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ginnsbaker · 3 months ago

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All Of Your Pieces (3 - The Neighbor)

Chapter Summary: Agnes sees the perfect opportunity to stir up some trouble while Wanda deals with her jealousy toward your work assistant, Geraldine. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 2.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I really have nothing to say except that I enjoyed writing Agatha in this chapter // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The team has been at a standstill, figuring out who’s behind this, or how to communicate with anyone trapped inside the town. Every drone they've sent in morphs into something entirely different, thwarting their efforts to gather any useful intel. The people sent underground to scout a safe route through have gone dark, their communication cut off. No one else volunteered to attempt approaching the perimeter after that.

The broadcasts they've been tracking are erratic, cutting out for hours with no warning, making it hard to keep a consistent eye on the town's odd behaviors. But it's during one of these quiet periods when something clicks in Darcy's mind.

“I think I have something,” Darcy blurts out to Jimmy. They’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel, running out of faces to identify from the snippets of life in Westview they caught on screen.

“Yeah?” Jimmy gives her a tired look, only half-listening. He can't remember the last time he managed more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Even if he could find the time to rest, the bizarre situation they're in won't let his mind relax.

Darcy sighs and leads him outside the tent.

“So, you’ve seen that radio on Wanda’s kitchen counter, right?”

Jimmy only nods.

Darcy continues, “The next time she’s washing dishes, or whatever—which by my count—happens about once an episode, barf, we’ll shoot a signal to that little guy.” She leads him to a set of computers set up behind a pickup truck. Jimmy doesn’t understand what’s going on with these systems, but he’s hoping Darcy really is onto something.

“This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast,” she pauses to catch her breath in the cold and to give him time to catch up with her science. “And if my theory is right, it will allow us to speak to her.”

She cuts off any chance for Jimmy to comment and assures him, “This is definitely going to work.”

–

The annual Westview Harvest Festival is in full swing. The town square is packed with booths overflowing with baked goods and fresh fall produce. A small stage is set up for the local band playing tunes from the 70s, while kids dart around in all directions, their faces painted with fanciful designs. Billy and Tommy are with their preschool teachers, who are keeping them and other children their age occupied with arts and crafts that involve tumbleweeds—a material no one seems to think is entirely safe for five-year-olds to play with.

In hindsight, it’s the ideal setting for introductions and mingling. However, everyone here already knows each other—everyone, that is, except for Wanda. She makes an effort to blend in, but apart from a few interactions with the planning committee, which weren’t particularly fruitful, she often remains secluded at home. This makes you, the only one in the household who heads out daily for work, the more socially connected of the two. It’s both amusing and slightly anxiety-inducing to watch you interact with the townsfolk who are essentially strangers to you and to Wanda, if only you knew. You and Wanda never had the opportunity to live a normal life, to settle in a typical city, surrounded by neighbors who could have become integral to the life you might have built together.

Seeing you interact with these people, she’s realizing it’s harder than she thought to share you with others. Or maybe she’s just as selfish as she’s always been, never really outgrowing it. When you were both part of the Avengers, it was like living in a bubble, surrounded by only a few familiar faces every day. Now, outside that controlled environment, it’s challenging her expectations and stirring up feelings she thought she had under control.

It becomes particularly tough when she sees Geraldine heading towards you, sporting that perpetual, dazzling smile full of perfect white teeth. Wanda's fingers curl into a fist, tiny wisps of red energy leaking from them. You quickly cover her hand with yours, and the effect is immediate—she relaxes slightly, letting you intertwine your fingers with hers, anchoring herself by your side where she feels secure.

“It's so nice to see you outside of the office, just being one of us for a change,” Geraldine says, though she seems to be wearing the same uniform as at work. Not that you're judging, but it does make you wonder why she hasn't changed.

“Definitely beats being stuck behind a desk,” you reply, your attention briefly wandering. Only then do you notice that Wanda has subtly withdrawn her hand from yours, now exploring a booth with homemade apple cider. You hadn't even noticed the exact moment she let go.

“Hello, Wanda!” Geraldine greets her warmly.

Wanda musters a tight-lipped smile that��s convincing enough, as Geraldine appears quite taken with it. Just then, Geraldine spots Agnes standing a little away from the crowd, lingering behind Wanda with a look that borders on suspicion or disdain.

Geraldine steps up to her while Wanda continues to busy herself with whatever else is being showcased in the booth. “Hi, I'm Geraldine. Isn’t this a wonderful evening?” She extends her hand to Agnes.

Agnes eyes the offered hand but doesn’t accept it. Instead, she sizes up Geraldine with a quick once-over and nods, foregoing any introductions. Geraldine's smile falters briefly, but she quickly shakes off the slight, tossing a brisk, “See you around, Y/N!” over her shoulder as she heads back to her table.

You wave back and let out a sigh, relieved that you’ve just sidestepped what could have been the most awkward moment of your life. Wanda’s jealousy towards Geraldine seems more serious than you’d realized. You know Wanda can be possessive; it's just been a long time since it's manifested this way. But then, it's also been a while since you've both been in a crowd of strangers like this. Since…

Since when, exactly?

“Y/N, honey?” Wanda’s voice snaps you out of your fog.

You blink. “Hm?”

“I’m thirsty.”

Just like that, you’ve forgotten about your lapse of memory, replaced by a desire to tend to your wife's needs.

“I’ll get us some refreshments. What would you like?” you ask.

“Just some water, please.”

“Water here, too,” Agnes calls out, unsolicited.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. It's great that Wanda's making friends in the neighborhood, but did it really have to be Agnes O’Connor? Ever since you and Wanda moved into this quiet suburb, Agnes has made it her personal mission to be involved in every aspect of your lives. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than the apparent nosiness of your neighbor.

As you head over to get the drinks, Agnes sidles up to Wanda, her eyes gleaming with an opportunity to stir some pot.

“Geraldine seems quite taken with your wife.”

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t know what Agnes’s doing, but she finds herself nodding in agreement anyway. Your new assistant does appear smitten with you, and while Wanda gets the appeal—you are, undeniably, crush-worthy—she can't say she's thrilled about it.

“Y/N is her boss,” Wanda murmurs, more to herself than to Agnes.

“Oh, honey,” Agnes laughs condescendingly. “Do you even go to the movies? That's how the steamiest affairs start, you know.”

Wanda bristles at the sound of that endearment from someone other than you. But she keeps herself together—barely.

“I trust her,” Wanda forces out.

As you're getting drinks, Geraldine joins you, picking up a soda herself. She lets out a light laugh at a joke from the bartender, and you find yourself chuckling too, oblivious to the piercing look your wife is drilling into your back.

Meanwhile, Agnes sees her opening and swoops in, linking her arm through Wanda's with a bit more force than necessary.

“Of course, you trust her, dear,” she murmurs right by Wanda's ear. “But do you trust her?” She points subtly with her chin towards Geraldine, her lips pursed. “You know what they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…”

Wanda's shoulders tense, her entire frame stiffening. As you return with the drinks, Agnes steps away, leaving Wanda visibly shaken, like she’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“Everything okay?” you ask, handing her a drink. You've noticed before how Wanda's demeanor changes around Agnes; she’s clearly a source of stress for her. It’s going to be a difficult conversation, but it might be time to tell Wanda what you really think about the neighbor.

Wanda takes the water you offer, her fingers trembling slightly as she does. For a moment, she appears distant, disengaged, as if her mind is elsewhere. Then, with a sudden shift, she flashes you one of those smiles that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I'm fine,” she declares, a little too brightly. Then, seemingly out of the blue, she asks, “Is Geraldine here with someone?”

You stop short, realizing you really don't know much about Geraldine beyond work. “I didn’t see her with anyone,” you say.

Wanda nods thoughtfully. Her next suggestion catches you by surprise.

“Maybe you should invite her over to our table.”

Did you hear that correctly? Had Wanda just done a complete 180 regarding your assistant and was now interested in getting to know her? You shoot a suspicious glance at Agnes. Had she said something to Wanda to change her mind?

“Are you sure?” you ask, puzzled by her abrupt change of heart.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. “It might be nice to make a new friend.”

–

Back at the response camp, Darcy and Jimmy are huddled around the small, grainy television, waiting for the moment Wanda’s in her kitchen so they can send a message through her radio device. However, the usual domestic scenes are conspicuously absent, replaced by static and sporadic cuts to the ongoing Harvest Festival.

“Come on, come on,” Darcy mutters under her breath, shoving her glasses back up her nose. They've been slipping a lot lately, probably because she's been hunching over her work more than usual these past few days.

“It's this festival,” Jimmy says, squinting at the screen. “I think the whole town's out there tonight. I don’t think we’re going to get the chance.”

Their attempts to contact anyone inside the Hex are dwindling, and Hayward's interest leans more towards studying the energy barrier encasing the town rather than resolving the anomaly itself. His latest directive to launch another drone into the barrier feels like a brute force attempt to crack the problem. Jimmy thinks it’s a waste of time—and resources.

“Yeah, and you know what’s worse?” Darcy grumbles. “I have a bad feeling about Agnes. Every time she's around, things just seem to... escalate.”

As they watch, the screen cuts to a shot of Agnes at the festival, linking arms with Wanda, whispering something that makes Wanda’s expression tighten. “See, what did I tell you?” Darcy exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Who’s this Agnes again in real life?” she asks.

Jimmy swivels in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the expansive pinboard filled with photos of Westview residents. Agnes’s face is not among them.

“No idea,” he says flatly. He had already run a search in the database, but it came back empty.

“So, we've identified Y/N, Monica, and Agnes as outsiders in Westview,” Darcy explains, tallying them off on her fingers.

“That’s correct,” Jimmy confirms.

“And then there’s Wanda’s sons. But again… we haven’t seen any other children in the show besides the twins.”

Jimmy thinks about it for a while. It had never really occurred to him before. “Maybe they’re bound to show up at some point?”

“Smells fishy to me,” Darcy huffs. Her thoughts circle back to Agnes. “How do you think Agnes ended up here?” she asks, their list of unanswered questions growing daily.

Jimmy shrugs. “She could’ve just been visiting.”

Darcy considers it. It's a possibility, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite right—too simple, too convenient for someone as vibrant and prickly as the character Agnes portrays.

–

It's as if Wanda's animosity toward Geraldine just magically went away.

They’ve been chatting for almost an hour. Initially, Wanda made sure to include you in the conversation, but as time passed, she and Geraldine started connecting over topics that didn’t involve you as much. Feeling somewhat left out but also at ease that the problem between your wife and your secretary has apparently resolved itself, you decide to check out the festival booths.

This is where Agnes finds the perfect opportunity to get you alone. She starts her approach—to your surprise and discomfort—by acknowledging the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t like me very much,” she says with a knowing smile. “Maybe we can change that tonight?”

You eye her with suspicion, easily seeing through her blatant attempts to flirt her way into your good graces.

“How exactly are we going to do that?” you ask, crossing your arms in front of you.

Agnes simply laughs off the cool reception you’ve given her. If anything, she revels in it.

“By getting to know each other, obviously,” she says.

“Right.”

She takes your elbow, and you swear she can feel you recoil at her closeness, yet she doesn’t seem to care. She urges you forward, dictating the pace. Her grip is unexpectedly firm, as if to say you have no choice but to listen—like leaving isn't an option.

With you literally in her grasp, Agnes sets her plans into motion. “So, how did you and Wanda meet?” she asks.

You deliver the narrative precisely as it plays out in your memory, exactly as Wanda implanted it in your mind. “We grew up next to each other. Best friends since we were kids.”

“How cute,” she says, in that smooth, supercilious tone that usually makes your skin crawl. But this time, with the memories of Wanda filling your head, you hardly notice.

“Yeah, I remember when I first saw her,” you continue, gazing into the distance as if the scene you speak of is right there before your eyes. “It was almost Halloween, and my mom had baked a pumpkin pie to welcome them to the neighborhood. She sent me to deliver it. Wanda answered the door.”

“Love at first sight?”

“More like the opposite,” you say, throwing Agnes a good-natured smile, something you’ve never done before. “She couldn’t stand me, and I felt the same way.”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Agnes drawls before accompanying it with a short chuckle. “Who knows? Maybe there’s hope for us yet. You might end up not hating me so much after all.”

“Maybe…” you say, the smile reaching your eyes this time.

“Good, good,” Agnes says. “I can’t think of anything more romantic than growing up with the person you’ll be with for the rest of your life. Almost like it’s… sketched out, no?”

You nod at her, not sure where she’s going with this, but you appreciate the sentiment. You consider yourself lucky to have known Wanda most of your life.

“So, you've lived in Westview your whole life?” Agnes asks.

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation.

“And you've only ever been to Westview?”

“No, of course not,” you laugh, ready to list off places you've been, but suddenly, you can't name any. The cities and trips that should come easily to your tongue just... don't materialize.

Not a single one.

Agnes watches you struggle with a blank expression. A second later, she begins throwing out suggestions, as if trying to help.

“Canada?"

You shake your head.

“California?”

Another shake.

“New York?”

No. This time, your eyes sting with the frustration of trying to pull something from the haze, realizing there’s nothing there.

Have you really never been anywhere but Westview?

“Eastview, maybe?” she offers with a bit of sarcasm as she names the town next door.

“I—”

“How strange,” Agnes muses, driving home the final nail in the coffin of your crumbling peace.

You jerk your arm away from her grip and take a few instinctive steps back. “I need to pick up the twins,” you blurt out, seizing the first excuse that comes to mind. “We should be heading out soon.”

Without waiting for her reply, you start walking away, driven by a sudden, intense need to be with your boys, with Wanda. To hold them close, to find some stability. Because right now, you’re petrified by a fear you cannot name.

“I heard Australia’s amazing this time of year!” Agnes calls after you.

The idea of not having been anywhere but Westview—it’s possible, right? Some people spend their entire lives in one place. But if this feeling—the one that's been gnawing at you lately—is real, if the world outside of Westview is truly non-existent, then what does that say about your life here?

What does it say about you?

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #oneshots #fic request #wandavision #monica rambeau #darcy lewis #jimmy woo #All Of Your Pieces #AOYP

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 9 months ago

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Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

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osakanone · 7 months ago

Text

Crew attire cosplay?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about "what would separate mecha crew equipment from that of a tank crew, or a fighter crew": A lot of military surplus stuff is already really close to what we're going for, and I realized "Motorcycle boots look a lot more like mech pilot stuff than military boots do", which got me thinking what other odd equivalences exist.

The one which really surprised me was how famous mecha live action SF Gunhed used a wetsuit as a stand-in for "generic scifi bodysuit", and that it worked weirdly well, actually?

"Why not latex?"

Latex rips too easily in contact with straps and hard elements, overheats far, far too easily despite having the looks. Thin neoprene works. really well.

So I kept exploring.

One thing I did seriously debate is other than rappelling equipment, would a pilot need something like a rigid knee-brace for hard landings to protect the ACL when they disembark from the robot which is common with high impact parachute equipment.

Some varieties also include counter-weighted springs which make it harder for you to close your knee, but make lifting heavy things on your back and climb much much easier during the ascent phase.

That led me towards Deck Crew helmets, which meet the hood requirement, and of all things, chin wraps which are really unobstructive and you can eat and drink while wearing one pretty comfortably (I say this as someone currently stuck wearing one)

So what we're looking at here is the HGU-24 and HGU-25, often worn by deck crews because it gets along just fine with the famous MCU-2/P AKA "Millenium" mask famous with drone communities as they're designed to be worn together.

Its literally the exact same mask with a minor paint adjustment.

"What's the difference between a drone and a pilot?" "One wears AXENT and latex, the other wears HGU-25 and neoprene." "Anything else?" "Drones have less sex and do as they're told"

Its got the bash-plates you want for an ejector-seat, but it also has the padded foam you want for an impact element, and if it latches properly and the jaw mechanism is well made enough, you could probably include a hans mechanism attached to the jacket which locks into a socket in the pilot's seat to stop a pilot from breaking their neck in a collision.

What do you guys think?

Any suggestions? What I'm really curious about is what you think pilots would remove, customize or alter for practical or decorative purposes.

This is basically the result of roughly a year of casual research into pilot attire, outfits and looks.

The helm and the hood seem to be where the most manual cosplay stitching and 3D printing work is likely going to be required, with the wrap and helmhood.

Addendum:

I've not gone into waste management systems (UCL/FCL human-factors engineering stuff with internal and external recovery systems), since I'm looking at this mainly as an attainable costume or ensemble.

Edit:

I am learning some of you use aquatic mecha and find this unsatisfactory.

And you won't shut up about how the coolant mass flow rate lets you do really wild shit with your weapons my "land-loving" platform even can't dream of

While I am jealous by your sheer tonnage and the output of your reactors, I've got you covered.

Behold: Immersion suits.

They also make surprisingly good sleeping bags, even if you're on water.

They're literally designed to keep you alive if you're forced to abandon an oil platform, and are known to include a radio and even rations and a water filter.

#mechposting #mecha #mech pilot #mecha pilot

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ismyevilregal · 27 days ago

Text

Tethered Shadows

Warnings: I have no idea what I'm doing.

Chapter One: Quiet Collisions

The insistent buzzing of my alarm dragged me from a dream where I was flying—weightless and free—over a city bathed in an ethereal, otherworldly light. Disappointment, sharp and sudden, pierced through the grogginess. 7:00 AM. Another day, another grind. I slapped the snooze button, the insistent buzzing replaced by a gentler hum.

Five minutes later, the alarm shrieked again, more insistent this time. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. The scent of stale coffee and something vaguely metallic—the lingering odor of last night's takeout—assaulted my nostrils. Finally, I surrendered, throwing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was a cold, unforgiving slab against my bare feet.

Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the room. It wasn’t much—just a small studio apartment I’d been calling home for the past year—but it was mine. A safe little corner of the world. But at this particular moment, this studio apartment, once a source of pride and independence, now felt more like a prison cell. The peeling paint on the walls, the perpetually flickering fluorescent light above the kitchenette, the constant drone of traffic from the street below—it all seemed to conspire to dampen my spirits.

First, I stumbled toward the bathroom, the world a blurry kaleidoscope of colors. The mirror reflected a stranger—eyes bloodshot, hair a tangled mess, a faint shadow of a beard clinging to my jaw. I splashed cold water on my face, the shock momentarily invigorating.

Then I shuffled to the kitchen, bare feet padding against the cool floor. The coffee maker, a relic from a previous roommate, whirred to life as I poured water into the machine, the comforting hum filling the quiet. Something about the morning ritual was soothing, grounding me before the day's chaos. While waiting for the coffee to brew, I leaned against the counter, scrolling absentmindedly through my phone. A few unread messages from classmates about an upcoming group project. I made a mental note to respond later.

By 8:15, I was out the door, backpack slung over my shoulder and earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats helping me navigate the crowded sidewalks. College was only a short bus ride away, and I used the time to skim over my notes for class. Balancing work, school, and what little social life I had was a juggling act, but I’d managed to make it work so far. Mostly.

My first lecture of the day was lively—a class on film theory that hooked me from the moment I walked in. The professor, an eccentric older woman with a penchant for dramatic hand gestures, paced the room as she deconstructed scenes from classic films. Today’s focus was on Hitchcock’s use of tension, and I found myself scribbling furiously in my notebook as she dissected a pivotal scene from Psycho. It was one of those rare moments where learning felt less like work and more like inspiration.

The grand entrance hall, usually filled with the hushed whispers of tourists, was eerily silent. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension hanging in the air. I spotted Greg near the entrance, his face pale and drawn.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Greg chuckled nervously. "Try surviving Professor Sharma's lectures. It's enough to make a grown man question his life choices."

After class, I grabbed a quick coffee and headed to my part-time job at the campus library. The familiar scent of old books greeted me as I walked in, and the quiet atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling campus outside. My shift was predictable: shelving books, assisting students who couldn’t figure out the catalog system, and occasionally sneaking a peek at my own assignments during the slower moments. I spent part of the afternoon helping a fellow film student locate obscure texts on 1970s cinematography, exchanging quick opinions about the underrated brilliance of The French Connection before returning to my duties.

It wasn’t glamorous, but I liked it. The library felt like a sanctuary, a place where time slowed down and the rest of the world melted away. Occasionally, I’d catch glimpses of students huddled over laptops, editing films for their projects, and it reminded me of why I loved what I did. Cinema wasn’t just a major—it was a lens through which I saw the world.

By the time my shift ended, the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. I grabbed a quick bite at the cafeteria—a less-than-impressive turkey sandwich—before heading back to my apartment. The bus ride was quiet, the city lights flickering outside the window as I leaned my head against the cool glass. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out to see a text from Tara.

Tara: Hey, can you meet me at the diner around 6? I have someone I want you to meet.

Y/N: Someone?

Tara: Just trust me. You’ll like her.

Y/N: …Should I be worried?

Tara: Nope. Promise.

I stared at the screen for a moment, debating. Tara’s matchmaking efforts weren’t exactly a secret, but she’d never been this cryptic about it before. Still, I trusted her. If she thought it was worth my time, it probably was. Plus, it was a good reason to go out and relax a bit after a long day.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll be there.

The remainder of my evening before the meeting passed in a blur of small tasks: drafting ideas for a screenplay assignment, organizing my cluttered desk, and watching clips from a documentary on the rise of independent cinema in the 90s. By the time 5:30 rolled around, I was shrugging into a hoodie and heading back out the door, the crisp evening air waking me up a little more with each step.

The diner buzzed with a low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic plates. I wasn’t sure why Tara insisted on meeting here, but then again, Tara always had a way of picking the most unassuming places for moments she swore were important. The chipped laminate table beneath my fingertips felt oddly grounding, even as a sliver of unease twisted in my chest.

“She’ll be here soon,” Tara said, glancing at her phone. Her tone was casual, but her eyes gave her away. There was an eagerness, a spark that told me this was more than just another introduction. “She’s just…” Tara hesitated, searching for the right word. “She’s not great with people. Don’t take it personally.”

“Noted,” I replied with a small smile, though I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel. Curiosity? Anxiety? The mixture of both left my coffee cooling in its mug, untouched.

The bell above the door jingled, and Tara’s head snapped up. I followed her gaze, and that’s when I saw her. Sam Carpenter wasn’t what I expected, though I couldn’t have said what I had been expecting. I turned my head quickly to glare at Tara for a moment, but it didn't last long before my attention was back on her bigger sister again. Her presence was immediate, sharp-edged, and deliberate like she carried the weight of her own gravity. Dark hair framed a face that might have been soft once, but the years had hardened it into something unreadable. Her eyes were the kind that didn’t just look at you but through you, as if she were cataloging every detail.

She paused just inside the doorway, scanning the room with a wariness that felt almost instinctual. When her gaze landed on Tara, some of the tension eased, but only just. Sam crossed the diner in a few strides, her boots scuffing against the tiled floor.

“Hey,” Sam said, her voice low and even, almost flat. She slid into the booth beside Tara, her movements economical, like she’d planned each one. For a moment, she didn’t even look at me, her attention fixed on her sister.

“Sam,” Tara said, her tone light and encouraging. “This is my friend, Y/N. The one I told you about.”

At last, Sam turned her head toward me, and I felt the full weight of her gaze. It wasn’t hostile, exactly, but it wasn’t welcoming either. It was searching, measuring. The kind of look that made me want to shift in my seat but refuse to out of sheer principle.

“Hi,” I said, offering a small, non-threatening smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, her eyes flicked to Tara, then back to me. I guess she was just as confused as I was. “You too,” she said finally, though it sounded more like a formality than anything genuine.

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. Tara, ever the fixer, jumped in to fill the void. “Sam just got back in town,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “It’s been… a lot, but she’s settling in. Right, Sam?”

Sam’s jaw tightened slightly, but she nodded. “Something like that.”

I didn’t miss the way her shoulders stiffened at the words. Whatever she’d come back from, it wasn’t something she was ready to talk about. The walls around her were practically visible, brick and mortar and steel, built to keep anyone from seeing too much. But it wasn’t my place to pry, not when I’d just met the woman.

“Well,” Tara said, leaning forward, “the two of you have a lot in common. I think you’ll get along great.”

Sam’s eyebrow arched slightly, as if she didn’t quite believe her sister. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,” Tara said, undeterred. “Just give it a chance.”

Sam’s gaze shifted back to me, and for a moment, there was something almost challenging in her eyes. “Guess we’ll see.”

It was then I realized just how much smaller I was next to her. Tara often joked about my height when she was feeling particularly mischievous, but we both knew we stood eye-to-eye. Sam, however, was a solid presence—a towering figure that only added to her intensity. The size difference was almost laughable, but I wasn’t about to let it shake me.

I wasn’t sure what Tara was trying to accomplish here, but one thing was clear: Sam Carpenter would be a puzzle. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to solve her or if she was better left a mystery. But before I could settle too much into my thoughts, Tara cleared her throat, bringing my focus back to the moment.

"So," she started, a little too enthusiastically, "what do you two think of… Hitchcock?"

The question felt forced, like Tara was trying to find the safest possible common ground to get the conversation rolling. My lips twitched into a smile, appreciating the effort, but I wasn't sure it would land.

"Hitchcock?" Sam asked, her tone flat. Her arms crossed as she leaned back against the booth. "Never really saw the appeal."

I blinked, momentarily thrown. Not because I couldn’t understand the opinion—plenty of people thought his style was overrated—but because the way she said it felt almost deliberately provocative, like she was daring me to disagree.

Tara winced. "Sam…"

"No, it’s fine," I said quickly, leaning forward. I could feel that challenge in her gaze again, and something in me itched to meet it. "I get it. Not everyone likes the classics. What’s your style, then?"

Sam’s brow furrowed, as if she hadn’t expected me to push back so easily. For a moment, she didn’t answer, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the table. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, less sharp. "I guess… I like stories that feel real. Messy. People making mistakes, doing stupid things… stuff that actually matters."

Her words hung in the air, heavier than I anticipated. Tara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and I wondered just how much of that statement was tied to Sam’s personal history.

"That’s fair," I said softly, not wanting to press too hard. "Sometimes the most compelling stories are the ones where you don’t know how they’ll end."

Sam’s gaze flicked to me again, and this time, there was a flicker of something in her expression. Not quite warmth, but maybe a hint of curiosity. "Yeah. Exactly."

Tara exhaled dramatically, breaking the tension. "Okay, great. We’re talking. Progress!"

I laughed, shaking my head at her antics. "Subtle, Tara. Real subtle."

"I try," she said with a wink. "Anyway, I’m gonna grab some pie. You two want anything?"

I shook my head, and Sam muttered a quiet "No," as Tara slid out of the booth and made her way to the counter. The silence she left behind felt different now, less heavy and more… expectant.

"So," I said after a moment, "what’s your story?"

Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were deciding whether or not to answer. "Not much to tell."

I raised an eyebrow. "Everyone’s got a story."

She huffed a quiet laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Trust me, mine’s not the kind you’d want to hear."

For a second, I considered dropping it, letting her keep her walls intact. But something about her intrigued me and made me want to dig a little deeper. "Maybe. But how would I know unless you tell me?"

Sam studied me, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "I guess I’ll have to keep you guessing."

It wasn’t much, but it felt like a small victory. A crack in the armor.

For a moment, the conversation settled into a quiet lull, the din of the diner filling the space between me and Sam. I tapped my fingers lightly against the table, debating whether to push further or let the moment breathe.

"You always this mysterious, or is it just part of the charm?" I asked, a teasing edge creeping into my voice.

Sam exhaled a short chuckle, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I think it’s more of a defense mechanism than anything else."

I nodded, sensing the weight behind her words, but before I could respond, she glanced at me with something close to curiosity. "What about you?"

I tilted my head. "What about me?"

"You don’t seem like someone who gives up easily," she noted. "Why bother trying to figure me out?"

There was something almost challenging in her tone, like she was testing me. Maybe even daring me to step back. But instead, I met her gaze and shrugged.

"Guess I like a good puzzle."

Before she could reply, Tara reappeared, carefully setting the plate of pie between us both. "Mission accomplished," she declared, sliding back into her seat with a satisfied grin. "And I even got extra whipped cream."

She shot a look between the two of us, picking up on the shift in atmosphere. "Did I miss something?"

Sam reached for her fork, her expression once again guarded but softer than before. "Nothing important," she said, but the way her gaze flickered to me told a different story.

Tara arched a brow, clearly not convinced but choosing not to push. "Alright, well, I’m eating before either of you try and steal a bite."

I laughed, reaching for my own fork. "No promises."

As the three of us settled in, the conversation drifted into something lighter, but the undercurrent of that moment with Sam lingered—unspoken but present, like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

------

The next morning unfolded in slow motion, sunlight creeping in through the blinds like it had all the time in the world. But something was different. I felt lighter, more awake than I had any right to be. Maybe it was the residual warmth of last night—the easy conversation, the feeling that I had nudged a door open just a little.

A buzz from my phone pulled me from my thoughts. For a brief second, my pulse skipped—Sam? But no. Tara.

Tara: Morning! You survived my sister’s brooding. Congrats. Wanna grab coffee?

A grin tugged at my lips. Even through text, Tara’s energy was infectious.

Me: Morning. I’ll take that as a badge of honor. Where and when?

Her reply was quick—café, mid-morning. Just like that, the day had direction.

As I got ready, I caught my reflection in the mirror, my gaze lingering longer than usual. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just another day. But for the first time in a while, something about it felt... new. Like the start of something. And I wasn’t sure if that excited or terrified me more.

The café was quiet, the air thick with the scent of fresh coffee and the low hum of early risers buried in their screens. I stepped inside, the soft chime of the door marking my arrival. I ordered a coffee to go, restless energy thrumming beneath my skin. My mind kept circling back to last night—Sam, the weight of her silence, the push and pull I couldn’t quite decipher.

Lost in thought, I barely noticed Tara until she breezed in, her presence a sharp contrast to my uncertainty.

"Hey, look who actually showed up!" she called, grinning as she made her way over.

I laughed, the tightness in my chest easing. "Wouldn’t miss it."

Tara pulled me into one of her signature hugs—warm, slightly suffocating, but somehow exactly what I needed.

"You ready for coffee? Or are you still in the ‘don’t talk to me yet’ phase?" she teased, eyes gleaming.

I exhaled, the tension unraveling bit by bit. "I think I’m awake now."

We settled into a table by the window, the city stretching beyond the glass, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Tara had that effect—making even the most mundane moments feel like something worth being present for.

"So," she started, casual, but sharp. "How’s it feel surviving the Sam experience?"

I took a sip of my coffee, choosing my words carefully. "It’s... different. She’s complicated."

Tara smirked. "You don’t say. You’ve figured that out already? Impressive."

I hesitated before admitting, "I’m just trying to figure out where I stand with her. She’s got this wall up, but it doesn’t feel like she wants it there. I can’t tell if she’s just playing it cool or if she really doesn’t care."

Tara leaned back, tapping her fingers against her cup. "Sam doesn’t do anything unless it matters. She doesn’t waste her time. If she’s acknowledging you, that’s something." A flicker of something softer passed over her face. "She’s been through a lot. Letting people in isn’t easy for her. But if she’s letting you orbit, even a little? That’s progress."

I nodded, mulling over her words. "I just don’t know what she wants from me."

Tara’s grin widened. "Maybe she doesn’t know either. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to find out. Just... don’t let her push you away. She’s good at that."

The words settled deep. Sam was a puzzle I wasn’t sure I should be solving—but the curiosity wouldn’t let go.

"Thanks for the advice," I said, half-smiling. "Guess we’ll see where this goes."

Tara raised her cup in a mock toast. "That’s the fun part. The not knowing."

I sat there, watching the world move outside, feeling the quiet shift in the air. Sam, Tara, all of this—it was unfolding in ways I hadn’t expected. And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

Tara, ever perceptive, tilted her head, a sly glint in her eyes. "You should text her."

I blinked. "What? Now?"

"Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?"

A lot, I wanted to say. But I didn’t.

Instead, I unlocked my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Tara leaned in, smirking. "Be honest. Keep it simple. Something like, ‘Hey, I was thinking about our conversation yesterday. It was cool talking to you.’"

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. But she wasn’t wrong.

Hey, I was thinking about our conversation yesterday. It was cool talking to you.

Before I could second-guess it, I hit send.

Tara watched me, satisfaction written all over her face. "There. Easy, right?"

I let out a slow breath. "Not sure if easy is the word, but... it’s done."

She lifted her cup in a knowing gesture. "Now, we wait."

And so I did. Through the rest of our conversation, through the rest of the morning, through every casual check of my phone, heartbeat spiking each time it buzzed. But it was never her.

By the time I got home, the weight of the day had settled in my bones. I tossed my bag onto the couch, my phone still in my pocket, untouched. I told myself not to check it. Not to let it matter so much.

I busied myself with the little things—sorting through the scattered notes on my desk, flipping through a book I had no real intention of reading, absentmindedly scrolling through social media before locking my phone again. The air in my apartment felt heavier somehow, like I was waiting for something I refused to admit.

Eventually, I sprawled out on the couch, arm draped over my face, willing my mind to focus on anything else. It wasn’t working.

And then—

My phone buzzed.

I sat up too quickly, pulse hammering as I fumbled to grab it, screen lighting up in the dim room.

Sam: You too.

Just two words. But they unraveled something tight in my chest.

I stared at the message, reading it once, twice, three times, as if deciphering some hidden meaning within it. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And something was more than nothing. When it comes from Sam, as I'm learning, something is actually a lot.

A slow smile crept onto my face as I leaned back against the couch, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #melissa barrera #tara carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #fem reader

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thefusioncelestial · 2 months ago

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Mix 19: The Knightly Sea Prince

polo-drone-065 asked:

Would you do like a chav meets a posh boy

Ah, the UK, one of the longest running democracies still in existence, and yet still has a Royal Family. And it is an old one. Many treat the birth year of the British royals as 1066 when William I took control, but they go deeper being able to trace themselves back to Cerdic of Wessex. That meant that this land has been influenced by the progeny of one man for over 1500 years.

As such, England & Scotland would develop a quite rigid society on the social side of things. Your station was not determined by wealth or any actual contribution to society, but what family you are born into & who you marry with. This leads to the creation of the Nobility: scions of Kings & Queens who never took the throne, next the Aristocrats: people who got in the good graces of a monarch to receive a rank & title.

And then there was everyone else.

Unless one got into a royal government, moving up socially or economically was hard. And while the functions of everyday government was eventually handed over to the people, the previous system persisted. A stark reminder that no matter how high you climb, there is always a ceiling.

Despite the wide strides made within recent times, there are those who have yet to catch their lucky break. And within those groups is a section of of young men with poor prospects who have banded together for protection. They aren't gang members, but they are stereotyped as being socially uncouth & wearing sportswear.

Being treated as the rough unwanted members of British society has made them the perfect target. They spend a lot of time outdoors in the streets trying to find something to do between job interview or promotion failures, and with all of that untapped & unused testosterone concentrated in an given area with the masculine aspects of British culture: you get a lot physical violence. When compared to their much more pampered & curated preppy counter parts, these men tend to be more physically dominate, and without centuries of rigid structure imposed on their fighting ability like you would in say fencing, they are able to adjust better to changing conditions.

The aristocrats love this. Their society rules makes it hard to for them to have much in the way of street smarts, and the pampered lifestyle can induce other bad habits. And so untold numbers of these poor men have been captured & assimilated into the young heirs of these landed peoples.

Here is Peter Montague-Pandall:

Slated to be the 22nd Earl of Salcombe.

One wouldn't think that a small coastal resort town like Salcombe would have anyone struggling. But every place has someone who is struggling. With resort towns, most people not business owners are forced to either go into fishing, farming, or into a service role. And while there is a lot of money that flows through, the pay for onsite workers can be bad & the rich clientele are notorious bad tippers.

Most with no prospects outside of cleaning the poop deck, move out via university or the military, and this has kept the local population low. But there are some who don't even have the option.

For Peter he grew up here, his family has been here for centuries. Granted monopolies long ago for saving some medieval king in the heat of battle, their solider founder ancestor set them up for life through bravery.

But like many such families, they all, aside from those who kept a strong military service tradition, lose their edge.

The inbreeding & a couple generations of gambling addictions should have layed the Montague-Pandall's low like the Fulfords, but they were able to course correct early enough.

The Pandalls were connected enough to learn about how the nobility would occasionally assimilate the strongest palace servants or guards to strengthen the family while still keeping up the bad practices that they do. But, they did not have enough power to get one of these necklaces that facilitate this. The fountain that birthed the method in Greece was not infinite in its waters.

A new method was found among those families, and they made a plan. They would make sure that some in their respective towns & cities were kept poor & working class, and unable to move up the ladder. The strongest born of this would be used to strengthen their heirs when the time was needed.

The Pandalls had a tradition that each heir & one spare would be merged with one of these people. The end result of constantly bringing in new DNA, new ideas & perspectives, and new skills would create a long chain of Earls stronger than the last. One result of this is that the Pandalls gained an reputation for being rather hot among their peers. And on top of this, they were more liberal with who they married.

Peter was not only the top of his school's social circle due to his family, but due to his good looks. What the average person didn't know is that untold numbers of people were absorbed into his male ancestors to create this town's Adonis. And if the traditions held, his sons would be born with similar physical gifts.

The Pandells were careful on who they selected, but they eventually paired Peter up with someone.

Here is Jaxon:

He has dreams of leaving his hometown for something different. He likes to go to the beach and stare out west towards America. A land said to be of much better opportunity. But it is a land where you can also fall harder.

But Jaxon is a bit more upright about his future. He is best friends with Peter, son of the Mayor, scion of the richest family within the area.

While they don't help his family with things like bills or food, they have always made sure he was clothed. And so for among his sports clothing wearing brethren, he always had the highest quality. This of course caused conflict. His peers were jealous of this, and so he got into a lot of fights growing up. And that constant fighting forged him into a warrior.

It was the summer after graduation. Jaxon was going to join the Royal Navy. Peter was bound for Cambridge University.

Jaxon & Peter were inside Peter's bedroom. From what Jaxon understood, Peter had a graduation & parting gift for him.

Peter was at the entrance facing the door staring at the door knob. He knew what he had to do. His father did this at his age, so did his grandfather and so forth. But he liked Jaxon. Did he really have to assimilate him. He tried to persuade his father to chose someone else. Someone with no personal history.

He locked the door & turned to Jaxon who was sitting in a desk chair.

"I love you," Jaxon said. Jaxon was always straight to the point. Trying to weasel yourself out of a situation in the streets would get your teeth knocked out too often.

Peter, who was walking towards Jaxon, paused. Did he just confess to Peter.

"I do too, like a brother of course," Peter responded.

Jaxon stood up & gave Peter a hard expression that softened a little.

"I like you a bit more than that," Jaxon said.

Peter took out a small rounded cylindrical vial that contained a yellow fluid.

The fluid was how the aristocratic families without a necklace merged with others. It took some research, firstly by going to the source, and doing decades if not a century more of alchemical, and then chemistry related research. As it turned out, human to human fusion was one of the secret goals of alchemy.

Peter quickly opened the vial and swallowed the liquid.

"What is that," Jaxon asked.

"Liquid luck after what I just walked myself into," Peter said.

"Why are you confessing to me now," he asked.

"You saw how every girl in our school wanted to climb me, and yet I never responded," Jaxon replied.

"I thought being near me was enough to not get you to end up in paternity court," Peter said.

"I would gladly go to court if you were the other parent. I wanted you climb and explore me so badly, but I know someone in your position would never be able to act if you felt the same way," Jaxon said.

"You could have as-"

"Shut up my Sea Prince, I am not done. I am telling you now, because I am leaving this place. Your dad gave me the funds to travel to go to basic training. I am going to see the world, meet new people, and maybe fall in love again. Next time, with someone who isn't so blind. But I wanted to let you know that I no matter what happens after I leave town, that you will always be my first love," Jaxon said.

A silence fell the room.

"That's a lot of words coming from you," Peter said.

Peter started walking towards Jaxon. He soon face to face with Jaxon. Or he would be. Peter was 6'1. Jaxon was 6'5.

"I guess you are influencing me a little bit," Jaxon said.

This was it, maybe he could answer Jaxon's feelings through what he was about to do.

Jaxon closed his eyes & moved to kiss Peter. He was forceful about it, pressed too hard. Peter backed up a little bit, but stayed connected. Jaxon then moved to hold and caress Peter's forearms. This eventually moved into a full embrace. For Jaxon this was the first & last time he would embrace his first true love.

He let go, or tried to. His mouth wouldn't come unstuck and his hands started to sink into Peter's back. He opened his eyes quickly. He knew what Peter was trying to do. But rather than fight back, he gave in.

Peter was scared, he couldn't get a full look at Jaxon's face given his physical position relative to Jaxon's, but the eyes told all. A fierce anger like a Tiger fully committed to killing its prey after said prey tried to fight back in vain was shone through his eyes. Peter fully expected Jaxon to pull back violently and physically rip their faces, but the opposite happened.

Jaxon pushed in. It felt good too. As Jaxon moved into Peter's body, a wave of ecstasy filled his body, but that was mixed with fear. It was only a few minutes, but 60% of Jaxon was mixed into Peter. Jaxon sank more and Peter felt bloated. Their skulls had merged, and Peter lost his facial features. He was a blank skin colored canvas.

All that was left of Jaxon on the outside was his shoulders, chest, abs, & back. Peter tried moving, but it was hard. Each step pulled Jaxon in more & more. The shoulders were gone. More steps. The abs and lower back. He was now in front of his bed and as he reached it, all of Jaxon was consumed.

Peter felt weird. He didn't just feel bloated, he felt Jaxon's mass move inside him. Constantly swirling & flowing, like a river without end.

And then it happened.

Peter's body mass quickly shrunk away. Ribs sticking out, skin hanging off the bones of his arms & legs. Abs gave way to the general shape of his spine. He was like a skeleton draped in skin, but no facial features.

Peter woke up in a completely white space. He was laying on a nice sofa and he was in his fully healthy body again. He quickly undid his shirt, and his muscles were all there.

Was what just happened a dream? A nightmare? But no, he doesn't know of rooms where the area was an featureless white void. He thought about it again. Based on what he was taught by his family both directly & in his records, he was in his mind space. It dawned on him.

He really tried to assimilate his best friend & would be lover Jaxon.

Peter got out of his thoughts when he remembered Jaxon. He knew what was going on; the mental merge. Where was Jaxon?

"I AM RIGHT HERE YOU PAMPERED DONKEY OF A MAN," Jaxon yelled:

Jaxon was now visible to him. Why was he in his boxer briefs? Peter wondered.

"I had an idea of what you money grubbing, self important monsters were doing. I know of a couple of mates who disappeared, all who had help from you lot like...like," he said in an angry & then confused tone.

He couldn't remember exactly who got assimilated. As he thought harder, his memories of them faded away, moving further out of reach. This was by design. The one assimilated would face some form of historical erasure. Some completely, others had aspects of their history smashed into the intended beneficiary.

"Wait, I didn't want to do this-"

"Why didn't you just choose someone else. Pick someone else with nothing to look forward to. I had an option, your family gave it to me," Jaxon roared.

"You know how set in their ways my family can be," Peter said.

"All the help, the great treatment when I came around, and putting ideas into my head. I was just a pig for the slaughter. Tell me, my fate was sealed the moment we met wasn't it," Jaxon asked.

Peter darted his eyes away from Jaxon.

"Yes," he said sadly.

"DONT LOOK AWAY FROM ME, THAT IS NOT THE MAN I LOVE, NOT THE PERSON WORTHY OF BEING ONE WITH ME," Jaxon screamed.

Peter looked back at Jaxon. He noticed that his mental space had changed. It was now a luxury hotel. He realized what had happened.

His father set him up.

He started to become aware of his body in the real world. The emaciated look was due to Jaxon fighting back so strongly on a mental level. The process didn't know which way to go. Not until they resolved who would dominate.

Peter pulled himself together.

"Listen, I know you want to beat me to a pulp, but let me explain. We are giving you a chance," Peter said.

"If that was the case, we would be taking each other's cherries on your bed right now, but instead you tried to use me like meal supplement," Jaxon said. He was much calmer. He wanted to know of this "chance".

"Normally, people who are chosen to be assimilated are knocked out cold, chemically or physically, and then given further drugs to weaken their mental fortitude," Peter said.

"Why," Jaxon asked.

"You had a glimpse of my world, do any of the stuck up pricks I am forced to hang out with seem to have the mental strength or personality to take you guys over fairly," Peter said.

"Absolutely not, you over patted sheep break down at the simplest of inconveniences. Why wasn't this done to me? As you can see, you are doing a bad job of dominating me," Jaxon asked.

"My father probably set this up. My guess is that he wants me to earn this new me. Perhaps due to the subtle influence of whoever he absorbed. Their own way of giving you a fighting chance when they didn't," Peter said.

Peter was fully committed to letting Jaxon take over. His form of apology.

Peter got up, ready to get pummeled and be an aspect of Jaxon.

Jaxon was soon right up to Peter's face.

Those eyes were full of anger, but they soon softened into Jaxon's normal stoic face, but they were a little tinged with worry.

"You knucklehead," Jaxon said. Before Peter could respond, Jaxon kissed him again in their mental space. Unlike the last time, there was no mixing of bodies. They were soon in an embrace. They slowly fell back into the couch and made love. In each thrust from Jaxon, Peter could feel Jaxon's emotions flow into him. His love, his worry, his anger, his confusion, and his acceptance. Mentally, this lasted for hours. In the real world a few seconds.

"Did we just..., bang mentally," Peter asked.

"Another round? Want to try being the top this time," Jaxon said confidently.

Surprisingly, they did it again, but in the way Jaxon suggested.

The couch that hosted this activity twice was in shambles. Peter looked back at the mess and was blushing. He didn't know he had that DAWG in him.

"What do we do now," Jaxon asked.

"Go through that door and live your life. Don't worry about me, I will gladly sacrifice myself so that you can see the world," Peter said.

Jaxon took Peter's hand & made the rest of him follow. Before Peter could protest, they both were a few feet from the door.

"What are you doing," Peter asked.

"I am not going to do to you what you just tried to do to me my Sea Prince. Since we can't come unstuck, let's walk this new us together as equals," Jaxon said.

Peter teared up and then wiped his eyes.

"You would agree to something like that after everything," Peter asked.

"Yes, outside from trying to eat me, everything you did for me made my life more bearable. Even if I had to fight more because it made me stick out more in streets," Jaxon said.

"Your father was right in picking me, you would be useless out there without me guiding you. But once we step through this together, we will be guiding each other, or guiding the new us," Jaxon said.

Peter let out a deep breath.

They both walked through the door.

Peter didn't dominate Jaxon, and Jaxon didn't dominate Peter. This meant that they would be reborn a new person.

The mass that was Peter began to show signs of life again.

It was no longer Peter though. Peter & Jaxon decided to walk the earth as equals. It was still deciding on its name though.

A liquid flowed through it's heavily constricted veins. It was DNA. Peter & Jaxon's DNA had broke down & mixed into a new structure. This new structure was being distributed throughout its soon to be new body.

Though it had no mouth yet, it moaned.

Starting with his feet, then his legs, chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and neck loud pops could be heard in that order. Immediately following the large pops in each body part, muscle exploded in those areas.

As the buttocks grew, you could hear the noise of stretched rubber, and its jewels were big like Jaxon's, but long & girthy like Peter's. Hair grew around the base.

Its stomach expanded in waves, doubling in mass each time. Soon it stopped growing after the third wave and began to restrict. An eight pack was forming with boulders for abdominal stones.

As the skin in the stomach restricted, the rest of the body followed, the result was a more vascular body than what Jaxon had.

Jaxon & Peter were quite compatible and this resulted in a new wave of muscle growth all over that made him more massive than Jaxon as well.

The formless face began to have features again. He had Jaxon's eyes, but softer. Jaxon's skull shape, but rounder. Peter's mouth, but more flush with pink. He had a combination of their noses & eyebrows. Jaxon's chin, Peter's ears. His hair texture & color were from Peter. but the volume was from Jaxon.

He let out a loud yell like a roar.

He was breathing heavily. Then he opened his eyes. It was time to meet his father.

He busted into his father's study unannounced.

"Hello son. Which one are you. Jaxon or Peter," he asked in a monotone manner. He also took a quick glance at the hinges of the door that guard his private study. They were bent at different angles. He was belated; he had strength beyond reasoning.

"I am both. I am Owen Montague-Pandall," Owen responded.

".... Good," the father said.

"You knew, you knew they wouldn't dominate each other," Owen said.

"It was obvious that Jaxon was in love with Peter when they turned 13. The boy was stealing too many glances at Peter once puberty kicked in. I figured they would mutually...mix. A reward for both. Jaxon can live his life with Peter as one, and hopefully you will do your duty and engender the next generation in the future. Tell me, do you like girls or boys," the father asked.

Owen mused for a bit.

"Both," Owen answered. Owen turned to leave.

Good enough the father thought.

"A reward for what though," Owen asked.

"I am aware that Jaxon would defend & protect Peter when he couldn't. Peter was good with a fencing blade, but everyday street fights were not his foray. Jaxon was his knight,' the father said.

Owen continued his walk out of the room.

"Are you not going to knock me out? You sure did a number on my door. I hated that door," the father said.

Owen turned his head.

"Like you said, they found a way to make this crap sandwich into one hiding gold. I can tell you, they are humming happily deep in my subconscious," Owen said.

"Your plans for the future," the father asked.

Owen smiled and walked away. He didn't utter a word.

Owen went to Cambridge like Peter was planning to:

He would spend enough time there & then go join the navy like Jaxon wanted. He would finish school through the methods that the military allowed him to. He would be both scholar & warrior. And like Jaxon, he would get to travel the world.

He would need to. Jaxon & Peter found the easy way out by merging, but now Owen would have to find his first true love, and not try to devour them this time.

Plenty of fish, in the Navy.

He also made sure that Jaxon's original family was taken care of. No more getting eaten by some elitist idiot.

#male merge #body merging #merging tf #thefusioncelestial #merge #musclegrowth #muscle #muscular #male body merge #absorption #male fusion #male pred #male body transformation #male transformation #Fusion

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loveharlow · 1 year ago

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SEVEN - 004

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.9k] based on 1x04.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mild violence, detainment

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ The shortest and most boooooring chapter to date but it's for a reason :(. And to make up for it (and the late post). I'll post chapter 5 much earlier than intended (AND THAT'S THE MIDSUMMERS CHAPTER WOOO).

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

AND WITHIN MINUTES ALL THAT HOPE DIED. There was no gold. Just a shipwreck. The drone passed over the entire thing three times and nothing. The metal detector didn’t make a single sound.

“Just pull the damn thing up.” John B said, frustrated. “Somebody beat us to it.”

“Or it was never there.” JJ muttered, steering the boat back in the direction you’d come.

WAKING UP TO MARLEY LICKING YOUR FACE WASN’T AN UNCOMMON OCCURRENCE, you assumed it’d just felt so unfamiliar because of the fact that you hadn’t slept in your own bed the last few days since this whole gold rush started. You groaned, lightly pushing the dog away from you with your palm.

“I’m awake, Marls…” You groaned out sleepily, rolling off of your bed with a grunt as you hit the floor, your side still sore from the events of yesterday. The pain was mostly gone, all that remained being a tenderness and slight redness surrounding the area.

Rolling onto your back and sitting up, you pet the chipper animal as she snuggled up under you. “Jesus, your morning breath is worse than mine.” You said, face twisting. Reaching for your phone as you scratched the top of her head, you saw that it was close to noon, you sighed, getting up and walking downstairs to get your day started.

You were surprised to find your mother shifting through documents on the kitchen island when you got there, slowing in your steps. “Hey, mom…” You said, eyeing the woman as you opened the fridge to pull out the milk. She merely glanced up at you, before averting her eyes back down to the documents in front of her.

“Morning.” She muttered. You faced away from her, hearing the pen she was writing with hit the counter as you walked to the side and grabbed the cereal from the pantry. “Did you hear about Topper’s boat?”

You bit your lip, completely forgetting about that. Realizing you hadn't responded and stood frozen in place, you cleared your throat and continued making your breakfast. “No, what happened?” You asked, faking obliviousness and pouring the cereal into a bowl, now facing her again. She had the papers in her hands, reading glasses sitting low atop her nose as her eyes scanned the pages as she spoke.

“He and Mrs.Thornton found it sunken this morning. What a waste of money. I hear it was brand-new.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Topper.” You remembered, pouring the milk over the colorful pellets of food. “Him and his friends aren’t exactly known for being careful.” You muttered with disdain.

“Speaking of caution,” The woman began, clasping her hands in front of her. “I had an interesting meeting with Sheriff Peterkin and Shoupe. They said John B was being chased through town by some dangerous men earlier in the week and he apparently ran from his social worker when she went to pick him up this morning. Do you know what’s going on with him?”

“I don’t know, Mom, maybe the fact that his dad went missing and DCS has been trying to drop him into the system ever since?”

All she could do was sigh. “John B’s father is gone. It’s been almost a year. He needs to accept that and move on.”

“...He needs to just accept the fact that his dad is gone? Do you hear yourself, right now?”

“Listen, I don’t have the energy to argue with you, right now. If you see him or know where he is, it’d be very much appreciated if you could tell Shoupe or Peterkin so they can alert his social worker-”

You scoffed, looking your mother in her eyes. “I'm not doing that. You're crazy if you think I'm going to help you and your cop friends put one of my best friends into foster care-”

“Excuse me?” Your mother was baffled at your tone. But it seemed like everytime you came home recently, on the rare occasion that you did, she always had questions. Scratch questions, accusations. And in your mind, either she knew something or she just wanted reasons to be on your ass. “I don't know what's gotten into you recently. If your father could see you now-”

“No, mom,” You cut her off shortly. “If only he could see you.” You spat, making your way back up the stairs, bowl of cereal in hand, slamming the door behind you.

“AREN’T YOU GLAD I MADE YOU COME?” Kie asked cheerfully, carrying a cooler full of snacks and drinks while you laid out a blanket on top of the grass, JJ and Pope unfolding lawn chairs to sit in. Kie had rounded you all up to see a movie in the park with her. You’d already informed them of the reason for John B’s absence, seeing as this isn’t his first marathon from DCS. If he got away successfully, per usual, you all would be seeing him by tomorrow.

“My couch was pretty comfy, I’ll be honest.” JJ replied. While Kiara was preoccupied, Pope whispered to JJ, but you could still hear them.

“We are in enemy territory. Way out of the green zone, man.” He was visibly anxious, eyes fleeting all across the crowd of people that littered the lawn.

“Dude, tranquilo, okay?” JJ tried to calm him.

“We are in the middle of Kooklandia.” He hissed. “This is the last place I wanted to be.” He ranted, the two boys not even noticing when Kiara got up to go get drinks.

“Shut up. Both of you.” You reprimanded, sternly. “God, you have the worst poker faces I’ve ever seen.”

“They could be lurking in the bushes right now, we don’t know.” Pope tried to make you understand.

“Dude, just chill out.” JJ said. Just then, Kie had come back, four cans of soda in her arms that she distributed evenly amongst the group of you.

“Just saw Rafe,” The name alone sends a small wave of chills down your spine. “He said to ‘tell your girl that we know what she and your boy did’. What does that mean?” Her eyes fleeted towards you for the most part.

“Where is he?” You questioned without hesitation.

“Right there,” She motioned behind her, prompting you to whip your head around to where Topper, Rafe, and Kelce stood menacingly by a tree, sipping on beers. Even from that distance, you could tell he was staring dead at you. It brought back so many unwanted feelings and memories, so badly it made your head hurt.

“Great, the whole death squad.” Pope’s voice cracked.

“Hey,” Kiara’s voice called from beside you, just loud enough for only you to hear. You turned back to face her. “What’s going on? Is he still bothering you? Is it about what happened-”

“No, it’s not.” You were quick to cut her off in case the guys were listening. “It’s not about that.” You said sternly, tuning back into JJ and Pope’s conversation.

“If they corner me, I’m comin’ out swingin. I’m on edge right now.” JJ spoke seriously. “If that doesn’t work, I got this right here.” He assured, holding up his backpack that looked mostly empty but oddly heavy.

“JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here. JJ, there are kids!” Kie started, being oddly loud for not wanting people to know that JJ may or may not have brought a gun.

“I didn’t bring the gun, Kiara. Everything’s fine.” He tried to calm her.

“That’s really convincing.” She said, voice full of sarcasm. “...What happened? What did you guys do?” She asked, eyes going back and forth between the three of you that remained quiet. “Founding principle, no secrets among pogues. What is Rafe talking about?”

“Kie,” Pope started, voice low. “It might go down tonight.”

YOU ALL WERE A GOOD WAY INTO THE MOVIE AT THIS POINT, the sun had gone down and the air had cooled. The only sounds filling your ears were the movie playing and crickets in the trees. You were sitting in between JJ’s legs, using the base of his lawn chair as a backrest to ease the pain on your side from trying to keep yourself up. You’d heard him and Pope whispering but paid no mind until the blonde was tapping your shoulder, signaling that he was getting up.

“Where are you guys going?” You questioned, looking up at him and adjusting the chair from where it had slipped behind you once he got up.

“We gotta wring it out.”

“Together?” Kie asked.

“It’s bro code. Bro’s who piss together…” He struggled to find a rhyme with the made-up honor code. “...stick together. We’ll be right back.” You watched as the pair of boys crouched, creeping through the crowd and over to a tree next to the projector screen. You questioned why they didn’t head to the actual bathrooms but quickly got your answer with a quick glance back, seeing Rafe and his goons blocking it.

“Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Kie whispered.

You sighed, curling in on yourself slightly. “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.” The girl scoffed and shook her head.

“Do the guys know? About what happened?”

“No. Why would they?”

“Do you ever plan on telling them?” You rolled your eyes, starting to get frustrated.

“No, Kie, I don’t. I’d like to forget it ever happened, if that’s okay with you.” You snapped, silence falling over the two of you as the movie continued to play.

You assumed maybe a handful of minutes had gone by before you noticed the guys hadn’t come back yet and one weary glance behind you told you all you needed to know — Rafe, Kelce, and Topper were gone, too.

You immediately shook Kie’s arm, startling the poor girl.

“What? What is it?”

“We need to go. Now.” Was all you said before you got up, taking JJ’s bag with you as you and Kie swiftly walked in the direction the guys had gone earlier so as to not alarm any movie viewers. Coming around the back of the projector screen, you were met with a brutal scene in front of you — Kelce held JJ by his arms as Rafe delivered blow after blow to his face while Topper beat up Pope.

“Let go of him! Fascist asshole!” Kie yelled as she whacked Topper in the back over and over. You made a b-line for Rafe, throwing JJ’s bag down and jumping onto the boy’s back, wounding your arms around his neck, allowing JJ an open opportunity to push Kelce off of him.

“Leave him alone, Rafe!” You screeched.

“You don’t wanna do this, sunshine!” He yelled back, throwing you off of his back and onto the grass. Just like yesterday, you were on your back as he stared down at you, breathing heavily. “I’m being nice. Only ‘cause you’re my favorite.” He smirked, huffing with blood in the corner of his lip before turning back to JJ.

You rolled on your side in the grass to see Topper choking out Pope only after having seen him throw Kiara to the ground. JJ had Rafe handled. You reached for JJ’s bag that had been abandoned, flipping it open to reveal the gun and a lighter. Your eyes went back and forth between the gun and Topper, who had Pope in a deadly chokehold at this point.

You wanted to do it, so bad.

But a gun to a Kook's head was what caused all of this in the first place, so you dismissed the thought, kicking the lighter over to Kie, the object hitting the sole of her shoe.

The girl looked down at the lighter and then at you, you motioned towards the projector screen and she caught on quickly. It wasn’t long before the projector screen was going up in flames, scaring the movie guests and breaking up the fight, spooking the guys. Topper released Pope as JJ pushed Kelce back once more, Rafe stood off in the middle of the four guys, staring directly at you as you got up.

When he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, he gathered up Topper and Kelce and fled the scene. Kie helped Pope up as you turned your attention to JJ. He was fixing his clothes but you didn’t miss the scars on his cheek and bottom lip.

“Are you okay?” You asked frantically, eyes roaming his entire face for any more cuts.

“Fine, I’m fine.” He calmed you as you laid a hand on his shoulder before trailing it up to the back of his neck, but he looked like he wanted to say something. Like he was thinking extremely hard.

“C’mon, let’s go.” You urged the rest of your group, leaving before the fire department and cops inevitably made their appearance.

“I JUST ACTED OFF INSTINCT, MAN. I WAS A CORNERED ANIMAL.” Pope told JJ as he restocked some items on the shelves inside of Heyward’s. It was the next morning but you were all still on edge about the fight last night. It was clear now that Topper knew Pope and yourself were the ones who sank his boat and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t feel bad, dude. It was three of them and two of us.” JJ tried to remedy it. “That’s some typical Kook shit right there.”

“Hell yeah.” Kie agreed.

“Hey Pope,” Heyward’s voice rang out in the small crab-shack, towel slung over the older man’s shoulder. “There’s someone here to see you.” He motioned behind him, Deputy Shoupe making his appearance.

Pope’s posture immediately straightened, his eyes going wide as the shop went silent with Shoupe’s arrival. “Evening, officer.” He barely got out. Shoupe’s eyes went between you and Pope before replying.

“You’re both here. Great.” He said, reaching into his holster. “I have an arrest warrant for felony destruction of property. For both of you.”

“Woah, woah, woah…” Heyward was stunned as he stood back and watched the scene play out in front of him.

“Keep your hands on the counter where I can see ‘em.” Shoupe handcuffed Pope first, the boy putting up no fight in his daze. He looked like he’d faint any moment.

“Shoupe, what’d they do?!” Heyward tried again.

“Look at the warrant.” Was all the deputy offered in response, remaining stoic. Once Pope was secure, he moved onto you, looking you in the eyes somewhat pitifully before beckoning for you to turn around and put your hands behind your back. Heyward, Kiara, and JJ were causing commotion, talking over one another as he secured you in handcuffs.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney…” He continued but you could barely hear him as he single-handedly guided both you and Pope out of Heyward’s Seafood. Pope’s father, JJ, and Kie follow close behind.

“Shoupe, it was just me.” You tried, craning your neck to look at the officer. “Pope didn’t do anything.”

“Nice try, kiddo. But there were two people on that boat, caught it on camera. And your face is as clear as day.” He dismissed you.

“It was me!” JJ yelled, causing Shoupe to stop in his tracks. The three of you turned around to look at the blonde. “...Pope tried to talk us out of it. But Y/N and I were just too mad because they’d just been beaten up. I was so sick of those Figure Eight assholes." He spoke convincingly, eyes landing on Pope's ashamed figure. "I can’t let you take the blame for something I did.” JJ was now right in front of Pope, looking the boy dead in his eyes. “You’ve got too much to lose.”

“JJ, what’re you doing?” Pope said hushed but still aggressive.

“I’m telling the truth, for once in my damn life.” He said without much hesitation at all. “I took his old man’s boat, too.”

“What the hell…” Heyward looked crazily at the blonde boy.

“He’s a good kid.” JJ told Shoupe. “...You know where I’m from.” Shoupe nodded lightly, agreeing with the statement before his attention was on you and Pope.

“That the whole truth, Pope?” Shoupe inquired, cocking an unbelievable eyebrow.

He seemed to ponder on it before gulping heavily and nodding his head shakily, looking at JJ one last time. “Yeah…that," He huffed. "That covers it.”

YOU’D NEVER SEEN THE INSIDE OF A JAIL CELL, not that you ever planned on it. It was suffocating. The walls, the color of the walls, the dingy bars, the stale air. You felt like a caged animal, an unwelcome chill making the experience that much more unbearable.

You and JJ sat across from one another — on the floor, legs bent underneath with your heads thrown back.

“Why’d you do it?” You questioned, your voice echoing out within the cell. "Take the fall, I mean..."

“I couldn’t let Pope go down for it.” His raspy voice replied. “I would’ve taken the fall for you both. But I heard Shoupe, they had footage of two people and your face was ‘as clear as day’.” He mocked the older man’s southern twang.

The action made you chuckle, craning your head down to look at him, not aware that he was already looking at you.

You sighed, shaking your head and running fingers through the base of your hair. “I should’ve never suggested it in the first place. I knew it was a stupid idea, I just wasn’t in the right headspace…”

“Because of Rafe?” The question made your heart stop, eyes jumping up to his before fleeting to the ground. “It’s not hard to notice. He clearly knows you, knows you. But I just…can’t put the pieces together. What happened between you two?”

You looked down at your hands that were now wound around your knees, your fingers fiddling with each other. “A lot of things happened, when I first moved to Figure Eight and fell in with Kiara and I’s old friend group. Let’s just... leave it at that.”

The blonde was looking at you like he wanted to press for more information and you knew one day he would, and with the way recent events have played out? That day might come sooner than you were comfortable with. But for right now, you just couldn’t wait until you got out of this cell. Somehow.

next chapter >

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devastator1775 · 1 year ago

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Uzi helps N with overheating issues

This was supposed to be a simple scavenging outing; look for useable parts around the ruined city to fix the Pod. N was struggling, he could feel it. His movements were sluggish, he couldn’t focus, his circuitry was burning and he felt the thirst coming… He hadn’t drunk oil in a while, and now he was starting to get dangerously close to overheating … but he was fighting it. He couldn’t give in.

Not while he was with Uzi.

N steadied himself against the wall of the crumbling warehouse they were currently rummaging around in, taking in deep breaths of cold air in attempt to cool himself down. He growled softly when his visor displayed the [⚠ HIGH TEMP] alert again for the umpteenth time. He tried to get rid of the message, but it kept popping up again.

“C’mon, just go away.” N muttered to himself.

Uzi, who had been busy looking through a crate with parts, turned around to face her friend. “Did you say something, N?”

Uzi’s voice almost N jump. He quickly stood to attention and produced a sheepish grin. “N-nothing, Uzi.”

Uzi raised a digital eyebrow. “You’re acting goofier than usual.” She commented, after which she grinned mischievously at him. “Which is not saying much.”

N chuckled nervously. “That’s me, alright.” He tipped his cap. “Ol’ goofy N.”

Uzi rolled her eyes. “Whatever, keep your secrets for now. I’ll get you to spill the beans when we’re done here.” She kicked the crate with a huff. “Nothing but vintage-styled toasters in this one. Let’s check the 2nd floor.”

“Uh, you sure that’s a good idea?” N asked as he looked up at the ceiling. The warehouse they were in wasn’t in good condition in the first place, and the floor above them looked even worse. Parts of the ceiling had already broken, leaving holes and cracks everywhere. “It looks a bit …about-to-collapse-y.”

“Pshh, it’ll be fine.” Uzi countered as she made her way towards the nearby stairs. “It had held up this long. It’s not like it’s gonna all just fall down the moment we step foot on it.”

“Maybe, but- “

Uzi let out an annoyed groan and stomped up the stairs. “Stop stalling and let’s go, N!”

N grimaced, walking up the stairs and stopping on the lowest step, looking up where his compatriot had vanished out of sight. Uzi sounded frustrated, even more than usual. Ever since what happened during prom with Doll and the powers they both seem to have; she’d been pressed to find answers. This week, she figured that the pod could hold some answers; but with most of the systems broken beyond use, they needed to repair them if they’d get any sort of hypothetical answers. Which is why Uzi had been dragging N along to find parts on a daily basis lately. They’d mostly go to the furthest edges of the Ruined City, which meant N often had to wait until they got back to consume oil from his ‘stash’ – which was a nice way of saying ‘slurping the remaining oil out of one of the hundreds of Worker Drone corpses that were strewn around the pod so he wouldn’t overheat and die’. But Uzi was starting to become slightly desperate lately, which resulted in them staying away longer and longer before Uzi was content to leave. Which resulted in a few really close calls.

“Are you coming or what!?” Uzi shouted.

N flinched and rushed up the stairs. “C-coming, Uzi!” The last thing he wanted to deal with was an angry Uzi; or, more precisely: an angrier Uzi. Halfway up the stairs, he suddenly was overcome with a rush of dizziness, making him stumble and trip over his own feet. He landed with a thud and groaned in pain. A new message on his visor appeared: [⚠ Alert! Systems overheating! ⚠]. He quickly disabled the message, scrambled up and ran up the remainder of the stairs. He found Uzi standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and annoyed expression clearly projected on her visor.

“What was that sound?” She asked. “Did you trip, or something.”

“Y-yeah, tripped.” N answered sheepishly.

“Ugh, why are you being such a freakin’ klutz lately?” Uzi groaned. “It’s starting to become really insufferable!”

N deflated visibly. “That’s a bit …harsh. Haven’t I been trying my best to help you this entire time?”

Uzi, instantly regretting what she said, shrunk in herself. “Way to go, Uzi Doorman. Insulting your only friend like that. She muttered to herself, wrapping her arms around her. She took a few steps forward. “N, I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

The floor beneath their feet suddenly groaned loudly, making Uzi stop dead in her tracks. She looked down at her feet, noticing how cracks were starting to form where she was standing.

Uzi gulped. “N?”

“I saw…. don’t move.”

“That’s, like, the opposite of what I should be doing, N!” Uzi gasped as she felt the floor drop a bit.

“Stay there!” N instructed. He gave Uzi a reassuring smile. “It’s gonna be alright, Uzi.”

Uzi managed to bring herself to smile a bit. “I know. I trust you.”

He smiled at her with a nod. He looked down to his feet and took a cautious step forward, his audio receptors primed to pick up on any signs of the floor giving out even more. He heard nothing. He tapped his foot a few times, but the floor beneath him seemed a bit sturdier than where Uzi was. “Okay, I got solid-ish ground here. What you’ll need to, is run as fast as you can to me. ”

“Can’t you just grab me or something?” Uzi asked, yelping as another crack formed, this time taking a bit of the floor with it, which dropped to the room below them. “Like, use those wings to fly and grab me?”

“I need to push myself pretty hard for that.” N answered. “If I try to take off, the pressure might collapse the entire floor.”

Uzi shifted her weight from one foot to the other – and instantly regretting it as she heard the floor groan again. She took a few deep breaths. “O-okay, I’m ready.”

“I’ll count to three and then-“

“I run as fast as I can, got it.” Uzi chuckled anxiously. “Looks like I’m eating my words about the floor not collapsing, huh?”

“I’m not holding it against you.” N held out his hand towards Uzi. “On the count of 3…”

N made sure his feet were planted firmly on the ground.

“2…”

Uzi took a starting position. “I have to be honest…”

“1! Now!”

“THIS SUCKS!” Uzi took off and ran as hard as her legs could take her.

Behind her, the floor started to crumble, pieces of concrete raining down on the floor beneath them. Uzi screamed all the way as she ran towards N. Just as the floor under her started to break, she jumped as hard as she could. N grabbed her hand and pulled her in, losing footing as Uzi’s tiny frame impacted against his body. He fell on his back, with Uzi curled up against his chest.

After a few moments, the floor had stopped collapsing, with only small pieces of debris falling down to break the silence that followed. The entire floor was gone, the majority was in the room below, leaving only a small area on top of the stairs undamaged, where the two drones were laying down.

A few moments passed, both of them breathing heavily as they were processing what just happened.

N heard Uzi suddenly yelp, followed by her frantically scrambling up. He heard her cough nervously. “So, eh …thank you for, you know, saving me from becoming crushed by rubble.” She rubbed her arm, guilt in her eyes. “And, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. You’re a big help, and – N, what’s wrong?”

N was groaning, squirming like he was in pain. He had pushed himself too hard when he wanted to help Uzi, and the exertion had accelerated his overheating. His entire body felt like it was aflame and he felt a thirst like never before.

N felt his body move, but it was like someone else was doing it for him, like he wasn’t in control. He pulled himself up, almost in a zombie-like manner. His gaze was downwards, his shoulders slouched and his tail whipping around menacingly. His wings deployed, slowly unfolding themselves to their full width.

He could hear Uzi shuffle backwards. “N?” The fear in her voice almost made him flinch.

He needed oil.

“U-Uzi …”

No matter where he got it.

N struggled to look up, his visor showing the message: [⚠ OVERHEATING ⚠ HUNTING MODE ACTIVATED]

Or from who.

Claws replaced his hands. “Run…”

The next moment, N suddenly found himself on top of Uzi, who frantically tried to push him off. He saw himself in the reflection of his visor. His eyes were replaced with an ‘X’ and mouth was stretched in wide smile, showing his jagged teeth. He could smell the oil that ran inside her body. Delicious oil, easily acquired. He opened his mouth and lunged down to take a bite, but Uzi, instinctively trying to defend herself, held her arm in front of her.

He felt his teeth sink in her metallic skin.

He could taste the oil, dripping from her wound.

It was delicious.

He bit down harder.

“N! Please!” He heard Uzi beg; her voice thick with pain. “Stop!”

It was the pained scream that erupted from Uzi’s mouth that made N realize what he was doing.

He was hurting Uzi.

He was going to kill her.

“No.”

With enormous effort, N managed to wrestle enough control over himself back to tear his mouth away from Uzi. He grabbed her and threw her to the side. N forced himself to back away, until he felt his back hit the wall.

“No! I’m not gonna…I’m not gonna” N shouted at himself. He saw Uzi looking at him, still fearful, disoriented, …easy prey. He felt himself getting ready to pounce again.

No, he had to stop himself. In the corner of his vision, he saw his tail whipping around. He reached out and grabbed the syringe, bringing the blade in front of his eyes.

“N!” He heard Uzi yell. “Don’t-!”

He shoved the blade in his visor.

There was a sharp pain.

And then his vision turned dark.

How long had he been offline? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? N couldn’t tell. The only thing he saw was darkness. But after what seemed to be only moments, a message suddenly popped up in his vision.

[SYSTEM REBOOT]

Slowly, his vision started to come back online, followed by the rest of his systems. The first thing N was aware of was Uzi’s voice, talking to him.

“-ease, open your eyes, your loveable numbskull!”

N opened his eyes with a gasp, immediately jumping up and get as much distance between him and Uzi. He quickly noticed that they were back on the ground floor of the warehouse. Uzi must’ve dragged him down the stairs.

“Uzi, please, don’t come closer!” N warned, holding out his hands.

“N, calm down.” Uzi said, taking a step towards him.

“No, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’m …”

Fine? He noticed was in control again. The urge to hunt and kill was gone. He was still close to overheating, but it wasn’t at as a dangerous level anymore.

“What …what happened?” N asked. “Why aren’t I…?”

Uzi held out her arm - the very one that N had tried to take a bite out of – which was still dripping oil from the bite wound he had given her. “It took a while, but I managed to cool down your circuitry, drip by drip. I figured I’d give you enough so you’d feel okay again.” She took a cautious step forward. “Are you? Feeling okay, I mean?”

N looked down at his hands, squeezing them shot a few times. “I …think so?”

“No urge to hunt …me?”

“No.”

“Good.” She balled her fist and threw a punch right in N’s face. BANG! The impact of Uzi’s fist cracked N’s visor, which quickly healed itself. Despite the damage, N didn’t even feel dizzy.

“OUCH, son of a glitch, that hurts.” Uzi shook her aching hand, shooting N an angry look.

“Listen, Uzi.” N started, guilt washing over him. “About what I did …. I’m so sorry about hurting you and scaring you like that.”

“Hurting me? Scaring me? How about what you did to yourself? That’s what scared me!” Uzi yelled angrily, shoving her finger against N’s chest. “What were you thinking, stabbing yourself with your tail like that? In your head, of all places! You’re lucky you missed your processor! And even then, it took so long for your regeneration to kick in, I almost thought you …you….” She took a deep sigh. “Seriously, don’t do that again.” She hissed in pain, grabbing her arm.

“Uh, do you want me to ….” N asked cautiously, pointing at Uzi’s injured arm. “I mean, I know you probably don’t trust me right now, but- “

Uzi held out her arm, a soft smile on her face. “I do trust you.” She assured. “Now, please fix this, it’s starting to sting.”

N nodded and gently took hold of Uzi’s arm, bringing it closer to his face. He ran his tongue over her wound, letting the regenerative nanites do their work.

“Ugh, still gross…” Uzi commented, holding up her arm to her face to see the wound close, until it looked brand new.

“Aren’t you mad I attacked you?” N asked. He genuinely was confused why Uzi was still here. Why did she help him, after he put in her danger like that.

“Oh, I’m mad, trust me on that.” Uzi replied, shooting him a brief angry look, before letting out a sigh and letting her expression soften. “But …I know you weren’t in control. You couldn’t help yourself.”

“Still, that doesn’t- “

“And, it’s not the first time you ever attacked me.” Uzi crossed her arms. “Remember how we met? That time, you were actively trying to kill me.”

“And you shot my head off.”

“You deserved it, then.” Uzi sighed and walked over to him, fists on her hips. “N, why didn’t you tell me you were overheating?”

N shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He sighed. “I thought we would be back before it would become a problem.” He replied. “I mean, the last few times we did, so I figured- “

“Wait, ‘last few times’?” Uzi asked, making N slap his hand on his mouth. “You mean, this almost happened before? Not only once, but multiple times?”

“Y-yeah…?”

Uzi stared at N in disbelieve for several silent moments, before she walked up to him, her fists balled. “Kneel down, you tall jerk, I’m gonna punch your lights out again!” She threw a punch, but N managed to dodge it. “Why weren’t you drinking oil before we left? You know that I know that you need it! Is it because of me? Are you trying to spare me from seeing it? Is it-“

Uzi froze dead in her tracks, horrified realization beaming from her visor. “It is because of me….”

“No-no-no, Uzi, it’s not- “

“Yes, it is!” Uzi interrupted. “I’ve been making you come with me every day, and each day we’re leaving earlier and getting back later. And every time you asked me if we shouldn’t go back, I just ignored you. My stubbornness did this to you.”

When she suddenly made a dash towards him, N briefly thought she’d try to punch him again, but to his surprise she threw her arms around him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, N!”

N slowly wrapped his arms around her. “H-hey, it’s okay…”

“It’s not!”

“Okay, but you’re not the only one who’s at fault here – not that It’s your fault.”

“N, I am saying it’s my fault.” Uzi said again. “Because I’m such a screwup!”

“And I should’ve said I was overheating, so ….I guess we’re both screwups.” N presented her with a soft smile.

Uzi gazed in his eyes for a few moments, before she let out a chuckle. “I can live with that…” She sighed. “Let’s promise not to let this happen again? We’re gonna tell these sort of things to each other now?”

“Promise.” N agreed with a bright smile.

Uzi stepped away from the hug, a blush on her visor. “So, uh, you good on …your overheating issue?” Just as N opened his mouth to answer, she quickly interrupted him. “And remember what you just promised!”

N sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “I …maybe need a bit more, just so I’m sure I’ll be able to fly to pod all the way without any more problems.”

Uzi sighed deeply. “I guess it can’t be helped. I guess you-” she suddenly blushed fiercely. “You, eh …you can …bite me?”

“You sure?”

“S-sure, why not?” Uzi replied, rubbing her arms shyly. “You, uh, are in control of yourself, right?”

“I think so…” He chuckled nervously when he saw Uzi’s blank reaction. “Ehh, I mean, I am, definitely, yes siree.”

“Guess that’ll have to do….” Uzi shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So, uh, how you wanna …do this”

“I guess I’ll … “ N walked up to her, suddenly very much aware of how much taller he was compared to his Worker Drone companion. He nervously opened the zipper of Uzi’s hoodie halfway, partially exposing the bare chassis. He slid the hoodie down a bit, so that her shoulders were showing. He looked up when Uzi let out a shaky breath. “You good?”

Uzi nodded, blushing brightly. “Y-yeah, just …be-be gentle.”

“Just try to relax, Uzi…” N instructed softly. He picked her up, giving her time to wrap her legs around his waist and get a good hold on him. “I’ll try not to hurt you too much, okay?”

“S-sure….”

“Okay, here I …here I go…” N took a deep breath and slowly lowered his head to her shoulders. His mouth split open, his jagged fangs showing. He felt Uzi’s grip on him tighten. His teeth brushed the plating, making Uzi gasp softly. He softly bit down, putting enough pressure to break through the mesh. Warm oil started to leak from the wound.

“Ow…” Uzi whimpered softly, her fingers digging into N’s arms.

N placed his mouth over the wound and started to take slow, cautious sips. His visor showed the message [COOLDOWN COMMENCING], prompting him to take a few bigger gulps.

“Ah!” Uzi exclaimed softly, her hands gripping at N’s jacket as she whimpered quietly.

When N’s visor showed that he had drunk enough oil to cool down at least 10%, he tried to retreat, but Uzi pushed his head back against her shoulder.

“No, keep going!” She whimpered softly. “You – ah – you need it.”

As more oil flowed down N’s throat, he started to feel something boil in the deepest part of his system. Something primal, something hungry. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he pulled Uzi against him, taking in deep gulps of her precious oil. He fell on his knees, making Uzi squeak in surprise. His grip around her shoulders tightened.

“Ah, N …careful…” She implored softly.

There was no fear in her voice, N noticed, but …something else? She wasn’t fighting him, nor was she giving any sort of sign she wanted him to stop. After a few more moments, N forced himself to tear away from Uzi’s shoulders. He panted, hot air escaping from his mouth. His visor showed he had 50% cooldown. That was more than enough. He turned his attention to her wound and lowered his head down again, his tongue slowly coming out of his mouth. He gently licked her wound, making her gasp in surprise.

“N, give me some warning next time…” Uzi groaned quietly.

“Sorry…” N apologized softly, before he started licking her wound again. When he was sure that it was closed again, he gently put Uzi back on the ground. He held on to her hands when he noticed she was a bit wobbly on her feet. “ You good, Uzi?”

“I …I’m a bit dizzy, but …otherwise okay.” Uzi stated weakly, shaking her head to in an attempt to get rid of the dizziness, which only made her more dizzy. Her visor suddenly showed the message: [Error: Equilibrium compromised]. Uzi’s legs instantly gave out, but N quickly scooped her up before she could hit the ground.

“Ugh …thanks, N.” Uzi stated weakly, an embarrassed smirk on her lips.

“Guess I overdid it a bit, huh?” N gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“’S fine…you needed it more than me.” Uzi looked away for few moments. “Just …don’t mention this to V, you hear me? If she’ll get wind that this happened, she’ll never let me live this down.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good…” Uzi’s eyes started to close. “Can you take me home, please? I think… I need a nap…and a few cans of oil.”

“No problem, Uzi.” N started, as he walked out of the warehouse. “We’ll have you before y-“

He froze when he suddenly felt Uzi’s lips briefly touch his cheek. He blinked a few times, staring in front of him, cheeks burning bright. After returning to reality, he noticed that Uzi had fallen asleep in his arms. The sight did bring a smile on his face. He unfurled his wings and took off, with Uzi safely in his arms.

#murder drones fanfiction #murder drones #murder drones uzi #murder drones N #biscuitbites #nuzi #enzi #n x uzi

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drone9futuristic · 9 months ago

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Dronebuster: Countering the Growing Threat of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles

The recent Eager Lion 2024 military exercise in Jordan served as a crucial platform for the U.S. Army to showcase its advanced Dronebuster technology. This innovative system highlights the growing importance of counter-drone measures as unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), commonly known as drones, continue to surge globally.

#Dronebuster #Counter-drone #Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV)#C-UAS (Counter-Unmanned Aircraft System)#Eager Lion Military Exercise #BLOS Vs LOS #Reconnaissance drone #U.S. Army #U.S. Department of Defense #NATO #drone #drones uav #military technology #military #military aircraft

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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“We’ve seen arson, sabotage and more: dangerous actions conducted with increasing recklessness,” warned Ken McCallum, the head of MI5, Britain’s domestic security and counter-intelligence agency, of the threat posed by Russia and the GRU, its military-intelligence agency. “The GRU in particular is on a sustained mission to generate mayhem on British and European streets,” he said on October 8th. Other European intelligence agencies are equally concerned. On October 14th Bruno Kahl, Germany’s spy chief, said that Russia’s covert measures had reached a “level previously unseen”. Thomas Haldenwang, the head of Germany’s domestic intelligence services, told lawmakers that an act of sabotage had almost caused a plane to crash earlier this year as he warned that “aggressive behaviour” by Russian spies was putting lives at risk.

Russia’s war in Ukraine has been accompanied by a crescendo of aggression, subversion and meddling elsewhere. In particular, Russian sabotage in Europe has grown dramatically. “We see acts of sabotage happening in Europe now,” Vice-Admiral Nils Andreas Stensones, the head of the Norwegian Intelligence Service, said in September. Sir Richard Moore, the chief of MI6, Britain’s foreign-intelligence agency, put it more bluntly: “Russian intelligence services have gone a bit feral, frankly.”

The Kremlin’s men have squeezed the West out of several African states. Its hackers, Poland’s security services said, have tried to paralyse the country in the political, military, and economic spheres. Russia’s propagandists have pumped disinformation around the world. Its armed forces want to put a nuclear weapon in orbit. Russian foreign policy has long dabbled in chaos. Now it seems to aim at little else.

Start with the summer of sabotage. In April Germany arrested two German-Russian nationals on suspicion of plotting attacks on American military facilities and other targets on behalf of the GRU. The same month Poland arrested a man who was preparing to pass the GRU information on Rzeszow airport, a hub for arms to Ukraine, and Britain charged several men over an arson attack on a Ukrainian-owned logistics firm in London. The men were accused of aiding the Wagner Group, a mercenary outfit now under the GRU’s control. In June France arrested a Russian-Ukrainian who was wounded after attempting to make a bomb in his hotel room in Paris. In July it emerged that Russia had plotted to kill Armin Papperger, the boss of Rheinmetall, Germany’s largest arms firm. On September 9th air traffic at Stockholm’s Arlanda airport was shut down for more than two hours after drones were spotted over runways. “We suspect it was a deliberate act,” a police spokesperson said. American officials warn that Russian vessels are reconnoitring underwater cables.

Even where Russia has not resorted to violence, it has sought to stir the pot in other ways. The Baltic states have arrested a number of people for what they say are Russian-sponsored provocations. French intelligence officials claim that Russia was responsible for the appearance of coffins draped with the French flag and bearing the message “French soldiers of Ukraine” left at the Eiffel Tower in Paris in June. Many of these actions are aimed at fanning opposition to aid for Ukraine. But others are intended simply to widen splits in society of all kinds, even if these have little or no link to the war. France says that Russia was also behind the graffiti of 250 Stars of David on walls in Paris in November, an effort to fuel antisemitism, which has surged since the start of the Israel-Hamas conflict.

Much of Russia’s activity has been virtual. In April hackers with ties to the GRU seem to have manipulated control systems for water plants in America and Poland. In September America, Britain, Ukraine and several other countries published details of cyber-attacks by the GRU’s Unit 29155, a group that was previously known for assassinations in Europe, including a botched effort to poison Sergei Skripal, a former Russian intelligence officer. The GRU’s cyber efforts, which had been ongoing since at least 2020, were not just aimed at espionage, but also “reputational harm” by stealing and leaking information and “systematic sabotage” by destroying data, according to America and its allies.

Beyond Europe, GRU officers have been in Yemen alongside the Houthis, a rebel group that has attacked ships in the Red Sea, ostensibly in solidarity with Palestinians. Russia, angered by America’s provision of long-range missiles to Ukraine, came close to providing weapons to the group in July, CNN reported, but reversed course after strong opposition from Saudi Arabia. The fact that Vladimir Putin, Russia’s president, was willing to alienate Muhammad bin Salman, the kingdom’s de facto ruler whom he had courted for years, is an indication of how Russia’s war has cannibalised its wider foreign policy.

Everything everywhere

“What Putin is trying to do is hit us all over the place,” argues Fiona Hill, who previously served as the top Russia official in America’s National Security Council. She compares the strategy to the Oscar winning film: “Everything Everywhere All at Once”. In Africa, for instance, Russia has used mercenaries to supplant French and American influence in the aftermath of coups in Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger.

Russia’s meddling in America takes a very different form. In May Avril Haines, America’s director of national intelligence, called Russia “the most active foreign threat to our elections” above China or Iran. This was not merely about trying to shape America’s policy on Ukraine. “Moscow most likely views such operations as a means to tear down the United States as its perceived primary adversary,” she said, “enabling Russia to promote itself as a great power.” In July American intelligence agencies said that they were “beginning to see Russia target specific voter demographics, promote divisive narratives, and denigrate specific politicians”.

These efforts are generally crude and ineffectual. But they are prolific, intense and sometimes innovative. In September America’s Justice Department accused two employees of RT, a Kremlin-controlled media outlet that regularly spews out Russian talking points and lurid conspiracy theories, of paying $10m to an unnamed media company in Tennessee. The firm, thought to be Tenet Media, posted nearly 2,000 videos on TikTok, Instagram, X and YouTube. (Commentators paid by the company denied wrongdoing.) The department also seized 32 Kremlin-controlled internet domains designed to mimic legitimate news sites.

Russian propagandists are also experimenting with technology. CopyCop, a network of websites, took legitimate news articles and used ChatGPT, an AI model, to rewrite them. More than 90 French articles were modified with the prompt: “Please rewrite this article taking a conservative stance against the liberal policies of the Macron administration in favour of working-class French citizens.” Another rewritten piece included evidence of its instructions, saying: “This article…highlights the cynical tone towards the US government, NATO, and US politicians.”

Russian disinformation campaigns are hardly new, acknowledges Sergey Radchenko, a historian of Russian foreign policy, pointing to episodes such as the Tanaka memorandum, an alleged Soviet forgery that was used to discredit Japan in 1927. Nor are proxy wars or assassinations a novelty. Soviet troops were already fighting in Yemen, disguised as Egyptians, in the early 1960s, he notes. The KGB’s predecessors and successors have killed many people abroad, from Leon Trotsky to ex-spy Alexander Litvinenko.

The genuinely new part, says Mr Radchenko, “is that whereas previously special operations supported foreign policy, today special operations are foreign policy.” Ten years ago the Kremlin worked with America and Europe to counter Iran and North Korea’s nuclear programme. Such co-operation is now fanciful. “It is as if the Russians no longer feel they have a stake in preserving anything of the post-war international order,” says Mr Radchenko. This period reminds him more of Mao’s nihilistic foreign policy during China’s Cultural Revolution than the Soviet Union’s cold-war thinking, which included periods of pragmatism and caution. Ms Hill puts it another way: “It’s Trotsky over Lenin.”

Mr Putin embraces these ideas. “We are in for probably the most dangerous, unpredictable and at the same time most important decade since the end of World War II,” he said in late 2022. “To cite a classic,” he added, invoking an article by Vladimir Lenin in 1913, “this is a revolutionary situation.” That belief—that the post-war order is rotten and needs rewriting, by force if necessary—also gives Russia common cause with China. “Right now there are changes the likes of which we haven’t seen for 100 years,” Xi Jinping told Mr Putin last year in Moscow, “and we are the ones driving these changes together.”

Russia’s foreign-policy strategy, published in 2023, offers the bland reassurance that it “does not consider itself an enemy of the West…and has no ill intentions”. A classified addendum acquired by the Washington Post from a European intelligence service suggests otherwise. It proposes a comprehensive containment strategy against a “coalition of unfriendly countries” led by America. That includes an “offensive information campaign” among other actions in the “military-political, trade-economic and informational-psychological…spheres”. The ultimate aim, it notes, is “to weaken Russia’s opponents”.

This does not mean Russia is unstoppable. It is increasingly a junior partner to China. Its influence has slipped in some countries, such as Syria. It does not always back up its own proxies—dozens of Wagner fighters were killed in an ambush by Malian rebels, aided by Ukraine, in July. And Russian subversion can be disrupted, says Sir Richard, by “good old-fashioned security and intelligence work” to identify the intelligence officers and criminal proxies behind it. The fact that Russia is increasingly reliant on criminals to carry out these acts, in part because Russian spies have been expelled en masse from Europe, is a sign of desperation. “Russia’s use of proxies further reduces the professionalism of their operations, and—absent diplomatic immunity—increases our disruptive options,” says Mr McCallum.

Russian meddling is intended to put pressure on NATO without provoking a war. “We also have red lines,” says Ms Hill, “and Putin is trying to feel those out.” But if he is truly driven by a revolutionary spirit, convinced that the West is a rotten edifice, that suggests more lines will be crossed in the months and years ahead.

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wooziorgans · 1 year ago

Text

how to kill the sun || ljh

pairing: idol!jihoon x non idol!reader. gn!reader.

genre: nsfw! MDNI. fluff. friends to lovers.

description: jihoon comes home after work a little more drunk than he anticipated. he finds y/n on his couch waiting for his return, shining as bright as the sun in the dim lights of his living room.

warnings: fluff oh my god so many feeling. idiots in love with each other. mentions of alcohol consumption. jihoon with long hair omgomgomg. pet names (angle, baby, love, etc.).

word count: 9.5k

NSFW TAGS UNDER THE CUT.

nsfw warnings MDNI: p w a little plot. jihoon has such a big praise kink :(((. feelings during sex. penetrative sex. pussy drunk jihoon. aftercare. reader has female anatomy. soft sex. oral (both receiving). getting absolutely manhandled by this guys big ass arms. big dick jihoon amen. holding hands during sex seriously they’re so in love with each other. unprotected sex (don’t do this). hair pulling. a little choking. a hand job that lasts maybe two seconds. fingering. kind of?? possessive??? jihoon???. marriage??? kink??? implied??? idk what happened to me when I wrote this.

a/n: i tried to keep things as gn as possible but it was a little hard,,, n e ways. enjoy!!

jihoon <3 [17:24]

the guys want to get drinks after work. i tried to tell them we have plans but they won’t listen :(

just let yourself in. i’ll be home around 7:30?

i’m really sorry that i haven’t been able to see you lately. :((

This stream of text messages came almost two hours ago. The clock was ticking down to Jihoon’s arrival. Y/N sat comfortably on his couch, watching some shitty reality show they weren’t paying much attention to. A hoodie they stole from Jihoon’s closet enveloped them loosely. It was the only thing covering their torso. An equally loose pair of shorts sat around their thighs.

The soft click of the lock resonates through the apartment. Jihoon’s home. They shift back onto the couch, getting comfortable. Some shuffling is heard as Jihoon slips off his shoes and jacket.

He slides into the kitchen, glancing into the living room. The soft drone of the television brings his attention to the figure in front of the screen. Y/N sits back on the couch, the small throw blanket covering their legs. The ottoman is already pulled up to the couch, serving as a foot rest. It matches the L sectional couch. “Hoon? You home?” They call, hearing the shuffle of Jihoon’s feet.

He hums, setting his keys on the counter before he stumbles softly over his feet on his way to the couch. “Sorry. I drank a bit more than I wanted to.” Despite the obvious alcohol in his system, his speech is still coherent. He takes a seat on the couch right next to Y/N. They shift, moving closer to him.

Jihoon rests his head against their shoulder. “Missed you,” he breathes, resting an arm around their shoulder, “a lot. So much.” Moments like these were rare with Jihoon. Despite how he normally shied away from any form of affection, when he was drunk (which was a very new experience for everyone around him) he was incredibly clingy. Especially when it came to Y/N.

“God, you really are drunk.” Y/N laughs softly, running a careful hand through his hair. “Do you still want to watch a movie? Or do you want to sleep?” His eyes flutter shut carefully.

“Jus’ wanna be with you.” He tightens his arms around them, digging his face into their neck. Y/N pets his hair and he hums. His lips fall open against the skin of Y/N’s neck. “I love you.” He breathes. It feels like a confession.

Y/N swallows sharply. Though love was very present in their friendship with Jihoon, it was always easier done than said. He never said it, and now here he was, drunk and clinging to Y/N like his life depends on it. “I love you too.” Y/N swallows, adjusting their position on the couch. “Let’s go to sleep, okay?” Jihoon just nods with a soft groan.

He falls asleep slowly, resting more of his weight onto Y/N’s shoulder. His head falls onto their chest. Y/N slides down the back of the couch, laying down. They carefully support Jihoon’s neck, making sure not to move too fast in order to let him rest. His head rests on their chest. It feels a little crushing, for many reasons; but it’s comfortable. Maybe because it’s Jihoon. Y/N closes their eyes, fixing a hand in Jihoon’s hair. They fall asleep quickly in only the dim light of the television which screen is now black, and the piercing beam of the moon.

It’s the sunlight that wakes Jihoon up. A stray beam pushing through the blinds, hitting his eyes directly. He groans softly, shifting. It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s not in his bed, but instead on the couch, laying on top of Y/N. His face flushes softly at the realization but before he can pull himself away he feels them shift.

Jihoon cranes his head up to look at Y/N. The soft dust of orange light on their skin makes them glow. They look so beautiful like this, resting peacefully. A piece of hair falls in their face, and he carefully brushes it away from their face.

The hand resting on his neck moves up and tightens in his hair.

“Mm. Morning,” Y/N groans softly, running a gentle hand through his grown out hair. It’s soft, despite the product still in it from the day before. Jihoon freezes, all thoughts of moving away disappear. All he can feel is the heat of the morning sun and the warmth on his face and ears.

Their eyelashes flutter against their cheeks, and Jihoon stares with an apologetic expression, trying to pull himself away slowly. “Morning. D’you remember last night?” He asks, not totally thinking about what he’s saying.

“Yeah. Do you?” They tease, sleep still heavy in their voice. He hums. Y/N slides their hands over Jihoon’s back. “C’mere.” Y/N tugs at his shirt. He shifts over, laying more directly on Y/N. They open their eyes, looking down at him.

A tender hand slides further down his back, toying with the hem of his shirt which had been pulled up in his sleep. He freezes, a harsh chill running up his spine. The warmth on Y/N’s hands immediately spreads a wave of electricity through his body.

“Are you sure you’re not still drunk? You never let me cuddle you like this, Ji.” They laugh softly, carefully pushing their hand under the hem of his shirt. Jihoon lifts his neck, as if to say something. Instead, he closed his eyes and takes a deep breath. His chest tightens softly; his breathing gets a little more shallow.

The recollection of his drunk actions is enough to make him flush deeper. With a hand slowly sliding up his back, he loses all train of thought. He shivers again from the careful fingers grazing his skin. Y/N pulls their hand away carefully, afraid that they overstepped some kind of unspoken boundary. Jihoon’s head shoots up, suddenly insecure that his reaction made them uncomfortable.

Y/N lowers their hand back onto Jihoon’s skin. Another hot wave flashes through his body. His breath quickens even more. A soft gasp falls from his lips as Y/N curls their fingers, nails digging softly into the canyon of his spine, scratching his skin. He involuntarily arches up into their touch.

“You a little nervous baby?” Y/N laughs softly. “Don’t worry, Ji. I’ll take care of you.” They move their hands up, now resting them on his shoulder blades.

Jihoon’s breath gets shorter, his brain short circuiting. He bites his lip, suppressing a soft moan. Despite how intimate this was, he was getting into the rhythm; so much so that it was beginning to feel natural. He had never really expected something like this to happen, and he definitely never expected this from Y/N.

They gasp softly at the soft noise that doesn’t quite leave his lips. “You like that?” Y/N digs their nails into his skin a little harder.

As much as he did like the soft sting of their nails, he hated the way Y/N was able to see right through him. It was something unique to them. It was something none of his other friends has the ability to do. This was one of the reasons the two had formed an incredibly strong friendship extraordinarily fast.

God, he loved the way they were talking to him. Y/N knew just as much from the way he would look at them, somehow managing to avoid eye contact. Fuck, was he blushing? One hand slides out of his shirt, up to the back of his neck. It burrows itself into his hair again. He leans into the hand in his hair.

“Fuck, angel. Come here.” Y/N coos, pushing Jihoon’s legs open with theirs. Jihoon steadies himself with his arms, holding himself over Y/N as they hook their legs into his and pull their body down the cushions of the couch. Y/N exhales deeply once their face is in line with Jihoon’s.

Jihoon feels a weird pang of anxiety in his chest. His breath drops when Y/N’s lips get in line with his. He bites his lip once again, feeling his heart leap to his throat. Though there was no kiss, an unspoken promise hung in the air. It refracted through the sunlight, adding sparkles in its path. Or maybe it was dust.

“Do you want to kiss me Ji?” Y/N breathes against Jihoon’s lips. Moving the hand that was nestled in his hair, Y/N cups the side of his face, moving down to stroke the corner of his mouth with their thumb.

Their hands were so soft against his cheek. He swallows hard, silently hoping Y/N would just kiss him. His breath was short and his eyes didn’t have the courage to look at theirs.

“Answer me baby.” They coo, rubbing their thumb against the corner of his mouth. He parts his lips automatically. He nods suddenly, all of the touching catching up with him. They slide their finger over his bottom lip. “Use your words.” Y/N presses their finger into his lip. He swallows.

“I want to kiss you,” He breathes in a whisper. After everything, never did he quite expect to be saying these words this early in the morning. Especially not under the warm glow of the sun. He had hoped Y/N would kiss him after his drunken confession last night. Now, he was looking at their lips with his so, so close to theirs.

“How bad?” Y/N pushes their thumb against his lip, their finger softly grazes his teeth. Fuck, this was so intimate. Jihoon felt like he was going to lose it— something; anything. He needed anything more. All he could focus on was how soft their skin was and how warm their breath is against his lips. “How bad Jihoon?” They ask again, pushing their thumb between his teeth.

His arms shake, a little weaker at the action. A soft sigh falls from his lips, but it’s whiny. He tried to speak, but his throat felt so tight. He was panting; his breathing was almost erratic. He thought about how much he’s wanted to kiss them; how much he needs to. And then he’s saying it, the words falling out of his mouth so fast he doesn’t comprehend speaking them until seconds later.

“Shit. That’s my boy.” Y/N removed their thumb from his lip. It glistens in the sunlight. He whines softly, adjusting to align himself to a better angle with their lips. He finally lets himself make eye contact with Y/N. “There’s my pretty boy.” They smile at him, soft and fond.

He preens at the pet name, his whole body getting hotter. God, Jihoon had no idea his body could feel so on fire like this. He mustered up the courage to touch them. A tentative hand falls on the side of Y/N’s face. They close their eyes softly, leaning into his hand. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this.” Y/N huffs out, using their own hand to guide Jihoon’s thumb over their lips. His thumb rests on their bottom lip before he brushes it back, touching the side of their mouth which is now hung open in slight disbelief.

Y/N shudders out a breath as one leg wraps around Jihoon’s waist. “Think you can kiss me now?” Y/N asks, their breath hot on Jihoon’s lips. Their hands are back in his hair, digging into his scalp. Jihoon inhales sharply. Y/N’s hands felt like an invitation; one that Jihoon is more than eager to accept. He slowly tilts his head to the side, using his arm that was still bracing the couch to lower his body.

“You’re so pretty,” Y/N says, looking directly into his eyes, “have I ever told you that?” Jihoon immediately tucks his face into his shoulder, blushing deeply. Yes, you have called me pretty before. Jihoon thinks. Only when you’re drunk.

Y/N laughs softly. They use the hands in his hair to guide his head back to its previous position. The sound makes his heart batter against his ribcage. All he wants right now is Y/N. He’s never been so sure of anything.

“Wanna kiss you so bad, Ji.” Y/N whispers. Jihoon moans. The leg around his waist pulls him in tighter as Y/N’s hands drag his face closer by the neck. They gasp softly at the sound, back arching off the couch.

Jihoon can’t think right now. All of his senses are filled with Y/N. All he wanted right now was for their lips to come closer. The soft pang of hunger inside him was getting much stronger. He had been trying to keep himself in check, but Y/N’s words and touch were too much. They were driving him crazy. And then he decided he couldn’t wait anymore. He pulls himself closer to Y/N, head tilting slight. His lips hover over theirs and he’s so, so close. As much as he hated it, he pulled his body closer to theirs.

His lips brush against Y/N’s and he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. All of the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head, making his ears burn. Y/N stutters out a breath as they move their hands to cup his face. Finally, Jihoon lets himself give in. He tilts his head a little more, releasing his lip from his teeth and placing a soft kiss against Y/N’s lips.

His whole body burns, like he’s running a fever. He might as well be, with the way his whole body is on fire and his head is spinning so much. Y/N gasps softly and it’s just enough to put his brain into overdrive. The careful press of his lips starts to melt away as his jaw moves in sync with Y/N’s. His hand slides to their neck.

Y/N’s hands slide around his body, back to his shirt and up the bare skin of his neck. His nerves were too sensitive; the rake of their nails against his skin was too much. He’s genuinely starting to sweat, a pleasant wave of heat firing through his whole body. His lips faulter as he pushes a whine back down his throat. Jihoon can only imagine how much heat he’s radiating right now. Y/N pulls away slowly.

“You feeling a little warm?” Y/N’s lips glisten. He nods, despite suddenly feeling cold. Everything about them was getting him hot.

“Take this off then.” Y/N suggests, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, which had been pulled halfway up his back. The small action made him realize how much their hands had been on him. It fills his face with a heat that spreads through his body; one that ultimately settles back on his cheeks. He nods, using his core to hold himself over Y/N as he slips the lose shirt over his head. He throws it on the ottoman.

Y/N stares at his chest as he sits on their legs to discard the shirt. They run a hand over his chest, hooking their fingers in his necklace; they move even slower over his nipples. “This is what you’ve been hiding from me? God, you’re ripped.” They ask, hand settling on his hips with their thumbs resting on the edge of his abs. He laughs, embarrassed. His necklace refracts the sunlight.

He’s always worn a shirt when going to a pool or the beach with Y/N. He was always so respectful, choosing to wear a shirt when they were around. Now? Y/N’s kind of mad he’s been keeping this a secret for so long. From them specifically.

He sits upright on their legs for a few moments before he leans back over, using his arms to hold himself up. Y/N’s hands find their way to the sides of Jihoon’s face. The cool metal of his necklace brushes the material of Y/N’s— Jihoon’s— hoodie.

He closes his eyes letting Y/N feel him up. He gasps softly as one hand trails down the bare skin of his chest. A careful finger curls and Y/N runs their digit over the ridge of his abs. Their nail catches on the band of his black sweat pants before they move it back up to his chest. Their hand settles flat against his sternum.

Then it’s hooking softly in his necklace, pulling him back into a soft kiss. Jihoon can’t stop his hand from sliding under the hoodie that sits loosely on Y/N’s frame. It brushes their side, making them shiver into the kiss. He felt like he was melting, his own nails softly scratching down their side. Y/N gasps softly, biting Jihoon’s lip.

Their hands move on autopilot as one rests back on his neck and the other slides down his back, brushing the hem of his pants. Jihoon groans, pushing more of himself into the kiss that had unintentionally paused.

Jihoon carefully pushes his tongue past his lips. The muscle slides against Y/N’s lips, asking for permission. It’s granted as they part their lips. He slides his tongue in between their teeth, feeling the slide of their tongue against his. It’s so good. Y/N moans softly into his mouth and it sends his brain into overdrive.

He adds more force to the kiss, his hand sliding up their side under his hoodie. A small possessive streak burns through him and he feels like he might pass out. His hand caresses the skin of their stomach, feeling the inner lining of his hoodie. Oh, that’s all Y/N was wearing. Jihoon blushes hard at this; he spent the whole night laying on their chest with such a small barrier between their skin.

His eyes roll back into his head as he starts to grab at the skin, moving his hand up. His fingers dance across their ribs, before running over their chest. He settles his thumb against their nipple. The soft moan Y/N breathes into his mouth makes his hips involuntarily rut into nothing.

Y/N pushes a leg in between Jihoon’s, their hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweats. Jihoon grinds his hips again, this time against the thigh that’s now between his legs. He gasps, a small whine leaving his throat. Fuck, that was hot, Y/N thinks, hooking a finger under his waistband. “God. Please tell me you want this.” Jihoon whines. Y/N pauses, jaw hung open catching their breath.

“So bad Jihoon.” They gasp as Jihoon flicks his thumb against the soft skin of their nipple. “We have so much to talk about but right now, god, don’t stop touching me.” Jihoon leans down, placing a small kiss to their jaw. In leaning down, his crotch drags against their thigh. It’s the first bit of friction that registers in his brain. He moans, the sound muted against Y/N’s jaw. Shit, he’s so hard.

Y/N can feel the weight of his erection against their thigh and it makes their head spin. Jihoon places soft kisses along their jaw, sliding down their neck before he settles on a place to mark. Soft kisses litter the skin of Y/N’s neck.

And then he sucks on the sensitive skin, causing Y/N to arch their back off the couch. “Oh my god. Jihoon, please.” They pant, hands back in his hair as they tug at the strands near his scalp. He moans a little louder than he would have liked to. His hips drag across Y/N’s thigh again, harder. They move their hand back to his sweats, not quite being able to make up their mind.

As he licks a sucks at their neck, they pull the strings of his sweats undone. “Shit. Not here.” Jihoon suddenly pulls away. Y/N looks up at him through hooded eyes, confused. “Not on the couch, baby. Let me take you to my room at least.” He clarifies, panting.

The heat on his face spreads down his neck as he speaks. Y/N nods, wrapping their arms around his neck and their legs around his waist. If it wasn’t for the sheer amount of strength they knew Jihoon had, they would have worried about accidentally pinning him to the couch like this.

Instead, he wraps his arm around their back under the sweater. With a strained breath, he flexes the muscles of his stomach and gets on his knees. Y/N gasps, still gripping onto him, though they know he won’t drop them. He turns his body, adjusting his legs so he’s sitting on the couch in a normal position. He pushes the ottoman away from the couch with his legs, clearing a path to exit the living room.

Y/N pulls their head up, placing soft kisses to his neck. He shudders as he stands up, arms still around their back as one slides down to their ass. He places it carefully under their legs, to better support their weight. He walks rather quickly to his room, releasing the hand from under Y/N’s ass to twist the doorknob open.

His room is flooded with sunlight from the large window which blinds have been opened. He sits quickly on his bed. Y/N takes advantage of this to straddle his lap. They grab the sides of his face, kissing him back onto the bed. “Shit. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” They gasp against him, causing him to whine again. “You sound so pretty, Jihoon.” He has no time to reply before he’s being kissed again, but he moans into it. It’s enough of a reply.

Y/N starts rocking their hips against Jihoon. The heat between their legs sits right over where he wants it to. He moans, audibly this time, not trying to suppress it against their lips. Y/N kisses him harder, feeling his hidden cock drag against their core. Shit, he’s huge.

Jihoon slides his hands under the sweater again. The fabric moves with his hands. Y/N sits up, pulling the fabric over their head. Jihoon stares as what he has only ever dreamed of stares him right in the face. The smooth skin of Y/N’s chest and stomach glow, quite literally, in the sunlight. Their skin has a golden hue to it and it looks like it’s sparkling.

Jihoon feels like he’s staring straight into the sun. The sight is so blinding.

He can’t help the hand that reached out, pretty fingers dancing across the skin of their stomach. It makes Y/N shiver. They let him have his moment, the same they had theirs when he took his shirt off— what feels like hours ago now.

Jihoon’s cock twitches so hard at the way they seem to chase every single one of his delicate touches. Y/N feels it happen against them. “Holy shit, I’m in love with you.” Jihoon whispers, one hand travelling to grab Y/N’s. The way Y/N moans quietly as he says it sends heat through his entire body.

Y/N interlaces their fingers with his. Jihoon feels his breath catch in his throat; his chest starts fluttering. “Jihoon, baby, shit—“ Y/N grinds down against Jihoon’s cock, his grip on their hand tightens. They look down at him, making direct eye contact.

His long eyelashes flutter delicately against his cheek. The sunlight shines through his eyes, making the normally dark irises appear far more intricate with a new golden hue. “I love you; I’m so in love with you. Shit, can’t believe it’s taken me this long to admit it.”

Neither of them can believe Y/N’s words. Not with the way the two of them are touching each other. Not with the way they kiss like it’s all they have. Not with the way Y/N looks in the sunlight. Especially not with the way Jihoon looks in the morning sun; all golden and beautiful, as out of breath as he is lovely. He looks like the sun.

“You look like the sun, baby. Like you have the stars in your eyes,” Y/N speaks their thoughts so clearly it catches Jihoon off guard. He chuckles deeply; the vibrations shoot straight through Y/N.

“I do.” He huffs, “I’m looking at you.” Y/N hides their face in their neck. Jihoon sighs. “Look me angel. Keep looking at me.” When he talks to them like that, it’s impossible not to. “There’s my baby.” The pet names ignite something in Y/N.

A careful hand finds the strings of Jihoon’s sweat pants. His free hand rests on their hip. They play with the strings before eventually slipping a finger under the waist band. The waistband of Jihoon’s boxers slides past their finger. “Wanna feel you. Please,” Jihoon’s cock twitches as Y/N shifts back on his legs, sitting perfectly on his thighs. “Please let me touch you, Jihoon.” He moans.

The way Y/N says his name is legitimately like a drug; he wants them to say it like this everyday, every time. He’s nodding, removing his hand from their hip to lift his hips off his bed. He pushes a hand under the waist band. Y/N uses theirs to move the other side.

With minimal struggle, which is incredibly surprising considering how much neither of them wanted to let go of the other’s hand, his pants and boxers reach the middle of his thigh. It’s enough to allow him to shift the rest of the way out of black sweat pants and matching boxers. They're kicked off the bed. Y/N gasps as his cock slaps the base of his stomach.

Jihoon looks away, half from embarrassment, half the give himself a break from the way Y/N stares at him. “You’re huge.” Y/N breathes. They swallow audibly, a small gasp leaving their lips. You’ve also been hiding this from me? They want to ask. Instead, they wrap their hand carefully around the base of Jihoon’s dick. It’s so heavy.

He hisses, back arching off the bed. “Oh my god. Need you to touch me.” Jihoon gasps, his teeth catching his bottom lip in between them. His eyes close as he steadies himself. There’s a brief moment of nothing before he feels it. A bead of spit slides down the head of his cock.

He looks back to Y/N immediately, seeing the origin of the drop still stuck on their bottom lip. He moans. The drop falls down his shaft, meeting the tip of Y/N’s finger. They give a slow pump to his cock and he hisses again. His grip on their hand tightens, and Y/N squeezes back.

“Careful baby,” they coo, “it’s okay. You’re okay. Let me make you feel good.” All he can do is nod. He bites his lip a little harder, enough for it to start to sting as the next stroke moves back up, squeezing a little more as Y/N’s hands get closer to his tip. “It’s so pretty Jihoon. You’ve such a pretty cock, fuck.” They slur, giving an experimental swipe of their thumb to the head of his cock. Jihoon gasps. His free hand moves to his sheets as his fingers curl tightly into the fabric.

Y/N does it again, this time sliding their thumb over his slit. His eyes shoot open with a curse, “Angel, please.” He whines. Y/N spits again, this time audibly. It makes Jihoon’s eyes roll back softly. A much bigger drop of spit falls against the side of his cock.

It makes him shiver. Y/N moves their hand up and down at a much faster pace. Jihoon’s head falls back again. He whines, lip still tight between his teeth. He’s swears he’s going to draw blood if they keep this up.

Y/N begins shifting, getting on their knees to place one of their own between Jihoon’s legs, spreading him open. They slide back, leaning over the head of his cock. They place a soft kiss to Jihoon’s tip. “Holy fuck!” He gasps, hand finding its way to their neck. He pushes his hand up into their hair. A soft lick slides over his slit.

Y/N’s tongue is welcomed with a salty drop of pre-cum. They moan, latching their lips over the head of Jihoon’s cock. The stretch from just his tip is completely foreign. There’s no way this blow job is going to go well for Y/N; it seems to be going great for Jihoon. He’s just so thick.

Jihoon brushes Y/N’s hair out of their face as they suck carefully on his head. “Jus’ like that, angel. Fuck, just like that.” Jihoon moans as Y/N flicks their tongue on the underside of his head. They can taste the precum on their tongue. Jihoon’s hand tightens in their hair as they slowly take more of him into their mouth.

His thighs shake as half of his cock slips inside Y/N’s mouth. He feels his tip hit the back of their throat and then he’s gone.

He slips his hand out of Y/N’s, a soft pang in his chest as he does so. His now free hand finds its way to their hair. He digs his fingers into the stands; his hips bucking up involuntarily. He lets out a loud, low moan when he feels the muscles in their throat constrict, taking him down their throat.

“You’re so good at this, fuck.” He hisses, eyes rolling back as his hair falls in his face. “Thought about your mouth so much.” Another confession slips past his lips. This one makes Y/N hum around him.

He gasps as Y/N starts bobbing their head, hands wrapped around whatever they can’t fit. It’s a substantial amount left outside of their mouth— really, it’s quite impressive how well endowed Jihoon is and how he’s done such a good job to hide it.

Though, thinking back to all of their trips to the beach, his dick print always did look quite big against his wet swim trunks. It always pressed against Y/N’s ass when they sat between his legs. It was always there.

Y/N slides one hand down his thigh, making him shiver as their nails drag across the pale skin. He shivers again, whining. Jihoon feels so sensitive; and then the tight knot in his stomach that he’s all too familiar with makes itself known. Only it’s much tighter than it’s ever been.

He gasps, hands digging into Y/N’s hair before he’s pulling them off. A thin line of spit connects their lips to his cock, and he almost snaps right there. He pants wildly, not being able to speak for a few seconds before a shy: “Sorry. I almost came,” leaves his lips. His cheeks burn as he catches his breath.

Jihoon’s tip is red and angry, leaking so much precum it’s almost impressive. It is impressive when Jihoon shifts his legs to pull Y/N up from his cock. They tower over him, face inches away from his. He hooks his legs between theirs, flipping them over so Y/N’s back is now against the mattress and he’s the one leaning over them.

His hands quickly find the waistband of Y/N’s shorts and they lift their hips up in an instant. His fingers hook under the band pulling them down to reveal—

“Fuck. Are those my boxers?” Y/N nods shyly as his eyes zero in on the pair of boxers he had given them after getting caught in the rain months ago. Jihoon yanks the shorts down, boxers coming off as collateral. Y/N kicks them off. His hand rubs up and down the smooth skin of their thigh.

He leans down, kissing them softly. A lot of the heat of the previous kisses is lost in this one. It’s gentle; so sweet it drives both of them insane. Y/N whines into the kiss and Jihoon continues to caress the inside of their thigh. He gives a soft squeeze to the skin, kneading it in his fingers. “Wanna touch you. Can I, angel?” He hums, placing soft kisses down Y/N’s neck. They nod, a small moan leaving their lips in response to the way Jihoon is kissing the side of their jaw, mixed with the cool metal of his necklaces dragging down their skin.

Y/N expects a hand to reach out and find their folds; except that’s not at all what happens. Jihoon continues kissing down their neck, over their chest and then to their stomach. He bites the skin softly, a hand running up their side. Y/N shivers, every single nerve in their body feels molten under his touch.

Finally, he kisses down their sagittal, stopping right before he reaches their clit. He exhales softly, the gust of breath against their core. He takes a moment to properly look at the sight in front of him. His hand finds his cock as he strokes it languidly. He bends down, lowering his mouth to the already wet folds.

“Please let me eat you out,” He begs. Y/N whines at the sight of him in between their legs. “Please.” He whispers. The puff of air that land against Y/N’s wet core sends a shiver up their spine again. Their hands find his hair, brushing through it.

“Jihoon, I swear to god if you don’t eat me out, I might—“ Jihoon flattens his tongue against Y/N’s opening, licking a stripe up the folds. Y/N feels all of the air leave their lungs as a pathetic mewl slips past their lips. He then dips his tongue in between them, licking all the way up before briefly attaching to their clit. “Fuck—“ they gasp, fingers digging in his hair.

He goes back to licking their folds, alternating between laying his tongue flat against them and working in between them. An experimental brush is placed against their entrance. Y/N pushes their hips down onto Jihoon’s face and uses their hands to push his face deeper. Jihoon takes that as a green light and begins to fuck them on his tongue.

“Shit, Jihoon. Gonna cum like this—!” They gasp, thighs closing in on his head. Jihoon pries their legs back open with his forearms. He keeps them pinned to the bed. One of his thumb attaches to their clit, rubbing it in slow circles. Y/N’s hands tighten at Jihoon’s roots, before they tug at it softly. The sensation makes him moan with his tongue deep inside Y/N.

Jihoon slides his tongue out of them, quickly replacing it with the hand that was on Y/N’s clit. His mouth swap places, pressing a soft kiss against their swollen clit. They jump, feeling one of Jihoon’s fingers press against their entrance. He carefully dips it in, slowly taking Y/N’s clit into his mouth at the same pace. God, he had incredible rhythm. It was no wonder he was such a good musician.

His first finger slips inside, slowly dipping in and out of Y/N’s dripping hole. He detaches his lips from their clit briefly. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He plants a kiss right above their clit, before his tongue reaches out and almost pulls it inside his mouth. “God, angel. You’re so beautiful.”

“Another,” Y/N gasps, “give me another finger, please.” They cry, head thrown back with their hands all over Jihoon’s hair. He can’t stop himself when he digs his hips into the mattress. He whines against their clit as he fucks into the sheets on his bed.

He presses a second finger into Y/N, curling the up finally. His fingers are so long that they press right into the perfect spot, making Y/N’s legs shake softly. He begins to thrust them in and out, each stroke pressing against it. Their soft gasps fill the room as Jihoon works his fingers inside them.

Jihoon lets out his own gasps at the sounds Y/N makes. The fact that he’s moaning while eating them out makes Y/N tug on his hair hard.

Something unexpected happens. Jihoon moans loudly against their clit, his mouth hovering over the bud as he tried to process why the hell he liked that so much. In his small moment of clarity he realizes he’s not the one that needs to be pleasured right now.

He resumes the pace of his fingers, tongue flicking against Y/N’s clit as he moans around it. His hand works his cock as he humps the mattress, removing his arm from the hold on their thigh.

A hot, white flash of pleasure fills Y/N as Jihoon speeds up both his fingers and his mouth. “Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum,” they gasp, pulling his hair once again. “Jihoon, please—“ Jihoon doesn’t take to this lightly. He keeps pumping his fingers, making sure to brush Y/N’s g-spot each time.

His dark eyebrows furrow against his forehead. He’s so focused on getting Y/N there that he stops touching himself and zeros in completely on the task at hand. Y/N writhes on top of the bed, legs shaking as their back arches off the soft sheets.

Jihoon moans softly around their clit, nipping it with his teeth and that’s it. Y/N cums, thighs shaking as their whole body burns. It’s so intense; Jihoon feels it coat his fingers as he fucks them through their orgasm with his long digits.

Once the shaking stops, he dives back down; he spreads his fingers inside Y/N, placing his tongue in between them to lick up as much of their release as he can. Y/N grips his hair once again, pulling his head up once it starts to get too much.

Y/N is panting as they pull him up into a kiss, his lips shining with his spit and their release. They wrap their legs around his hips, pulling him closer. His cock slides over their ruined pussy, causing both of them to moan lowly. “Need you inside. Please.” Y/N begs, and it’s enough for Jihoon to wrap his hand around his cock as he shifts his hips back. He slides his head over Y/N’s clit, brushing it in between their folds. Both of them moan in unison at this.

Jihoon wraps his other arm under their back, lifting them up as he places their back against the pillows on his bed. The angle makes it easier to kiss Y/N, which he does as he lines himself up. It also makes his necklace brush against Y/N’s burning skin.

He carefully pushes his tip against Y/N’s entrance. It slides in with little resistance. Y/N whines and grabs the sheets as they feel him push his cock inside. With the tip inside, he stops. The stretch of his cock is almost too much as he splits them wide open. “‘S so big. Fuck, you’re so big.” Y/N cries, a small tear sliding down their cheek. Jihoon kisses them softly, using his hand to wipe the tears from their eyes with his thumb.

Jihoon knows he’s well endowed. Rushing this part was never an option for him, but if he isn’t cursing the way Y/N clenches around his tip, trying to suck him in. It makes it so hard to be patient. He pulls away from the kiss slowly. “Look,” he looks down to where their bodies are now connected. The sight of his cock carefully making its way inside is enough to make both of their eyes roll back onto their heads.

Jihoon places a careful hand on the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling them up enough to give them a clear view of the sight. Jihoon guides his cock still, pushing in again; this time much slower. Low moans leave both of them as he enters.

Once he’s half way in, Y/N feels it. His tip brushes their g-spot and they gasp harshly. They rock their hips down before they feel a strong hand on their thigh, stopping them. Jihoon runs a hand through their hair, cooing softly as he soothes them. “Careful angel. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” He whispers, because he’s trying to not be a hypocrite. He desperately wants to slam into them.

The stretch is almost too much; it’s no longer uncomfortable, but it’s so much. He’s so big, filling every inch of them that he’s touching. “Please just get it over with. Please just put it in.” Y/N whines, arm wrapped around his neck as they watch the slow slide of his cock inside them. Jihoon nods, slowly pushing it in, now hands free. His unoccupied hand reaches for Y/N’s.

Their fingers intertwine as he finishes pushing the last bit inside. Y/N hisses softly. It’s so much, every new inch brushing their sensitive spot. He’s so deep. Jihoon kisses them softly as he starts to pull out. When he moves back in, both of them moan against each other’s lips.

Jihoon starts fucking into Y/N slowly, but it’s not enough for either of them. His pace picks up until the kiss dissolves when both of them start to pant, mouths hanging open. He’s everywhere. Every inch of his cock fills Y/N so full it makes their head dizzy.

All Y/N can think of is the thick drag of his cock inside their walls. They clench around him. Jihoon loses his pace for a second, before he’s skillfully angling his hips up, thrusting deeper.

The sting is nothing compared to the intense pressure that’s building back up inside Y/N. Jihoon must be able to feel it; his hips snap harder.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hips moving steadily as he thrusts in and out. “You let other people fuck you?” He asks, his lips grazing Y/N’s even closer as they both catch their breaths. He looks at them expectantly, repeating his question. They nod, a silent yes in the air. “Yeah? Never again. No one else can fuck you like this ever again.” Y/N throws their head back, nails raking down Jihoon’s back. He hisses, moaning softly at the sting.

Fuck, with the way he’s moaning like this— with how he’s so vocal, soft gasps and moans constantly leaving his mouth— how could they ever let anyone else fuck them? If this is a one time thing, Y/N will gladly die a nun. “Yours, all yours. Jihoon-“ they hiccup, tears coming to their eyes. “Always been yours. It was always you, Jihoon.” They gasp, head falling back. A soft tear rolls down their face. Jihoon wipes it way with his unoccupied thumb.

“Don’t cry, angel. I’m right here. Your Jihoon’s here.” He holds Y/N’s face so carefully it makes their stomach turn. They pull his face down with the back of their arm, connecting their lips. Jihoon holds their face as he times his kisses with his thrusts. It drives Y/N insane. They dig their nails deeper into his back. He whines softly into the kiss. The soft hook of his nose rubs against their cheek.

“I love you. Fuck, I love you so much.” Jihoon pants; it’s like a mantra of everything he’s felt for Y/N over the past three years. It’s being said like it was a long time coming, which it has been. Y/N moans at his words, fist deep in his hair.

“I love you, Jihoon,” They gasp as he thrusts particularly deep inside them. “It’s you, always been you. Fuck, I’m so in love with you.” Jihoon moans deeply, his thrusts picking up speed at a brutal pace.

Y/N feels him everywhere. His hands are all over their body, rubbing over their chest; his breath is on their face with his cock deep inside them. Jihoon is so lost in the way Y/N grips him, pulling him back in. It’s so tight, it’s so much.

“Baby, fuck, baby— I’m gonna cum.” He gasps, soft whines and moans find their way into his words. “Where do I—”

“Inside, please,” Y/N pants, “need it inside.” They moan, gripping his hair harder, nails digging into his shoulder a little harder. Jihoon just nods, lips reconnecting with Y/N’s.

His hips speed up, getting more erratic with each thrust. He’s slamming into them, cock hitting far too deep for it to be comfortable, but neither of them are worried about it. All Y/N can focus on is the drag of his cock against every inch of them, hitting their g-spot perfectly every single time. The moans filling the room from both of them are so sweet and full of the most intense pleasures either has ever felt.

Jihoon’s hips stutter once, then twice more and he stops, all the way in Y/N as hot strings of cum spill out of his cock. He lets out a high-pitched moan; it’s so high it doesn’t even sound like him but it’s so pretty. This, mixed with the way that he’s so deep, has Y/N coming undone once again. Their whole body shakes a they release around him again. The sudden tightness around Jihoon’s aching cock doesn’t help how much he comes.

There’s so much of it, and it’s so intense. Jihoon has never cum so hard in his life. He almost blacks out. Y/N clenches tighter as their orgasm washes over them in a heat wave of their own, arguably, more intense feeling of pleasure.

And then it happens. All at once, Jihoon feels his lower stomach get soaked. Despite how sensitive he is, he moves his hips to fuck Y/N through it. He only rocks in deeper and it makes Y/N’s eyes roll back in their head, vision blacking out a their mind goes completely blank. “Angel— angel, fuck. I’m here. I’m right here.” Jihoon’s hands move to the side of Y/N’s face, stroking their cheeks gently to ground them back into the moment. Jihoon wipes away small tears that fall down Y/N’s cheeks from the intensity of their orgasm. Their arms wrap around Jihoon’s neck, pulling him on top of them.

Jihoon releases the weight on his elbows, lying flat against Y/N’s chest. The extra weight on their body might help. He keeps rubbing his thumbs across their cheeks, waiting for the world to come back to Y/N.

When they finally move, Jihoon presses a soft kiss to their cheek. He smiles softly as their eyes flutter open, wet eyelashes sticking together. “Hi angel,” he coos, voice reverberating through his chest against Y/N’s. “Fuck, that was so… I hope it wasn’t too much.” He laughs softly, placing another soft kiss onto their lips.

Y/N exhales deeply, hands finding Jihoon’s hair once again. “It was so much but, god, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” They hold Jihoon close, not quite ready to deal with the aftermath of the situation. “We have so much to talk about.” They deadpan. It makes Jihoon swallow nervously before he realizes they’re smiling.

Carefully, he starts pulling out as he softens. Both of them are so sensitive; gasping and whining as Jihoon takes eons to finally pull all the way out. A noticeable wet spot is under Y/N, coating Jihoon as well. He’d normally bitch about it, but he just smiles. He pulls away from them carefully, watching as his cum slips out of Y/N. There’s so much of it and he has the urge to push it back in but it would be too much for both of them right now.

“I’ll be right back, baby. Gotta clean you up.” He carefully climbs off the bed, his legs shaking as he takes a wobbly step on the ground. One foot after the other, he walks to the bathroom.

Y/N lays on his bed panting, legs still spread wide as Jihoon’s cum slowly leaks out of them. Their hands find their chest, resting flat against the skin; right over their heart, which is beating wildly in their chest.

Jihoon returns a few minutes later to his bedroom, already cleaned up, to find Y/N laying with their eyes closed. If it wasn’t for the soft rise and fall of their chest, he would have thought they died. He places the glass of water on his night stand before he falls back between their legs. He pushes them open, slowly moving the warm washcloth over their folds.

Y/N doesn’t move, except for their eyes which open slowly. Jihoon wipes carefully, lifting their hips up slowly to clean up all of their— and his— releases. He shifts their hips over to avoid setting them back down in the, much bigger than he initially thought, wet spot on his bed. He leans over them to retrieve the glass of water. “Drink up, angel.” He grasps the straw with his index finger against the rim of the glass, pressing it to their lips.

Y/N takes a slow drink, cheeks hollowing around the straw. They look up at Jihoon, who is now leaning on his side, as he watches them take a drink. His hair is undeniably a mess, his face and parts of his chest still flushed. He looks so beautiful, eyes drooping from exhaustion in the glow of the morning sun.

Once the straw is moved away from their lips Y/N speaks. “You really do look like the sun.” A soft, tired smile falls across their face.

“You’re going to kill me, angel. Seriously. I think you already did.” He laughs, head thrown back with the softest of smiles on his face.

It’s a new experience for both of them; sex, aftercare, being so domestic like this. It’s still so comfortable, like life with Jihoon has always been. “It’s called a white death for a reason.” Y/N quips and it makes Jihoon laugh harder. He leans over them to place a soft kiss to their lips. Y/N’s hand finds the side of his face.

There’s no heat in this kiss, all of their energy was already expelled in an endothermic reaction between them. It’s so tender, as though everything either of them want to say at the moment is held within it. Jihoon pulls away first, head resting against Y/N’s shoulder. “I really do love you,” He breathes against their cooling skin, “‘m sorry I told you for the first time during sex.” While they can’t see it, Y/N knows his face is red once again. The tips of his ears heating up is a dead giveaway.

“I love you too.” Y/N breathes, hand resting carefully on his head. It’s a little harder to speak these words now, but they’re still incredibly easy. It’s almost a second nature, most likely because it’s Jihoon. “We should probably talk about this.”

They do. They shower separately, Jihoon sneaking back into the bathroom to press a soft kiss to the back of their neck as they dry off, arms wrapping around their waist with the pretence of just wanting to be near you. In the comfort of Jihoon’s couch, which is now forever imprinted with the image of him lying on top of Y/N as they exchanged first kisses. The skin of back feels sensitive again the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

They talk about it in Jihoon’s apartment, which he realizes has Y/N everywhere within it. They talk about when both of them realized this friendship became a little less platonic— two years ago on the camping trip after Soonyoung ate shit wakeboarding and you laughed so hard you thought you were going to throw up, mixed with when you hugged me for the first time after you had a rough shift at work and just wanted to be held.

About when they realized it was love— when you fell asleep on my shoulder halfway through a horror movie, and last year when you called me crying and I realized I never wanted to see you that hurt ever again.

About what it means for both of their futures; a collective agreement of a relationship. Another collective agreement of slowing down, a limit of kisses only until things naturally go elsewhere.

They talked over a warm cup of coffee, the soft sunlight losing its golden hue as morning turned into noon. Jihoon wraps his arm around their shoulder, placing a soft kiss against their damp hair. “Seal it with a kiss?” He suggests, now that they were both on the same page.

Y/N cranes their head up, more than willing to accept his proposal. Jihoon leans down, soft lips meeting him in the middle. He smiles. As bright as the sun, Y/N thinks.

Yeah. He’s a star.

And when Y/N leaves the practice room a week later, pressing a soft kiss against Jihoon’s lips, he feels warm. Save for the shocked gasps from the members, especially Seungkwan and his following declaration of: “You all owe me so much fucking money.”

Jihoon’s anger towards the fact that his band mates were placing bets on when he would get into a relationship with Y/N was nothing compared to the supernova bubbling up in his chest. It was nothing compared to the cataclysm of love he felt throughout his whole body.

So. How exactly do you kill the sun?

With soft lips and tender kisses. With small, shared, knowing glances at each other while your hands rest on each others legs in the booth of a restaurant surrounded by others.

Over a pot of shared ramen, arms around each other as they laugh at shitty comedies on Jihoon’s big couch. With hushed whispers under his sheets, hands grabbing onto anything they can reach.

By the fireplace in his childhood home, curled up under a blanket as his mom embarrasses him with childhood tales. On the beach, as he rubs sunscreen over Y/N’s back, sunglasses placed over his eyes and his hair tied back to keep it out of his face. Under Seungcheol’s knowing eyes when he officially tells everyone that, “Yes, we’re together.” They’ll have to talk about it later.

Backstage, after Jihoon won best producer for nth time and Y/N can’t quite keep the smile off their face, or hide the tears forming at their waterline. Hugging him after a long day, just for the purpose of being near him. Through tears on the worst days and a shower of kisses on the best days.

On one knee with a small black box, at an ungodly hour of the night when a late night walk on the bridge gave him the confidence he needed to finally pop the question after he accidentally told Y/N he was going to marry you one day during some sweet love making that took place the night before.

With tears in his eyes as he watches the rest of his life begin.

With Y/N.

a/n: aaaaand that’s a wrap!!!! this is my first full fic that i’ve posted here wowie. i might possibly make a sfw part two of their relationship bcs i am so obsessed w how jihoons so clingy n in love oh my god. maybe a prequel?? of all the little moments i mentioned. lmk !!

reblogs n comments r much appreciated!!!

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