless,” Soap whispered, crawling up the home’s stairs, feet light on the floorboards. He was met with more bodies, which he strode past. Ghost was right - he couldn’t do anything, he had to ignore them. The child’s desperate cries drowned out as they were taken away, echoing into the night. “My god.”

“We’ll kill them.”

“Graves?”

“Yeah. But his men deserve it just as much as he does.” Ghost’s voice was eerie in the silence. Hatred lined his words, “Following orders to murder innocent civilians. Fuckin’ disgusting.”

“You got that right, L.T.”

—

“You may get a brag rag for this.”

Soap quirked a brow. He felt blood drip down his face, hot and sticky on his cheek; so his head was bleeding then. “A medal?”

“Chest candy.”

He quickly climbed a set of outdoor stairs, hobbling his way to where he needed to go. Towards the sound of soldiers, of course. As if anything was ever easy when you’re John ‘Soap’ Mactavish. “That’s all rubbish,”

“You said you wanted a win,” There was a hint of amusement in Ghost’s voice, “Congratulations, you’re a winner.”

Soap chuckled himself, he couldn’t help it. “Away ‘n’ bile yer heid.”

“English, Mactavish.”

“Sorry sir,” He tried to sound incredibly polite, “Let me translate; ‘go fuck yerself’.”

“Much better.” He could hear the smile through the radio. “Gimme a sitrep.”

“Outside, currently.” He brought his aching body low to the ground, crawling through a gap and onto a small, low rooftop. Below him men (police, he recognised faintly) were being thrown to the ground by shadows. They spat, kicked and fought, but their bare hands were no match for the power of a bullet. “On a lil’ roof, I’m about to drop down and hopefully not find a damn bullet in my head. Place ‘s crawlin’ with fuckin’ shadows.”

“Church should be to your north.” Ghost commented helpfully, “I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. It’s crawling with shadows here too, but it’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t sure when he had jumped, but Soap’s feet hit the floor and his knees crumpled. Awkwardly, he fell, a hand just barely hitting the floor first to stop his head from slamming into the concrete. He huffed. “Fine is a grand choice of words, L.T.”

“Would you prefer I said that we were fucked?”

“Good point.”

—

“I’m in a… coffee shop.” Soap frowned at the destroyed ruins of what looked to be a once peaceful, relaxing cafe. There were a few bodies sat in chairs. Bullet holes littered the walls around them. The once beautiful wooden floor stained with their blood. These people had just been relaxing - they’d been existing peacefully, and now…

“Get us a tea,” Ghost broke the tense silence, and while it took his mind away from how fucked this whole situation was, he couldn’t help but groan.

“Fuckin’ Brits and your god-damn tea.” He worked to pry open some abandoned military-grade grates.

“You forget you’re British too, Johnny?”

He huffed. His arm was aching, but he’d scored himself some explosives. Worth the pain. “Hardly class myself as one.” There was also a small roll of bandages, tucked away behind it all. Bingo. “Finally found some fuckin’ bandages, Jesus.”

“Take a break, fix yourself up.” Ghost ordered. Soap wasted no time kneeling down and tearing open the packet, “As soon as you go down from there, it’ll be hell ‘till you get to the church.”

“Glad to hear,” 

He wrapped his arm first. It stung horribly, the dirt and grime he had been unsuccessful in wiping away pressing further into the wound. He let out a hiss between clenched teeth, tucking his chin into his chest as his muscles seized in agony. His hands tightened on the bandage, pulling tight. Blood was already seeping through his work as he finally looked up. 

“Doing alright?” Ghost just had to nose his way in.

“What do you think? Fuckkk-” He cut himself off with a fist to his mouth as his whole body lit up with fire when the final knot was secured on his arm. It burnt so badly that words couldn’t escape him to try and explain it to his lieutenant. He needed to save his energy finishing fixing up his damn head. All this blood he was losing would be like leaving a little trail for the soldiers hell-bent on his murder. He reached out for the rest of the bandages with his good arm, not daring to move the other. He couldn’t see the wound itself, couldn’t feel it either, his whole head felt like he’d been used as a football, so he tied the wrap like a bandana, reaching up with both arms regrettably to secure the tails of his makeshift fashion choice. He felt like a fucking ninja turtle. “Jesus fuckin’ Mary ‘n’ Joseph and all that fuckin’ knew ‘em.”

“Quite the choice of words.”

“Away ‘n’ bile yer heid.” He all but spat as he groaned, thunking to the floor. There was no heat to his words. “God I just need five fuckin’ minutes.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not goin’ ta.” He slurred. God, everything hurt.

“Johnny.” There was a warning in Ghost’s tone he hadn’t heard before. “Get up. Head left when you drop down, there’s a series of buildings that’ll help you stay hidden while you cross over. You need to get to the tunnels.”

“The tunnels,” He echoed, “Alrigh’ ‘m goin’, ‘m goin’.”

It took him another thirty seconds before he was truly ‘up’, and yet another thirty to drop down onto the bottom floor of the ruined coffee shop, leaving his safety net. There were Shadows crawling everywhere. His stomach dropped - Ghost was right, he needed to be fucking careful here.

“Heads up,” Ghost’s voice was quiet as to not give away Soap’s position as he manoeuvred his way through building after building. So far, so good, “The tunnels are flooded. Have a nice swim.”

Nevermind.

“Thanks for the very late heads up.” He plucked a screwdriver from a nearby drawer, twisting it in his good hand. It was blunt, but it would work as a weapon. “Gonna enjoy that.”

“I’m sure you will, you need a bath anyway.”

“I smell that bad?” 

“You smell like you use dogs’ piss for deodorant, Sergeant.” 

He slid out from a window as three soldiers marched past him, running in the opposite direction to them and slipping into yet another building. He closed the door softly behind him. “That hurt, sir.”

“Not as much as it hurts my nostrils, Johnny.”

“Ha ha.” He said dryly, darting from this new building to another - a pub, he realised. He scampered up the stairs to the top floor, peeking over the balcony. He could hear the rushing of water to his left. “I’m near the tunnels.”

“In the pub?”

“Yeah.” He took stock of the nice hanging lanterns, the beautifully manicured hedge fence, combined with the shattered glass of bottles, and the broken, static-filled TV hung haphazardly on a nearby wall. “Nice one too. Shame.”

“Jump down from there then sprint right to the tunnels.” Ghost instructed him, “There’s no hiding spots in that little gap, you are completely open to anything unless you are in those tunnels. The water will hide you.”

“Got it.” For the first time since he’d touched his radio, he reached up to click it off, “Going dark.”

[sopejinsunflower]

a/n: Again, this one is inspired by a dream I had of Namjoon but I wrote this on two different days. I kind of lost the plot along the way lol but I hope you still enjoy this little dirty one shot. I kinda went off a tangent lmao xD

Title definition: something for something, an equal exchange.

Warning: 18+, minors DNI

Summary: Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin are both heirs to their families’ conglomerates. One has you under his thumb for awhile now while the other has only just noticed you, the only girl on campus he doesn’t really know much about. But your mysteriousness is both a curiosity and a business risk. Little do they know, they’re not the only ones with an agenda.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x you (main pair), Jimin x you

Tags: University AU! Chaebol, dom/sub undertones, dirty talk, oral sex, penetrative unprotected sex, submissive Joonie, triangle relationship implied.

Word count: 12k

Rich kid Kim Namjoon. Bad boy Kim Namjoon. Fuck your brains out Kim Namjoon. Will only date you for three months Kim Namjoon.

You’ve heard the rumours and the titles that stick to the back of this man’s broad shoulders, heard the stories from the broken-hearted girls of the way he’d swept them off their feet only to drop them crashing to the ground yet they sighed and wished they had been good enough for him to be kept. The other girls still hope that one day they’ll catch his eyes next and the guys worship him like some sort of sex deity that they pray to for luck on their first dates.

You wagered going to a private university for the elite would be crazy but this was absolutely bonkers. It was like living in Kim Namjoon’s world, everything and anything revolved around him. So you keep your head low and your nose clean and stay out of everybody’s way. It’s your freshman year and Kim Namjoon is a senior; you may share the same program but it’s a safe distance away. Safe.

Or so you thought until that night of Park Jimin’s birthday party, thrown in the lobby of the guys’ dormitory quarters. Everyone was invited. The little sprite of a man with his dangly earrings and his ripped jeans had thrown the paper invites down from the rooftop of the main campus building a week prior before shouting, “Come to my birthday party! Everyone’s invited!” Him and his two friends, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook, managed to run away before the guards could catch them. The whole campus cheered as they got away, like some bold heroes who managed to pull off the biggest coupe.

So here you are, in a pair of jeans and a sheer white blouse, walking amongst the half-drunk crowd like an invisible person, a beer bottle in hand. No one knows who you are, no one cares to know. The girls are all dressed up like they’re in a club, sexy dresses and tiny skirts and tops that seem to be a second skin, skimpy clothes they pull off so well to look alluring instead of trashy. You guess that this is what money can buy. Wait, or was it the other way around? I don’t know.

Whispers through the crowd confirms that he will be here, Kim Namjoon. Of course he would. Kim Namjoon is everywhere, even at the birthday party of his rival. It’s almost like he runs the society here. President Kim Namjoon, overseer of the student body, unofficially. It’s like he wants to be at the centre of everything that goes on in and around campus, and you guess he kind of is. His father is the biggest benefactor to the university and everyone knows how much the father dotes on his only heir. Kim Namjoon is untouchable.

You stand back, blending into the crowd, sticking close to the shadows when he finally arrives, blond hair slicked back, sunglasses on top of his head, the denim jacket sleeves rolled up at the wrist. The crowd cheers and he raises his hands into the air, greeting them, his rings and bracelets glinting in the dim lighting.

It’s tacky. It’s ridiculous you almost roll your eyes but still, you can’t help but look. He is mesmerising, charming and, if you say so yourself, very handsome. Tall and handsome. You watch the girls around you swoon, calling out to him, subtly pushing their breasts together, adjusting their skirts to ride up a little bit more. You move away, slinking even further to the back, moving away towards the food table where the crowd is thinner.

The air smells of sweat and sickly sweet perfume of both males and females. You pick up a cupcake with vanilla frosting and take a bite, savouring the sweetness in your mouth as you chew slowly. Suddenly someone throws their arm around your neck and you drop the rest of the cupcake to the floor.

“You came!” Jimin shouts into your ear.

You try to wriggle free but his grip only tightens. “I came for the food,” you say blandly, “and you make me drop my cupcake.”

Jimin laughs, his famously cheeky grin plastered on his face. He’s half intoxicated, you could tell from the carefree way he speaks with you. He takes two new cupcakes and places them in your hand. “There’s always more where that came from. You’re not going to wish me my birthday?” He leans close to you, lightly tugging on the hem of your blouse.

“Happy birthday,” you say, taking the cupcakes from him, peeling back the paper before biting into one. “Namjoon’s here,” you add nonchalantly.

Jimin’s face immediately turns frosty, rolling his eyes away to look at the crowd around the newcomer. “Of course he is.” He lets go of you and for a second you thought that your cousin was going to go and kick Kim Namjoon out of the party but he only picks up another beer, uncaps it easily with the edge of the table and takes a swig. He turns back to you, pointing with a finger of the hand holding the bottle. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye to your oppa,” he says with a wink as he jogs away into the crowd, whooping as he goes.

The music starts up again, louder this time, the base thumping against your chest. It’s almost like a recharge for the crowd as they jump up and down, yelling and shouting in excitement. You lean against the food table, calmly munching on your third cupcake. Well, second and a half, actually, if you count the half on the floor. You turn to pick out a different flavoured cupcake when you feel a presence behind you, dark and looming.

A warm hand slides around your waist, the grip strong. You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest because you know, you know who it is. You can smell him, not his cologne but just him, the musk of a man who knows he’s in charge.

You don’t dare to move, suddenly feeling cold. He leans closer, his front sticking to your back that you can feel every curve of his muscle, including the soft bulk resting against the bottom of your spine.

“For someone who doesn’t want any attention, you sure stick out,” he breathes into your ear, his voice soft but deep, his breaths tickling the nape of your neck.

You tilt your head a little to the side to try and catch Kim Namjoon’s eyes. “What makes you think I don’t want any attention?”

He pauses, thinking. Then he chuckles as he steps back, his hand sliding away. “You’re wearing jeans to a party but since no one else is wearing it, it’s more obvious, isn’t it?” You fully turn to face him. He’s taller up close and even more good-looking. It feels like a magnet, drawing you in, wanting to put your hand up against the white shirt underneath the denim jacket and feel his warmth again.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he speaks, making you tear your eyes away from his chest to look up at him, a little taken aback.

But you shrug instead. “Why would you?” You pick up a red velvet cupcake this time, slowly peeling back the paper holder before pinching a piece off and plopping it into your mouth.

“Is that, what, your fourth one?”

You look at him, frowning. “I didn’t take you as a stalker.”

He smiles, his perfect teeth showing. “I can’t help it when I’m attracted to things that are…” He looks at you from head to toe before finishing, “a little peculiar.”

You stare at him, unsure if you should feel complimented or offended. You stuff the rest of the cupcake into your mouth, brush your hands together and make to leave. He steps in your way, stopping you. “Leaving already?”

“Yes,” you answer softly, looking down to the floor. Something in his voice warns you not to look into his eyes lest you change your mind to walk away. “Enjoy the party.”

He catches your arm and pulls you back, hard enough for it to sting. He leans closer. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

“I-”

“Y/n.”

You turn to see Jimin storming towards you, Taehyung and Jungkook by his side. From the crowd, you see Namjoon’s posse, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi, emerge, hands shove deep into the pockets of their jackets. They glance at Jimin and his friends once before taking their place next to their leader. You’re standing in between the six of them, caught in what looks like a probable fight.

Jimin pushes his hair back as he licks his lips. He nods, gesturing to the grip Namjoon has over your upper arm. “You might want to let go of her,” he suggests, his voice even.

Namjoon looks from Jimin to you then back at Jimin. “Oh, sorry. Is she yours, Park?”

You roll your eyes but Jimin’s lips curl up on one side. “Something like that.”

It takes a full ten seconds before Namjoon finally lets go, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, brother. Didn’t know she was spoken for. Not your usual type, is she?”

Jimin looks disgusted. He gestures for you to leave but as you pass by him, he touches your arm for you to stop. “I’ll see you around, kitten,” he mutters.

You fight the urge to pull your arm away, knowing too well the dramatics he’s going for. But he did save you so you put on a smile. “See you,” you say, pausing, making sure all six can hear you. “Oppa.”

You walk away, hurrying your footsteps to leave, pushing through the throngs of sweaty people to get to the exit. Whatever that is going on between the two groups, you want no part of. You hope it doesn’t turn into a brawl but these are rich supposedly classy people; they don’t dirty their well-manicured hands that way, though you are sure your cousin can hold his own.

As much as Park Jimin annoys the hell out of you, he’s been a sort of protector to you, an older brother position that he assigned himself back when you were kids. You never agreed to any of his antics, acting like some kind of knight in shining armour but you don’t hate it either. You appreciate his presence, it kept all the bullies away throughout school, with a price of course. However, as much as Jimin loves the spotlight on himself, loves the money, loves being a part of the elites, you are the total opposite and it was your one and only condition; to be kept out of his circle.

You get back to your dorm, the room dark and empty. Anya, your roommate, is still at the party. You undress and get ready for bed, slipping under the covers. You fall asleep pretty easily, the wind through the opened window nice and cool, lulling you into dreamland. But just as you’re about to dream, you wake up with a start, your eyes opening and scanning the room.

Something feels off. Your eyes fall on the other bed across the room but Anya is still not back. Something catches your attention in your peripheral vision and you see a figure standing by the door. Tall and definitely not Anya. Not even a female. You sit up but the figure is already by your bed in three full strides. A hand covers your mouth as another pushes you back onto your pillow by the shoulder, the rings digging into your skin.

“Shh, don’t make any noise.”

Your eyes widen, recognising the voice. You shake his hand off of your face before whisper-shouting, “What the hell are you doing here, Namjoon?!”

He smiles, a little too menacingly. “I don’t like being told no.”

You scoff. “I don’t doubt that.”

“What do you mean by that?” He looks a little offended which is funny if the situation isn’t a little suspicious. He just broke into your room and is now sitting on your bed, leaning over you, telling you to be quiet because he doesn’t like being told no. It sounds like the intro of a crime documentary.

“Well, aren’t you daddy’s little prince?” you say, playing on his hurt feelings. “Always getting your way, no consequences because daddy will bail you out of every little mess you made.” It felt good saying it but now, looking at his face, you’re not sure if it was smart. You’re still just another female underneath a large man who could have his way with you and, like you said, will get away with it.

He grits his teeth, his jaws ticking. “And what about you? Hiding behind Park Jimin’s money and influence. What are you? His little private whore?”

You hold back the acidic words in your mouth, letting them burn on your tongue before swallowing them. “What do you want?”

Namjoon smiles again, almost leering. His eyes glint in the shadows as his hand, the one resting on your shoulder, moves slowly down your arm, tracing your skin with the tip of his finger. “I want what Jimin has.”

You let out a chuckle. “You have more than that. What are you even talking about?”

He shakes his head. “No, I want the one thing he loves most.”

You swallow your saliva. “Well it’s not here.”

“You sure?”

His tracing finger moves back up to your shoulder then your neck, stopping under your chin to tip your face up. He leans forward, his nose touching yours. He doesn’t answer you but your lips connect with his, his fingers holding your chin, making sure you’re not able to turn away from his kiss. It’s deep and hungry, his tongue snaking out to lick your bottom lip before tugging on it between his teeth hard enough for you to gasp. In that moment, you feel his tongue against yours, prodding, tasting, licking, entangling.

Your hands push up against his chest but he barely even budge. A moan escapes your lips and instead of the disgust that you should feel, instead of fear and anger, want and lust bubbles in the pit of your stomach, boiling and boiling. Your pushing hands are suddenly pulling him close by his jacket, arching your back so you are pressed up against him, wanting him even closer. A warning goes off somewhere in the back of your head but with your tongues at war, your lips locked together, you give it no mind, not even comprehending why it’s sounding off. You’ll think about it later.

Namjoon climbs into your bed, shucking off his jacket to the floor the same time you kick your blanket down to your feet. His knees rest on either side of your hips as he leans into you, sucking on your tongue, shoving his own as far down as he can into your sighing mouth. His other hand travels down your side and sneaks up your thin tank top to cup your breast, thumb flicking against your already hardened nipple.

You writhe under him as he trails wet kisses down your neck, sucking on your sensitive spots until you gasp and moan. He peppers the top of your chest with more kisses, humming as he goes. He pulls your top up to reveal your breasts, using both hands to knead on them a little more forcefully that it hurts. He looks at your face, your eyes scrunching up tight, your mouth agape, breathing hard. “Look at you,” he says softly with a hint of a smile. “Shall I keep going, princess?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He doesn’t need to be pushed, latching onto your nipple and suckling on it like a babe. He twirls it in between his teeth, tongue drawing circles in ways that you can’t help but moan out his name. “Namjoon,” you whine. “Feels so good, Namjoon. Mmhh.”

He does the same with your other nipple, rolling his tongue over the perkiness. When he has had enough, he moves further down, delighted to see that your underwear already has a wet patch. “Already so wet for me?” He chuckles to himself, pushing his nose against the wet patch and taking a deep breath. Something about it makes you let out another soft moan, opening your legs for him.

He pushes your soaked panties aside to reveal your glistening cunt, dripping wet with slick. He lets out this dark guttural sound, almost feral and for a short second, you wish he would devour you like the animal he is. You let out a loud mewl the moment the flat of his tongue touches your drooling hole, collecting the juice and bringing it up to swirl it around your swollen clit. He clasps his mouth over your little nub, moaning as he does, savouring the taste.

“Taste so good, princess,” he moans. “So fucking good. Fucking hell.” He pushes your legs further open, holding your thighs in place as he eats you out, your voice echoing off the walls, not even caring if your next door neighbour could hear you. All you can think about is that Kim Namjoon has his face in between your legs, buried deep in your pussy, licking and slurping as if you’re a meal and he’s been famished.

“Namjoon, Namjoon,” you call out, getting close to your high. “Fuck, Namjoon. I’m close. Please, please. I’m so close.”

“Come for me,” he urges. “Come on my tongue.”

You do, pushing his head in as the waves come crashing down. You arch your back as your eyes roll into your head, gasping so hard no sound comes out of your parted lips. Your thighs shake as your orgasm travels through you and when you’ve come down, panting and limp on the bed, Namjoon sits up, licking his lips in satisfaction. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, eyes raking your body.

He stands up and picks up his jacket, holding it over his shoulder.

“Leaving already?” you ask, ironically repeating his own words from earlier tonight back at him. You push up on your elbows, looking up at him through your lashes.

He lets out a small snicker. “For now,” he says, eyeing you from the door. “Something tells me you’re a whole lot of danger, princess.”

A small smile creeps up your lips, feigning innocence. “But not dangerous enough for you to bury your head in between my legs?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t help it. I needed a taste.”

“And?”

He opens the door and steps outside. “And I think you’re trouble. So I’ll need to figure out if you’re worth it or not.” He gives you one last cheeky smile and closes the door and you can hear his footsteps walking down the hallway.

You lay back onto your pillow, staring at the ceiling. Before long, you start laughing to yourself, softly. You can still smell him on you. On the nightstand, your phone vibrates for an incoming call. Park Jimin’s name flashes across the screen.

“Yeah,” you answer breathlessly, putting it on loudspeaker, too lazy to hold it to your ear. You still feel a little weak from your orgasm. You can hear the party in the background.

“Did he pay you a visit?”

You giggle. “Yes.”

Jimin laughs from the other side, a sarcastic one. “I can’t believe that bastard.”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” you say, thinking back at the way he laps on your cunt. “He’s a good eater.”

Jimin lets out an angry scoff. “And I haven’t even gotten my birthday present yet. Get your ass here. Now.”

You let out a groan. “Seriously? Right now? But I’m tired. I wanna go to-”

“Now.” The call cuts and the screen goes black. You sigh. You get out of bed and ruffle through your wardrobe for your trench coat, feeling like one of those noir film actresses. You don’t bother putting your panties back on as you put the coat on and leave your room in a pair of sneakers. Park Jimin is going to be hard to appease tonight but judging from the slight slur in his voice, he won’t be too hard to manage.

Park Jimin has always been the jealous type, it’s why you’ve never actually been with anyone else. It’s too much trouble because Jimin has a sadistic streak. So in order to remain in his good graces, you know what you have to do tonight or else Jimin will sulk throughout the year and that will be bad for you. It wouldn’t take much, you think. Jimin has a soft spot for you and you both know it but his possessiveness can be problematic. It gets in the way of everything despite the non-agreement agreement you two have.

As you cross the green courtyard towards Park Jimin’s building (yes, most of the richer ones have their own private quarters), you don’t realise the shadows following you.

“Keep me posted,” Namjoon’s voice comes through Yoongi’s phone. “I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

When the call ends, Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Out of all the people, why her? There’s nothing interesting about her. Not even from any known family. She’s even here on scholarship.” He spat the word as if it disgusts him.

Yoongi shrugs. “Don’t know, don’t care. C’mon.”

***

In the morning, after untangling yourself from Jimin, you leave his place in one of his T-shirts before the sun fully rises.

You manage to creep back into bed without waking Anya and without being seen, balling the borrowed T-shirt and throwing it into the back of your closet, to be forgotten. When Anya wakes up, the first thing she sees is your made up bed and you ready to leave out the door.

Unlike everyone here, you have a part-time job to get to. Your phone rings in your pocket as you walk to the bus stop and you answer it. “What is it now, Jimin?”

“I don’t like your tone,” he says, his voice heavy from just waking up. “And it’s oppa to you. Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, Minie, but I’m going to work,” you answer impatiently. “And I have to go. I’m almost arriving.”

“Wait,” he calls out.

You sigh. “What?”

He’s quiet for a long while that you pull the phone away to check if the line is still connected. It is so you put it back to your ear. “Jimin?” You shake your head, correcting yourself. “Oppa?”

“Nothing,” he answers, his voice sounding more awake now. “Have a good day at work.” The call ends and you pocket your phone, jogging over to the bus that just pulled up.

Somewhere in the distance behind you, in a sleek black car parked on the side of the street, Hoseok sits in the passenger seat. He points in your direction. “Who the hell takes buses these days?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer him but starts the engine and pulls out from the illegal parking spot, sticking close to the bus you just got on. He’s a little grouchy right now for having to wake up this early. He’s also not sure why Namjoon wants them to tail you, it’s not like you’re somebody worth tailing. Got into their university on a scholarship and has a part time job. Hoseok is right. Who the hell rides the public bus when they go to Ivy University?

But when Namjoon wants something, Namjoon must get it. Yoongi sighs, anticipating a long day.

---

You step into the office just as the clock strikes 9.01AM and immediately, your boss is already standing in the doorway of his office, looking at you unimpressed. “You’re late.”

You glance at the clock on the wall but don’t say what you wanted to say. You offer him an apologetic smile, instead. “Sorry, sir.”

He doesn’t respond, disappearing back into his office. You roll your eyes and make your way to your desk. The boss’ assistant peeks his head out and raises his eyebrows at you. You raise a hand to shush him. “Not a word, Seokjin.”

He smiles, his cheeks puffing up like two round breads. “Time is money is power,” he says, quipping our boss’ usual quote before going back to his place.

You work only until two o’clock and ten minutes before your shift ends, the bell above the front door rings. “Welcome to-” you stop short when you realise it’s Kim Namjoon, standing there with his shades on and a black fitting tee with jeans that seem to hug the form of his long legs. “What are you doing here?”

At the sound of your panicked voice, Seokjin comes out to check. Upon seeing Namjoon, his face lights up into a smile. “Namjoon-ah, long time no see.”

They exchange a quick hug and a few words before Namjoon turns to look at you. You wonder how they know each other but then again, Seokjin is the university’s alumni. Everybody knows Namjoon. He points at you, “Taking this one out to lunch. Thought I picked her up from work.”

Seokjin looks at you, worry flitting through his eyes. “Really? Since when are you two a thing?”

“We’re not,” you retort, packing your things. “And I’ve got class after this.”

“Your class starts at 3.30PM,” Namjoon says easily. “You have time.”

You stare at him. “You check my schedule?”

He shrugs.

“Do you know how creepy that is?” you ask, mildly annoyed as you continue to stuff things into your bag.

Your boss comes out, forehead furrowing, eyes aiming at you. “What’s all the ruckus out here?” He looks around and sees Namjoon and immediately his expression changes to delight, the crease between his eyebrows immediately erased like magic. “Namjoon, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you here in my little office?”

Namjoon is all smiles, shaking your boss’ hand confidently. “I’m just here to take my girl out, sir.”

Your boss turns to look at you, an incredulous look on his face. “Her?”

You let out a sigh. “I’m not his girl and,” you swing your bag over your shoulder. “I’m done for the day. Goodbye, Mr Oh. See ya, Seokjin.”

You power-walked down the street heading for the bus stop, aware of the man following you in just a slight quick pace of his strides. He catches up next to you, not a hair out of place, lightly touching your arm. “I got my car with me and-”

You swivel around on your heels to jab him in his chest, hurting your finger a little at how hard it actually is. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” You continue towards the bus stop and he remains on your heels.

“Is it Jimin? Are you scared if he finds out?” He stands in front of you as you take a seat on the bench, checking your watch impatiently when you already know it’s not another twenty minutes for the next bus to arrive.

“I don’t know why you’re bringing him up,” you say, shrugging. “It has nothing to do with him and just about my principles.”

Namjoon laughs, running his fingers through his hair. Fuck, he didn’t have to look so good. “What principles? Not accepting when someone is just being nice to you?”

You look at him then, eyebrows furrowing. “No. Just not to accept anything from you.”

His face falls, confused. “Me?”

“Specifically.”

“Can you at least share why?” He takes off his sunglasses, waving them around in his hand.

You give him an incredulous look. “Really? You can’t guess?”

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “I mean, it couldn’t be those rumours, right?”

You let out an exasperated noise but ignore him. Namjoon takes a seat next to you, scooting so close that your legs are almost touching. “I didn’t take you for someone who believes in rumours.”

“What did you take me for then?” you give him a pointed look, feigning interest.

He regards you, tilting his head to the side, one leg of the sunglasses resting on the corner of his lips. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out.”

You don’t have a comeback for that, staring at him for a few seconds longer. For the first time, you’re not sure what to make of him. His eyes have a sort of gleam to them that you can’t tell if it’s innocence or just plain mischief. For a moment, you wonder if the labels stuck to his back are even justified, if they even had any truth to them because the man sitting next to you, a soft smile playing on his lips, doesn’t scream red flags to you. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

Namjoon sees it too, the way your eyes soften as you look at him, the way your forehead creases just slightly as you contemplate on what to do with him. For a split second, your guard is down and he sees that, clear as day reflecting on your face. He reaches out, brushing your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You flinch but don’t move away.

He’s about to say something when a convertible slides into the bus parking and stops right in front of you. You know it’s Jimin before you even look.

“Kitten,” he calls out. “Get in.”

Before Namjoon can stop you, you pull away from his touch, pick up your things and get into Jimin’s car. You don’t spare another backward glance but Jimin does. He stares long and hard at Namjoon from behind the wheel, the man’s tall reflection against his own sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He sneers and Namjoon stands up, putting his shades back on, unfazed.

“I’ll see you around,” Namjoon says, looking in your direction. “Kitten.”

Jimin’s car peels out of the bus stop, merging with traffic and speeding off. He drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gearhead in the middle console. He doesn’t speak, jaws ticking silently. You know he’s waiting for you to speak first but you don’t know what to say. He came to the office by himself? He stalked me? He wants what’s yours? Neither of those sounds good enough, if not enraging.

“So?”

You sneak a glance at Jimin from the corner of your eyes. “Hm?”

“What did he want?” he snarls, impatient to deal with your nonchalance.

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. He wanted to take me out to lunch but I told him-”

“That little bitch,” Jimin curses through gritted teeth. “I give him an inch and now he thinks he can take a mile.”

In an attempt to calm him down, you slide your hand to rest on his thigh, subtly rubbing the inside of his leg over the tight black jeans he’s wearing as you press up against his side. It’s not surprising when he leans into you, seemingly calming. You place your lips against his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him. Please, Jimin?”

He reciprocates by moving the hand he has on the gearhead to your thigh, giving it a squeeze a little further up than just a casual touch, running his pinky up and down your crotch. The car slows down at a red light and, out of the blue, Jimin asks, “Do you like him?” His voice is soft and he’s staring ahead, almost as if he’s scared of the answer. His Adam's apple bobs but he looks at everything except you. His pinky ceased movements as his hand rests somewhere a little more appropriate, just above your knee.

You don’t answer him immediately, contemplating. You know nothing of the man named Kim Namjoon other than the words flying around about him. But the magnetic force that pulls you to him is quite compelling though you’re not sure if you want to admit that. He’s not the kind of guy you want to be involved in. Too much spotlight, too much drama dating someone everyone wants.

“I don’t know,” you say carefully. “I don’t know if I like him.”

Jimin senses there’s more to that answer. He glances at you briefly before the light turns green again. “But?”

“But I’m intrigued,” you confess. “There’s something about him.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “There’s always something about him,” he mutters. After a few minutes, he continues, “So? Are you going to go with him next time he asks?”

You lean back to look at Jimin’s side profile; the chiselled jawline, the cute little nose, the multiple studded ears. Your eyes follow down his neck, your lips recognise the shape of it, how it then curves down to his shoulders, small but strong, sexy, captivating. Only two other people know that you’ve been each other’s firsts; first kiss, first times, during an experimental phase that lasted long into their adulthood out of a mutually hormone-driven consensus. You love him, you do, but never like a lover and you know Jimin feels the same way.

Whatever it is, you want to put Jimin first. He’s done a lot for you, someone who isn’t even acknowledged by the rest of the family. He has fought in your corner and you know if you call, he’d come running. You sidle up to him once again, resting your head against his shoulder, hugging his arm close to you. You link your fingers through his and grips him tight. “Would that be okay with you?” you ask hesitantly.

You feel him sigh but there’s no animosity this time, no anger. Just acceptance. He doesn’t answer, though, not wanting to give you that satisfaction. He squeezes your hand and you take that as him giving you his blessing. “But,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone, “if he does anything I don’t like, I’m ending him.”

You giggle quietly, pressing another kiss to his shoulder at the same time that he leans over to place a lingering kiss on the top of your head.

---

Namjoon disrobes himself with one hand, the other busy scrolling through the hundreds of unread text messages in his inbox, not one he’s interested to read.

His forehead creases the further down he goes, walking towards the bathroom where the tub is already filled with warm water, waiting for him. He almost tripped on the bathtub’s leg if he hadn’t looked up in time, saving himself from plunging in head first. Carefully, he steps into the water and the stress of the day immediately melts away. He sits in the tub, eyes still glued to his phone screen.

No, you haven’t texted him at all. Not once, ever. Namjoon has the phone numbers of almost everyone on campus, given to him freely or from them searching him out first. But not yours. How is that even possible?

There’s a knock on the door and Hoseok’s head appears through the small gap. Namjoon doesn’t even look up, searching through social media to find traces of you. “Yo, Joon-ah,” Hoseok calls. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Namjoon waves him away. “Not now. I don’t want to see anyone today.”

Hoseok snickers quietly. “Okay, whatever then.”

Hoseok disappears back out the door, leaving the bathroom door just as he found it, ajar. Namjoon comes across your Instagram account but it’s locked with only twenty-two followers. He founds your Twitter account, too, in the same circumstance; private with less than thirty followers. Considering that everyone who goes to this university has connections to the upper class society, having less than ten thousand followers on social media is…lame.

He knows that you got in because of Park Jimin, connected by marriage and not by blood. He knows that when you were three, your mother remarried into the Park family, long owners of one of the biggest conglomerates in the country and, by default, the Kim family’s biggest rival. Other than that, there’s nothing on you. Or so everybody thinks, but Namjoon has a feeling something is going on between you and your step cousin, what, he doesn’t know. Jimin is too protective over you, too possessive.

Namjoon clicks his phone shut and places it on the bathroom floor next to the tub. He slides down lower and leans his head back, closing his eyes. He tries to relax but his brain can’t help but think about you, the enigma plaguing him. There’s no one on campus that he doesn’t know about; every little dirty secret, every little incriminating details, every little sore points, he has them compiled in alphabetical files in the office room downstairs, ammos he uses every once in a while, little business deals to ensure everything runs smoothly the way Kim Namjoon wants it. Everyone has something to lose or to gain, it’s a matter of knowing who’s got dirt on who and what he gets in return.

What he doesn’t know is a threat to himself, especially when something draws him to you. He can’t get involved without knowing what he’s about to gain or lose; it’s too risky. His father taught him well enough about it. Keep things strictly business, your brain must always lead the way, not your heart, every relationship is a transaction. And that’s what’s troubling him. His brain is telling him to just move along, there’s nothing you can offer him, you’re technically a nobody with no actual connection. But his heart. His heart just won’t listen this time.

Namjoon is so lost in his thoughts, his forehead wrinkling, that he doesn’t even notice the shadow that falls over him. He doesn’t even notice it when you lather one pump of soap into one hand and slowly, slowly, quietly dip into the water. His eyes finally shoot open in complete shock when he feels your hand wrapping around his flaccid cock. He gasps aloud, jerking forward and splashing water against the walls and floors.

“Shh,” you say, placing your other finger against your lips, blinking against droplets of water on your lashes. “Don’t want the others to know that I sneaked in after Hoseok told me to leave.”

Namjoon, bless his big beautiful brains, is lost for words. He splutters, mouth opening and closing but nothing comes out, staring at you as if he’s seeing a ghost. His heart is still hammering in his chest and is only subconsciously aware that you are softly tugging his penis under the water, massaging it and rolling the pad of your thumb against the tip.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a hushed voice.

You grin up at him. “Returning the favour.”

He tries to push the question but your soapy hand is starting to have its effect on him, assisting in your underwater heavy petting. He licks his lips, trying to collect his composure. You feel him throb in your hand, warm and growing harder. Bigger, so big that your palm only covers not even half of his shaft. You had underestimated him, you realised nervously.

Namjoon breathes shakily, letting your hand wander down to his balls without saying a word or even moving a muscle. In this situation, both his brain and his heart are taking the backseat. You gesture, jutting your chin. “Why don’t you sit back and relax, little prince?” you say, teasing.

He sits back but his face is disgruntled. “I’m not a little prince,” he mumbles before his words are cut off by a muffled groan as you refocus back to his cock.

You smile, taunting. “Not little,” you say pointedly, “but definitely still a prince. What would daddy say if he finds out you let your guard down like this?” You pick up your pace, pumping on his cock in between your thumb, forefinger and middle finger, feeling the ridges of his hardness against your touch, curious of how it would feel to have him stretch you out taut. Jimin is so much smaller but made up in girth, filling you up so full. But this sheer monstrosity? You can't even imagine it but damn if you don’t try.

“Tell me, Namjoon.” You draw circles with your thumb around his cockhead and watch him press his lips together to avoid making any sounds. “How do the other girls touch you? I want to know.”

He doesn’t answer, breathing heavily, chest heaving, knuckles turning white from gripping the edges of the tub. His rock hard cock putty in your hands, jerking and leaking precum that you gather to rub on the underside of the tip. Seeing that he is ignoring your question you let go and he quickly looks up at you in surprise and confusion.

“Answer me and I’ll keep going,” you promise sweetly, resting your head against your other hand on the lip of the tub.

Namjoon growls. “There’s nothing special about the other girls.”

“You mean, they’ve never given you a handjob before?” you widen your eyes, faking surprise.

“They have,” Namjoon snaps but then he shakes his head. “Just…” he pauses, glaring at you.

“Oh,” you pout. “You don’t like handjobs? I should stop then.” You move away from the tub but Namjoon is desperate now. “No, wait!”

You kneel back down on the floor, looking at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“I didn’t say you could stop,” he says through a grimace. He’s struggling to remain in control. You laugh softly, amused, and once again he looks confused.

“You’re not in charge right now, Joonie,” you explain. “I am.”

Anger flashes in his eyes but he doesn’t react. In the water, his cock looks just as angry as he is, veins bulging and twitching in the water, starving to be touched again. He wants your hand back on him, needs it.

You see him unravelling but your patience is high right now. You know you have him where you want him, looking up at you with defeated eyes. Angry but defeated. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even tell you to leave. You take your chance, daring to push him further, curious to see the real Kim Namjoon. You lean close to his face and his eyes flutter but just as he thought that you might kiss him, you pull back with a smile. “You want me to touch you?”

He swallows hard before he gives a small, strained nod. You smirk. “Beg for it.”

His brooding eyes lock on yours, his jaws grinding together. His hands are in fists and you expect for him to turn you away, to gather up what’s left of his bruised ego and stand up, maybe, so he can really flex how easily he can turn this situation around. You almost hope he would, the masochist in you watching gleefully at how this could all turn out. Kim Namjoon doesn’t beg. He wouldn’t.

But instead, Namjoon lowers his head and whispers out, “Please.”

This time your surprise isn’t faked, kneeling there with your mouth slightly open. Kim Namjoon is begging you to touch him. The Kim Namjoon. The proud man on campus that exudes so much alpha pheromones in any room he walks into; the man that every female and male on campus thirsts for, desperate to bed or be bedded by; the Kim Namjoon that runs the campus like it’s his little playground, a little prince flexing his power and influence over his subjects. That Kim Namjoon is pleading with you, head hung low, naked in the bathtub, cock sticking straight out in between his legs, quivering for more of what was given to it just seconds ago.

“Please what?” you ask, confidence surging. Your hand is already back in the water, tracing your fingers against the inside of his thigh close enough to brush against his cock but not quite there.

“Please,” Namjoon mumbles, his hair falling over his face that you wish you could see his expression right now. What does he look like when he’s begging? You tip his chin up with your finger, making him look at you. Again, you’re taken by surprise as his eyes are a little glassy, lips a little wobbly.

Your heart jumps out at him but this power play is giving you a feeling you’ve never had before. Jimin had only loved to dominate and you loved being taken care of, but this is new. This is something you’ve never experienced before and seeing the six-foot alpha male in front of you submit to you is exciting, intoxicating.

The defiance in his eyes only adds fuels to your newly-born fire. “Please,” he says again, voice cracking at the end, “touch me. Please touch me more.”

“But I am touching you,” you answer in mock ignorance, fingers dancing through his pubic hair now, tugging on it. “See. I’m touching you.”

“Please,” Namjoon whines, biting on his lower lip. He uses one hand to grab yours under the water and places it on his member. “Touch me here.”

Your lips curl upwards, satisfied. Without another word, you restart your movements, making a circle with three fingers and using them to pump his shaft, squeezing it in all the right spots, feeling him harden beneath your touch. You continue to jerk him off, watching him close his eyes and tilt his head up, lips parted. You quicken your pace, the water sloshing around noisily. You add more soap into your hand, smoothening the glide enough for him to breathe in quick shallow breaths, soft little moans in the back of his throat.

The water is somewhat restricting and you want more. “Move,” you order, standing up and stepping into the tub in between his legs. He looks a little perplexed but is quick to oblige, sitting up on one end of the tub, butt situated just inches on the cool surface, using his hands to support the rest of his weight. Not caring that your denim shorts are now wet, you kneel in front of him, coming face to face with his crotch, his darkened cock bouncing in between your eyes. You give him a few more pumps with your hands before you hold it up, look him in the eye and snake your tongue out to lick the tip.

Namjoon hisses but he doesn’t look away. You lick the underside of his cockhead, tasting the precum leaking profusely. You pop the head into your mouth, using your tongue to roll around it, hollowing your cheeks to suck. Namjoon lets out a full moan, bottom lip in between his teeth. “Fuck,” he curses. “Just like that, please.”

Alas, being dominant isn’t exactly your thing because once lust envelopes you, your switch flips and you’re hungrily sucking on his cock, taking him into your mouth as much and as far back as you can go without gagging, using your hand to pump the base to make up for what you cannot fit. He’s huge. While you can wrap your pretty little mouth over Jimin’s length comfortably, you’re struggling to breathe around Namjoon’s.

Saliva drips messily down your chin but you pay it no mind, wanting nothing but to please him. You bob your head down his length, careful to use your tongue for the underside, to retract your teeth except when you’re nibbling his tip, to use your spit as much as you can for lube. What dribbles down your mouth, you collect with your hand, pumping the base of his cock with it in time to your head-bobbing. Jimin taught you well because Namjoon is softly begging again.

“Oh, please, oh, please.” He has a loose touch of the back of your head, more guiding than pushing. “Please, harder. Your mouth. Please.”

You understand what he wants, clamping down a little more firmly, doing your best to not let your teeth graze him. You press your tongue up, feeling the bulky veins as you move up and down his shaft. Feeling a little tired, you focus on the tip, sucking lightly with every upward move of your head.

You’re not sure what happened or why it happened but something snaps in Namjoon. He holds your head in between his hands firmly in place and instead of you blowing him, he fucks your mouth. You let him, adjusting yourself to his sloppy movements. He’s careful enough not to shove his whole length in, watching your reaction with hooded eyes, hip bucking wildly.

“Yes, yes,” he mutters, watching his cock slide in and out in between your lips. “Your mouth feels so warm, so good.” His mind wonders about watching the same scene unfold in between your legs. How would you feel wrapped around him, spread open for him?

Before long, he pulls out, steps out of the tub and lifts you up bridal style. You squeak at the sudden movement, clinging onto him as he transfers you over to the sink countertop. He buries your head into your neck, breathing hard, arms around your waist. “Please, I want to-” he hesitates, gulping in more breaths. “Please,” he finishes silently, pressing wet kisses on your neck, sucking on the skin.

“You want to what?” you coax, pushing against his shoulders so he would look up at you. He does, looking at you with wide eyes, pupils blown out, blond hair sticking to his forehead. You push his hair back and kiss his forehead. “Tell me. What do you want, my little prince?”

He seems to contemplate it before muttering, “Sex,” like some kind of virgin school boy that’s only just learning the word. That’s when you know that this is a whole different side of him that you’ve never seen before, confident that no one has ever seen before. It contradicts his whole being that you could never have imagined it if you’re not actually seeing it now. He towers over you as you sit on the edge of the countertop, looking down at you like a kid who is asking for extra dessert. Is this what he hides behind the mask of alpha Kim Namjoon? A little needy boy in the bedroom who can’t even vocalise what he wants?

You can’t help the smile on your lips but all Namjoon is seeing is the way you leer at him, your mouth turning upwards on one side. It makes him feel small, powerless, at your mercy. It makes his cock throbs painfully. He lets out a small whine, burying his face back into your neck, nibbling on your skin that smells like your wash soap, nothing too fancy nor too strong.

“You want to fuck me?” you inquire, tilting your neck to give him access to more skin. “Is that it? You want to know what my pussy feels like around your fat cock?”

He nods against you but you’re not having it. Without thinking, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull, roughly enough to jerk him backward. He lets out a surprise, “Ah,” but relaxes, his skin tingling from where the pressure emits from his scalp down to his leaking tip, so much so that it drips down to the tile floor.

“Answer me in words, Namjoon,” you hiss, glaring at him. Something in him withers even more, seeing the reflection in the mirror of how he, at six foot tall with swollen biceps and chest and rock hard abs, is being manhandled by this girl who is not even over five foot, the girl who, just a few days ago, he doesn’t even know existed. What a plot twist.

“Yes,” he breathes out, the excitement growing.

“Yes what?”

His brain scrambles to remember what were the words you said but he can’t. His attention had been somewhere else. From his view point, he can see straight down your loose T-shirt and realises that you’re not wearing a bra. You’re not generous in the chest area but the swell of your breasts is prominent from this vantage point and he gulps. Your nipples are already perky.

You pull on his hair again as you bring his face closer to yours so that he has to bend forward slightly. “I ask you a question,” you reiterate, growing impatient.

Namjoon’s lips quiver. He honestly can’t remember what he was supposed to repeat. Words. You wanted words. “Please,” he says pathetically blubbering, “Please, want your pussy. Want to…want my cock in you…in your pussy. Please, my cock in your pussy.” At the same time, his member between his legs does a little jerk upward.

You let go of his hair, bracing yourself against the edge of the counter. “Take my shorts off,” you command and he hurries to unbutton the denim with careless fingers. He tugs it off of you and you lift your ass to assist. Once it passes your knees, he lets it drop to the floor. He looks at your soaked panties from when you joined him in the tub, a little disappointed that he can’t tell between the tub water and the leak from your cunt, the cunt that he had his face buried in just last night.

His fingers linger on the band of the panties, eyes stuck on the spot between your legs. You giggle softly to yourself, cupping his cheek and pulling him to look at you. “Kiss me,” you say, tilting your head up.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, crashing his lips against yours that your teeth clashed together. You taste blood and wonder which one of you is bleeding, not really caring. The kiss is sloppy, wet, open-mouthed. Tongue moves against tongue aimlessly and he leans in, pressing his hot cock against your pulsating clothed pussy. Moans tumble out of both your mouths into each other, dribbling saliva down chins. He rubs his cock against you some more and you wish he had removed the panties, too.

“Panties,” you moan out, hoping he understood.

He does but his brain is still not working properly so instead of pulling it off of you, he rips it off with one powerful wrench of his wrist, leaving you to gasp against the burn on your skin from where the material dug into you before it broke apart. He doesn’t miss a second, pressing up against you once more, running the length of his hardness against your sopping crotch, gliding it deliciously up and down your clit.

You let out a moan into the kiss, pulling him closer by the waist, wrapping your legs around him. “You’re so wet,” Namjoon whines, “so, so wet. I’m so hard. Please. Want…”

He breaks away from the kiss to nibble down your neck, his hands travelling up your shirt to rest on your sides, squeezing softly. You’re small in his grasp, his fingers easily circling you on both sides that his thumbs are almost touching together with every little squeeze. So tiny, so small, so fragile.

“Hands on the mirror,” you tell him, prying his hands off of you and guiding it to the mirror behind you. He leans heavily on it, spit lining the corners of his lips, tongue lolling, searching for something, anything to suck on. You suck on his tongue hungrily, slobbering over each other, lips missing lips, messy kisses that leaves saliva trailing down his front. “No touching,” you breathe out. “Do you hear me?”

Namjoon nods his head weakly, the pain in his cock is getting unbearable. He needs release so bad that he's starting to sound needy even in his own ears. “Yes, yes, please. No touch. Won’t touch. Please…fuck me.”

“Good boy,” you purr. “Such a good little prince. Is this how you obey your daddy? When he tells you to do things? Little Namjoonie can’t help but be a good little boy, huh?”

Something stirs in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach at your words. At the back of his mind, a voice screams No! That’s not how I am, you little bitch! And don’t call me that! I don’t like it! But his mouth can only let out little soft noises, his cock wet from his own precum, knees weak, brain all fuddled from any thoughts, only want. Want, want, want. Please. He only nods, a little stronger, this time.

“Are you being a good little Namjoonie for me?” you prod some more, this time giving him a little incentive by touching his reddening cock. You rub the little hole, silently gauging if he can even fit inside you. It’s going to be painful for sure.

“Yes,” Namjoon moans cutely. “Yes, I am.”

“You want this,” you say, tugging on his member, “inside me?” You guide his cock to your entrance, rubbing on your own hole to gather the slick. “I wonder if your cock will even fit me, Joonie.”

He pushes slightly and you lean back. “Uh uh,” you warn. “I don’t think it’ll fit, baby boy. I think it’s too big. I think your fat cock is going to destroy me, baby.”

Namjoon whines, exasperated. His hands are fists against the mirror. Any more pressure and it’ll definitely crack. He can see it, can picture it, how he’s going to stretch you out so wide and so good. He can imagine just how warm you would be, how wet, your pussy tight around his cock. So tight he might come just from the first thrust. Fuck.

“Nooo~,” he mewls out. “Want. Please…Let me. Please.”

You relent, guiding his tip to your entrance and this time you don’t stop him as he pushes in, slowly, carefully. The sting sears through you and you grit your teeth against it, holding your pussy open with two fingers, watching as he slides in painfully slowly. It burns so much your eyes water. “Fuck, Namjoon,” you exhale through shallow breaths. “Fuck, it hurts. It’s so big.”

Namjoon looks down and sees that the first quarter is in. It’s tighter than he thought it would be. So tight he can’t move. He leans his forehead on your shoulder. “Relax, baby,” he soothes. “Just relax. Breathe.”

The switch has flipped. The moment he penetrates you, you let go of control, trying to relax your lower half to ease the pain. You circle your arms around his neck for support and he pushes in a bit more. You can feel the stretch, can feel how hard he is, how much he fills you up, and yet he still has more to give. You can feel the slide in, the pain stinging before it subsides as you adjust to his size. You have only known Jimin, feeling only slightly guilty and sad that his shape will be erased for Namjoon’s.

When Namjoon is finally all the way in, you both remain unmoving for a couple of minutes. He lets you get used to him while he struggles not to come just yet, breathing in deep breaths and trying to distract himself. He looks up to check on you, finding your face all scrunched up in pain. You slowly open your eyes and tears pool in them. He kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Relax, baby. Breathe, just breathe. That’s it. That’s a good girl.”

Namjoon repositions himself in between your legs, slowly pulling out again. You let out a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the weight of him move inside. He doesn’t pull out the whole way but stops at the tip before he plunges back in. You cry out in both pain and pleasure. “Ahh, Namjoon…Namjoon. It feels good. Feels good, Joonie.”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore?” he asks softly, wanting reassurance. You shake your head, bottom lip white in between your teeth. “You sure?” You nod your head vigorously.

He pulls forward a little bit so you are sitting on the edge of the counter, your butt lifted up a little to give him more access. This way, his thrusts are at an angle that gives you the most pleasure, hitting that right spot, moaning his name drunkenly, eyes barely open. You’re so wet, you can feel it. Can hear it, the squelching sound loud in your ears.

“Oh, baby, can you hear that?” he says from over you, hips rolling against you expertly. “So wet for me. You’re so wet for my cock.”

You nod, humming. “Yes. I can hear it. Your cock feels so good, Joonie. Please. More. Faster, please. Your cock is stretching me out so well. I want more.”

Namjoon sucks on your earlobe, nibbling on the shell of your ear. “Pull your legs up. Let me see how you stretch out for me.”

You comply, pulling your legs towards you by the knees, giving him a clear view of where you two are connected. His cock glistens with your wetness and he hastens his strokes. In, out, in, out, in, out, building up speed as he goes, watching your hole parts with every push in and watching his cock reemerge as he pulls out. “See, baby,” he murmurs. “Fits just right in your little pussy.”

“Haa, Namjoon. Oh, god,” you mewl out, tears slipping out from the corner of your eyes. “Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. Fuck, Joonie. You’re fucking me so good. So good. Aahh, Namjoon, Namjoon.”

The more you repeat his name, the more aware you are of who has his dick buried balls-deep in you. It’s a little bizarre, a little exciting. The man who runs around campus with a gaggle of onlookers, the man who Jimin isn’t very keen of, the man who you told yourself to stay away from because Jimin doesn’t like him (plus the whole drama between the families) is now standing in between your legs, fucking yo so deep your eyes roll back in their sockets. And just mere moments ago, he had begged to be touched. By you.

Fuck, just a few minutes ago he had sobbed for you to pay attention to his leaking cock, veins popping, chest heaving and now look how the table has turned. Not that you mind it. But you love the fact that Namjoon has given you something he has never given anyone else and with that in mind, your eyes open and push him off, wanting to switch positions.

You hop off the sink countertop and twirl around, sticking your ass out to signal to him how you want him to do you next. You lean against the mirror, looking back over your shoulder at him, waiting. Namjoon realigns himself but because you’re too short, the angle isn’t quite right. He can’t quite sink in correctly. He parts your ass cheeks, fumbling with his fingers to find your cunt hole and you sigh with his touch. He digs two fingers in and you moan, sticking your lower half out more.

You crave his touch, lifting one knee up to rest on the counter, giving him more ease to shove his fingers deeper. He scoots down and buries his face in your dripping pussy, tongue out so he can taste you. You wail, face pressed against the mirror, breath fogging it up. You forget about the two other men in the house, not caring if they can hear you. “Yesss! Yesss! Fuck.”

Namjoon stops and stands back up, chin wet, massaging his cock before plunging it back into you, so deep you arch onto your tiptoes, hissing as you do, unable to make any other sound as it feels like your breath is knocked out of you. He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping skin resounding with every thrust. By this point, the two other men in the house, who have been pretending they couldn’t hear your voice, are visible trying to hide the tent between their legs.

Supporting your waist with his big hands, he whispers continued praises from behind you, his voice a little shaky from his vigorous thrusting. “Look at you, taking my cock so well. Being so wet for me.” He moans, feeling you tighten around him. “You like that, kitten?”

In between your little gasps, you manage to tell him, “Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what? Kitten?” He rams into you hard enough for you to cry out again, pussy clenching and unclenching, dribbling more slick than he thought possible. “You don’t like me calling you kitten? Is it because Jimin calls you that?”

His voice sounds a little mean as he grows a little annoyed, images of you under the other man flashing across his mind. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to know that another had claimed you first. He shoves into you so deep his tip rests against your cervix. You mewl, trying to move away but having nowhere else to move to. Your toes are cramping up. “Namjoon, please,” you sob. “I’m so close.”

Namjoon continues to deep fuck you in fast hard strokes, grunting each time, his nails digging into the skin of your waist. “You’re getting close thinking of being with Jimin? Huh? If I call you kitten, you’ll think I’m Jimin, fucking your wet pussy until you’re a mess like this, huh?”

You try to shake your head but you can’t do that without losing your balance. Namjoon pauses, cock deep inside your weeping cunt. You feel him throb, feel every curve of him, feel how hot he is.

He seems to read your mind, leaning to speak into your ears. “You feel that in between your folds? Can you feel how hard I am for you right now? Can you feel it, how much I want you to come all over my cock? My cock. Mine. Not Jimin’s.” He pulls out slowly and shoves back inch by inch, making sure you feel every stretch of your walls as he claims you. “From now on, I’m going to make sure your little pussy only remembers my shape. I’m going to make sure that neither Jimin nor anyone else will ever make you feel enough. You hear me?”

You nod desperately. “Just stop talking already,” you whine, pouting your lips at him. “You can’t even make me come yet.”

Namjoon pushes you against the countertop, making sure you bend forward for him to envelope you from behind, his front to your back. He places a hand above your head, a safety cushion to stop you from banging your head against the mirror. Then, he gets to work. You’ve never been fucked this roughly before, never been fucked this good and wild that you’re screaming his name through heavy lips. You’ve never been fucked in a way that makes you want to open up more for him, expose all part of you so he can get at every little inch.

“That’s it, baby girl. Just like that, fuck! Your pussy is clenching so tight, baby,” he moans out. “So tight- I- fuck, feels so good, baby girl. Your pussy- so good, baby. You’re so wet for me. Come for me, baby girl. Come all over my cock.”

Your breathing quickens as you feel the familiar knot tightening in your belly. You let out another cry when Namjoon reaches over to rub on your clit and that’s what you need to send you reeling over the edge. “Yesss, yesss, yesss! Oh my god, yesss. Pleasepleasepleaseplease don’t stop. I’m so close, Joonie. So close. Namjoon, you’re fucking me so good. Fuckfuckfuck, aaahhh!”

Namjoon feels you tighten around him before the spasm rocks through your whole frame. You arch your back, stilling for a moment as your legs shake. Your cunt clenches around his cock hard enough to make him moan out your name, calling out to you over and over again, praising you with words barely incomprehensible. You feel him keel over on you, kissing your back as his cock throbs, spilling his seed, painting the walls of your cunt in hot white stickiness that overflows and drips down your thighs.

Namjoon lets out a few grunts before he slips out and his legs buckle beneath him. He plops to the floor by your feet as you hang on for dear life on the countertop, legs too weak to hold your weight. From his place, Namjoon looks up to see how much of a mess he’s made of you, his semen mixing with your juice still dribbling out.

You lean over your shoulder to look at him, panting, your eyes barely open. You can feel the stickiness in between your legs, feel something hot and wet trailing down your thighs. Fuck, that was intense.

“So pretty,” Namjoon blabbers, eyes in between your legs. “Such a pretty pussy.”

Feeling cheeky, you spread your legs wider. “The little prince should learn to clean up his own mess,” you pant, half teasing, half pouting. “Or didn’t your daddy teach you that?”

Still feeling spent, Namjoon crawls over to kneel in between your legs. He uses his palm to spread your butt cheeks apart, exposing you even further. Something about the way that he’s looking at you in such a private place relits the fire in the pit of your stomach.

“I know how to clean my mess,” Namjoon mutters, kissing the insides of your thighs. “I can clean very well.” His words are muffled as he speaks with his tongue on your sloppy entrance, pressing his whole mouth to it and sliding the flat of his tongue against your pussy. He slurps and licks and nibbles and sucks on your swollen clit. He alternates between that and shoving his tongue as deep as he can in your hole, tasting both himself and you.

“Oh, Joonie,” you mewl softly. “Yes, just keep doing that. Keep sucking on my clit. Yes, just like that. Fuck, my little prince is such a good cleaner. My pussy’s gonna come again.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, easily obeying you, tongue furiously flicking against your little nub. Once again, your orgasm washes over you, building into a crescendo until it crashes down, your pussy pulsating, your legs finally giving out from underneath you. Namjoon catches you in a heap in his lap, holding you close against his chest. He tips your head up to him, covering your mouth with his, making sure you can taste yourself, too.

Once you both calm down, you pull away, disconnecting your lips, a string of saliva still connecting your tongues before it breaks off. You’re still breathing heavily, eyes too heavy to keep open, resting against him. You’re not sure how you got to the bed or how you got cleaned up but when you open your eyes again, you’re sleeping on your side, Namjoon spooning you from behind, fast asleep.

His deep breathing tells you that he won’t be easy to wake but his arm wraps around your middle so tight you can barely move. The room is dark and the curtains drawn. Somewhere in front of you, a phone vibrates on the side table and you fumble to look for it. You pick it up, squinting from the light and realise it’s not yours. It’s Namjoon’s.

It’s a text from Jimin. Curious, you focus to read the words, your vision still blurry with sleep. I know you’ll be bored of her soon but she’s my toy so don’t break it. Or I’ll break you.

You place his phone back down on the table and feel around for yours. You find it tucked under your pillow. You check for messages and there it is, a text from Jimin, too. He won’t entertain you for long. I’ll be waiting, my little kitten.

You smile to yourself before putting the phone away. You’ll placate Jimin in the next few days, giving him little tidbits to soften him up and sweeten him just right, enough to assure him that of course, he’s still your favourite. Neither him nor Namjoon will realise the hook you’ve sinked into the both of them, little puppets that would react with every little jerk of your fingers.

You snuggle closer against Namjoon and he stirs, tucking you in against him even more. Soon, his warmth will lull you back to sleep but for now, you lie there in the darkness, unable to wipe the smirk on your face. The two most powerful pawns in the business world are now both in your pocket, ready to be played when the time comes, a typical chaebols rivalry to be used for your own gain.

After all, it’s just business.

a/n2: lmk what you think of this one in the comment or ask!

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