#and that languages develop names for black and white

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back ��� He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[serpentface]

Four (relatively) distinct types of livestock guardian dogs in the Imperial Wardi region. (Left to right: hnorai dam, chin-tsimouna, dírgrahdain, and chin na Hittsanaedi)

Dog breeds in the modern sense of the word in which a dog is selected for highly specific physical traits and carefully bred to retain 'purity' is virtually nonexistent in this setting (and where similar practices occur, it's usually as an outlier situation surrounding a single dog rather than as a standard practice). Most working dogs first develop out of landraces via natural selection, and are bred according to their function above all else. Their forms are the results of natural pressures from their environments, the demands of their jobs, genetic isolation (or lack thereof), and often some degree of selectivity or preference for coloration or features.

These are the four types that occur within the region, all derived from a progenitor landrace guard dog (the last common ancestor of all four contemporary types probably existed about 950-1000 years before present). All share commonalities of a large size, rain-resistant hair, notably dense winter coats, a loud and deep bark, thick muzzles, and strongly sloping chests. They must be able to hold their own (usually through intimidation but occasionally in fights) against large predators that often physically outmatch them- lions, king hyena, hyenas, and wild dogs being most threatening to livestock. They also may have additional functions in dissuading theft and poaching of livestock by humans, and they may sometimes double as basic guard dogs of homes or villages.

Dogs here are bred almost entirely according to their function (you breed LGDs with LGDs, it doesn't usually matter if they look different or come from different stock), with the main exceptions being 'breeds' that are aspects of important cultural heritage or that have specific culturally/regionally preferred aesthetic traits. The chin-tsimouna is the most common of the three and is the result of minimally selective breeding (though some populations form unique strains or have a selective local status), while the other three are semi-isolated heritage types (the hnorai dam for some North Wardi groups, the dírgrahdain for most of the Hill Tribes, and the chin na Hittsanaedi among Ephenni Riverlanders).

---

Hnorai dam: Very rare in the contemporary, with undiluted animals of this stock surviving in some of the most isolated parts of the region's north. This type is distinct for typically having a somewhat stockier build than the others, solid coats, pointed ears, and a tail held upright and curved when relaxed. Most are solid white, gray, or black, and will often be assigned to horses of matching color. This is also the most 'basal' of the regional LGDs, a dog close to this in form (but probably not with solid coloration) was the common progenitor of all other livestock guardian breeds in the region. Variants on 'hnorai dam' are the common name, simply meaning 'guard dog' in the North Wardi language (as they are often used as village/household guards as well as livestock guardians).

Chin-tsimouna: This is the most ubiquitous type, occurring region-wide (and beyond) and used by a variety of peoples (throughout the core Imperial Wardi sphere and among the Cholemdinae, with some usage among the North Wardi, Hill Tribes, and Wogan). They have the most significant foreign ancestry (largely from Burri and Yuroma dogs) and most frequent 'crossbreedings' with feral populations. Due to these factors, the look of these dogs is highly variable (with the 'chin-tsimouna' name functionally being a catchall for any LGDs not of an otherwise specified type). There ARE some broad commonalities (beyond strictly the underlying features common to all these LGD types). The ears are rarely pointed, and usually are bent or lay flat. Fawn coloration with a melanistic mask is by far the most common, with white, gray, and black dogs coming in second (often semi-selectively bred or chosen to match the coats of their charges). Solid colored chin-tsimouna are very rare. There are numerous regional names for type-variants, but 'chin-tsimouna' is the most common descriptor for the overall type, meaning 'horse-dog' (in reference to their typical charges, who they uniquely live among).

Dírgrahdain: This is the native livestock guardian dog of the Highlands. They are the most physically distinctive from their counterparts, and their traits are among the most consistent (due to rarity of feral dog populations in their native range and their status in shared cultural heritage encouraging maintenance of their distinctive traits and discouraging crossbreeding). The most distinctive features are a dense mane, pointed ears, and tightly curled tail. An extended melanistic mask is highly common, and very pale 'evil eyes' are favored in this population, believed to be the most frightening to predators and evil spirits. The name dírgrahdain means 'liondog', mostly referring to their mane. [Extended dírgrahdain post here]

Chin na Hittsanaedi: This is the 'youngest' of the distinct types, and derives from a period of significant crossing between dírgrahdain and chin-tsimouna within the Ephenni riverlands (region south of the soutwestern Highlands, between and around the convergence of the Erubin and Nedachemi rivers) due to significant interaction and overlap of territory between the Ephenni and the West Rivers Hill Tribes under Imperial Burri occupation. The curled tail and pale eyes of the dírgrahdain is common in this population, though the pointed ears are rare and the 'mane' is less developed or absent. Most other traits are typical of the chin-tsimouna type. Dogs of this stock are mainly used in rural parts of the province of Ephennos, and their significance to aspects of modern era Ephenni cultural identity dissuades intentional breeding with both of their progenitor types. The name chin na Hittsanaedi means 'Riverlands dog' (more literally 'dog of the Riverlands').

[eu-nicola]

her memory

summary: After Grace's death, you offer to take care of Charlie, Thomas, who lives tormented by his pain, accepts. As both spend more time together, both begin to develop something but neither you or him don't know how to accept it.

warnings: mention of death, nothing more i think

word counter: 7682

author's note: english is not my first language

The cold wind cut through the morning with a cruel indifference, as if the world kept turning without stopping for anyone's mourning. The tombstones stood as silent reminders of lives past, names etched in stone, stories that had ended. Among them all, one stood out: Grace Shelby. The letters were carved with precision, the name reflecting both love and tragedy.

You, Grace's younger sister, held a bouquet of white lilies with numb fingers. You had chosen those flowers because they were Grace's favorite, although now the detail seemed ironic. You couldn't remember the last time you had brought her flowers when she was alive. Maybe you had never done so. Guilt nibbled at the edges of your conscience as you walked down the gravel path.

In the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the mist: Thomas. He was dressed in strict black, his face impassive as always. His eyes, though, those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating, now reflected something deeper. Pain. Or maybe just tiredness.

You hadn’t spoken to Thomas since Grace’s funeral, and before that, your interactions had been tense, at best. You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t trust him. “He’s not a good man for you, Grace,” you’d warned him more than once, but Grace always found a way to justify it. “You don’t know him like I do,” she’d reply with a smile that was now just a painful memory.

Thomas stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by the grave. There were no words of greeting or gestures of courtesy. Neither did they need them. You were both there for the same reason.

You carefully placed the flowers on the grave and knelt down, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence between you and Thomas was thick, heavy with everything that had never been said and everything that would never be said. Finally, you stood up, feeling Thomas’ gaze on you.

“She always talked about you,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.

You looked at him, surprised by the comment. There was an honesty in his tone that was disarming, something rare about him.

“And what did she say?” you asked, not because you really wanted to know, but because you needed to fill the void.

Thomas lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mix with the cold air. His eyes never left the tombstone.

“She said you were strong. Stronger than you believed yourself. That you had always been her rock, even when you didn’t know it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And that you were the only one who could tell her the truth, even if it hurt.”

You felt a lump in your throat. Grace had always been the mediator between you and the world, softening your harshest words, interpreting your silences. Now that she was gone, you felt disoriented, like you’d lost your compass.

“I always thought I was protecting her,” you admitted quietly, your gaze fixed on the grave. “But maybe I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to see her suffer for someone who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tone you’d never heard before: vulnerability.

“Grace gave me more than I deserved. And I gave her back less than I needed.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and looked up at you. “But I loved her. In my own way, I loved her.”

His words fell heavily in the air. For a moment, you wanted to respond as harshly as ever, to point out that his love hadn’t been enough, that his world of violence and power had dragged her to the grave. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the pain you saw reflected in his face. Or maybe you were just tired of fighting.

“Grace loved you too,” you said at last, almost in a whisper. “I never doubted that.”

Silence settled between you again. Thomas nodded slightly, as if that statement were enough. You both knew that the relationship between you and him would never be cordial, but at that moment, you shared something that transcended your differences: the loss of the woman who had been the center of your lives.

Finally, Thomas took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” he said, not looking directly at you. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

You watched his figure walk away until it disappeared into the fog. The fog slowly dissipated as you walked away, leaving the tombstone and the memories behind.

After that encounter, you knew that you didn’t want to part with what little was left of Grace. The decision didn’t come immediately, but rather as a persistent murmur in the back of your mind. The image of Grace, always smiling with her baby in her arms, was etched ever deeper into your memory. Charlie was the only part of her left in this world, a small piece of light in the midst of all the darkness her death had left. And you wanted, no, needed, to be a part of her life.

Days later, you found yourself in front of the door of the Shelby house. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the imposing facade. You hadn’t set foot in that place since Grace’s funeral. You sighed deeply and knocked on the door. It was Polly who opened it, her sharp gaze examining you immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, her tone neither hostile nor friendly, just expectant.

“I need to talk to Thomas,” you said, straightening up.

Polly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions. She waved you in and led you to the living room, where Thomas sat behind his desk, papers strewn in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked up as you entered, his expression unfazed.

“Another telling off, then?” she asked sarcastically, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head, gently shaking your head as you sat across from him.

“I’m not here to fight, Thomas. I’m here for Charlie.”

He set the glass down on the table, his gaze fixed on you.

“What about Charlie?”

You took a moment before answering, your hands clenched in your lap.

“I want to help. I want to be in his life. I know this may sound strange, but I would like to be his nanny.” You hesitated for a second, but continued before he could interrupt. “I want to be close to him, to help raise him. I don’t want him to grow up without having a connection to his maternal family.”

Thomas watched you silently for a few moments. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed that he was processing each word carefully.

“Why now?” he asked finally. “You don’t trust me, you never have. Why would you want to get more involved?”

You leaned forward a little, trying to convey the sincerity of your intentions.

“Grace loved Charlie more than anything. And if I can’t have her, I at least want to make sure her son grows up surrounded by love, by family. This isn’t about you, Thomas. This is about him.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And because Grace would want us to be there for him.” Both of you.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his face for a moment before running them through his hair. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can start tomorrow. Polly will show you Charlie’s routines. But I warn you,” he said, his voice lower and more serious, “this world is dangerous. I don’t want you to go near it if you ever think you can’t handle it.”

You agreed with a slight nod, knowing there was no turning back.

The next morning, Polly greeted you with a mix of surprise and silent approval. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but she seemed to appreciate your willingness.

“Charlie is a calm boy, but he needs stability,” she said as she led you to the little boy’s room. “His mother was his refuge, and now it’s up to you to fill some of that void.”

When you entered Charlie’s room, your heart tightened. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was sitting in his crib, playing with a teddy bear. His eyes were the spitting image of Grace: big, curious, and bright. Seeing you, he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly approached, smiling.

“Hey, little one,” you said quietly, feeling excitement fill your chest.

Charlie watched you for a moment before extending his arms to you, an immediate sign of trust that nearly brought tears to your eyes. You picked him up carefully, feeling his warmth against you. He rested his small head on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The rest of the day passed in unexpected calm. You fed him, played with him, and took him for a walk in the garden. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed more relaxed with you than you had anticipated. It was as if, somehow, he knew you were a part of his mother, a connection he still needed.

The passage of time hadn’t eased the void left by Grace, but caring for Charlie filled your days with a kind of purpose you’d never felt before. The little boy had a laugh that lit up even the gloomiest of rooms, and his small hands reached for yours with a trust that melted you. With each day you spent with him, you felt like you were helping keep a part of Grace alive.

Charlie followed you everywhere, whether it was in the garden, where he clung to your wobbly fingers as he tried to walk, or in the kitchen, where he babbled incomprehensible words as you prepared his food. What touched you most was the way he clung to you at night, his small hands tangled in your shirt as you rocked him to sleep.

You were aware that every smile you elicited from him was a silent defiance of the pain his mother’s death had left behind. Though you tried hard to stay strong, there were times when Grace’s absence was too much. On those nights, when Charlie finally fell asleep, you stayed by his side a little longer, whispering stories about his mother to him, wishing that, somehow, he could remember her.

One of those nights, after putting Charlie to bed, you went down to the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath your feet. The air was cold, and the light from the fireplace in the living room barely illuminated the hallway.

That was when you saw him. Thomas was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were darkened by a deep sadness. His face, always controlled, now seemed vulnerable, almost unfamiliar.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had seen Thomas in many facets: calculating, furious, even protective. But never like this, broken.

“Thomas, are you okay?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked up slowly, his blue eyes piercing through you, filled with a pain that seemed to have no end. He didn’t answer right away, instead taking another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the table with a thud.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

You approached cautiously, sitting down on the armchair in front of him. The distance between you both seemed so short and, at the same time, infinite.

“I was thinking about Grace,” you murmured, trying to connect.

Thomas gave a bitter smile, but his eyes didn’t light up.

“There’s not a single moment when I don’t see her. Every corner of this damn house reminds me of her.”

The silence that followed was thick. You felt like any words you could say would be insufficient, but you couldn't just leave him in that state.

“Grace would never want to see you like this, Thomas,” you said softly. “She always saw the best in you, even when you didn’t.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Grace was always better than I deserved. I brought her into this world, into danger, and it killed her.” His words came out laden with guilt. “Everything I touch breaks.”

You leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“Grace chose to be with you. She knew who you were and what your world meant, but she still loved you. You can’t carry all the blame, Thomas.”

For the first time, Thomas seemed to truly hear you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you both shared a pain only you could understand. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been carrying too great a weight for years.

“Charlie gives me a reason to keep going,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t help but think of everything he lost. What I took from him.”

The pain in his voice tore at you. Without thinking, you stood up and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this, Thomas. Charlie has a lot of people who love him. And so do you.” You paused, measuring your words. “I’m here.”

Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the openness in your voice.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his whisper barely audible.

You stayed by his side as the night wore on, both of you silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind of stillness that comes from sharing a common pain.

The days in the Shelby house followed a steady, almost predictable rhythm. The mornings were Charlie's: from the first light of day, the little boy filled the house with his laughter and babbling, and you were there for each of those moments. But the nights... the nights were different.

Since that first time you found Thomas broken in front of the fireplace, something had changed between the two of you. They didn't always talk, but the presence of each other was enough. So, every night after putting Charlie to bed, your steps inevitably led you to the living room, where Thomas waited for you, his silhouette illuminated by the flames of the fire.

The first few nights were a timid exchange of words. Thomas offered you a glass of whiskey, which you accepted although you barely touched it, and the two of you sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Every now and then, he shared fragments of memories about Grace, little anecdotes that made you smile or sometimes let out a stifled laugh.

“Grace always made fun of my smoking,” he commented one night, with a slight smile. “She said I looked like a cheap actor trying to look sophisticated.”

You laughed softly, imagining your sister with her sharp wit and love of little jokes.

“That sounds like Grace,” you said, your voice heavy with nostalgia.

Over time, conversations became more fluid, less restrained. You shared memories of your childhood with Grace, little secrets that only the two of you knew. Thomas listened intently, his eyes softening with each story, as if through your words he could feel his wife’s presence again.

“You know?” you said, staring into the fire. “I always thought you were Grace’s worst mistake.”

Thomas, who had been staring at his glass of whiskey, looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched.

“And now?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes heavy with curiosity.

You sighed, playing with the rim of your glass.

“Now… I’m not so sure.” You looked at him, your words softer than you’d planned. “Grace was happy with you. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you closely.

“I’m not a good man,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I never have been. But with Grace… she made me want to be better.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words.

“We all have our shadows, Thomas. But I’ve seen how you are with Charlie, how you talk about Grace. Maybe you’re not as bad as I always thought.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that seemed like a mix of relief and gratitude.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you,” he said, his tone mocking, though his smile was genuine.

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, smiling back.

With each passing night, the relationship between the two of you transformed. The conversations became deeper, more sincere. Thomas showed you a side that few knew about: the man behind the boss, the husband, the father struggling to find balance in a world full of chaos.

One night, after a long silence, Thomas confessed something that surprised you.

“I didn’t think you could forgive me,” he said, his words laden with a weight he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. “Not after everything.”

You stared at him, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not easy to forgive, Thomas. But I also know that life is too short to hold on to hate.”

For a moment, you thought you were going to see tears in his eyes, but Thomas just nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away.

Even if everything was fine between you and Thomas, there was always something off. The next day, the sun was shining softly that afternoon, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making everything seem almost calm, almost normal.

Charlie was swinging happily in a baby swing that Thomas had had installed months ago. You stood nearby, watching him with a smile as you gently pushed the swing, making sure it wasn’t too high.

Charlie giggled, and when the swing stopped, he raised his arms to you, asking to be pulled out. You picked him up easily, holding him against your hip as he wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked at you with those big, bright eyes that reminded you so much of Grace, and something in your chest tightened.

“I love you, little one,” you murmured, gently kissing his forehead.

The little boy stared at you for a moment, then rested his little head on your shoulder and, in a barely audible voice, whispered,

“Mommy.”

The world seemed to stop. The air became thick, and for an instant, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of that word fell upon you. You didn’t know what to say. Charlie didn’t fully understand what he had just said, but to you, the meaning was overwhelming.

Before you could react, a deep, sharp voice broke the silence.

“What did you say?”

You turned around suddenly and saw Thomas standing a few feet away. His face was tense, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of surprise and suppressed fury. He had returned earlier than expected and had clearly heard his son’s words.

—Thomas… —you started to say, trying to calm him down.

—Why is he calling you "Mom"? —he interrupted, his voice low but full of intensity.

Charlie, oblivious to the tension, clung to you with an innocent smile, his small hands playing with your hair. The image must have been a shock to Thomas, a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

“He’s just a kid, Thomas,” you said calmly, setting Charlie down so he could play again. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I would never try to take Grace’s place.”

Thomas took a step forward, his posture rigid.

“But you are,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re looking out for him, you’re comforting him, and now he thinks you—” He paused, as if the words were too painful to say out loud.

“I’m here because I wanted Charlie to have someone to look out for him, to love him. I’m not trying to replace Grace, Thomas. I never could,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh, yeah?” he snapped, his tone bitter. “And what do you think is going to happen if you keep this up?” He’ll see you as his mother.

His words were like blades, and you felt a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to back down.

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Thomas. I’ve been here, taking care of Charlie, helping you keep this home standing. And now you’re blaming me for something I can’t even control?”

Thomas clenched his fists, his eyes burning with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t your place. You’re not his mother. You never will be.”

The words were like a blow, but you refused to let them affect you any more than necessary.

“You’re right, Thomas,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m not his mother. But at least I’m here for him. And you? Where are you when he needs you? Or do you prefer to hide behind your whiskey and your business, letting others deal with the pain?”

Thomas took a step closer, his face now just inches from yours.

“Be careful what you say.”

“Why?” you replied, challenging him with your gaze. “Because you don’t like hearing the truth?”

The silence that followed was sharp, both of you breathing heavily, the tension between you almost tangible. Finally, Thomas took a step back, his face hardening.

“If you can’t understand your place here, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Those words were a final blow. You nodded slowly, your expression cold but hurt.

“Understood.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and walked into the house, leaving Thomas alone in the garden. You felt a mix of rage and sadness as you climbed the stairs to your room. Everything you had done, all the effort, seemed to have been in vain. You leaned against the closed door, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill out.

The days that followed that tense confrontation with Thomas were tinged with an awkward silence in the house. The air seemed heavier, as if the very walls held back unspoken words and hurt feelings. But the most noticeable change was in Charlie.

The little boy, who used to be an endless source of laughter and energy, now seemed to be caught in a cloud of restlessness. His demeanor changed dramatically; laughter had been replaced by sobs, and his usual enthusiasm for play had given way to an irritable, brooding attitude. Every little inconvenience, from a toy that didn't work the way he wanted it to the lack of his favorite snack, made him burst into tears.

It hurt to see him like this, but the worst thing was that you knew why. Charlie missed the closest thing he'd had to a mother in the last few months. And even though you'd tried to keep your distance after the argument with Thomas, you couldn't help but worry about the boy.

That afternoon, Charlie was sitting on the living room floor, tightly hugging a teddy bear that Grace had given him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he murmured between sobs:

"Mom..."

You knelt beside him, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I know, honey," you said softly, stroking his hair. "I know you miss her."

Charlie turned to you, his little eyes full of desperation.

"Mom," he said.

It was like a dagger straight to the heart. Your instinct was to hug him, but you stopped, remembering Thomas' words.

“Oh, little Charlie,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

The little boy didn’t understand, and you knew it. To him, absence was a void that was impossible to fill. His sobs increased, and in the end, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You lifted him into your arms, holding him tightly as he cried against your chest.

“I’m here now,” you murmured, trying to calm him down. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered the room. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him: you holding Charlie, trying to comfort him like a mother would.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice cold.

Charlie turned to his father, his little face still wet with tears.

“Dad… Mom.”

Thomas tensed his jaw, his gaze darkening even further. He took a step toward you, his eyes fixed on you.

The boy clung to you, but was eventually led to his room by a maid. Once he was out of the room, Thomas turned to you.

“What part of ‘you can’t be his mother’ didn’t you understand?” he said, his voice low but filled with contained anger.

You stood up, crossing your arms.

“Thomas, don’t you see what’s happening? Charlie is hurting. He misses his mother, and for now, I’m the closest thing he has. Why can’t you just accept it?”

Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Accept it? You want me to accept my son starting to call you mom while Grace is in her grave? Is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for you to stop being so selfish,” you replied, raising your voice. “This isn’t about you, Thomas. It’s about Charles. He needs someone, and you can’t be everything to him.”

Thomas took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You don’t decide what my son needs. I’m his father.”

“And I’m the only person who’s been here for him while you drown in your own pain,” you said, not backing down. “But it’s okay, Thomas. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But when Charlie keeps crying at night, when he asks you why I left him, you’ll be the one responsible.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was hard, but there was something else going on, too: an internal struggle, a battle between his pride and the reality that was hitting him harder and harder.

Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact.

“Do what you want,” he murmured, before exiting the room and leaving you alone.

The next few days were marked by an awkward silence between you and Thomas. Even though he had made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Charlie, you couldn’t just walk away. Not when the little boy needed you more than ever. So, defying Thomas’ orders, you continued to look after the boy. After all, someone had to do it.

That night, the Shelby house was unusually quiet. Charlie had had a long day and was restless, his small body still shaking from time to time from residual sobs. You held him in your arms, gently rocking him as you walked around the room, whispering soothing words to him. Eventually, his eyes began to close, and his breathing became more rhythmic.

The house was empty. Thomas had gone out, as he often did lately, immersing himself in his business and affairs. Everything seemed calm, but there was an uneasiness in the air that you couldn’t shake.

Suddenly, a noise downstairs broke the silence. At first you thought maybe Thomas had returned, but a quick glance at the clock made you dismiss that idea. You clutched Charlie to your chest, your senses heightening. Another noise, this time clearer: the creaking of a door carefully opening.

Your heart began to pound, but you kept your cool. You couldn’t allow yourself to lose control. Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom door, making sure Charlie was safe in your arms.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs grew clearer and clearer. Then, a figure appeared in the doorway, a tall, burly man with a cold, cruel gaze. He held a gun, his face partially hidden by a handkerchief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, his voice deep and full of mockery. “I didn’t expect to find a babysitter.”

You said nothing, your mind working quickly. The man pointed the gun at you, a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t there to talk.

“Where’s Shelby?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I know she’s not far away. But in the meantime…” his eyes fell on Charlie, who began to fidget in your arms, sensing danger. “Maybe we can send her a message, huh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said in a firm, yet calm voice. “Thomas will be back soon, and when he does, you won’t want to be here.”

The man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

“And what are you going to do?” he snapped. “Another empty threat? I’m here to settle a score, and if it means hurting the one you care about most…” He motioned to Charlie with a shake of his head.

Charlie began to cry, his small fists clinging to your shirt. Your instinct was to protect him, positioning him so that his body was out of reach of the gun. Despite the fear you felt, you kept your voice calm.

“You’re not going to touch him. If it’s Thomas you want, then he’s him you’ll face. But not a child.”

The man paused, considering your words, but his expression showed no sign of mercy.

“The world is not so kind, young lady.”

Before he could move, another noise echoed through the house. This time, the unmistakable thud of a door slamming shut. The man turned quickly, raising the gun, but before he could react, Thomas appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was deadly. In a quick, calculated move, he pulled out his pistol and fired without hesitation. The sound was deafening in the small room, and the man fell to the floor with a thud, the gun slipping from his hand.

Thomas moved forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the intruder’s body to make sure he posed no further threat. When he was sure, he turned his attention back to you and Charlie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Charlie was still crying, his tears soaking your shirt. You nodded, though your heart was still pounding.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you murmured, trying to calm Charlie as you cradled him against you.

Thomas moved closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Take him downstairs,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

You nodded again, walking out of the room with Charlie still in your arms. His sobs began to subside as you descended the stairs, the warmth of your embrace providing him with a modicum of comfort.

When you reached the living room, you sat down on the couch, holding Charlie close. Shortly after, Thomas came down, his steps slower, his expression hardened. He sat down in front of you, his gaze assessing you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him,” he finally said, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Thomas… it’s not your fault,” you replied, though you knew it wasn’t enough to ease his burden.

For the first time in days, his eyes showed something other than fury. There was fear there, fear of what could have happened if he had arrived a minute later.

As you rocked gently, Charlie’s little face buried in your chest, while you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Thomas sat across from you, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if he was trapped in thought. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his features. But his eyes… his eyes showed something different that night: vulnerability.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from Charlie,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a low tone, almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was heavy with remorse. “It was a mistake.”

You look up, surprised by his words. You had expected many things from Thomas Shelby, but not an apology.

“Thomas…” you began, but he held up a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“Ever since Grace died, I’ve tried to protect him, protect us both. But in doing so, all I’ve done is fail him. I can’t give him what he needs.” He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “But you can.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and pain. You knew how much it had cost him to admit that, how much it meant to him to acknowledge that he couldn’t do everything alone.

“Charlie needs you, more than I wanted to admit. I’ve seen you with him, how he calms down in your arms, how he trusts you.” Thomas ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “And I was an idiot to try to push you away from him.”

You looked down at Charlie, who was breathing easier now, his fingers gently clinging to your shirt. A feeling of warmth and relief settled in your chest. You had been willing to do anything for that little boy, even if it meant facing Thomas Shelby.

“Thank you for saying it, Thomas,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “But I need you to trust me, to understand that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. There was a weight in his gaze, but also a sort of unspoken truce.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful. More than I can express.”

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he watched Charlie with a mix of tenderness and pain.

“I never wanted him to grow up without a mother. And I know you’ll never be able to replace Grace, but what you do for him… that’s the closest thing to a home I can offer him now.”

The lump in your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your composure.

“I’ll do everything I can for him, Thomas. Always.”

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Thomas smiled, albeit a weak, tired smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence of understanding, of acceptance. Charlie had fallen asleep, his little rhythmic sighs filling the room.

Thomas stood up, walking towards you with slow steps. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Charlie’s head and stroking his hair gently. Then, his eyes met yours again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but loaded with meaning.

You simply nodded, no need for words.

The next few days were quieter in the house. Thomas allowed you to care for Charlie without interference, and even began to participate more in the moments you shared with the little one. There was a routine that was beginning to feel, if not normal, at least less tense.

You and Thomas also began to talk more. At first, it was practical conversations, about Charlie or about how to reinforce the security of the house. But little by little, those dialogues transformed into something more personal. Moments when, for a brief moment, Thomas Shelby wasn’t the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, but simply a man trying to navigate loss.

One night, after you’d put Charlie to bed, you found Thomas in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft light from the table lamp illuminated the room, creating a warm, almost intimate atmosphere. He was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames.

“Everything okay?” you asked, carefully entering the room.

Thomas looked up, his expression relaxing at the sight of you.

“Yeah,” he replied, though his tone said otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

You walked over and sat on the couch across from him. You didn’t want to push him, but there was something in his gaze that night that worried you.

“About Grace?” you asked softly.

He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him.

“Always Grace,” he murmured. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. What could have been if…” He paused, his jaw tightening.

You didn’t say anything, allowing him space to speak if he needed to. You knew that, as hard as it was for him, these moments of vulnerability were important.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing her,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Her face, her voice… it’s all fading away, and that scares me more than anything.”

Your heart clenched at his confession. Thomas, the man who always seemed so strong, was pouring his soul out in front of you. Without thinking too hard, you stood up and walked over, standing next to him.

“You won’t lose her, Thomas,” you said softly. “She’ll always be a part of you, of Charlie. Nothing will change that.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes shining in the firelight. There was something in his gaze, a mix of pain, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Without thinking, he raised a hand and gently brushed it against your cheek.

The gesture took you by surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, until his lips met yours in a soft kiss, laden with repressed emotion. It was a brief moment, but it was intense, as if both of you were allowing yourselves to feel something you’d been denying for far too long.

But as soon as it was over, Thomas pulled away, his expression changing from vulnerability to guilt in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hard and laden with regret. He stood up quickly, moving away from you as if the contact had burned. “I can’t… I can’t do this to Grace.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, but it didn’t hurt any less that his words were hurting you, too. You stayed on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

“Thomas…” you tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“No. I can’t,” he repeated, his tone harsher. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up, the lump in your throat getting tighter with each word he said.

“A mistake?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to confirm it. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him.

“I understand,” you finally said, your voice firmer than you expected. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you reached your room. You closed the door behind you, letting the tears finally fall.

The days following the kiss and the rejection were unbearably tense. You and Thomas had gone back to barely speaking beyond what was necessary. Conversations were limited to the basics: directions for Charlie, changes around the house, or simple mechanical greetings. Any vestige of the connection you had begun to build seemed to have faded, leaving an awkward chasm between you.

It hurt, more than you wanted to admit. You had accepted that Thomas still carried Grace in his heart, but you hadn’t expected the kiss you shared, brief but full of meaning, to become a wall between you.

Finally, one night, after you had put Charlie to sleep, you found yourself unable to bear the coldness any longer. You knew you couldn’t continue living in the same house, taking care of Charlie, and pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

You found him in the living room, as always, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He barely looked up when you entered, but you didn’t say anything right away. You closed the door behind you and stood there, watching him.

“How long are we going to keep this up, Thomas?” you finally asked, breaking the silence with a voice filled with frustration.

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He took a sip of his whiskey before answering, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. This. Us. Pretending like nothing happened, when we both know it did.”

Thomas finally looked up, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

“There is no ‘us,’” he said harshly. “There can’t be.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down.

“And that’s it?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “Are you going to keep hiding behind Grace’s memory, using your guilt as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas’ expression hardened, and he set his glass down with a thud.

“Be careful what you say,” he warned, his voice low but dangerous.

But you were too furious to stop yourself. The pressure of the past few days, the built-up tension, it all came crashing down.

“Careful?” you repeated, taking a step closer. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?”

Thomas stood up suddenly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“Because that’s what I do,” he snapped. Because the people I care about always end up hurt or dead.

“And that’s an excuse to treat me like that?” You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not Grace! You can’t keep punishing me for something I can’t change.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each word a sharp dart. Before you could think, you grabbed an empty glass from the table and threw it hard. The glass crashed into the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Thomas reacted immediately, crossing the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Before you could move, he roughly grabbed you by the arms, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with an intensity that took your breath away.

“Enough!” he growled, his voice hoarse and heavy with repressed emotion.

You were about to retort, to fight against his hold, when suddenly, without warning, his lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if both of them were trying to drown all the pain, frustration, and guilt in that moment.

You resisted for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, but quickly gave in, kissing him back with equal intensity. His hands, which had previously held you tightly, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you disappeared. There was no more arguing, no more awkward silences. Just the warmth of his lips, the frantic beat of your heart, and the feeling of being, for the first time in days, completely alive.

His lips left yours for an instant, moving down to your neck, as his hands eagerly explored. Everything about him was urgency, need held back for too long. There were no words between you, just the ragged sound of breaths and the steady throb of a dormant desire that had finally exploded.

“Tommy…” you murmured in whispers, your fingers getting lost in his dark hair as he lifted you slightly, leaning you against the nearby wall.

He responded with a growl, capturing your lips again, as if afraid that moving away for a second might break the connection. It was a forbidden moment, but you were both too far away to stop.

The room seemed to fill with heat as every barrier crumbled. Thomas was all fire, and you consumed yourself with it without remorse.

Finally, when the intensity subsided, you both lay still, breathing hard, still entwined. His eyes searched you, and for an instant, you saw something more than desire. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, an acknowledgement that he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t apologize this time. There was no room for words; the silence between you spoke for itself. And in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

[originalartblog]

"Nawy what do you MEAN quick-ish 3D render it's got scratches and everything and I thought this was real for a minute!!"

Well, first, thank you very much that was the intention ❤, and second, you see, all speed is relative, and between finding my references, modeling, texturing and lighting, on top of having to learn how to make convincing gems, it still took me quite a few hours. I, however, cut corners everywhere for speed, and I wouldn't put this piece in a portfolio in its current state.

But! for the curious, I thought I could do a simple breakdown of how the witchcraft happens, without using too much specialized language to make it more accessible. In short,

In this case, I’m talking about a 3D model that was textured (colours and stuff) and then lit (lights on!) to make a pretty final picture. The objective is not to make a tutorial, but to put in simple terms what a 3D artist does to make something go from this, to that:

(people curious and/or trying to see if this interests them welcome)

I'm skipping the 3D modeling part altogether, since it isn't where most of the magic happens here. Just know that to be able to add colour and stuff on a 3D object, you have to go through the process or "unwrapping" it, which is like doing those foldable cubes in reverse

and then we can draw on it!!

Now, the good stuff:

Surfaces (metal, plastic, fabric, wood, skin, etc.) have different looks that make you able to differentiate them on sight. To make something look realistic, you have to try to replicate real life into the 3D world (duh.)

The software developers took care of the hard part (math and coding), so as artists we can play with the parameters available to make something pretty. What those parameters are depend on which "recipe" we're using. One of the most common "recipes" for realistic results is called PBR: Physically Based Rendering, named that way because it's trying to replicate real-life light physics. In this case, the 4 basic parameters are called albedo, roughness, metalness, and normal.

Albedo is the base colour of the surface (easy stuff). Roughness is to determine if a surface is rough or shiny. Metalness is to say if something is made out of metal or not. The normal is there to add all those tiny details you don't want to or can't sculpt on your 3D model (engravings, fabric bumps, etc.)

The roughness and metalness are black and white images because the information you're giving to the software is black = no and white = yes. It's easier to understand in the metalness image, where everything that is NOT a metal is black, and everything that IS a metal is white.

The normal is a bit more complex, but in short, it uses the colours green and red to know what is up/down or left/right, and will help the software fake relief on top of the model. You don't make it by hand; it's computer-generated from other stuff I'm not getting into.

With the technical stuff out of the way, we can actually use these. There are specialized softwares that will let you preview the results of each parameter in real time, so you can see what you're doing easily. This is what I have.

That software comes with some types of surfaces that are already set up, like the fabric in my piece, which was already 85% good for me straight out of the box. Then, it's up to me to use the tools available to decide how shiny a surface is, if there's dust or scratches and where, what colours things are, if there's metal parts, etc. That's where you can see a 3D artist's skills.

And finally, you bring it all together into a specialized software that can render 3D stuff and use those images on the corresponsing parameters, and then light the scene.

Because it all comes down to this: the light! For something realistic, light is vital to get right. You can pour your heart and soul into those tiny scratches, but if you don't light the scene correctly, well...

So we carefully light the scene to get some nice highlights to make the textures look good and highlight our subject (it's basically a photography studio inside a computer)

And then we add some camera effects...

and voilà! pretty picture!!

... and if you somehow did notice something different with the bolo tie from my last post, I did find out while taking all these screenshots that I messed up my initial renders in a way that made everything darker than it was supposed to be and that's why my gold looked so muddy...

I hope this was interesting and that you learned a thing or two!

[arahdow]

NIGHTY

Pairing. Shadow x reader x Silver

Content. f!reader (nicknamed as nighty). poly!relationship. hurt to comfort. one (1) mention of smoking, description of injuries, harsh language. they're worried sick and shadow channels his worry as anger. silver calms both of you down though! suggestive at the end? jsjs i got carried away.

Word count. 2.5 k

A/N. AAAAAAAAAAAAA thank you anon for requesting this !! I absolutely adored writing this, although at first I found it quite difficult BUT I hope I did a good job! This is my first time writing a poly relationship, but I have faith I portrayed well. Same ol', no beta read, no nothing, I just had fun jsjs.

+ my back hurts HELP SKDJFJ i'll take a well deserved rest after this aH

“What are you doing?” the voice of Shadow startled her, as she hid her own arm behind her. He was leaning on the opened door, arms crossing, eyes boring into her figure. Turning to look at the man, she closed the tap water and cleared her throat uncomfortably. 

 “I didn’t see you there.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

The girl sighed. “Nothing of your business.” she grumbled, trying to walk past the black hedgehog, but it was no use. Shadow snatched her arm making her wince at the action. His eyes widened at the way the skin was ripped open, blood seeping through her arm dripping to the white floor. The rest of her arm was bruised.

“What the fuck is this, Nighty?” He asked, a commanding tone laced in his voice.

The girl pulled her arm and took it to the sink again, opening the cold water and letting it stream onto her wound. “Just a cut, it’s nothing.”

Shadow inhaled deeply. “Does Silver know?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters if you’re hurt, now don’t be a brat and answer me.”

“He doesn't, okay? And I don’t care if he does, there’s nothing he could do either way.” She said, hissing at the feeling of her wound being cleaned.

Shadow almost felt bad. Almost. But he simply huffed and turned around going into his room. 

The girl sighed and kept on cleaning herself, the silence in the kitchen making her feel lightheaded. Nighty, as Shadow and Silver liked to call her, lived with the two hedgehogs. Not in the same house though. It was such a weird situation: Silver once found Nighty dehydrated and with a grave state of anemia, passed out on the street. He took the girl to Shadow, which was the closest location to where he found her. At first, Shadow was reluctant to help Silver save her, why would he care?

But it became something difficult to ignore when the girl woke up, not remembering anything about her. They thought she had been abused or kidnapped and somehow managed to escape, but it was weird that she couldn’t even remember her own name. So they called her Nighty. 

After that, she took turns to stay in either Silver’s or Shadow’s house, and because of the proximity and chemistry, she started developing feelings for both of them, and so were they. Silver and Shadow didn’t like each other that much to start a relationship themselves, so they shared her, with no hard feelings for each other.

This week was Shadow’s turn, but she somehow managed to stay more time outdoors than with him. And the thing was, she actually started going out with the people she met at a club. This girl called Rouge was the one who introduced her to a group, and since then, everything started going down. Now she prefers going out, smoking with friends and engaging in risky scenarios. And with every day that passed, her partners got more concerned. They looked at her one day and she was so changed.

After she finished cleaning herself, she turned to the bathroom to grab the aid kit, which surprisingly, was in Shadows hand. He was kneeling, cleaning the droplets of blood that dripped from her arm earlier.

“Thank-”

“It’d leave a stain. Don’t go around making a mess here if you’re going to behave like this.” His tone laced with venom. She looked at him, hurt.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means whatever the hell you think it is.” He replied, standing up, aid kit on his hands. “You can’t keep going out, end of story.”

Nighty snickered. Shadow looked at her with anger brewing inside of him. “What’s so funny?”

“You.” She spat. “You thinking you can order me around like you’re my father.”

“I may not be your father but I am your partner, you live under my roof, you do as I say!” He raised his voice slightly.

“Who do you think you are? I didn’t ask to be saved, I didn’t ask for your shelter,” The girl huffed. “I certainly didn’t ask for your pity.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, I never said I pitied you.”

“Well it looks like it, why would you tell me all this, then?” 

“Because you’re changing! You’re not the girl I love!” 

Wrong fucking words, Shadow.

Eyes dull, she looked at him, suddenly the wound in her arm didn’t hurt as much. “Wow, you’re showing your true colors, huh?”

“The hell does that mean.” 

But she didn’t let him speak. Turning around, she started walking at the door. Shadow suddenly blocked her, his back pressing against the door.

“Please, open the door, Shadow, I’m not playing games.”

“Neither am I. Where are you going?”

“Why do you care? You’ve clearly stated you don’t love me anymore.”

Shadow felt a hollow pit in his stomach. “What-”

“Can I leave?” 

And he looked in her eyes. Angry tears running down her eyes. The man seething, pure hot through his veins. But, why did he feel so… Helpless?

“I never said-”

“‘You’re changing, you’re not the girl I love’, does that ring a fucking bell?” She asked, her tone raising.

“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, do I?” The girl asked, her voice broken with pain. “Then what did you mean? Mhm?”

Shadow stared at her. Suddenly losing the words, he stood there motionless. His brain racking with ways on how to explain that he was worried. That he was terrified for her, her body, the way it kept getting worse and worse every passing day. The way her skin was becoming a garden full of bruises and cuts. He noticed then she had a busted lip too.

The girl sighed, shaking her head. She took advantage of Shadow being in his headspace, walking close to the door and opening it wide enough for her to go through it. “You can be so cruel when you put your soul into it.” Was the last thing she said before walking out the door.

Hearing knocking on his door, Silver got up yawning in the process. It was the middle of the night, he wasn’t expecting someone. And he definitely wasn’t expecting her.

“Night-?”

“Can I sleep here?” She asked, rushing inside his home. 

Silver hadn’t had the time to ask her a thing. Rubbing his eyes, his brain started growing more conscious by the moment. “Wait, why? What happened to Shadow?” He asked, receiving a scoff from the girl.

“Can we not talk about this?” 

Silver closed the door, walking slowly until he saw the injury on her arm. His mind cleared up as he rushed to the bathroom to get some supplies and meds. “Why are you hurt? What happened, Nighty?”

“Can we not?” She avoided his questioning as well as his eyes.

“Hey-”

“Stop! Can’t you understand a fucking request? Am I the only smart one here? Leave me the fuck alone!”

She exploded. And Silver raised his hands, worried that he had a time bomb in front of him. She needed care, and he couldn’t afford for her to run away. He guessed something happened at Shadow’s, but he chose to stay curious.

“I’m not gonna ask anything else, for the moment, then.” He said decisively, but with a soft voice and a gentle smile trying to not irritate her more.

The next few minutes, he started to patch her up, gently, taking full care and attention at her expressions. A quick glance at her told him everything. She and Shadow had an argument. And he knew that because it was the only moment where she cried. 

Yes, Shadow was someone known to be a dickhead, apprehensive even, when things didn’t go his way; but he somehow always managed to get under everyone’s skin. People used to warm up to him easily because he was also a protector by nature. He cared, in his own way. Silver knew that much.

He cared for the girl when the second Silver arrived at his home, and even when Shadow denied such a thing, Silver saw something in his eyes. A glint of worry. A glint of need to protect such a soul. The way Shadow’s eyes lingered on her, or when he spoke softer to her than anybody else. Silver noticed all of that. But both of them were hard-headed. 

Putting some ointment on her bruised skin, he noticed her busted lip and inhaled sharply. The need to ask was consuming him, but he held himself. 

With one gentle hand, he took the girl’s chin and turned her head his way. Her teary eyes were so pretty, but he wouldn’t comment on that in this scenario. Maybe another day. Nighty looked at him, his golden eyes boring into hers, his naked hand caressed her cheek. She could feel his short claws gaze at her skin, but she felt cared. Safe.

Silver averted his gaze, taking a cotton ball and smearing alcohol in it.

“This might hurt.” He warned, she only nodded.

Followed by a hiss, he started to wipe her lip, the dried blood being cleaned up from her. Her skin red from the pain. The man shushed softly at her, lulling. She felt less pained, somehow. 

Her tears were coming out less and less, Silver made sure they never hit the floor. She lunged forwards, hugging him with the arm that she hadn’t injured. The man yelped, receiving warmth from her body. Then he reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you to leave me…” She whispered, barely audible but Silver could hear her perfectly.

He waited for her to calm down a bit, and when she pulled away from the hug, he took her hand in his. Her breathing seemed calmer now.

“Can I ask now, what happened?” He asked, his voice the softest he could manage.

The girl sighed and recalled the events at Shadow’s. Silver nodded every few seconds to let her know he was listening. When she finished telling him about it, he inhaled sharply. 

“I see,” Directing his attention to the aid box, he took the bandages and opened a hand for her to give him her wound, now that the ointment was absorbed in her skin. “now, can I talk about this situation? I have some questions.” Nighty nodded. “How did you got this?” He asked, referring to her arm.

With a sigh, she replied. “I… There were these guys at the bar,” Silver’s breath hitched. “they wanted me and my friend to leave with them, but they seemed sketchy. Rouge tried to wave them off but they were pressing the topic a lot, to the point where they got frustrated and…” She gulped. “One of them had a knife…”

Gauging Silver’s reaction, she stopped speaking for a moment. The man nodded. “Keep talking.”

Nighty inhaled. “He was going to hurt Rouge, but I took the hit.” 

Silver looked up, his eyes were no longer gold but a dirty brown. “And the lip?”

Shrinking in her seat, Silver didn’t need anything else. Sighing deeply, he tried calming his nerves. This was the first time he has encountered about her odd friends and outings, but this? This was too much.

“Nighty,” he started. “you know we care about you, right?”

She sat in silence. 

“Right?” He repeated, looking at her. 

“I’m not sure… I think i’m a nuisance, I don’t want to worry any of you but…” She trailed off. 

“There are no limits when it comes to you, princess.” He said with a gentle smile, continuing on patching her arm. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Sniffing, she nodded. “Shadow… He…” It was hard to even remember what had happened between them.

Silver clicked his tongue, taking a band-aid and putting it carefully on her lip. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning. You can stay here, and we’ll handle this tomorrow, okay?”

Nighty nodded, feeling herself become drowsy. Holding back a yawn, Silver giggled at her state. Kissing her forehead, he took her bridal style and walked towards his room. “Let’s put you to sleep, princess.”

The day after, Nighty found herself nuzzling into the pillow. It smelt nicely of Silver: like cherry shortcake. Quiet voices made her stir in her sleep. Turning to lie staring at the ceiling, she winced at the pain coursing through her injured arm. Ah, she forgot. 

Sitting up, she could tell apart the voices. Silver and Shadow. Her stomach flipped with nervousness, as she got up from the comfortable bed. Walking slowly towards the door, she opened it. The boys didn’t notice, so she slipped to the kitchen.

“You need to apologize.”

“I will! Stop repeating that, I know-”

“If you knew you would’ve kept your mouth shut, jackass.”

Shadow murmured under his breath. Both of them were sitting on opposite sides of the couch. Nighty took some coffee from the counter and got out of the kitchen. Her presence was noticed by both hedgehogs. 

Silver jumped in his seat. “My- When did you go to the kitchen?”

“I just walked by.” She answered, her voice hoarse and weak. Her head hurting. Probably for all the crying last night.

The room filled with silence. She didn’t know if she should go and sit down with them or not. But before she could decide, Shadow decided for her. 

“I…” He said, standing from his seat. He always found it difficult to apologize, but he couldn’t bear her thinking he hated her, or that he loved her less. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t erase the pain I put you through last night,” he cleared his throat with anxiety of not sending his point across her. “I shouldn’t have let the worst of me take over.” He added. 

Coming close to her, he took the cup of coffee from her hands, putting it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Going back at her, he took her hands into his, focusing for a bit on her patched lip, suddenly feeling guilty for not taking care of her properly.

“What I said last night wasn’t real, it wasn’t what I really thought of you.” Deep sigh. “I love you however you are, although that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you…”

Before he could go further, Silver cleared her throat, Shadow pressed his lips in thought. 

“What I mean is, I love you, and I’ll keep saying it until you forgive me.” He looked at her hands, kissing the back of them.

“I love you too, Shads.” It was hard not to forgive him, she loved him too much. “I’m sorry for calling you cruel, I too was hurting and… Yeah.”

Shadow shook his head. “I felt worried. Terrified even. I’ll work on that and… Explain myself better next time.”

Nighty nodded and kissed his cheek. They stared at each other for a few seconds, the girl walked back to the couch, sitting in between the two hedgehogs.

The men looked at each other and smiled, and she noticed. “Guys, may I remind you I’m still injured.” 

Both of them got close to her, Shadow placed his hand on her thigh as Silver kneeled on the couch, his snout rubbing onto the side of her head, until his lips gazed at her ear.

“Then let us do all the work, princess.”

[sanzaibian]

“Sir, here are the Beatty files.” The young woman told me, handing a USB key.

I have heard a lot about these files. They were intercepted in the town after which they’re named by the secret services a while ago, but were encrypted in such a puzzling way that only now can we view them. And of course, I am the first one to be able to review its content.

I know a lot of things, as it is my job to be informed of anything and everything happening around the world. I know the plans of China over Taiwan, the successor to the Ayatollah, the contents of the talks between Putin and Kim Jong-un, and all the current US military strategy. In my line of work, everything can happen, yet at no single point could I make sense of the Beatty files. Nor could anyone else for that matter.

I excused the young woman, bidding to her my thanks for the deciphering team, and went to the unused laptop I had prepared. When it comes to matters of national security, I cannot afford to be careless, and let anyone unlicensed to get access to this. So brand new laptop, created by us, which has never been opened, to open these files.

And so I fiddled with the parameters a bit, entering the secret code, and inserted the USB key to view its contents. Inside were a few files, all of which videos. Their names were not informative, since I know for a fact that their original names were not recovered, so I just opened the first file in the list.

The video opened looking down in a white cubic room, meaning it was very likely a security camera recording. In addition, there was the time indicated on the bottom right, yet something felt weird about how it was displayed… 15:58… 15:59… 15:60 ???... 16:01, etc. Why is it not counting time correctly ? Nobody indicates time like this ! It’s wrong, it’s incorrect ! I just opened it and there’s already something I cannot in any way explain !

Taking a deep breath, I look at the center of the screen, in which I have a good view of a man sat in a chair. He has tanned skin, black hair and black stubble, and a very developed musculature. He looks to be a very attractive middle-eastern man, although I cannot say which ethnicity he precisely has.

The chair he’s sitting on is quite massive, and he looks almost as if he is… restrained in it ? Yes, there seems to be little handcuffs tethering him to the armchairs. But most striking are the numerous tubes going out from his arms, legs, torso and even head, linked to some types of medical appliances I cannot recognize, as well as to a sort of glass tank.

Suddenly, I notice the deep voice of a man. I up the volume, and hear… a language I cannot understand.

“Tzai en 19/03, 2:17, en tzoujkbruoi odogattzion program en Scipio Labratory. Ny hse Hk. Adtem, tzai widt nyn hskadiais, Sjd. Fingtrosy ÿ Sd. Vagohs, ÿ naum wom fill no tzoujketvÿsn ekspÿrians widt no #1073 bymarjen.”

At first I get some German vibes from it, but then it seems to be Polish, and then French… Whatever that language might be, it is not one I have ever heard. The man in the chair looks around, seemingly half-dazed, as if he was drugged. I don’t know what will happen to him, yet I get the feeling that it won’t be a desirable fate.

Suddenly, another voice, that of a woman by the looks of things, speaking in that same strange language.

“Hsüzmalhsÿv drël en im.”

Then a buzzer sound. There seems to be some white substance flowing inside the man’s body, through the tubes from the medical appliances. As it flows, I can see his eyes starting to become more droopy, before fluttering, and then closing. At the same time, his body starts floundering in the restraints, as if he was keeping himself from falling asleep. But as time went on and the white liquid ran dry, all of his muscles were relaxing and his stance become limp, like that of a dysfunctional robot. However, looking at his accelerating breathing rhythm, it seems to my trained eye that he is not actually asleep. It’s only his body refusing to function correctly.

“Drël ingkatzt. Etvÿsn harjimÿll.” Says another voice, deeper than the last one, but not as deep as the first one.

I don’t really know what’s happening. If the counter on the bottom-right of the screen wasn’t ticking up, I would have thought that the image was frozen. But then, suddenly, I can hear a low sound in the recording. And that sounds starts creeping higher and higher, as if something was charging up… Yeah, definitively charging up, since I almost saw some lightning sparks going off from the chair…

I don’t know what’s happening, but it seems to be malfunctioning. The sparks make themselves more and more intense, and it almost seems as if the machine is ready to explode...

Just as I say that, the first deep voice makes itself heard once again, but this time more in a frustrated or worried tone than an official one.

“Sel heont havy… Go huop sel hstill pÿrdont...”

But suddenly, the sparks stop, and while the sound doesn’t stop, beige liquid start flowing into the pipes… from the man to the tank ? What is that thing ? I don’t understand ! However, I can hear cries of rejoice in the audience, with all three voices I’ve heard since then saying incomprehensible stuff that I wouldn’t even be able to transcribe. I guess they also didn’t think… whatever this is would work ?

I take a drink from my water bottle as I keep an eye on the video. However, since I need to reach my bag, I cannot actively monitor it. Besides, according to what I hear, nothing of note seems to be happening... But when I have put down the bottle, I stop the video. I rub my eyes, but even then, I still see it.

The man seems smaller.

Somehow.

I go back in the video to the time where the man with the deepest voice sounded worried and… Yeah, looking like that, it’s even more apparent. The man has been losing mass. And the tanks have been filled by this beige skin-color liquid… Heh, if I didn’t know I was in reality, I would have said that this is muscle-juice, but this is ridiculous…

Especially since the body mass hasn’t been the only thing to change.

As I play back the video and continue through the long haul of high-pitch noise and not much else, I notice that the man’s stubble seems to be disappearing… and his head hair growing as well, somehow ? It almost seems as if he’s becoming less masculine by the second, if it even makes any sense, even though nothing about this video actually makesanysense. If I didn’t know who supplied it to me, I would have said this was a fake…

As his pecs were shrinking, his arms were thinning, his waist narrowing and his legs slimming, his stance almost seemed to be relaxing further – if it’s even possible. I mean, I don’t know ! It’s just the impression that I’m getting ! As the last of his stubble vanishes, at least according to what I can see through the pixels, he almost seems to be getting cuter ? Whence more relaxed ? Fuck, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever…

Oh. I know why I get this impression. It’s not anymore weird or nonsensical, but at least in this context it seems to make sense… I think he also is losing height. Yes, actually. Height. It’s almost as if someone took the textbook definition of a “twink” and decided to impart its characteristic on this poor fellow – don’t ask me why I know what it is.

As I continue watching in horror, the woman’s voice says, gleefully :

“Entzony as hen !”

How can they sound so… happy ? Happy to torture a man like this ? To, quite visibly, drain his muscles into those tanks that look more and more full ? It just goes beyond me ! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen my fair share of horrible and unethical treatments, and a ton of unethical human experiments. But this by far takes the cake of the most disturbing thing I have ever seen ! They’re taking away what he is, his identity ! Him ! That’s the most cruel violation of human rights I have ever seen ! To gleefully disfigure someone like that…

The tanks have finished filling up, and the sound starts lowering in intensity. The man left looks only like a shadow of who he was. He still looks like himself, except devoid of any… meat, may I say ? When the machine was well and truly turned off, the deep voice rejoiced, seemingly announcing the success of that terrible plot.

“Fÿstyfuroll ! Oll fod havy kotzvong !”

Funnily enough, the first word made me think of “feast for all”, which just feels wrong given the context. On that, they all seem to have left the premises, as a nurse came in and untethered the poor man from all the equipment, and taking with her the tanks filled of muscle juice.

I continued watching, hoping that I would get to see the young man wake up.

And wake up he did, looking around, before standing up… and immediately falling. Presumably due to him not expecting to be this skinny. He then looked at himself, and had an utterly horrified look in his eyes, as if he was processing the fact that he was irremediably different.

He crawled towards the wall, and using that, he climbed back to standing, managing to take a position so that he could be looking at the camera.

And on that, the video suddenly stopped, leaving me on this freeze frame :

I absolutely don’t know what to do with that. Now I not only understand, but also feel how confused the secret services were by intercepting this message. It just seems wrong in so many ways, so much that… it might not even have occurred on Earth for all I know ! The language is unknown, but familiar. The way to count time is disturbing, but otherwise identical to ours. The events depicted are of typical mad experimentation, but in a manner that is unthinkable in my knowledge of the world.

I don’t have the strength to view any of the other videos, since they’re likely all the same amount of disturbing. So I close the laptop, and already starts asking myself the question I need to give an answer for my superiors :

Just what the hell are the Beatty files ?!

[lady-belz]

A Hard Day at the Office

⟶ pairing: Jin x Female Reader

⟶ word count: 6k+ 18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: angst, smut, fluff, coworkers to lovers au

⟶ content: officeworker!jin, hobi is a sneaky bestie, reader's inner voice is a ho and her name is IVY (aka "Inner Voice"), IVY does a lot of internal monologuing

⟶ warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, groping, unprotected sex (don't do it kids!), nipple play, oral (f. receiving), markings (hickeys & other bruising), a bit of dirty talk, fingering, teasing, multiple orgasms…

↬ a/n: this is based on Jin's promo photos from 'HAPPY'. The girls in our BTS discord group asked (i.e. begged) me to write Jinfic based on those pics, especially the one where he's on the floor laying on a chair and SMIRKING! And thank you to my gal, Nightshade for giving Inner Voice a name. IVY may make an appearance again in a future fic.

You were slightly confused as to why you were being called to your CEO’s office in the middle of the day. As far as you were aware, you hadn’t done anything worthy of being fired or getting demoted as the office manager.

You knocked on the solid oak door and was bade to enter. You stepped inside, schooling your features so you didn’t look as nervous as you felt.

”You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked politely.

”Yes, please sit, Y/n.”

”Am I in trouble, sir?” you asked as you sat before his desk. He looked at you in surprise for a moment before he burst out laughing.

”Absolutely not. You’re one of my best managers in this company. Firing you would be like cutting off my left leg and I’m right handed.” he chuckled. You breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at the same time. “I called you in here because we have a new employee I need you to train.”

”Oh! I’m guessing they’re taking Geena’s spot?”

Geena, who had been your assistant, had recently gotten married and decided she wanted to be a stay-at-home wife. There hadn’t been the time to fill her position as it was one of the more busy seasons for the advertising firm.

”They are, or rather, he is.” He pointed to a spot over your shoulder and you turned in your seat to look. All the air was knocked from your body as you got a good look at the man standing there. You vaguely heard your boss introduce him.

Kim Seokjin… who would become your greatest weakness in the coming months.

But you did the job you were paid to do and trained him. He was a fast learner.

Kim Seokjin, quiet, shy and introverted, but also a very hard worker.

He grabbed your notice the moment you met him. Tasked with training him to be as good if not better than Geena was no hardship. But he made you so flustered and nervous, it was hard not to act foolish in front of him.

The January Coffee Incident comes to mind. The absolute worst day in the world that you chose to wear an all white suit to work.

You had been walking and going over some things with one of the project technicians when he came into the office. He looked absolutely gorgeous in a navy blue sweater, black framed glasses and white pants. He saw you and gave you a warm smile in greeting.

You tripped over your own two feet, crashed into a nearby desk and knocked your iced coffee all over yourself, soaking you from neck to groin to the point where everything became practically see-through.

And he witnessed the whole thing.

The ice made your nipples hard and you were unaware that his eyes had given you a very slow once over.

You couldn’t really avoid him after that day since he had the desk directly across the aisle from yours.

He was friendly to everybody, would go out of his way to help anyone in need. Including you, even though you felt like the world’s biggest klutz whenever you were around him.

The January Coffee Incident again comes to mind. You never wore a white suit to work ever again.

Sad to say – you developed a really huge crush on him.

Your best friend, Hoseok liked to tease you about it every chance he got. He kept encouraging you to talk to Seokjin but you refused, not wanting to make a fool of yourself any more than you already had. You had yet to even have a full personal conversation with him. You still felt like an awkward monkey whenever he was near, stealing glances when you thought he wasn't looking.

It was better for you to admire from a distance, much to Hoseok's annoyance.

You forgot how devious your best friend could be.

Seokjin had been working in your department for nearly a year now.

You noticed he had some quirky habits that made him even more attractive in your eyes.

He listened to cassette tapes on a Walkman™ of all things while he worked. Something that became obsolete back in the early 2000's. The one time you walked by his desk, you could hear the faint sounds of The Beach Boys “Surfin' USA” coming from the tiny speakers. It made you chuckle.

He also liked to flip his pen around his fingers. You watched him do this for nearly 5 minutes straight once, mesmerized by how flexible his fingers were.

Your cheeks warmed when you thought about other ways his fingers might be flexible.

During a meeting, you were tagged by your boss to work together on part of a project due at the end of the month. Surprised, you glanced at Seokjin to see him quickly look away from you, his cheeks tinted a light pink. You wondered at that.

It was a late Friday evening and you were both staying after hours to work. It had been relatively silent for the most part between the two of you but you were starting to get hungry.

You picked up your phone. “I'm going to order some dinner. Would you like anything? My treat.” You asked him, nervous about speaking to him in the first place. He'd had his music over his ears, but not loud enough to where he couldn't hear you if you spoke to him. He glanced up at you, his eyes bright behind the glasses he wore.

“Um... yeah, sure.” he replied. His voice... you'd nearly forgotten how deep it was. Usually it was pitched high when he started to sing along with his music. It made your insides feel weak.

He walked across to your desk to get a peek of the menu on your phone, hovering over your shoulder.

You could cheerfully die.

He smelled amazing! Sandalwood and vanilla were starting to become your two favorite smells.

It took everything you had in you not to turn your head and bury your nose into his neck to imprint that smell on your brain.

His arm came around your shoulder while his hand covered yours as you were holding your phone so he could use his other hand to scroll the menu and make his selections.

Was it too late to order a funeral casket?

Red alert! Red alert! Engine is overheating! Get the tech crews on it STAT!

Selections made, he turned his head to look at you. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his plush lips.

You forgot how to breathe.

Mayday! Mayday! We are going down! All hands abandon ship!

“Thanks.” he murmured. You yanked your gaze away from his lips. Something was lodged in your throat. You couldn't speak if your life depended on it. You may have said something like “You're welcome.” but you're not exactly sure if you vocalized it correctly.

Did he smirk at you as he walked back to his desk?

You might have been seeing things because this shy, introverted man did NOT just smirk at you like he knew some great secret.

You put your phone down, grabbing your bottle of water to clear the obstruction in your throat (there wasn't one, but your mouth was drier than the Sahara in winter).

And you were wet... panties-soaking wet if you were honest with yourself.

Get a grip, you horny bitch!

You wanted to listen to that voice, but it was difficult since it had been more than a year since your last serious relationship.

Oh you tried random hook ups, but they just weren't satisfying.

It was quiet once again as you went back to your individual work, your heart rate returning to a normal level after he was sufficiently some distance from you.

Your dinners arrived less than an hour later and you set everything up at the meeting table that was in the corner. They didn't give you napkins so you headed for the break room to get a few.

When you returned to the office, he was nowhere to be seen.

You called out his name, hearing a reply from somewhere around his desk.

Frowning, you went around the desk to see him laying on the floor, using his chair as a pillow.

He had removed his glasses and undid two buttons on his shirt and sweater.

And the look he was leveling you with...

Unconsciously your eyes slowly roamed his body from head to toe.

You tried not to squeeze your thighs together. Tried to gather your scattered thoughts, but in that moment, there was only one word you could think of in this situation.

Fuck!

“W-Why are you on the floor?”

Yay! Words! And spoken correctly! Good job!

“I've been hunched over my desk most of the evening. Stretching out my back muscles.” he replied, a small smirk on his face.

Dammit, he IS smirking!

“...oh.”

I mean, what was there to say to that?

“Want to try it?” he asked.

“In this get-up?” You waved your hand over the plum-colored suit jacket and skirt combo you had chosen to wear that day. “Don't think so.”

You started to walk to the corner table when his hand snaked out and wrapped around your bare ankle before you even stepped a foot away.

Your body jolted like lightning had struck you and you bit your lip hard to keep a moan from being released into the air. You nearly ripped the napkins you were holding in two pieces.

Should have worn pants today! Your inner voice cackled.

You slowly turned your head to look at him. That infernal smirk was still on his lips.

“You sure you don't want to lie down here with me? Might do you some good.”

“I'm hungry.” was your immediate response. His eyes glinted and his smirk seemed to get bigger. “For food! I want my food!” You stammered loudly, cheeks warming with embarrassment. His shoulders shook as he chuckled. You looked down at his hand (Why are his fingers so soft?) still around your ankle.

“Oh... sorry.” he stated, slowly releasing you. He wasn't sorry at all.

Did this fucker run his hand over my calf? Your inner voice was having a serious meltdown. Honestly, you were too, but you were going to ignore it.

You moved to the table where your dinner's sat, ignoring the sound of him getting to his feet behind you. You could feel his eyes on you like the sun on your back on a hot day. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was making you hot and bothered (even though he probably already had an idea).

You need to get laid, sister! Your inner voice taunted. You wanted to punch that voice in the throat.

“Drink?” he murmured against your ear, sandalwood and vanilla permeating your senses once again. You clenched the plastic fork in your hand, nearly breaking it. You moved away from him, trying to be subtle about it, but you knew he was watching.

Where the hell has this cocky sonofabitch been for the last year?

“Yes, please.” You finally answered him. You got a breather from his overwhelming presence as he headed toward the vending machine at the other end of the office.

What was happening right now?

How did someone so unassuming hold such power over you and so quickly?

“Has to be the glasses...” You muttered.

He returned with the drinks, placing one in front of you. You noticed it was your favorite and it set you wondering how he knew.

Turning back into the gentleman you knew him to be (and wasn't that just deceiving?), he pulled your chair out for you before taking the seat right next to you.

Fuck me!

You decided to try and ignore him, browsing your social media on your phone while you ate. But you were so consciously aware of him on a level you've never felt before.

Somehow you managed to choke down your dinner, even though you tasted none of it.

Gathering your waste, you headed to the trash bin to dispose of it. You turned to head back to your desk and nearly ran face first into his chest. You jumped back in surprise.

Fuck, when did he move so quickly and why didn't I hear him?

“Um... we've got work to finish.” You stated. Surprisingly, he stepped aside and let you pass, but not before he drew his hand across your hip as you did.

You felt that touch through your entire body, making your woman parts throb with want.

You sat back at your desk as he went to his, but you couldn't concentrate very well. After about 2 hours and with a frustrated sigh, you put everything away, saving what you had been working on from your computer. It was 11 in the evening. He glanced up from his own work to stare at you.

“It's late. I'm tired. I'm going to head home and continue this on Monday.” You stated, getting to your feet and grabbing your coat. He jumped to his feet as well.

“I'll walk you out.”

“No, you stay and finish. I'll see you Monday.”

“It's alright. I don't mind. And I’m starting to go cross-eyed staring at my screen.” he insisted, slipping on his coat and his glasses as he shut down his computer.

You wanted to groan in frustration. He was making it very difficult for you not to tackle him to the floor.

You thought you'd be okay... until you got into the elevator.

Stuck in a box, smelling sandalwood and vanilla for 10 floors. Great.

It was snowing when you finally made it out of the building and you took a deep breath of the winter air to clear your sinuses.

“May I drive you home? I don't think you're going to get a cab or Uber this late.” he asked.

Bitch, don't you dare say no! This is your chance! your inner voice yelled.

You wanted to say no, not give in to that temptation. But you saw the earnest look on his face, the boyish grin that was anything but innocent (little did you know!). You took out your phone and saw that no cabs, Ubers or buses were running and wanted to groan in annoyance.

“Yeah, thank you.” you finally sighed, defeated. You tried to ignore the smile on his face at your capitulation as he lead the way to his car.

And of course his car smelled like sandalwood and vanilla…

Kill me now! You yelled out in your head. Your inner voice was suspiciously silent, but you felt they were smirking at you.

After giving him directions, it was a quiet ride to your home, a small two story on the outskirts of town you had inherited from your grandparents when they passed away. You tried not to stare at his hands as they manipulated the steering wheel. You don't know when you had become so obsessed with his fingers. You got lost in a fantasy of him running those fingers over your naked body and bit back a whimper, turning away in embarrassment as he took a quick glance at you.

You missed the smirk on his face that time.

The headlights of his car illuminated against the front of your home as he pulled into your driveway. He killed the engine as you removed your seatbelt, hand on the door ready to step out.

”Um, thanks for the ride, Seokjin.” you managed to say.

”You’re welcome. And please, call me Jin. I prefer it.”

”Jin.” you nodded. You were both silent for a moment, neither knowing what to say. You finally took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping out of the car. You carefully made your way to the front door, mentally reminding yourself to shovel and salt the driveway and sidewalk in the morning. You could feel eyes watching you and you waited until you got your door unlocked and opened before you turned to look. He gave you a wave, which you returned before he started his car to leave…

Or, at least he tried to start the car.

It made a whirring sound as if it wanted to start and you watched as the headlights dimmed before going out all together, the engine slowly dying.

You knew that sound.

He had a dead battery.

You watched as his head dropped to his steering wheel and you honestly felt bad for him. You went back down, knocking on his driver’s side window. He opened the door.

”You may as well come inside. You’re not going to get a mechanic out here this late.” you offered.

”I don’t want to impose.” he sighed.

”You can’t sleep in your car, Jin. It’s snowing and it’s supposed to drop below zero tonight. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” you replied.

”Thanks, I appreciate it. And I’m sorry about this.” You backed away as he climbed from the car, pocketing the keys as he locked it.

”Not your fault. Stop apologizing.” you returned, leading the way into the house.

You locked the door after you were both inside, turning on the lamp next to the couch to get some light in the room. It was slightly chilled in the air and you went to the thermostat to turn up the heat.

”You have a beautiful home.” He spoke behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see him removing his jacket and shoes as he looked around at your holiday decorations.

”Thank you, it belonged to my grandparents.” you replied. “Um… would you like a hot chocolate or tea. Coffee?” You wondered, removing your suit jacket to leave you in a beige silk tank and your skirt. You turned to place the jacket over the back of the chair, missing his slow perusal of your body from head to toe and licking his lips in want.

”No coffee. I won’t be able to sleep.” he replied, pulling his eyes back to your face when you turned to look at him. The look of innocence on his handsome face should have had alarm bells ringing in your head, but you were tired and foggy-brained.

”Hot chocolate?” you asked.

”Please.” he nodded. You turned and headed for the kitchen, turning the light on over the stove before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. You placed the kettle on the stove, turning the temperature up high before turning to get a couple of hot cocoa packets.

When you turned back to the counter, he was standing before you. You jumped back in surprise.

”You have got to stop sneaking up on me!” you burst out without thinking.

That damn smirk made its reappearance.

”Do I make you nervous?” He wondered, stepping closer. You stepped back, shaking your head.

”N-No.”

”Seems like I do.” He replied, taking another step. You backed up another and felt yourself hit the counter.

”Y-You don’t make me nervous at all.” You stammered, staring at him with wide eyes.

He stepped into your personal bubble, placing his hands on the counter behind you and trapping you with his body.

Oh shit! He’s got you now, girlfriend! Your inner voice cheered.

“You wouldn't be lying to me would you?” he asked, voice deepening.

Oh he hit you with The Voice! Give up already! Your inner voice cackled.

“N-No.” You whispered.

You could only watch, frozen in place as he freed a hand from the counter to brush across your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You wanted to melt into the floor. His eyes pinned yours and your breath wheezed from you.

“Jin.” you whispered, your voice husky with want.

“I have a confession to make.” he murmured, running his fingers along the skin of your neck and down your arm. Goosebumps broke out over your entire body and you could feel your nipples harden. You bit your lip, hiding another moan.

“W-What?”

“I've been fascinated with you since the first day I met you.” he admitted, taking your hand in his. “The more I was around you, the more that feeling grew – Coffee Incident, notwithstanding.” he chuckled, making my cheeks warm.

Oh my god, he saw that whole mess!

“Huh?” You were dumbfounded and it brought you just a bit out of the haze of lust you'd been in.

His cheeks tinted pink as he nodded. “I wanted to ask you out on a date so many times. But I always became tongue-tied whenever I was within 5 feet of you.”

“...oh.”

He just keeps reducing you to one-word sentences. This is great! Your inner voice was having the time of her life right now.

You took a deep breath, and decided to take a chance.

“So what was all that? At the office?”

“A friend told me to just go for it. The worst that could happen is you'd slap me and tell me to leave you alone. Or I'd get lucky.”

Ignoring his lucky comment (because you already knew he was going to get very lucky), a sudden suspicion flew through your mind.

“Would this friend happen to go by the name Hoseok?” you asked. His face lit up and a genuine smile graced his lips, making him even more attractive and your heart threatened to jump from your chest into his hands.

“You know him?”

“Unfortunately.” you grumbled. “My ex-best friend.”

“Don't be too hard on him. He was coming from a good place.”

“Right.” you snorted, looking away. You felt your hand raised and plush lips pressed a kiss to your knuckles (they felt like pillows!), making your head snap up in surprise. He was staring directly at you.

“Would it be safe to assume you feel the same about me? Or am I reading this wrong?” he asked softly.

You swallowed hard, slowly shaking your head no after a silent moment.

“I noticed you as well.” you admitted.

Still holding your hand, he stepped closer. You felt so small next to his larger frame and you had the sudden urge to press your cheek against his chest and listen to his heart beat. But the heat in his gaze kept you rooted in place.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” he murmured, his eyes ducking to your lips and back to your eyes. The saliva dried up in your throat at his confession and your lady parts woke up and started cheering. You could water a garden with the moisture that was gathered between your thighs in that moment.

“That would be... a really bad idea...” you whispered, denying yourself what you've wanted most of the year.

You idiot! Take what the man is offering! Your inner voice screamed.

“Why?” he wondered. The kettle went off, startling you both and you ducked around him to take it off the burner, but also to breathe and cool down for a moment.

But it was not to be.

A large hand wrapped around your bicep, yanking you around. Shocked, you were poised to tell him off when his lips covered yours, surprising a gasp from your lips.

Oh my god! He's kissing you! Yesssssssssss!!!!!! Get it girlfriend!

You could practically hear your inner voice celebrating with a parade.

You'd laugh, but your brain was slowly become mush under his slowly deepening kiss.

You were drowning.

And you loved it.

A whimper stole from your lips as his tongue penetrated the seam, darting inside to map every part of your mouth he could reach, his arms going around your waist to pull you closer.

You wanted to melt.

You wanted to die.

You wanted him to strip you naked and have his way with you.

You nasty ho! That inner voice chuckled.

You moaned into the kiss as his hands moved down your body, cupping your ass cheeks and squeezing like he was checking melons at the grocery store. You made an embarrassing sound that vibrated throughout your entire body as he backed you into a wall, your arms going up and around his shoulders.

The cool surface failed to put out the raging inferno going on inside your body and your hands went to his sweater, fumbling with the buttons. He pulled away, not even bothering with the rest of the buttons on either his sweater or shirt, gripping the back firmly and pulling them completely off, losing his glasses somewhere in the process.

You could only stare as his upper torso was bared to your hungry eyes.

He was hiding all that muscle beneath those sweaters? What the fuck?

You agreed with your inner voice. The man wasn't Hercules by any means but there was some definite muscle tone. You had the sudden urge to bite him.

“I won't stop you if that's something you want to do.” he chuckled.

“Oh shit! I said that out loud, didn't I?” you laughed, embarrassed. He caged you against the wall with his body and stared down at you with a piercing gaze. You didn't know what to do with your hands, he was so close. He remedied that problem by taking them and resting them on his bare hips.

Is that... is that a V-Line????????? You could actually feel your inner voice go into orgasmic shock as your fingers lightly grazed the lines of his hips. He took a shuddering breath as he finally had your hands on his skin.

“Incidentally... I've dreamed about biting your thighs.” he murmured, ducking to place teasing kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck!” you whisper-gasped, the thought of his head between your thighs your ultimate erotic fantasy. He smiled against your neck as you swore.

You were just absolutely wrecked by this man... and you hadn't even slept with him yet.

“What do you want? Whatever it is, I'll give it to you.” he whispered into your ear. You shuddered, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as his breath ghosted across your skin.

Do it... you know you want to! Your inner voice was back to cheering you on and you decided to finally listen to it. You probably would never have another opportunity.

You gently pushed him away from you. He gave you a quizzical look as you took his hand. You turned and headed for the stairs, missing the large grin on his face.

At some point it had started to snow outside and you hadn't bothered with closing the curtains in your bedroom. The moonlight streaming through the windows along with the snowfall created an ethereal romantic effect.

Releasing his hand, you turned toward him, just as he wrapped an arm around you and yanked you against his body, his lips already covering yours in a kiss so passionate, you thought your clothes would melt right off.

His hands zeroed in on the zipper of your skirt, the material pooling around your ankles as it was released from the confines of your body. You both moaned as his hands squeezed the bare skin of your ass, barely covered by your underwear, a purple thong you had, on a whim, decided to wear to work that day.

His fingers, the same ones you'd had daily (and nightly) fantasies about, dipped down between the cleft of your cheeks, instantly discovering how much you wanted him. You were drenched!

His cock, half hard most of the evening, went instant hard, pressing against your thigh to introduce itself.

The moan you let out could have counted as your most embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact he made the same exact sound.

Still holding you, his fingers still causing insane amounts of pleasure inside of you, he turned and walked backward until you both fell onto your bed. Your legs were spread on either side of his hips and he took advantage of the position, dipping deeper inside of you, making lewd squelching sounds as he thrust them in and out.

Clutching his shoulders, you rode out your pleasure on his fingers, begging him not to stop (he had no intentions of doing so until you were a moaning mess on top of him). He leaned up to nip at the skin of your neck, the pleasure spiking through you.

With a cry of his name, you came, soaking his fingers and hand in your essence, most of it dripping down your thighs and soaking into his pants. He moaned at the feel of it.

And he was not done with you.

Distracted by the pleasure still running through your limbs, he rolled you onto your back, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He pulled off your ruined underwear, falling to his knees between your legs and pulling the jellied limbs over his shoulders.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he was kissing and biting your thighs, his greatest desire.

You moaned lewdly as he traveled along your skin.

And then it happened, your ultimate dream and fantasy rolled into one.

You felt his tongue along your still swollen folds and your whole body arched up off the bed, a loud cry falling from your lips.

He wanted to smirk, but his mouth was busy. You were like a sweet ambrosia to him and he didn't want to stop tasting.

Your fingers slid into his hair, gripping tightly and the pleasure/pain of it made him groan against you. Your cries of pleasure made him hornier than ever. He had to be inside you and soon or he was going to combust.

You were completely wrecked. Something you thought was only a dream, now a reality. Your body didn't feel like your own anymore as he did his best to overwhelm you with pleasure.

He devoured you like a man starved. You could feel that band deep your stomach becoming tighter and tighter, your thighs beginning to shake.

His tongue went deep, touching ever part of you he could reach as he fumbled with his pants to free himself from the tight confines. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life and it was for you.

“J-Jin!” you stammered his name, that band in your stomach finally snapping as you received your second orgasm in less than an hour. He drank you in like he'd been in the desert and gotten his first drink.

You yanked on his hair after a few moments, oversensitive as he finally pulled away. You were breathing hard, body covered in a sheen of sweat as he moved up your body to kiss you. His face was wet and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You still had your tank top on. He helped you take it off, along with your bra, tossing both items somewhere in the room as his mouth surrounded a nipple, sucking and biting your skin.

You moaned beneath him, wrapping your legs around his hips to keep him close.

“I want you so much.” he whispered against your damp skin, pressing his hardness close to your still throbbing core.

“Please.” you begged him.

“C-Can I?” he moaned, rubbing himself against you. You nodded your head. “Thank you!” he moaned, not wasting another second. He needed to be inside you like he needed air to breath.

You both cried out in shock as he slid in easily. He was long and thick, more than what you were used to and he felt like heaven and hell rolled into one. He was touching every internal part of you and you clenched tightly around him. He groaned, pressing his face into your neck as his thrust started off slow and deep.

“Fuck!” you babbled, gripping his arms.

“You feel so good!” he moaned. “Better than I dreamed.”

“Jin! Oh my god!” you cried out as he went deep.

He turned his head and started licking and biting the skin of your neck, marking you as his, wanting to imprint himself into your very soul. He kept his thrusts slow, deep and steady, wanting to make this last for as long as possible.

Minutes turned into hours and you were both a debauched mess. Bodies covered in a sheen of sweat, hair plastered to your foreheads, your body and soul on fire with the desire coursing through your veins.

The man had the stamina of a bull. You lost track of how many times he made you cum. You were oversensitive, swollen but happier than you'd ever been in your life.

“Jin... please...” you moaned, exhausted.

“One more... please, one more...” he groaned, gripping your thighs. He sat up, digging his knees into the bed as he started to jackhammer himself inside of you. You cried out in absolute pleasure, clutching your arms across your breasts.

“Oh... oh my god!” you moaned loudly, feeling that band of pleasure tighten within you one more time. He bent you in half, going the deepest he'd ever been the entire night and the band snapped. Your whole body went into pleasurable shock as you came. You might have blacked out for a few moments, the pleasure was so intense.

When you were aware of your body again, Jin was laying beside you, staring at you in concern. As your eyes focused on him, he gave you a sheepish smile.

“There you are.” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” you wondered, your voice husky.

“I got a bit carried away.” he murmured, ears turning red in embarrassment. You giggled, turning your tired body toward him to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

“Am I complaining?” you smiled. He was entranced by your smile and he couldn't help but lean in to kiss you. You moaned softly as he slowly pulled away.

“I could kiss you forever.” he whispered, brushing his nose against the skin of your cheek.

“I-Is that something you want?” you wondered. He paused in his kisses, drawing back to stare down at you.

“So many times I wanted to ask you out on a date. I was and still am stunned by your beauty, always getting tongue-tied and nervous. I felt like the high school nerd having a crush on the captain of the cheerleading squad if I'm being honest.” he chuckled, the sound teasing along your nerve endings.

“So... what's stopping you now?” you wondered, staring at him. His jaw dropped open in surprise before his face morphed into a smile that could light a darkened room.

“Ms. Y/n... would you do me the honor of going out on a date... with me?” he whispered.

“I would love to.” you returned. “But... on one condition...”

“Anything.” he agreed.

“Be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widened in shock and you giggled.

“What?”

“I think we've gone beyond first dates, Mr. Kim.” you giggled, waving your hand along both your naked bodies. He laughed loudly, pressing his face into your shoulder.

And there was another thing that you were endeared by – his laugh. It was the most unique laugh you'd ever heard in your life, almost sounding like wipers on a windshield.

“The company doesn't frown on its employees in relationships?” he wondered sometime later after we had cleaned up. It was going on 6 in the morning and the sun was starting to peek over the horizon.

You were both again in the kitchen. He was dressed in his pants and his shirt, neither fully buttoned so you had perfect glimpses of his bare chest and stomach. You were dressed in only a t-shirt.

You both were sharing making breakfast duties, deciding to make pancakes, eggs and bacon.

“I'll tell you a secret.” you smiled as you poured batter into the warm pan. He glanced at you attentively. “The wife of the company president used to be his secretary.”

He stared at you, eyes wide.

“I didn't know that!”

“Mhm. They've been happily married for nearly 30 years. She still works for him too, now as his assistant.”

“So, you're saying we're okay.”

“We're okay, Jinnie.” you giggled. He stared at you, ears and cheeks red. “What?”

“You called me 'Jinnie'.” he grinned.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I won't do it again if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “I-I like it.” he grinned, looking away. You couldn't help yourself, you leaned over and kissed his cheek, making him blush even harder.

You were hooked.

And if he conveniently forgot to call a mechanic for his car that weekend... neither of you cared.

You couldn't have sandblasted the smile from Hoseok's face if you tried when he found out what you'd spent your weekend doing and with whom.

He (Hobi) cried like a baby when you asked him to be your Best Person at your wedding 2 years later... ~The End~

[iiotic]

｡‧What letters? ༻༉

Alastor x Fem! Reader

༉‧.tw - an opinion, mentions of toxic parents, racism, toxic relationship, bullying, death, use of Alchocol, Reader is white (sorry to all other races)

༉‧.words - 1.9k

༉‧.a/n - This is pt 1 and pt 2 of "what letters?" combined because I hated how stupid it looked in 2 parts. The is very badly written because it was one of my first works and as always I'd like to apologize for any mistakes English is not my first language.

In 1907 your parents decided to move in Louisiana, New Orleans. You were awfully scared of changing schools thinking that you won't make any friends since it's the middle of school year.

You were assigned school uniforms. Blue-ish shirt with white buttons and a black skirt just below your knees. Black tights and white boots. You quite liked it however you thought it was a little stupid that they gave you bright shirts. Of course you will get them dirty.

You soon found yourself troubled to sit with someone at lunch. Everyone seemed like they were having a good time, laughing with others and you just didn't want to interrupt them.

You also took a notice of how people sit. In what groups. Everyone was sitting with the same race as them. Just like in your old school, nothing was different here.

You usually sat alone. Until..

-"May i sit here?"- A boy your age asked. He had round black glasses and chocolate eyes. - I took notice of you sitting alone at lunch and i was wondering if i could join you?

You quickly recovered from the shook and agreed to his offer. After introducing yourself you found out that the boys name is Alastor. He told you that he had troubled sitting with anyone because he was "mixed" and that no one accepted him the way he is.

Then you realised what your parents told you. They absolutely forbidden you to talking to any other race. Your dad didn't like black people one bit. He thought that they are absolutely useless and shouldn't be accepted in any way. That they shouldn't exist.

However you weren't just going to throw away your first friend in school like that. Deciding to keep it a secret.

You learned that Alastor is actually really smart. He was the top student in his class, getting straight A's. Well except history but you were great with it so you made a deal. You would help Alastor with history and he'd help you with any other subject you had problems with.

You also met Ms. Barbara, Alastors mother. She was a sweet woman, really. She always made the best jambalaya and was really supportive of her son, always wishing the best for him. She grew a liking to you as well.

Thought you did notice the weird looks people would give you at school. You didn't mind.

After a year you developed feelings for Alastor thinking that he's sweet, clever and fun.. And he knows how to cook. But little did you know that he did too.

Then it all crashed. Your parents decided to move out of Louisiana. You questioned them why would they even wanted to move in if we were leaving now.

Absolutely devastated you went to see and say your last goodbye to Alastor. You promised him to somehow keep in touch and write a lot of letters.

It didn't work out.

Your father found out about your little friend and the letters you would write every night to update him how has your day been and that you miss him. He gave the letters to your mother so that she could burn them or hide them in the attic so that you and Alastor wouldn't have any kind of communication.

And here you were, sitting in your new room. Waiting, waiting for letters from the boy who you've developed feelings for.. Or has he already forgotten about you?

On your 29th birthday you had an accident. A car crash. You decided to drive extremely drunk after your own party. 2 people in the car with you; your best friend and your younger sister. That day 2 souls came to rest and 1 to suffer in hell.

After you woke up in not your body you absolutely freaked out. Where were you? Where is my younger sister? What time is it? I'm hungry. Were you.. Dead?

Behind your laying body stood the "Happy Hotel" where souls are suppose to get rehabilated. You had no other choice then to go there.

3 knocks could be heard across the main hall suggesting that someone is waiting behind the door. A pretty blonde woman opened the door and seemed extremely excited to see you.

She introduced herself as Charlie, the owner of the hotel and the Princess of hell. Charlie explained that you ended in hell and how things work here. You were absolutely terrified.. What did you that you ended here?

But then it hit you. Your father robbed the store multiple times and didn't get caught. You were suppose to keep it a secret and you did. You should've report it to the police.

Charlie also said that you could stay here for as long as you wish, on 1 condition; you would have to help in any way you can. A free place to stay and a nice owner? Of course you agreed instantly.

When Charlie was walking you to your new room you felt awfully uncomfortable.. Like you were watched. You're terrified at this point 'couse you just realised where you are.

Everything is happening so fast that you don't know what's even going on. But before you could realise anything a deer-like creature is standing right infront of you.

You looked up at the tall creature before you with fear in your eyes. None of you said anything. His red eyes staring at you, almost like you were his prey and he was your predator. He was smiling. Why the hell was he always smiling like nothing has ever happen?

How could you look at him the same when he had left you heartbroken like that?

How could you forgive him for everything he'd done?

How could you act like everything was fine when it wasn't?

-"Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" - The fear in your eyes slowly turning into anger and sorrow. - You promised me you'd write back to me. Then tell me why didn't i receive anything?

His eyes narrowed and his smile grew bigger. -"What letters?" - His voice sounding like an old radio. The static was ringing in yours ears, causing you a headache. -"I never received any of your letters, dear."

-"Stop lying to me, Alastor." - You quickly interrupted his sentence. -"I wrote to you everyday, hoping for a response from you. Tell me, why didn't you fulfil our promise?"

-"I would-" - He was interrupted once again. This time by the owner of the hotel. She walked up to you two with an excited face, screaming your name.

She slowed down as she saw who you were talking to. Her excited smile slowly turned into an more nervous one.

-" I see you two already met each other." - Charlie said focusing more on Alastor, hoping that he didn't do anything stupid. - "In case that he didn't introduce himself his name is Alastor. But I'm sure you've already heard of him. I just came her to say that your room is ready."

You thanked Charlie as you were truly grateful for everything she already has done for you. Without her you would probably be homeless, just waiting to get killed in the next extermination. Soon enough Charlie completely ignored Alastor, dragging you along to introduce to you everyone in the hotel.

-" So that was Niffty! We're 80% sure she's harmless. And this is the bar and the bartender" - She said pointing on an avian cat demon, absolutely screaming with excitement. But can you really blame her? You were her second true guest!

The demon behind the bar just looked at you for a second turning back around to whatever he was doing.

-"Oh! Vaggie here!!"- She said waving at a girl with long white hair with a jagged, moth-like shape to the cut, with gray-lavender stripes at the ends. Charlie quickly introduced her too. -" And this is my girlfriend, Vaggie."

Vaggie just gave you a slight smile while telling Charlie that they should talk in private. Apologising Charlie said that she was going to be right back.

So now you were left all alone in the lobby. You decided to sit on the couch to think about everything that has just happened.

"Okay so there's an afterlife and i'm not so surprisingly in hell. Im in a place filled with crazy psychos.." You pinched the bridge of your nose. Looking around at your surroundings, hoping that this is all a dream. "Some surprisingly happy woman allowed me to stay at her hotel for as long as i want to. And in this hotel there's my childhood bestfriend. Amazing."

-"Fucking amazing" - You said out loud as you heard Charlie coming back wanting to continue the tour.

｡‧₊༻

You woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Getting up and throwing a blanket on yourself you yelled that they should come in.

And he did.

-"What are you doing here, Alastor?"- You looked at him with anger in your eyes. "- I don't want to see you."

-" Well, dearest." - He paused thinking how he should put it in words. -" I just wanted to make few things clear beetwen us."

- "We haven't seen each others in years and here you are being mad at me because you didn't keep our little promise."

- "I didn't keep it?" - You got up from your sitting position on your bed and started to slowly walk up to him. -" I always stayed up late at night writing letters to you every-fucking-day. I thought that you would care just a little to write back to maybe I don't fucking one. Atleast one letter?"

-" As i said earlier, i didn't receive any letters."- He looked at you calmly with his signature smile -"However I'd like to know your excuse to not responding to my letters."

-"I didn't receive any letters Alastor!" - God, you were so mad at him. He truly broke your heart. You liked him.. No you lived him for such a long time. He was your first crush and now? He was just a fucking manipulator. - Why the fuck are you lying to me?

-"I'd like to discuss this matter calmly." - He said referring to you cussing him in every sentence and your unstoppable yelling. - How about I'll take you to a cafe, my treat.

After considering his offer you agreed. You really needed to know what happened between you two and if he was really lying. It was quite dumb for you to just assume he was a liar without any proof but I guess it was the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

This morning you borrowed a dress from Charlie becouse you didn't have any other clothes then the ones that you've fallen in. It was a black dress just below your knees with an sweetheart neckline. She also borrowed you her jewelry so now you're also wearing a golden necklace.

The time of day has come and Alastor knocked to your bedroom once again. This time you opened the door closing it behind, ready to go.

Alastor snapping his finger teleported both of you to a nearby cafe. Coming in and gesturing you to chose a table. After you choose one he pulled out the chair for you and took a seat before you.

-"So dear."- He looked up at you -"That dress really compliments your figure."

-"Thank you however it isn't mine. Now I'd like you to explain what happened?"

-"I don't know what you're talking about, darling. "- Oh now he is acting dumb?

-" I'll ask one last time. Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" - You asked, this time calmly. Crossing your arms.

-"and I'll say one last time. I didn't receive them."- He said looking out of the window, seeing demons suffer. -"I always thought that you didn't write them, that you've forgotten about me."

-"I'd never forget you, Alastor. You meant a lot for me."- You responded looking out of the window as well -"I couldn't imagine life without you. That's why I was truly heartbroken when i didn't ses you write back."

-"I was writing to you, so many times. In fact i always wrote to you on the end of every week." - He confessed - "For over 15 years."

-"But i didn't receive anything?"

-"Neither did i, dear"- Maybe it was the wrong address? Maybe I just didn't know how to send letters? Maybe I didn't actually send them?

-"So.. I'm sorry I'm so embarrassed right now." - You looked at your lap fidgeting with your fingers -"I should have never yelled at you like. It was very immature of me to accuse you of something you didn't do."

-"That's fine, darling"- he said looking back at you lowering his tone a bit -"Everything is fine between us?"

You looked at him with hope in your eyes. Oh how much you wanted to bring things to normal, how it was earlier when you were kids. -"Yeah everything is fine."

-"Smile my dear. You know you're never fully dressed without one!"

[95rkives]

mission impossible⼂pjm

summary: a deadly mission. a stolen prototype. two lethal agents, forced to confront not just their enemies, but each other.

parings: spy!jimin x assasin!fem!reader

genre/warnings: strangers!au, forced proximity, e2l, banter, slow burn-ish, light violence (and a little blood, no major gore), tension, unresolved sexual tension, slight angst, fluff

wc: 13k

a/n: let’s ignore my 10 month old hiatus!!!! lmk your thoughts and feedback, ive never experimented with this genre before! english is not my first language and im not a professional, i do this for funsies, so! apologies for any grammar mistakes or potential plot holes. enjoy! ♡

VANGUARD HEADQUARTERS ────── LAST WEEK

Park Jimin sits at the head of the table, one ankle casually crossed over his knee, a picture of poise and control. His sharp black suit fits perfectly, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at ease without sacrificing professionalism. He looks up from the file in his hand, expression impassive but eyes calculating. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an edge to him, something about the way his fingers tap once on the armrest that speaks to the power he holds.

Across from him sits Director Kang Hyun, the head of a covert agency known as The Vanguard, a group so secret even world leaders pretend they don’t exist. Kang, a man in his mid-50s with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual frown, slides another folder across the table toward Jimin.

“This is a priority, Park,” Kang says, his tone clipped. “Classified as Omega Level. No room for error.”

Jimin picks up the folder with a gloved hand, his sharp eyes scanning the contents. His lips quirk slightly, though it’s hard to tell if it’s amusement or disbelief. “Omega Level? Over a scientist?”

Kang’s frown deepens. “Not just any scientist. Dr. Han Taejun is the lead developer of Project Helix. He’s been working on a prototype that—if weaponized—could destabilize global economies and governments overnight. Someone leaked his name to the black market.”

Jimin leans back, the leather of the chair creaking softly. His gaze flickers up, sharp and calculating. “And I assume someone put a price on his head?”

Kang nods grimly. “Fifty million. Every mercenary, assassin, and bounty hunter out there will be after him. We need you to ensure his safety until the prototype is destroyed.”

Jimin exhales slowly through his nose, resting the folder on his knee. “Fifty million. That’s ambitious.” His voice is smooth, laced with sarcasm. “But I assume I’m worth at least double that to you, given that you’ve dragged me off my well-deserved vacation for this.”

Kang doesn’t take the bait. “You’re the best we have, Park. This mission demands precision, skill, and someone with the ability to keep their head in high-pressure situations. No one else fits the bill.”

“You mean no one else was dumb enough to take it,” Jimin retorts, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Kang’s mouth twitches, but he lets it slide. “Dr. Han will be attending the Global Security Summit in Jeju next week. He believes he’s there to pitch his research, but in reality, he’s a walking target. Your cover is simple—you’re his new bodyguard, recently assigned by his sponsors. You’re there to keep him alive, discreetly.”

Jimin stands, buttoning his suit jacket in one fluid motion. “Anything else I should know?”

Kang hesitates, just for a moment. “We’ve already intercepted chatter that suggests at least one high-profile assassin has accepted the bounty. Codename: Eclipse.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Eclipse? Subtle. Sounds like the kind of person who doesn’t bother hiding the bodies.”

“They don’t have to,” Kang says grimly. “Eclipse has never failed a job. They’re efficient, meticulous, and utterly ruthless. If they’re coming for Dr. Han, you’ll need to stay one step ahead at all times. Failure isn’t an option.”

Jimin’s smirk deepens, his confidence razor-sharp. “Failure’s never been an option for me, Director. Anything else?”

Kang glances toward the door, where another agent, Yoo Minho, steps in. Minho, younger and less seasoned than Jimin, offers a curt nod. He carries a briefcase filled with gear—encrypted phones, forged credentials, and a custom firearm.

“Minho will brief you on the rest of the logistics,” Kang says. “You leave in the morning.”

Jimin takes the folder under his arm and strides toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at Kang. “Tell Dr. Han to stay alive until I get there.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving only the faint scent of expensive cologne and a lingering air of quiet power behind him.

THE GLOBAL SECURITY SUMMIT ────── PRESENT DAY, JEJU ISLAND

The ballroom was a spectacle of wealth and power. Rows of crystal chandeliers hung low, refracting the soft glow of the ambient lighting onto polished marble floors. Distinguished guests mingled, their conversations blending into a hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and well-rehearsed charm.

He stood across the room, leaning against the bar with his scotch in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd without a hint of unease. His posture was relaxed, but beneath the polished appearance was a mind constantly on alert.

He watched Dr. Han’s conversation shift from casual to more animated as the woman beside him leaned in to speak. She was elegant, poised—her dark emerald gown clinging to her like a second skin, her hair styled in soft waves that framed her face perfectly. Her smile was disarming, her laughter light and captivating as she talked to him. The words they exchanged were inaudible, but the way she spoke—smooth, charming—hinted at someone who knew exactly how to make people feel important.

Jimin knew every attendee here, but her name was a mystery.

She seemed too polished to be a mere guest, and though Jimin had been briefed on the summit’s key players, she wasn’t on any of the guest lists.

He took a sip of his drink, keeping a watchful eye from a distance. She didn’t seem out of place—more like she belonged here just as much as the world leaders surrounding them. The scientist’s laugh had softened as the woman spoke again, leaning in closer, her words now completely inaudible.

Jimin, unbothered, finished the last of his drink before setting the glass down and making his way over to the round table where Dr. Han was seated. The chairs were arranged in an intimate, yet professional circle—Dr. Han was directly across from the woman, her attention entirely focused on him. Jimin took a step back and stood at the periphery of the group, close enough to overhear but far enough to not draw attention.

The woman’s voice was smooth, though there was a certain power beneath the charm in her words. Her laughter rippled like music, each laugh pulling Dr. Han deeper into the conversation.

“…I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about helix—it must be exciting to see your research gaining the attention it deserves,” she said, her voice lilting with warmth.

Dr. Han chuckled nervously, adjusting his glasses. “I—uh, I’m just glad to be here. I never thought my work would bring me this kind of attention.” He gestured awkwardly to the other guests at the table. “It’s a bit overwhelming, honestly.”

The woman smiled again, offering a sympathetic nod. “It’s more than deserved, Dr. Han. You’re a pioneer.” Her tone had shifted subtly, no longer just warm, but purposeful. Every word felt like it had been carefully crafted.

Jimin listened, his gaze never leaving her. As she spoke, she made sure to keep Dr. Han’s full attention, offering him the kind of undivided focus he clearly craved.

Dr. Han, for all his nervousness, was responding more comfortably now. She had expertly navigated the conversation to center on his work, subtly pulling him away from the noise of the event. It was exactly what someone in her position would do—earn trust, build rapport, and control the narrative.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed just slightly, though his expression remained neutral. He didn’t need to be suspicious just yet. If there was one thing he knew, it was that people like her weren’t just there for pleasantries.

As the conversation began to wind down, the woman stood, her long dress swishing behind her as she excused herself from the table. Dr. Han offered a polite smile as she left.

Jimin, ever the professional, followed her movements as she passed by him—no, bumped into him.

She turned slightly, flashing a warm smile that could disarm even the most guarded of hearts. “My apologies,” she said smoothly, her voice just the right mix of sweetness and confidence.

Jimin nodded, giving a polite but reserved smile in return. “No harm done,” he replied, watching her closely.

She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary—just long enough to leave a sense of intrigue. Then, with a soft laugh, she moved on, her charm fading as she disappeared into the crowd.

Jimin’s eyes lingered on her just a moment longer than necessary. The way she carried herself—poised, confident, almost effortlessly—left an impression that even his trained mind couldn’t immediately shake off.

His mouth lifted in amusement, turning his attention back to Dr. Han, making his way over to the table, completely unaware of her hasty exit—your hasty exit.

The soft laughter that had slipped so effortlessly from your lips faded into silence, your face hardening as you moved toward a discreet hallway behind the ballroom. The lavishness of the summit felt like a distant memory now, and the polished mask you wore began to fall away with every step.

Your fingers worked quickly to remove the pins in your hair, the once-perfectly arranged strands tumbling loose as you walked, the wig slipping off and into the trash with practiced efficiency.

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the mission settling over you like a second skin.

You lifted a hand to your ear, pressing a small button to activate your earpiece.

“Eclipse,” a voice crackled through the device, cold and clipped. “Status?”

Your voice was smooth and calm as you responded, moving with deliberate steps toward a discreet exit. “Mission accomplished. The target’s been assessed, and I’ve secured the keys.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before the voice came back, slightly more satisfied. “Good work. You know what to do next.”

Your lips curved into a small, knowing smile as you glanced down at the small, subtle item now in your possession—the keys to Dr. Han Taejun’s resort.

“I’d like to stick around a little long—”

Your earpiece crackled immediately, Lee Yun’s, familiar voice was laced with annoyance. “Y/n, you know better than to linger. Get the job done and leave.”

You turned the corner, your heels clicking faster now, already outside. “Damn, way to ruin my fun,”

As you slipped into a car—an executives car of no importance—you vanished as quickly as an eclipse, leaving no trace behind but for a slight disturbance.

A man from Han’s table—one of the said executives—had suddenly stiffened in his seat. His hand trembled uncontrollably, and before anyone could react, the glass of whiskey he’d been holding slipped from his fingers, spilling across the table and into his lap.

A murmur of confusion spread through the group, and before Jimin can react, a second man from the same table, pale and sweating, gripped his chest, his breathing shallow. He collapsed forward slightly, knocking over his own glass in the process.

Then a third.

Panic breaks loose.

Jimin’s pulse quickened, his eyes darting across the room as his mind connected the dots. The timing wasn’t a coincidence—something was wrong, and the answers were sitting at that table.

He strode forward, his movements purposeful, his body tense with the certainty that something far more dangerous was unfolding.

Jimin’s hand shot out, smacking the glass from Dr. Han’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Han sputtered, his eyes wide with confusion.

Jimin’s voice was low and commanding, filled with urgency. “Did you drink any?”

Dr. Han blinked, still dazed by the scene unfolding before him. “No, just water—what’s happening?”

Jimin’s gaze narrowed, his suspicions confirmed. The drinks had been spiked.

In a swift motion, Jimin grabbed Dr. Han’s arm, pulling him away from the table. “Don’t touch anything. We need to get you out of here—now.”

The sound of frantic whispers rose around them as people scrambled to assess the situation. The room was descending into chaos, and Jimin was already moving.

As he guided the scientist away, his mind was working quickly, calculating the odds and piecing together the puzzle. Someone in this room had just made their move. The drinks had been poisoned.

Jimin’s eyes flicked over to where you had disappeared moments earlier. You were gone now, but the timing had been almost too perfect.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. The priority was getting Dr. Han to safety, ensuring that the summit’s attendees didn’t descend into complete disorder.

The car hummed quietly as it sped down the winding road, its headlights cutting through the dark of the night. Dr. Han, still in a state of panic, jabbered incessantly beside Jimin, barely taking a breath between his words.

“I can’t believe this is happening—this is a disaster! People died! What if we’ve been compromised?” Dr. Han was a mess, his face pale, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched his hair.

Jimin’s fingers drummed impatiently against the steering wheel, his mind already working on overdrive. He didn’t have the luxury to deal with Han’s spiraling panic.

“Can you please… calm down?” Jimin’s voice was sharp, his gaze focused on the road ahead. He was trying to ignore the growing sense of urgency gnawing at him. His mind kept flicking back to the last few minutes.

With one hand firmly on the wheel, Jimin reached into his pocket, fingers slipping past his wallet, phone, and everything else. He cursed under his breath when he realized the keys weren’t there.

“Where the hell are the damn keys?” he muttered, rummaging through the compartment between the seats, frustration creeping in as Dr. Han’s voice continued to babble beside him.

“Jimin, do you think we can salvage this? We have to warn the others, we—”

But Jimin wasn’t listening. His mind was elsewhere now, a flash from earlier replaying in his head—the way she had brushed past him, that brief, calculated touch as her fingers had grazed him.

Fuck.

Jimin’s stomach twisted as he connected the dots. You were the culprit. His grip tightened on the wheel, and he cursed again, muttering to himself. “What a fool.”

Minutes later, the car screeched to a halt outside the grand entrance of Dr. Han’s resort. The place loomed large, the expensive lights and architecture far too flashy for Jimin’s taste. But none of that mattered now.

As they exited the car, Dr. Han was still rambling, but Jimin had already started up the stairs toward the door. His instincts were razor-sharp, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

The door slammed open with a loud crash, the force of it sending the ornate frame rattling against the wall. Jimin stormed into the room and you jolted in surprise, the files in your hands nearly slipping.

The moment your eyes met his, something in the air shifted. Your breath caught in your throat for a split second, but only for that split second. Then, you exhaled slowly, a mock relief crossing your features.

“Well,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “look who decided to show up.” You straightened, effortlessly regaining your composure as you glanced at Dr. Han, who was still standing in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Your gaze narrowed, suddenly sharp. Dr. Han was still alive.

A smooth, almost imperceptible wave of irritation rippled through you, but you hid it well, keeping your elegance intact. You took a slow step forward, your eyes fixed on Han as your fingers tightened around the files. The faintest sigh escaped your lips, more from disappointment than anger.

“Well. Isn’t this just a stroke of luck?” you said, voice low and full of mockery.

“You were behind this,” Jimin said, his voice quiet but sharp, accusing. He crossed the room with calculated steps, his hand on the gun holstered at his waist. It was instinct now—he'd learned to trust it above all else.

“Oh, Agent Park,” you drawled, as if you were addressing a child who had finally figured out the punchline. “You’re really not as quick as I thought.” You paused, eyeing him for a long moment, before the smirk on your lips turned colder. “Rather foolish,”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around his weapon. “You really think you’re walking out of here with those files?”

Your fingers drummed lightly on the manila folder as you feigned thought. “Well, considering you haven’t stopped me yet, I’d say my chances are looking pretty good.”

Before he could retort, you moved. The folder slipped from your hand as you lunged forward, aiming a precise kick toward his torso. He dodged easily, twisting to the side, but you were already following up with another attack, your fist slicing toward his jaw.

Jimin blocked it, his hand snapping up to catch your wrist. His grip was firm—stronger than you anticipated—but you didn’t hesitate. You twisted your body, using his hold to leverage a kick toward his side. He grunted, barely avoiding the blow as he released your wrist and stepped back.

Behind him, Dr. Han yelped as he tried to shuffle out of the way, nearly tripping over a chair in his haste to hide.

Jimin ignored him, his attention fully on you as you both circled each other.

“You’re better than I thought,” Jimin admitted, his tone almost teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, letting out a breathless laugh. “What, did you think I’d be some amateur with a gun?”

You lunged again, this time aiming for his legs. He caught you mid-movement, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. For a brief moment, your back was pressed against his chest, his grip like iron.

“Sloppy,” he murmured near your ear, his voice low and maddeningly smug. “was an option,”

You scoffed, slamming your elbow into his ribs. The impact forced him to loosen his hold, and you slipped free, stumbling slightly in your dress. The long satin fabric caught on your heel, making you curse under your breath as you regained your balance.

“Damn dress,”

Jimin smirked, his eyes flicking to the offending fabric. “Want me to wait while you fix that?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you shot back, reaching down to grab the hem. With a single, sharp tug, you ripped the bottom half of the dress clean off, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room. “Fixed.”

In one fluid motion, you twisted the length of satin in your hands, stepping behind him with surprising speed and looping the fabric around his neck. You pulled tight, forcing him back against your chest.

“Still think I’m sloppy?” you whispered, your breath warm against his ear.

Jimin grunted, his hands flying to the makeshift garrote as he struggled against your hold. “I said—” he ground out, his tone still infuriatingly calm. “It was an option.”

Jimin shifted his weight, using his momentum to spin you both around. The movement caught you off guard, and you stumbled again, losing your grip on the fabric.

Jimin tossed it aside, his breathing was heavier now, his usually pristine hair slightly mussed. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Before you could reply, a sharp crackle filled your ears, cutting through the tension like a blade. Both of you froze as the sound of a voice echoed through your earpieces.

“Stand down.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar voice. It wasn’t from your team, and by the sight of Jimin’s expression—It wasn’t from his either.

“What—” you started, but the voice interrupted.

“Your mission parameters have changed. You’ve been fooled.” The voice continued, cold and detached.

Jimin’s gaze snapped to you, his expression unreadable. “What?!”

You frowned, pressing a hand to your earpiece. “What the hell is this?”

The voice didn’t answer your question. Instead, it delivered the final blow:

“Welcome to Jeju. You’re both trapped.”

DR. HAN'S RESORT SUITE ────── JEJU ISLAND

The living area of the resort suite was in a state of tense disarray. The remnants of the fight still lingered. Jimin sat on one end of the couch, his posture stiff but deceptively calm, his black suit jacket removed and sleeves rolled up. You sat opposite him, perched on the arm of the other couch, as though sitting down fully would be conceding something.

Dr. Han was slumped in a chair near the minibar, dabbing his forehead with a napkin and muttering complaints under his breath.

On the coffee table, Jimin’s laptop glowed with the faces of their respective superiors on a video call.

Director Kang Hyun, and Chief Lee Yun. A woman with a razor-sharp gaze and an unsettling air of calm precision.

Both were flanked by a third man—Chairman Seo, the shadowy voice in both your earpieces. His face was now visible, a seasoned operative with a silver beard and piercing eyes that seemed to weigh both of you from the screen. He was the head of a covert task force that occasionally roped in the best from opposing organizations for shared global interests.

Chairman Seo’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “You’re both asking the wrong questions.”

You crossed your arms, one brow arching. “You’ll have to forgive me, Chairman, but the right questions are hard to find when we’re blindsided by whatever this is.”

Jimin shot you a warning glance, his jaw tightening. “Be quiet.”

“Let her talk,” Kang Hyun interjected, his tone clipped. “She’s not wrong to demand answers.”

Seo leaned back in his chair on the screen. “What you’ve stumbled into isn’t just a mission gone awry. It’s a carefully orchestrated trap. Dr. Han Taejun’s prototype is at the center of it, yes, but you and Agent Park are now the real targets.”

Jimin straightened, his voice razor-sharp. “Explain.”

Chief Lee Yun smiled faintly, her voice cold but almost amused as she turned her gaze toward you, just as you came into view beside Jimin. “We received intelligence that an organization we’ve codenamed Specter has been monitoring both of you for months. Not just your movements, but your operations, aliases, and even your failures. They’ve been gathering data, testing your limits.”

You frowned. “And now they want us why? To swap notes on our favorite combat moves?”

Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Kang Hyun chimed in. “This isn’t about you as individuals. It’s about what you represent.” He circled a finger around the screen. “The prototype Dr. Han developed isn’t just a piece of tech. It’s biometrically locked—coded to work only with specific DNA patterns and neural signatures.”

You stiffened, a chill running down your spine. “And?”

“And Specter has identified both of you as viable keys to activate it,” Kang Hyun said flatly.

The weight of the revelation hung in the air. Dr. Han let out a nervous laugh. “That’s absurd! I only tested the biometrics on—” He froze mid-sentence, his eyes darting to Jimin and then to you. “Oh.”

You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes at the doctor. “What. Did. You. Do?”

Dr. Han stammered. “It was years ago! Preliminary tests—I didn’t know who they were using as test subjects. I didn’t even know about you until tonight!”

Jimin shot him a glare, his voice dangerously low. “Start talking, or I’ll throw you back out there and let Specter finish the job.”

Dr. Han shrank into his chair. “It’s true! The prototype requires dual authentication: one biological key and one neural signature. I didn’t choose the parameters—it was the funding organization. And they must have used your profiles from previous missions to calibrate it!”

You stood abruptly, pacing near the couch, the weight of it all settling in. “So, what? They need us alive to power this thing?”

Chairman Seo’s voice interrupted, calm and cold. “Precisely. And Specter doesn’t just want the prototype—they want to eliminate both of you afterward to ensure no loose ends.”

Jimin sat forward, his elbows on his knees, a spark of frustration in his tone. “What’s the prototype’s purpose? What’s worth all of this?”

Kang Hyun’s voice dropped lower. “That information is above your clearance level. What you need to know is that you and Eclipse are now Specter’s primary targets. You’re staying in Jeju under lockdown until we secure an extraction plan.”

“Lockdown?” you repeated incredulously, turning toward the laptop. “I’m not staying in one place waiting for them to come to me.”

Lee Yun tilted her head, unimpressed. “You’ll stay put, Eclipse. That’s an order.”

You scoffed. “I don’t take orders.”

Jimin, for the first time in a while, smirked faintly, the edge of his sarcasm breaking through. “Clearly. You don’t follow plans either.”

You shot him a glare. “You’re one to talk. I’m not the one who got robbed in the middle of a ballroom.”

Dr. Han let out a nervous laugh, which earned him a dual glare from both of you. He quickly looked away.

Chairman Seo sighed. “Enough. Your job now is to work together. Use your combined skills to track down Specter’s operatives on Jeju, protect Dr. Han, and ensure the prototype is destroyed.”

The morning light poured into the resort suite, golden and unforgiving. The chaos of the previous night was a distant memory, though its echoes lingered in the form of tense silence. Dr. Han was still asleep in one of the adjoining rooms, mercifully quiet for the first time since this whole ordeal began.

Jimin sat at the dining table, his laptop open once again, displaying a digital map of Jeju Island. He was impeccably put together, as always, in a crisp black shirt and dark slacks that made it seem like he had slept with a plan. His expression was focused but unreadable, the sharp lines of his face betraying no hint of the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Beside him, you leaned back in your chair, legs crossed, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand as you studied the screen. You had swapped the evening gown for a simple black outfit—still tactical but casual, perfectly suited for disappearing into a crowd. Your movements were relaxed, but your eyes were sharp, flicking over the map and its markers.

“Alright, Agent Park,” you said, breaking the silence, your tone light but edged with sarcasm. “You’re the strategist. Where do we start?”

Jimin didn’t even glance up, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulled up another window. “I don’t need your commentary. Just focus.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping your coffee. “How charming.”

Jimin finally looked at you, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Specter’s people aren’t going to wait for us to figure this out. If they set this up as a trap, they’re already moving. That gives us two priorities: protecting Han and neutralizing their network on Jeju before they close in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Neutralize? Do you want to define that for me, Agent Park? Because last I checked, our methods are a little… different.”

His lips quirked in a faint smirk, but his tone stayed serious. “I mean track, disarm, and eliminate. Or would you rather I sit back and let you play dress-up again?”

You leaned forward slightly, setting your coffee down and matching his gaze. “I don’t ‘play,’ Park. And if we’re talking about eliminations, let’s not pretend you’ve never gotten your hands dirty.”

He didn’t flinch, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Good. Then you’ll keep up.”

Jimin gestured at the screen, where he had highlighted several key locations on the map. “These are Specter’s likely operational zones. High-traffic areas with enough cover to stay hidden: markets, coastal docks, and even a few luxury resorts like this one. They’re careful, but they’re not invisible.”

You tilted your head, studying the data. “If they’re working in teams, they’ll need a central base. Somewhere they can coordinate, keep tabs on us, and store equipment. It won’t be in plain sight.”

“Agreed,” Jimin replied, switching to a new screen with surveillance footage from the hotel lobby. “We’ll start with this place. The trap was sprung here—it’s their most obvious point of contact. They wouldn’t leave without setting up surveillance.”

Your gaze flicked to the footage, your mind working through the possibilities. “They’ll have layers. Spotters outside, someone posing as staff, and at least one exit strategy for whoever’s on the ground.”

Jimin glanced at you, an almost imperceptible flicker of approval crossing his face. “You’ve done this before.”

“Shocking, I know,” you replied dryly, leaning back again. “You’ve got the intel. I’ve got the instincts. Maybe this partnership won’t be a total waste of time.”

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the faint hum of the laptop and the soft rustle of papers as Jimin pulled out a printed list of known Specter associates.

“Let’s be clear,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I don’t trust you.”

You smirked, unbothered. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“This isn’t a game,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours. “You step out of line, you compromise this mission, and I won’t hesitate to shut you down. Got it?”

You leaned forward again, resting your chin on your hand, your smile turning sharper. “Park Jimin, the consummate professional. I wouldn’t dream of crossing you.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t take the bait. “Good.”

The door to the adjoining room creaked open, and Dr. Han shuffled in, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a mess, and he clutched a half-empty bottle of water like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Are you two always this insufferable?” he muttered, plopping down into a chair.

“Only when we’re forced to work together,” you said with a saccharine smile, earning a glare from Jimin.

Han groaned, running a hand down his face. “Please tell me you have a plan that doesn’t involve me getting shot, poisoned, or blown up.”

“We’re working on it,” Jimin replied curtly, already turning back to his laptop.

Han waved a hand weakly. “Fantastic. Let me know if you need me to not die again. I’m getting coffee.”

Just as Han stumbled toward the kitchenette, Jimin’s laptop chimed with an alert. He frowned, clicking on the notification.

“What is it?” you asked, leaning closer.

He pulled up a message from his agency’s encrypted system. It was a forwarded report from surveillance operatives stationed at Jeju’s eastern docks. The note was brief but urgent:

Specter movement detected. High-value cargo incoming. Dock 7. ETA: 10:00 AM.

Jimin glanced at the time in the corner of his screen. It was already 9:20.

“Looks like we’ve got a lead,” he said, shutting the laptop and standing.

You grabbed your coffee cup, draining the last of it as you rose to your feet. “Finally. Let’s see if you’re as good as your reputation, Agent Park.”

He shot you a sidelong glance as he grabbed his jacket. “Try to keep up, Eclipse.”

The sun was high now, casting long shadows over the eastern docks of Jeju. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater and the metallic tang of industry, mingling with the distant hum of machinery. It was a far cry from the luxury resort they’d just left behind, and neither Jimin nor you had the time to appreciate the contrast.

The two of you moved as one, keeping your distance from the guards at the entrance to the docks, but maintaining a near-perfect alignment as you closed in on your target.

Han, in contrast, had insisted on tagging along. It wasn’t a surprise. He’d made it clear, over a dozen grumbling conversations, that he wouldn’t just sit on the sidelines while his assets were in danger.

“Stay out of the way,” you muttered under your breath as you glanced over your shoulder to see Dr. Han struggling to keep up.

“Try not to get killed,” Jimin added, eyes sharp as he scanned the perimeter.

You shot him a look but said nothing, the words hanging between you like an unspoken challenge.

As you reached the corner of the dock, Jimin signaled for silence. His finger went to his earpiece, listening intently.

“They're unloading at Dock 7. Time to move.”

You slid into place behind a stack of crates, your posture tense as you watched the men moving in and out of a cargo ship. They were fast and efficient, no sign of hesitation in their movements.

You could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on you. If Specter was behind this, there were no mistakes. There was no second chance.

Jimin crouched beside you, his voice barely a whisper. “We need to confirm the cargo. If we’re right about this, it’s not just weapons.”

You nodded, your eyes narrowing as you observed the men unloading crates—too many crates for just arms, and none marked with labels that would’ve made the transport easier. These weren’t just mercenaries. This was something much bigger.

The thought lingered in the air like a bad omen.

Before you could voice your suspicions, a guard moved too close for comfort. You held your breath, your hand instinctively reaching for the knife at your side. The man was only a few feet away. Too close.

“Shit,” Jimin muttered. He’d seen the same thing.

Before you could act, though, the guard’s radio crackled, and he stepped away, heading toward a higher-ranking officer nearby.

“Lucky,” you muttered, pulling back and settling into a better position.

Jimin didn’t even acknowledge you, his focus razor-sharp as he eyed the next move. “Stay close. We’re going in.”

The moment you moved toward the dock, everything went wrong.

The ground beneath you seemed to tremble with the sound of engines revving, and before you knew it, the sight of a dozen armed men appeared from every direction. Specter’s operatives had anticipated your every step.

“You!” One of the men shouted.

You cursed under your breath, reaching for your weapons, but Jimin was already several steps ahead of you. His hand was at his holster in an instant, a small arsenal of tactics running through his mind.

“Get to the ship!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “I’ll cover you.”

You didn’t hesitate. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you darted toward the cargo ship. The dock erupted into chaos—gunfire, shouts, the deafening clang of metal against metal. Half of the operatives split off to focus on you, leaving Jimin to deal with the rest.

You darted behind the stacked crates, moving like a ghost through the maze of metal and shadows. The operatives pursuing you weren’t amateurs, but they didn’t have your precision or your instincts. The first one came too close, and you struck swiftly—silent, deadly, efficient. Your blade slid across his throat in a clean arc before he could even react.

Another man approached, and you dropped low, your body moving in a fluid spin as you tripped him, his weapon clattering to the ground. Before he could recover, you plunged your knife into his chest, pulling it free with practiced ease.

“Two down,” you muttered to yourself, your gaze shifting back toward the ship.

The cargo was just ahead. You could see the crates—unmarked and suspiciously nondescript. You wasted no time, pulling one of the lids open with the crowbar you’d snagged earlier. Your heart sank at the sight inside: military-grade tech, weapons, and—most concerning—several vials of an unidentified substance, glowing faintly under the dim lighting.

“Well, that’s not concerning at all,” you muttered sarcastically, tucking the files securely under your arm and pocketing one of the smaller vials for evidence.

Meanwhile, gunfire rang out from Jimin’s side of the dock. You stole a glance over your shoulder to see him in action. He moved like a dancer, every strike precise, every shot purposeful. His combat was a performance of raw skill and unshakable confidence.

A sharp whistle from one of the operatives drew your attention back. They were regrouping, and you were losing time. You pulled the lid back onto the crate and moved swiftly toward the rendezvous point, dispatching another man on your way with a single shot to the head.

By the time you returned, Jimin was standing among a pile of dead operatives, his breathing heavy, blood seeping from a shallow cut on his temple. He didn’t even glance your way as he muttered, “Took you long enough.”

“I’d apologize, but I was busy doing your job,” you quipped, waving the files in your hand. “You’ll love what I found.”

Before Jimin could respond, a trembling voice called out from behind a stack of barrels. “I-Is it safe? Are they gone?”

Dr. Han peeked out, his face pale and sweat dripping down his brow. He looked like he was seconds away from collapsing.

Jimin sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath. “Han, let’s go.”

The doctor stumbled forward, hugging himself like a lifeline as the three of you moved quickly.

The resort was eerily quiet when you returned, the lavish surroundings at odds with the chaos you’d just left behind. In the dim light of Dr. Han’s suite, you finally allowed yourself to exhale, dropping into one of the chairs by the table as Jimin locked the door behind you.

Dr. Han disappeared into a corner, muttering something about needing water, but you paid him no mind. Your focus was on Jimin, who had pulled off his jacket and was inspecting the gash on his arm. Blood stained the fabric of his sleeve, and the cut looked deep enough to warrant attention.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to the couch.

“I’m fine,” he replied, brushing you off as he moved toward his laptop to pull up the files you’d retrieved.

“Sit,” you repeated, your tone sharper this time. “You’re bleeding everywhere. I’m not in the mood to deal with you passing out from blood loss.”

He paused, his jaw tightening slightly, before he finally relented. Dropping onto the couch, he let out a frustrated sigh as you grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom.

The silence was thick as you worked, the only sound the occasional hiss of pain from Jimin when you dabbed at the wound.

“You’re not bad at this,” he muttered, breaking the tension.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” you replied dryly, not looking up as you worked.

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Is modesty one of them?”

You rolled your eyes, finishing the bandage with a sharp tug that earned a wince from him. “I’m sorry, was that too tight? My hands must have slipped.”

“Right,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

The banter faded into a quieter moment as you cleaned up the supplies, neither of you saying much. It wasn’t awkward, though—just a pause.

“You did good back there,” he said eventually, his voice softer than before. “At the docks.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Don’t sound so shocked. I’m always good.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you shot back, standing up.

The faintest smile lingered on his face as he watched you move back toward the bathroom.

DR. HAN'S RESORT SUITE ────── LATER THAT NIGHT

The resort suite was dimly lit, the only sources of illumination being the glow from Jimin’s laptop screen and the city lights bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The coffee table was cluttered—scattered documents, a half-empty bag of mixed nuts, an unopened can of soda, and the single, ominous vial you had pocketed from the cargo shipment.

Jimin sat on the couch, his posture relaxed but his focus razor-sharp, skimming through the stolen files while idly popping a cashew into his mouth. The bandages on his temple and arm were fresh, his sleeves rolled up as if he had already accepted that the night was far from over.

You were perched on the other end of the couch, one leg tucked under you as you flipped through another set of documents, your mind turning over the implications of what you’d learned earlier.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Biometrically locked. Neural signatures. Specter’s been tracking us for months, maybe longer.” You shook a peanut in your hand before eating it. “Can’t say I love the idea of being a walking keycard.”

Jimin exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh but close. “Yeah, well. We’ve been called worse.”

You shot him a look, then gestured toward the files. “We’re missing something. What do you have so far?”

He scrolled through a decrypted document. “According to this—and what Lee Yun said already—Specter needs specific people to activate it. Us.” His voice was even, but there was an undercurrent of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Which means,” you said slowly, leaning forward, “they knew exactly how this was going to play out.”

Jimin nodded. “They knew we’d both be assigned to track the prototype.” He glanced at you. “You ever get the feeling you’ve been played from the start?”

You scoffed. “Welcome to my entire career.”

A beat of silence.

You reached for the vial on the table, rolling it between your fingers, watching the faint glow pulse beneath the glass. “This was in the cargo.”

Jimin watched you closely. “What do you think it is?”

“No idea,” you admitted, setting it down. “But something about it feels... wrong. If Specter is going this far to get the prototype operational, maybe this is part of the equation.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just watched the vial before shifting his focus back to the files. “There has to be a location,” he muttered. “A lead. Something.”

You grabbed a handful of almonds, chewing thoughtfully as you skimmed the documents. The two of you worked in tandem, silent except for the occasional rustling of paper or the quiet click of Jimin’s laptop keys.

Then, something clicked.

You tapped a page with your finger. “Here. This facility—Yongwan Research Lab. It’s mentioned multiple times in connection to the prototype’s early development.” You looked up. “If they were testing it on people, there has to be a database.”

Jimin scanned the section you pointed at, then nodded slowly. “And if we find that database—”

“We find out exactly how deep Specter’s operation goes.”

Your eyes met across the couch, the weight of realization settling in. This wasn’t just about stopping Specter anymore. It was about understanding what had been done to you—what they had taken, without either of you knowing.

Jimin sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching for another handful of nuts. “Yongwan it is.”

You smirked, tossing a peanut at him. He caught it easily, flicking you an unimpressed look before eating it anyway.

“Try to keep up, Agent Park,” you said, standing and stretching.

He watched you for a second longer than necessary before exhaling and shutting his laptop. “Yeah, yeah. Get some rest while you can. We leave at first light.”

You nodded, glancing at the files one last time before heading toward your room. But just before you disappeared down the hall, you heard Jimin’s voice, softer this time.

“Eclipse.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder.

His expression was unreadable. “We’ll figure this out.”

Something in his tone made you believe him.

You gave him a small nod before vanishing into the shadows of the suite.

The early morning sun stretched across Jeju’s coastline, painting the road in soft gold as the car sped along the empty highway. The tension from the night before had eased—just slightly—replaced with a comfortable, unspoken truce.

Jimin drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift, his wrist flicking idly as he drummed his fingers. His injuries from yesterday weren’t bothering him, but the bruises along his jaw and the bandage on his temple made him look a little more rugged than usual. Not that he seemed to care.

You were leaned back in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, flipping through a set of decrypted files on a tablet. The stolen vial sat in the center console, catching glimmers of sunlight each time the car turned.

“Tell me something,” Jimin mused, glancing at you before focusing back on the road.

You hummed distractedly, still scanning the files. “Like?”

Jimin smirked. “Something real. Something about you.”

You snorted, finally looking up. “That’s vague. Try again.”

“Alright,” he said easily, tilting his head slightly as if considering his next move. “Your name.”

You blinked. “You already know my name.”

“No, I know Eclipse,” he countered, throwing a quick glance your way. “I want to know what they called you before you became that.”

You clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest, but something in his voice made you hesitate.

Still, you smirked. “You first.”

Jimin let out a small laugh. “You already know my name.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “I meant, you first—tell me something real.”

He considered that, the amusement never fully leaving his expression. Then, without looking at you, he admitted, “I hate peanut butter.”

You blinked. “That’s your deep revelation?”

“It’s real,” he defended, eyes flicking to you, smug.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. “Fine. Y/N,” you said finally, offering your real name as casually as you would an extra bullet clip.

Jimin’s fingers stilled against the gear shift. He let the syllables roll in his head for a beat before saying it aloud, slow, deliberate. “Y/N.”

You didn’t react.

Then he smirked. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

You scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know,” he teased, drumming his fingers again. “You don’t strike me as a Y/N.”

“You’re impossible.”

You exhaled through your nose, pretending to be annoyed, but truthfully, you didn’t mind this back-and-forth. It was easier than the suffocating tension from before.

So you let yourself play along. “Alright, Park,” you mused. “If I don’t seem like a Y/N, what do I seem like?”

Jimin glanced at you, a slow smirk curving his lips. “Trouble.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head. “I should’ve known from the second you stole those keys.”

The lighthearted mood faded the moment the lab came into view.

From a distance, it didn’t look like much—just another of those cold, modern facilities nestled in the remote corners of the island. But the closer they got, the more you could feel it—something was off. The eerie quiet that surrounded the place, like a predator waiting to pounce.

Jimin pulled the car up to a secluded section near the side entrance, parking a little too neatly for your liking. He cut the engine, the car settling into a heavy silence.

You broke it first, stretching your legs out and taking a long, deep breath. "Well, this is it."

Jimin remained still for a moment, his fingers tapping against the wheel. The spark from earlier was gone from his eyes, replaced by something sharper, colder. His usual. He was ready for this, but he had to admit, this didn’t feel like another regular mission.

“Let’s make sure we have everything,” he said, his tone serious. He glanced at you. “You good?”

You nodded, tossing a quick glance at the tablet, where you’d been reviewing the facility layout earlier. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Just…don’t get too attached to anything in here, alright?”

Jimin shot you a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I wasn't planning on staying long."

You leaned forward, looking over the dashboard at the heavily guarded entrance in the distance. Armed men patrolled the area, and the high, barbed-wire fence made it clear this wasn’t an open-access kind of place. There was no doubt in your mind that whatever secrets were locked inside this facility, they were well protected.

You opened the glove compartment, pulling out a small toolkit, your fingers grazing over the equipment you’d need for the next few hours. "Let’s just make this quick, yeah?"

Jimin glanced over at you, his lips curling into a smirk. "I’d rather take my time."

You shot him a look that could cut glass, but there was no venom behind it.

The air between you was tense now, the banter fading as the gravity of the situation settled in. This was no longer just about tracking down Specter or retrieving the prototype. This was personal—something much bigger than either of you had anticipated.

Jimin took a deep breath and opened his door, stepping out with a fluid, practiced motion. His hand lingered on his gun holster for a moment, checking it one last time.

You followed, adjusting your jacket as you slid out of the car, your steps purposeful. Together, you approached the perimeter, the security of the lab becoming more apparent with each step. This wasn’t going to be easy.

As you neared the outer fence, you both instinctively crouched low, blending into the shadows. You pulled out a small gadget from your pocket, a high-tech jammer to disable the security cameras temporarily. It was a neat trick—one you’d perfected over the years.

“Let’s do this,” you murmured, eyes scanning the area.

The two of you worked in silence, syncing your movements effortlessly, as if you’d been doing this for years. The hum of the jammer cut through the stillness as it disabled the cameras. Within seconds, you were slipping past the fence and into the labyrinth of concrete halls that led to the heart of the research facility.

But as you reached the outer doors, the alarms suddenly blared, sharp and unforgiving.

A voice crackled over a loudspeaker, cold and mechanical. "Unauthorized access detected. Lockdown in progress. Initiating security protocols."

You exchanged a quick glance with Jimin. "Well, that’s our cue."

Without another word, the two of you made a dash for the entrance, a rush of adrenaline spiking in your veins.

And then, the first wave of security arrived—gunfire erupting from the far side of the corridor.

It was no longer a stealth mission. It was a fight for survival.

The guards outside were nothing more than a brief inconvenience—easily dispatched with swift, practiced efficiency. The two of you moved in perfect tandem, a well-oiled machine of lethal precision. By the time you reached the main entrance, the bodies were already cooling against the cold concrete.

Jimin wiped a streak of blood off his cheek with the back of his hand, barely out of breath. "That was almost too easy."

You scoffed. "Don’t jinx it."

The moment you pushed open the heavy steel doors, stepping into the facility's main corridor, the atmosphere shifted. Too many guards. Lined up along the walls, weapons at the ready, yet…they didn’t fire.

Both you and Jimin went rigid, your fingers twitching toward your weapons. But then—

A voice. Calm. Almost amused.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

An older man stepped forward from behind the guards. He was dressed in a pristine white lab coat, but there was nothing soft about him. His presence carried the weight of someone who had been in power for a long, long time. His expression was impassive, as if he had expected this outcome all along.

Jimin’s stance remained tense. “Who the hell are you?”

The man adjusted his glasses. “My name is irrelevant. But if you insist—Professor Kim Ji-Hwan. I founded this facility, and for the past decade, I’ve overseen its operations. Including the work your dear Dr. Han so desperately sought assistance with.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You worked with Han?”

"Worked with? No. He came here seeking aid. A brilliant scientist, but foolishly naïve." Ji-Hwan’s lips curled in something resembling pity. "He had no idea the kind of project he was developing. He thought he was building something to revolutionize defense systems. Instead, he was constructing a weapon—one that could only be powered by human signatures. Unique ones."

Jimin stiffened. “And let me guess. That’s where we come in.”

Ji-Hwan gave a slow, measured nod. “Specter’s been gathering data on both of you for years. Your missions. Your capabilities. Your genetic markers. And when they realized that the prototype could only be activated by two specific parameters—one biological key, one neural signature—they knew exactly who to target.”

Your stomach twisted. "They stole it. The prototype. While we were here."

Ji-Hwan sighed, as if speaking to children. “You were never meant to leave this facility alive, I’m afraid. Your assignment was never to retrieve the prototype—it was to ensure Specter had everything they needed before they disposed of you.”

The realization sank in like a blade between your ribs.

This was a setup.

From the very beginning.

Jimin exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. "You just admitted Specter’s plan to us. You really think we’re going to let you walk away from this?"

Ji-Hwan chuckled. “Oh, Agent Park. You’re not in a position to be making threats.”

And with that, he simply lifted his hand—and the guards pounced.

The first wave came fast.

Gunfire erupted in the enclosed space, bullets shredding through metal and concrete. You and Jimin dove for cover behind a lab station, returning fire with ruthless precision.

But there were too many.

Every time you took one down, two more emerged. They were relentless, surrounding you like wolves circling prey.

You slammed a fresh magazine into your gun, cursing under your breath. “I hate it when I’m right.”

Jimin shot back without missing a beat. "Then you must hate yourself constantly."

You didn’t have time to throw back a retort—because the next moment, a searing pain tore through your side.

The force of the bullet sent you stumbling back, your breath hitching. The sharp, hot pain burned deep, radiating outward in an agonizing pulse.

Jimin saw you fall.

And something inside him snapped.

His movements became vicious, unrestrained. He tore through the guards like a storm unleashed, gunshots ringing in rapid succession. He was no longer fighting to win—he was fighting to destroy.

But there were still too many.

Even as he carved through them, another shot rang out.

This time—it was him.

The bullet grazed his shoulder, the impact spinning him off balance. Blood bloomed against his already torn sleeve, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Through the chaos, you met his eyes.

For the first time, there was fear. Not for himself—but for you.

He tried to reach you, staggering forward—but the world was already tilting, your vision growing hazy.

You could hear your own heartbeat, your pants a slow pulse in your ears drowning out any other sound. Everything was spinning.

The last thing you saw was Jimin screaming for you while two guards dragged him away.

And then,

Everything went black.

YONGWAN RESEARCH LAB ────── TIME & DATE UNKNOWN

Pain.

It was the first thing Jimin registered, dull and aching, like a deep bruise settling into his ribs and skull. His body felt heavy, limbs sluggish, mind clouded in a disoriented haze. A low, flickering light buzzed somewhere above him, casting sickly shadows over the cold concrete floor. The air smelled of metal and antiseptic.

Then he remembered. The lab. The fight. The gunshots.

His breath hitched.

You.

Panic sliced through the fog in his mind as his gaze darted around the dimly lit room. He was slumped against a wall, wrists bound with thick zip ties. The room was small, sterile—a holding cell of some kind. But none of it mattered. Not when he turned his head and saw you lying motionless beside him.

Blood.

Too much of it.

His heartbeat roared in his ears as he pushed past the pain and lunged toward you, the restraints biting into his skin. "Hey—" His voice was hoarse, desperate. He struggled forward, ignoring the sharp sting in his ribs.

No response.

"Y/N." He gritted his teeth, saying your name for the first time. "Come on, wake up."

Nothing.

His stomach twisted. His chest felt too tight.

Jimin’s hands were trembling as he reached for you, brushing his fingers against your cheek. You were too pale, your breaths too shallow. His eyes flickered to your side, where the wound was still bleeding sluggishly through your torn clothes.

"Shit."

He had to stop it.

He ripped at his already ruined sleeve with his teeth, yanking a strip of fabric free and pressing it against the wound. His hands were steady now, moving with trained efficiency, but his mind was anything but calm.

"You're not dying here," he muttered under his breath. "You hear me? After all the shit we've been through—you're not leaving me with Dr. Han as my only company."

A weak breath. A flicker of movement.

Then, finally, a sound—a quiet, pained groan.

Jimin exhaled sharply, relief hitting him hard.

Your eyelids fluttered, and after what felt like an eternity, your gaze met his—glazed, unfocused, but alive.

"Hey," he said, softer now. "You with me?"

Your brows furrowed slightly. Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw from pain.

"You're... hovering."

Jimin let out something between a laugh and a scoff, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, you weren’t waking up."

You blinked slowly, glancing down at your side, where his makeshift bandage was already turning dark with blood. "Damn. That bad?"

"You tell me." His jaw clenched. "You're the one who decided to get shot."

You made a sound that might have been a laugh if you weren’t so exhausted. Your lips quirked up—not quite a smirk, but close. "You sound worried, Agent Park."

Jimin rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, his fingers briefly tightened around yours, just for a second. "Shut up and stay awake."

Before you had even fully regained your strength, the door burst open.

Armed guards flooded in, followed by Professor Kim.

And standing behind him was Dr. Han, looking more terrified than ever.

"Move them," Kim ordered. "We're out of time."

Jimin immediately tensed as two guards grabbed him, dragging him up with force. His body protested, every injury screaming, but he barely felt it.

Not when he saw them pulling you up next.

Not when Kim stepped toward you first.

"What are you doing?" Jimin snapped, thrashing against the guards. "Leave her alone—"

"You should be grateful," Kim mused, tilting his head at you as if you were an experiment rather than a person. "We’ll start with her, since she’s already weakened. You’ll get to watch how it works before your turn."

They were going to use your DNA. Test it on the prototype, activate it—he didn’t know.

And he was going to have to watch.

"Don't you fucking touch her—"

One of the guards slammed an elbow into his gut, cutting off his words with a sharp grunt. He doubled over, coughing, but his gaze never left you.

You were trying to fight, but your body was still weak from blood loss. You glared at the professor with every ounce of defiance left in you, but Jimin could see it—you were struggling to stay upright.

And then they started dragging you toward the door.

"No!" He lunged against the guards, raw panic clawing at his throat. His muscles burned as he fought against them, his body running purely on adrenaline. "Take me first! Don't—don't take her—"

But Kim simply smiled, as if amused by Jimin’s outburst.

"You’ll get your turn," he said. "Be patient."

And then you were gone.

Jimin lost it. He fought so violently that it took three guards to keep him restrained, his voice raw as he yelled your name. He was desperate. Furious. Terrified in a way he had never been before.

He couldn’t lose you.

Not like this.

Not when he hadn’t even figured out what the hell you meant to him yet.

And just as his vision blurred with rage—

A sudden explosion rocked the facility.

The alarms blared.

Gunfire erupted somewhere down the hall.

Then—voices. Familiar ones.

Jimin’s head snapped up.

"GO, GO, GO—!"

Kang Hyun. Lee Yun.

The explosion sent a shockwave through the lab. The lights flickered violently, the walls trembled, and the guards holding Jimin staggered, momentarily disoriented.

And that was all he needed.

With sheer force, Jimin wrenched free, throwing an elbow into the nearest guard’s throat. The man choked, stumbling back, and Jimin didn’t stop. He twisted, yanking a gun from the second guard’s holster before slamming the butt of it against his jaw—hard.

The third lunged at him, but Jimin was faster. One shot—clean, precise—the guard dropped.

Chaos erupted outside the room.

Gunfire. Heavy boots storming down the corridors. Voices yelling orders.

"Kang Hyun, clear the east wing!"

"Lee Yun, we’ve got men flanking the south corridor—push through!"

Backup.

Jimin’s chest heaved, adrenaline coursing through him like wildfire.

Kang and Lee brought a goddamn army.

He didn’t wait—he ran.

You were the only thing on his mind as he tore through the facility, taking down every guard in his path. His injuries burned, his muscles screamed, but none of it mattered.

He had to get to you.

When he reached the lab, the sight made his blood run cold.

You were strapped to a metal operating table. Machines hummed around you, hooked up to wires—monitoring your vitals.

And standing over you was Professor Kim. The vile in hand. The prototype on a surgery table.

Jimin didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He shot first.

Kim barely dodged in time, the bullet grazing his shoulder. He snarled, gripping his arm as he staggered back.

Jimin was on him in seconds.

With brutal efficiency, he slammed Kim against the table, knocking the vial form his hand. It clattered to the floor, shuttering, as Jimin pressed his forearm against his throat.

"Give me one reason," he growled, his voice low, deadly, "why I shouldn't put a bullet in your skull right now."

Kim choked, clawing at Jimin’s arm. "If you kill me—you’ll never know—"

Jimin’s grip tightened.

"Try again."

But before he could finish the job—

"Jimin."

Your voice. Weak. Pained.

His head snapped toward you.

And the moment his focus wavered, Kim moved.

The professor lunged for the prototype—

A single shot rang out.

Jimin turned just in time to see Dr. Han—hands shaking, face pale—lowering a gun.

Kim collapsed.

Jimin blinked. "...Did you just—?"

Dr. Han gulped. "I—he was going to activate it. I panicked!"

Jimin exhaled sharply, but there was no time for this.

He rushed to you—breaking his restraints against his thigh, tearing the plastic apart so he can get to yours. Hands fumbling with them. "Hey, I got you," he murmured, his voice softer now. His fingers brushed against your skin as he undid the straps. "Stay with me, okay?"

Your lashes fluttered, your breathing still shallow. But you gave him the faintest smirk.

"Who knew you could be... gentle," you murmured.

Jimin let out a strained breath—half a scoff, half relief. "Shut up."

He slipped an arm beneath your shoulders, carefully pulling you up. You swayed against him, but he held you steady.

Another explosion rocked the facility.

Jimin looked up just in time to see Kang Hyun and Lee Yun burst into the room, guns blazing.

"Park!" Kang shouted. "We need to move—now!"

Jimin didn’t hesitate. He lifted you into his arms.

"I’ve got you," he muttered under his breath as he carried you toward the exit. "I’ve got you."

The fight outside was still raging. Specter’s remaining forces were scrambling, attempting to defend the lab.

But Kang and Lee’s backup had overpowered them.

Jimin barely spared a glance as Lee Yun grabbed the prototype.

And without hesitation—she smashed it to the ground.

The device shattered. Sparks erupted. The stolen technology—gone.

The mission was over.

And Jimin?

Jimin was done.

He barely heard the gunfire fading behind them as he carried you toward the extraction vehicles. Barely registered the shouting of orders, the final takedown of Specter’s forces.

The only thing he cared about was getting you to safety.

As he climbed into the backseat of the car, keeping you securely in his arms, he let out a slow breath.

It was over.

And you were alive.

For the first time since this all started, Jimin let his guard down—just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

"You scared the shit out of me," he muttered.

Your lips barely curled, voice hoarse but teasing.

"Would you miss me?" you whispered.

Jimin huffed a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I would."

The soft hum of the resort’s air conditioning barely cut through the thick silence of the room. The curtains were drawn shut, dimming the room to a comfortable shade of soft gray. You lay back against the pillows, wrapped in a warm blanket, your body still aching from the brutal confrontation. The pain wasn’t as bad anymore, though—it was more of an uncomfortable throb that reminded you of everything you’d just gone through.

Jimin sat at the edge of the bed by your hip, his eyes never straying too far from you as he gently applied a new bandage to the deep cut on your ribs. His fingers were precise, a steady hand despite the chaos of the past few hours, as he carefully worked. The silence between you two felt comfortable, natural, like something had shifted. It wasn’t just the mission that had brought you this close. It was the understanding, the shared moments of danger, of survival. The tension in the air had only grown after the fight—both of you aware of it but unwilling to address it.

"You’re better at this than I thought," you muttered, wincing slightly as he adjusted the gauze.

Jimin let out a soft chuckle, not meeting your gaze. "I’ve had my fair share of injuries," he replied casually, but you could hear the slight edge in his voice that made your heart pick up pace.

You smiled faintly, glancing up at him. He was focused on you, his hand steady, his expression unreadable, though there was a certain warmth in his eyes now that you hadn’t seen before.

It was hard to ignore the small touches he gave you—fingers brushing against your skin as he rewrapped the bandage, his eyes flickering to yours when he thought you weren’t looking, a soft exhale as he caught himself leaning closer than necessary.

“Jimin...” you began, your voice a little quieter than usual, unsure of why it felt like the words were more loaded than they had been before.

He paused, looking up, the air between you two thick with unsaid things. “Yeah?”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The pull between you was strong, magnetic. The moments of danger you had shared were fading, but there was something else growing in its place.

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch lingering a fraction too long. There was a softness to his gaze, a tenderness you hadn’t expected from someone like him.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Jimin said, his voice low, though his words were meant to comfort you. But it felt like more than that. It was an unspoken promise, a soft reassurance that you didn’t know you needed.

Before either of you could say anything more, the door creaked softly, and a knock interrupted the fragile silence, making both of you pause.

The door opened, and Lee Yun stepped inside, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a knowing look, as if she could sense the shift in the room.

“Just checking in,” she said, her tone casual but with an undercurrent of authority. “How are you feeling?”

You gave her a tight smile, though the exhaustion was still clearly visible in your face. “I’m… fine. Could be worse.”

Lee Yun nodded but didn’t leave immediately. There was something in her eyes that told you she had more to say. She glanced at Jimin, then back to you. “Can I have a moment?” she said, her voice softer, almost apologetic.

Jimin hesitated, his eyes flicking to you, he didn’t want to leave.

"I’ll be fine," you said softly, offering him a reassuring smile.

Reluctantly, Jimin stood, brushing a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. "I’ll be right outside if you need me."

You nodded as he left the room, Lee Yun stepping in to fill the silence. The door clicked shut behind him, and you let out a quiet breath, the room feeling emptier now that he was gone.

Lee Yun moved to take up the space Jimin had just vacated by your hip, her eyes now sharp and professional. "Let me fill you in," she said, folding her arms.

You nodded, trying to focus on the present, on Lee Yun’s words, but your mind kept drifting back to Jimin.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Jimin stood with his back to the door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as Kang Hyun and Dr. Han discussed the events in low tones.

"So," Kang Hyun said, glancing at Jimin with a sigh, "we've accounted for everything. The facility’s been thoroughly destroyed. No one’s getting their hands on anything related to the prototype ever again."

Jimin didn’t respond immediately, still processing everything that had happened. "And the vial?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Lee Yun’s voice filtered through the door, just loud enough for them to hear. “We’ll never know what was in it. Could have been a weapon, could have been a test serum, but it’s gone now. No need to chase ghosts."

Jimin nodded slowly, the weight of it all settling in. "So, that’s it then. The prototype’s destroyed. And we go back to pretending this was just another mission, right?"

Kang Hyun gave him a measured look. “We’re still cleaning up the mess Specter left behind. But yes, for now, we move forward.”

Jimin exhaled, a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "And what about them?" he asked, his gaze flicking toward Dr. Han.

Dr. Han, who had been standing quietly in the corner, stepped forward. “I-I didn’t know they were going to use people. The testing—it was all supposed to be… controlled.” His voice wavered with guilt. "I didn’t know it would go this far."

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, and he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Not right now. The moment was too raw.

A quiet tension settled over the room, and for a moment, all Jimin could do was stand there, listening to the quiet murmur of Lee Yun’s voice in the other room. Something had shifted, and he couldn’t ignore the way things had changed—not just between him and you, but everything.

VANGUARD HEADQUARTERS ────── ONE WEEK LATER

It had been a few days since the dust had settled and you’d left Jeju, the events of the mission still fresh in your mind. Vanguard's headquarters was an ultra-modern building, all glass and sleek metal—cold on the outside, but buzzing with activity inside. You, Lee Yun, and a few others from your team were here today to discuss an alliance with Vanguard after the success of your previous mission.

As you stepped off the elevator, a soft hum of conversation filled the spacious foyer. Vanguard’s team, much like yours, was always in motion. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel a small knot of anticipation in your stomach. It wasn’t just about the alliance. It was the fact that Jimin was here. You hadn't seen him since the mission wrapped up, and although you'd exchanged a few texts, it was clear you both needed some space after everything that had happened.

As the team filtered into the conference room, you stayed behind, glancing out the large windows overlooking the city. It was hard to believe just how much had changed in such a short amount of time.

And then, you heard the soft click of shoes against the polished floor.

You turned, your heart suddenly racing. There he was.

His presence had always been electric, but today, something felt different. His gaze found you almost immediately, and for a moment, it felt like the world slowed down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light but with that familiar warmth.

You smiled, a little nervous but feeling something warm curl in your chest at the sight of him. "Hey yourself."

He hesitated for just a split second, then pulled you into a hug. It was gentle, almost reluctant, as if he was still trying to gauge how to navigate the space between you two after everything. He lingered there for a moment, his arms around you tight but his touch careful.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low, breath brushing against your ear.

You chuckled, feeling lighter than you had in days. “I’m good. I mean, I’m mostly healed. Just... exhausted, you know?”

Jimin pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze scanning your face, lingering on the faint traces of bruising that had yet to fade. “You sure? I—” he stopped himself, his hand reaching out almost involuntarily, a soft touch brushing the side of your face.

The gesture was so small, so subtle, but it made your heart skip.

His thumb gently brushed against your cheek, a tender touch that made your breath hitch. His gaze softened even further—It wasn’t something either of you had planned for, but the pull was undeniable.

Your fingers grazed his shirt, a silent invitation, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in closer. He hesitated for just a second, his breath mingling with yours, as he met you halfway.

The kiss was slow at first—tentative, as though both of you were testing the waters. You felt his hand cup the back of your head, guiding you gently, sharing a breath as he changed angles and deepen the kiss. Your tongues swirled, and the smack of your lips meeting his was the only sound in your ears.

When you pulled away, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling, chests rising and falling in unison.

"I don’t want to rush things," Jimin murmured softly, his voice low and vulnerable.

You chuckled, your own breath uneven as you leaned in, your lips brushing his briefly. “Neither do I,” you whispered back, your smile spreading like warmth.

And then, as if unable to resist, Jimin leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. When he pulled back, his lips found yours again, this time for a gentle peck.

He pulled away, his lips lingering just above yours, a playful grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

Another peck, then a third, his lips moving in rhythm with yours, soft and sweet, building slowly but steadily into something deeper. You couldn’t help but giggle between the kisses, the lightheartedness making your heart flutter in your chest. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so... normal. So connected, even after everything that had happened.

"Jimin..." you murmured between the kisses, but he silenced you with another soft press of his lips to yours, the kiss growing more insistent as his hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you even closer.

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable?”

You immediately flushed, your heart racing. You jerked back from Jimin as if you'd been caught doing something wrong, your eyes widening in surprise, your body stiffening slightly.

Jimin let out a breathy laugh. "We were just-" he started, but Lee Yun raised a hand to stop him.

"I know, I know," she said, her voice filled with mock exasperation. "You're fine, but the others are waiting for you."

You sigh, stepping away from Jimin to join the others in the conference room. Lee Yun was right. There was business to attend to, and now, more than ever, it seemed important this alliance to be sealed.

In the meeting room, things quickly shifted back to professional mode. Everyone took their seats around a sleek glass table, Jimin sitting across from you, his gaze lingering on you now and then.

"We need to talk about what comes next," Lee Yun began, addressing everyone. "The mission was a success, but the bigger picture remains. Vanguard’s resources will be invaluable as we continue our work. We’ll be splitting responsibilities—"

You tuned out the specifics for a moment, still feeling Jimin’s gaze on you. His expression was unreadable, but the small glances he kept throwing your way told you a different story.

"So, any thoughts on what comes next for us?" you asked, keeping your voice light.

Jimin blinked, clearly caught off guard for a moment. But then his lips curled into that mischievous smile you knew so well. "Maybe we should take a break after all this hard work. Grab dinner, talk things over?”

"Maybe," you teased.

Before you could say anything more, Lee Yun’s voice cut in, drawing your attention back to the meeting.

"Let’s focus, team. We’ve got a lot of work ahead."

But even as she spoke, you and Jimin shared one more lingering look, biting back grins and giggles. And though you didn’t say it out loud, both of you knew that things weren’t going to stay "normal" for long.

[glowettee]

✧ the foundation for your coquette tumblr presence: the ultimate guide by mindy (1/15)✧

hello darlings~ mindyyy here

i see so many amazing little blogs on tumblr, so many that inspire me and motivate me to post more here on tumblr, so i decided to make a little series helping you to create the most ethereal corner of tumblr you've ever dreamed of for yourself. i'm going to guide you through every delicate step of establishing your presence, ensuring your blog becomes a soft haven that attracts kindred spirits!!!

important note:

all the tips, advice and steps i give you in this series are the exactly what i use for my blog, this is what helped grow my blog to 1.1k followers, while befriending some of the most amazing people i've met, tumblr is an important place for me, and i've been using it for years, i've helped multiple other people grow their own tumblr blog, and i've use these exact steps. this series is superrr important to me and very well-thought out and planned, please don't steal my content ideas, or plagiarize my content or series ideas, they are super time-consuming to create and i put all my hard work into it. this series is to help you all create and build a sustainable coquette blog. keep in mind these tips i give in the series can be used for any type of tumblr blog, it doesn't just have to be coquette, however everything i say in this series is more tailored to creating a coquette blog, so just make sure to know if you aren't creating a coquette blog, that's totally fine and you can still use these effective tips! <3

let me begin with the essential elements that will form the foundation of your digital sanctuary:

choosing your perfect username

your username is like a whispered introduction, so choose carefully. consider these elements:

incorporate soft, romantic words (pearl, rose, moth, sage)

avoid numbers unless they're meaningful dates

keep it easily typeable and memorable

check availability across platforms

consider future branding possibilities

make it very short to keep it neat

pro tip: before settling on a name, write it in different fonts and styles to ensure it maintains its beauty in various forms.

example:

crafting your blog description

your description should feel like an embrace to whoever reads it. (this is both for the pinned post of your profile/blog and the description of your blog) include:

a brief, poetic introduction

your main content themes

posting schedule if you have one

any specific content warnings

languages you speak

your timezone for mutuals

special interests using soft bullets (✧)

developing your signature aesthetic

this is where the magic truly happens. your aesthetic should flow through every element:

color palette selection:

choose 3 primary colors and 2 accent colors

maintain consistent hex codes

save your palette for easy reference

consider seasonal variations

test colors against white and black backgrounds

visual elements to consider:

custom cursor designs

carefully selected fonts (maximum of 2-3)

consistent border styles

signature dividers and bullets

background patterns or textures

sidebar images and icons

essential technical setup

while maintaining our dreamy aesthetic, we mustn't forget the practical:

enable infinite scroll

set up custom links

organize your tags systematically

create navigation buttons

establish post width preferences

configure ask box settings

set up queue parameters

your blog is another part of you. every element should work in harmony to create an atmosphere that feels both intentional and effortlessly beautiful.

before you go:

✧ save your color codes in a pretty document ✧ create a moodboard for visual reference ✧ test your layout on different devices ✧ prepare a tag system ✧ gather inspiration images

with love, mindy xo

if you don't already know, i have my own newsletter here: GlowetteeMindy

[t0rturedangel]

୧ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა . . . ♰ ୨ৎ WEEPING ANGEL ; RE-WRITE

꣹ ㅤ◜ 𝒾 ⠀⦂ HAZBIN HOTEL ㅤ♥︎ ㅤ／ ︎𝅄 ׄ ໒꒱  〬 𓂂 ׄ ㅤSHE ~ HERㅤㅤ!reader 𝟢𝟣. Luifer Morningstar // Alastor x reader ㅤ𝟢𝟤. Platonic and romantic ⠀︶꒦꒷︶ after being cast out of heaven for thousands of years, you finally escaped your barren prison and landed in hell- helping your past lover's daughter with her hotel ㅤ  ︎ ︎ ｡｡ ⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ( Ⓒ𝓉★𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁 )

𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 ⠀ ⨾ ⠀I've been hyperfixating on hazbin again so I wanna re-write this fanfic

꒰ ⠀ INTRO ⠀✦⠀ DUCTION ⠀ ꒱

✉️ ﹐ ⧼  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐁 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 . . . [ name ]

ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤ ⠀❪ ⠀1,000s of years old & she / they pronouns ⠀❫

⎯⎯ nicknames; Angel, Cherub, fallen one, dove, feathers, bat-thing, Miss [name], her holy-ness.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

𓂅 ໋⋅ ౨ৎㅤ·⠀·⠀· visage ; attire + face

ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ MAIN OUTFIT , prior to being in hell, wears white robes that reach the ground, covering their entire body- the robes are slightly transparent as (and if you don't like this idea feel free to change it!) in heaven nudity isn't sexualised, everyone is comfortable in their own skin and no one is judged since it is evil and evil does not exist in heaven! After being damned [name]'s robes are ripped and tattared as she lives out her days in the barren waste land she's found herself in. Then finally, in hell she traded her white robes for a white and black outfit, matched with so many ruffles and upside down cross accessories.

ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ACCESSORIES , in heaven- [name] decorated their halo in pearls that draped over their face and hair, in the barren's those pearls practically disintigrated and now in hell they're used as necklaces. In heaven and the barrens she didn't own any weapons however now in hell- they bought a weapon with the metal that can also kill angels, personally made for [name].

ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ FACE & BODY, [ name ] used to have soft and innocent features, making her look soft and kind and they were! though through the years of being abondoned and cast out they're now bitter and always adorned with a scowl. Below their left eye is a singular mole, and speaking off- their eye's used to be normal sclera with [coloured] eyes but since falling their eyes are now red and [eye colour]. [name]'s body used to be covered in white feather's to maych their four wings, but now they have fleshy bat-like wings, matching the wing's on her head, and also they developed fangs and sharp claws, though sometimes [name] can grow some feather's on her wings, but they fall out quickly not being able to handle their new enviroment.

𓂅 ໋⋅ ౨ৎㅤ·⠀·⠀· relationships ; biological + non-biological (ALL PLATONIC)

ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ BIOLOGICAL FAMILY , [name]'s biological family are the cherub angel's that were created by God alongside her, she and their batch of angels were made after the lucifer and his brothers / sisters, making them younger than Lucifer.

ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ FUTURE FAMILY , [name] moves into the hazbin hotel, learning to live with new people after years of no socialising. She grows fond of Charlie and Vaggie, treating the two like her daughters, getting along with husk and their shared enjoyment of drinking, Angel because [name] fights and defends him against Val, Niffty since the two hate bugs- and finally Alastor since the two quite like Radios. Eventually, [name]'s reamends their relationship with Lucifer and maybe even fall for him again

WARNINGS,ㅤㅤㅤ♯ BLOOD

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ MURDER

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ VIOLENCE

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ VULGUR AND SEXUAL LANGUAGE

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ ANGST

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ SERIOUS THEMES

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ VALENTINO

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ S.A AND MENTIONS OF IT

BEFORE YOU GO, ㅤㅤㅤ♯ updates will be slow - my motivation is very low at the moment.

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ Helluva Boss does NOT belong to me

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ Some of the characters might be slightly OOC

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ If you believe I'm taking too long with updating the book please scream at me to update it!

ㅤㅤㅤ♯ I will add the necessary warnings on each chapter, if there are no warnings then that means nothing too extreme will happen- however all chapters WILL have swearing and maybe the smallest pinch of violence in them.

ཀ〘﹑　ACTS & SCENES,

ACT ONE - . . .

" I'm pure, I'm pure, pure as a lamb!  "

PLEASE ENJOY READING 'WEEPING ANGEL.'

any tips or ideas will be greatly appreciated!

Ⓒ𝐓𝟎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝕽Σ𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝕷 on wattpad and Tumblr

Ⓒ𝐆𝕺𝐍Σ𝐆𝕽𝐋_𝐓𝖃𝐓 on ao3

[rosemariiaa]

~Lines We Drew~

part: 3

pairing- Paige x Azzi

a/n: this is pretty long so take your time! other than that, read away babe

warning: language, just 2 confused babies

Enjoy!!!

Practice today had been grueling, with the team pushing themselves to the limit since it’s almost time for the season to start. It felt like every drill was designed to test their endurance, and by the time they hit their water break, everyone was more than ready for a break. As they all gathered around the cooler, gulping down their water, Nika grinned mischievously, looking around at the sweaty, exhausted faces.

“Y’all trying to hit the bar tonight or what?” Nika said, wiping her face with a towel. “We haven’t been there in forever.” She said exaggerating. Ice chuckled, leaning against the bench. “Hell yeah, I’m down. We need a break from all this. Plus, it’s been too long since we’ve gone out, I need to get off campus for a minute.”

The rest of the team quickly voiced their agreement, tired smiles spreading across their faces. It didn’t take much convincing—everyone needed a night out.

Paige was quiet as she listened, her gaze flickering to Azzi, who was standing a few feet away, stretching. For a second, Paige’s thoughts drifted to how Azzi’s top clung to her back, highlighting the defined muscles she had developed over the years. She quickly shook the thought away, pretending to be focused on her water bottle instead. She wasn’t sure why Azzi still managed to take up so much space in her head after all this time, but it was becoming harder to ignore.

Azzi caught the tail end of Nika’s suggestion and nodded along with the rest of the team. She could use the distraction, too. Maybe a night out would help with the tension that had been building between her and Paige for weeks. And maybe… just maybe, they could start fixing whatever the hell was going on between them.

Later that night, all the girls hurried to their apartments to get ready. Azzi stood in front of Caroline’s mirror, pulling out a few pieces of curls and adjusting her black cropped top, leaving a few buttons undone for a more relaxed look. Her low-waisted cargo pants sat comfortably on her hips, her new heart shaped belly button ring glistening in the air, and she couldn’t help but feel a little more confident tonight.

“You look hot and i mean hot Az, planning on taking someone home tonight?” Caroline teased, leaning back on her bed. Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “It’s just a night out, nothing special and no, no one is coming here tonight.” Azzi chuckled.

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Sure, Azzi. Just remember who’s gonna be watching you the most.”Azzi’s stomach flipped at the unspoken name. Paige. It was hard not to think about her, especially with all the tension between them lately. Something about tonight felt different, though. She could feel it in the air, like something was about to shift.

At the bar, the team settled in around a large table, drinks and laughter flowing easily. Azzi tried her best to relax and focus on the drink infront of her, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to Paige. Paige, dressed in a white crop top and low-rise jeans with a black cover-up, looked more effortlessly beautiful than ever. Azzi had caught Paige staring at her earlier, but now Paige was doing her best to look anywhere but at her.

It wasn’t long before Laila showed up, her usual bubbly energy filling the space. She immediately gravitated toward Azzi, pulling her into a hug and striking up a conversation. Azzi laughed along, though her attention was divided. Paige was unusually quiet, and when Azzi glanced her way, she noticed the cold glare Paige was shooting at Laila. It didn’t make sense, and yet somehow, it did. Paige had been acting weird around her for weeks now , and Azzi couldn’t figure out why.

———-

Paige’s POV

I couldn’t help it. I kept looking at her. The way Azzi was smiling with Laila, her laugh filling the space between them—it drove me crazy. And not in the way it should. I don’t even know why I was mad. Maybe because every time I looked at her, I remembered the past, and all the stupid unresolved stuff that came with it. But mostly, it was just because she got under my skin without even trying.

And that drive to the bar? That didn’t help either. Being squished against her in Nika’s car, accidentally putting my hand on her thigh when Nika hit the brakes hard —it was all too much. My pulse had quickened, and I couldn’t focus on anything else the rest of the night.

Azzi’s eyes had flicked over to me a few times since then, probably wondering why the hell I was being so weird. But I wasn’t ready to deal with that. Not tonight. Not when everything felt so confusing.

After Laila finally left, and the drinks started slowing down, we all headed back to my apartment. I pretended I wasn’t hyper-aware of Azzi falling asleep on the couch, but of course, I noticed. I noticed everything about her. It was driving me insane, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep pretending it didn’t.

Eventually, everyone else headed out or crashed, leaving just me and Azzi. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing, filled with thoughts I didn’t want to deal with. So I found myself in the kitchen, snacking, trying to clear my head.

Of course, she showed up not long after. Azzi, looking groggy but still somehow perfect, came in for a glass of water.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked, trying to sound casual, even though my pulse was speeding up again. “Nope,” she said, her voice soft, the tiredness lacing her words. “You?”

“Same.”

Silence settled between us for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. More like… a truce.

Azzi broke it first. “Practice was brutal today, huh?” I felt a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth. She was trying. Maybe this was her way of breaking the ice.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “How’s it going for you so far?”

Azzi seemed taken aback by the question, like she hadn’t expected me to care. “It’s good. I mean, you’re kind of a pain in the ass, but I can handle it.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and laughed a little. “Yeah, about that. I guess I haven’t made things easy for you.” Azzi shrugged. “No, you haven’t. But I get it. It’s whatever.”

That stung a bit, but I knew I deserved it.

“Look, Azzi… I’m sorry.” The words felt foreign, heavy on my tongue, but I meant them. I hadn’t planned on apologizing tonight, but there it was—finally out in the open.

Azzi raised her eyebrows, her surprise clear. “Wait, did Paige Bueckers just apologize to me?” I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help the slight smirk tugging at my lips. “Don’t push it, Fudd.”

Azzi laughed, the sound light and infectious, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like maybe we were okay. Or at least we could be.

“So… truce?” I offered, holding out my hand.

She looked at my hand, then back at me with a teasing grin. “You sure you’re not gonna take it back tomorrow at practice?” I shrugged, smirking. “No promises, but… I’ll try.” Azzi’s smile softened, and she took my hand, her grip warm and firm. God her hands were so soft. “Truce.”

For a moment, we just stood there, our hands lingering longer than necessary. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from hers. There was something in her gaze, something that made it impossible to look away.

But then she pulled back, breaking the spell. “Alright, goodnight, Paige.” “Goodnight,” I echoed, watching as she made her way back to the couch.

She disappeared into the darkness of the living room, leaving me standing there in the kitchen, alone with my thoughts. I stood there for a moment thinking, thinking about how I could never tell Azzi the real reason why I’ve been acting this way. The real reason I’d been so messed up around her.

———-

Azzi’s POV

As I settled back onto the couch, I couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of relief. That tension between me and Paige—it was finally starting to unravel. For weeks, I’d been trying to figure out what her problem was with me, why she’d been acting so cold and distant. And now, with her apology still ringing in my ears, I felt like maybe we were starting to get somewhere.

The kitchen light was still on, casting a faint glow into the living room. I could see Paige’s silhouette as she stood there, probably thinking about God knows what. For all her bravado on the court, Paige could be pretty hard to read off of it. But tonight had been different. She’d let her guard down, even if just a little.

I smiled to myself, remembering the way she’d tensed up in Nika’s car when our thighs touched. Paige had tried to play it off like nothing, but I’d felt it too—that spark, that heat. It was confusing as hell, but it was there, undeniable.

My mind drifted back to practice earlier that day. The arguments between us had simmered down, sure, but there was still something simmering beneath the surface. Every time we locked eyes, every time she shot some sarcastic comment my way, I couldn’t help but feel like there was more to it. Like maybe this wasn’t just about basketball, or competition, or whatever stupid rivalry we’d built up over the years.

Maybe it was about something else entirely.

I shifted on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if Paige was thinking the same thing.

———-

Paige leaned against the counter in the kitchen, her snack forgotten as her thoughts spiraled back in time. Her mind drifted to a flashback, to the days when everything between her and Azzi was simpler—or at least it seemed that way.

———-

Flashback Time

USA Basketball, 2017

Paige had been ecstatic when her and Azzi both made the team. They had just met a few weeks ago and already became good “friends”. Azzi was quieter back then, more reserved, but her skills on the court were undeniable. There was something about her—maybe the way she moved, or the way she could drain threes like it was nothing—that had drawn Paige to her instantly.

For a while, they were friends. Or at least Paige thought they were. They’d spent hours talking, joking around, building something that felt real. Next few days, one day in particular. It was Paige’s birthday but she still decided to go to practice, just to see Azzi and that dimpled smile of hers. Paige arriving at the gym couldn’t seem to find the brunette, she asked her coach and what she said left Paige heartbroken. Azzi was gone, out of nowhere. No warning. No goodbye. Just….gone.

It had crushed Paige. She remembered how angry she’d been, not just because Azzi left, especially on her birthday, but because she hadn’t said anything. They were supposed to be friends. Weren’t they? But Azzi had packed up and left without a word, and Paige had been left to wonder if their friendship had even meant anything to her.

AAU, 2019

Walking in the gym, getting ready for the competition, Paige starts stretching , eyes wandering around the room and then she stops. Frozen, seeing Azzi for the first time again at an AAU tournament had been like a punch to the gut. She had changed—grown taller, stronger, her dark curls longer and more defined. Paige couldn’t believe it. The girl she had known was gone, replaced by this version of Azzi that felt both familiar and completely foreign.

She stares as Azzi turns her head and they lock eyes across the gym, and for a second, Paige had thought maybe things would be okay. Maybe they could pick up where they left off. But then Azzi smiled—just a small, tentative smile—and waved.

And Paige had walked away.

The anger had flared up again, the old wounds reopening. How could she just expect things to be okay after leaving like that? After not even bothering to say goodbye?

———-

Present Day

Paige shook herself out of her thoughts. She had been standing in the kitchen long enough, and it was getting late. She glanced over at the couch, where Azzi was sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Something in Paige’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to admit it—not even to herself—but the truth was, she missed what they had. Or what they could’ve had. And maybe, just maybe, she wanted it back.

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. She turned off the kitchen light and made her way to her room, but not before taking one last look at Azzi. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her sleep, and for a brief second, she let herself imagine what it would be like if Azzi were in her bed with her, curled up under the blankets, close enough to touch.

She shook the thought away. There was no way Azzi felt the same.

Slipping under her covers, Paige closed her eyes and whispered into the quiet room, “You’ll know one day, Az… not today… not tomorrow… maybe not even until college is over.” She let out a soft laugh. “But one day…”

And with that, she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts still lingering on the girl sleeping just outside her door.

[caxde]

still live | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary you and Eddie have been friends for ever, but have chosen to keep your feelings quiet, until a single afternoon changes it all. (2.7k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it) hurt/comfort, friends in love, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 

-

It had never been a question. 

You had started painting even before you learned how to talk, your house was always messy and stained because of you. As you grew up, stained carpet floors turned into stained old clothes, paint splattered all around your wardrobe, and a burning passion was developed. 

So, of course, when the dreaded question of what are you going to do after high school started going around, your answer had always been the same ‘art school’. 

But anxiety and stress were getting to you, you had been working hard on your portfolio, barely sleeping, painting canvases that were bigger than you, held by reclining it against your bedroom wall, and working in sketches nonstop, not even in the middle of class. 

He would tease you, everytime he heard the pencil scratch against the yellowish paper. He always does the same thing, he starts watching quietly, admiring the way your fingers hold the pencil ever so delicately, the way your eyes follow the grey stain so closely, concentration evident on your expression, and your hair messing your face when you look down.  When he couldn’t hold it any longer, a soft smile curves the end of his lips, as he brings his body closer to yours, and he always whispers, his voice always sweet and soft when he calls your name to get your attention. 

And he chuckles everytime you jump out of concentration as you breathe out his name. 

But today was different. 

Eddie knows you, better than anyone for that matter, and he also knows that you had been a little too stressed about it all. He knew you needed quiet company while you worked, so he asked you to come finish your last one over to his house. 

He had made his room tidier, in his own way. He cleared the floor, no dirty clothes could be seen, and the table was what he would charmingly call an “organized mess”, little piles of things in a neat position, a clean composition. Window open and clean air coming in, with a space under it so the smell of the acrylic paint can leave as fast as it comes. 

“You moved the bed.” You let out as soon as you step inside his room, looking at the open window. 

“You need to paint.” He answers, as he shrugs, trying not to give it that much meaning, even if he feels his pulse quickening as you smile grows deeper. 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem.” He answers quickly, really trying to not hyperfixate in the way your smile is caused by him, or the way it seems to illuminate the room a bit more. 

You laid the canvas against the wall, and started organizing your paint tubes in your particular way. Black, blue, red, yellow and white. The other fancy special colours away from them, the lilac, teal and silver pulled apart. 

He knew you needed your space, just as much as he knew you appreciated the quiet companionship. 

It was nice, being in the same room as him, not feeling alone, and knowing that he’ll be here when you inevitably feel tired or burned out and need a little push. 

And you liked feeling him look closely at you. Though you think he’s looking at the way the thin light blue haze is staining the pristine white of the canvas, he’s actually looking at the way your oversized, full-of-various-faded-splatters-of-paint shirt is hanging from you, the way it wraps on your waist, and the way your hair is falling down your back, your face tilted, only makes him more nervous, and in a way, realize even more that he wouldn’t do this for just anyone, so he might as well admit to himself that he does have some feelings for you. 

He played music on his guitar, quietly, and smiled deeply at the sound of you muttering the worlds of the songs he always chooses absentmindedly. Even if he only plays Bowie when you’re around. 

You're obvious to it all. You only focus on the way your hand won’t stop shaking, and you’re not even sure why, so the frustration is starting again, and with it so does the headache. You need to finish the stupid sketch so you can actually start painting, but your hand won’t stop shaking and you don’t even have a good enough reference. You’ve stopped singing and are instead biting your lip, an anxious tic that Eddie knows a bit too well. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead he stops playing, goes to the kitchen and brings two cups of tea. 

He decides to sit down beside you, and instead of startling you as he normally does, he instead leaves a soft touch on the small of your back, his fingers feeling the beginning of your jeans through your shirt. The familiar warmth left in both of your bodies. 

“Here” He whispers, a bit too close to your ear. 

You turn to him, realizing that he’s never been as close, that now you could if you wanted and had the time to count every single one of his eyelashes, and that his lips look pinker than ever. And in that moment, something seems to click, a warmth awakens in the inside of your chest, and you move a bit far away instinct kicking in. 

“Thanks” You whisper back, blood travelling fast to your cheeks as your fingers touch his for a moment, grabbing your tea. 

“So, what’s wrong?” He chooses his words carefully, his tone softer, his voice quieter. He raises his eyebrow in concern, making you frown for just a second. 

“It’s all wrong.” You whisper, in anxious shame, nervously, avoiding his eyes. 

“What do you mean it's all wrong?” He echoes your voice, not really following your train of thought. 

“It’s all wrong Eddie.” Your voice is stronger now, more impatient. But still barely above a whisper, it felt stupid to speak at a normal volume when he’s so close to you. “ The proportions are awful, the reference is shit, and I can’t start painting until I finish the stupid sketch but I can’t manage to finish it.” You’re trying your hardest to not stumble over your own words, it’s complicated, frustration getting the best of you, making your voice shake as you can feel the small tear threatening to form on the verge of your eyes. 

“Hey…” He whispers once more, the hand he had on your lower back petting you once again, trying to get you to calm down for a second. “Step by step, yeah?” He watches you nod at his question, and he waits for you to take a deep breath. “What can you do to fix it?” 

“I need to restart it all.” You answer in defeat, you were tired, and with a clear idea in mind that didn’t seem to transform as well as you wanted to. 

“Okay, so restart it, what can I do to help?” 

“Nothing really.” You add, looking back at him for once. You're captivated by him for a moment. The way his curls frame his face makes you really want to put the little flyaway away from his complexion, touch his pale face for a second, but instead, you hold the cup harder, your knuckles turning white. 

“What’s wrong with the reference?” He asks, trying to refocus you, snatching the photograph off the floor. A blurry image that’s barely recognizable, a kiss between two people that you don’t know. 

“It’s shit.” You admit, hiding a chuckle. “ I found it on the floor of The Hideout and thought that a kiss scene would be the perfect ending for my project, but… I’m not… I don’t know” You admit, defeated, tired, and anxious about you having to start the whole project again. 

“Why a kiss?” He asks, innocence in his tone. He tries to hide his curiosity with that Eddie grin, that stupid grin that makes you smile in return even if you're not aware of it. 

“I…” You look at him for a moment. Stopping at his lips for a second, and this time it doesn’t escape you that he does the same. “It’s about melancholy. The whole thing. Situations that have happened and you miss, and the ones that haven’t but you wish they did… Love… I wish it happened to me but… Yeah” You stop talking, as you feel his eyes not leave yours, it’s stupid, but talking about this in this space, for some reason is making your heart beat faster, and wherever your body touches his, it tingles, electricity flying between both of you. 

“You haven’t been in love?” The question took you out, it didn’t make sense for Eddie to ask this. It doesn’t fit the way he has always acted around you, but in a weird way, when you look back at him, and see the way his eyes look softer, kinder. 

You always saw Eddie repel the idea of love, avoiding it at all costs, so it was weird seeing him like that, like he was hopeful for an answer, as he wanted to tell you how he started feeling, he also knew he would never dare to tell you such a thing. Much too proud, much too careful. 

“I have. But, they don’t love me back.” You mutter, not ready to voice it fully. Not sure if this is the best time to say, yes, Eddie, I have been in love, I’ve been in love with you for ages. 

Because, even now, you’re slowly realising that what you’ve been feeling for him is love. 

“I understand.” He mutters, his sight leaving you for the first time, looking down at the photo, while he yells to himself, his brain is telling him to not do anything stupid, while his whole heart and body are begging for him to tell you that he could learn how to love you if you let him. 

For fucks sake, he tells himself, he cares so much about you, he wants you to be happy and loved and cared for so much it pains him a bit not knowing what to do to help. He slowly lifts his head up.

Coincidence, destiny or just dumb luck, he makes eye contact with his old, beaten up Polaroid and a stupid idea, oh so stupid crosses his mind, and he narrows his eyes. 

You notice. 

And before you can stop yourself you're asking him a soft and questionable “What?” that leaves him looking back at you. 

“We could take a picture.” He states, blankly looking back at the camera. A nervous smile that makes his eyes shine. 

“What picture?” You’re left even more confused, following his glance. 

“A kissing picture.” He says. Your body frozen, heart skipping a beat. Eddie’s does the same, amazed at himself for actually having said such a stupid thing. “Just so you have an actual reference… I just… Wanna help.” He’s now avoiding your sight, embarrassed about his idea, he begins to get flustered, and the only thing he can get himself to do now is stare at the floor. 

You need a second. 

A moment. 

Silence fills the room, as the only thing you can feel is the beating of your own heart, loud in your eardrums, a rhythmic rhythm that begs kissme kissme kissme. 

So, once again, it wasn’t even a question. 

“Who’s taking it?” You answer, sweet quiet voice. Your eyes also set on the floor, as you can feel your cheeks burning. Anticipation forming in the air. 

“I’ll do it.” He answers, his smile bigger than ever. As he stands up, you leave the cup on the floor, wiping your nervous hands on your jeans. One swipe, two, three. 

You’re left looking at him, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think that he was just as extremely excited and nervous as you are. And then it comes, the realisation of what was about to happen, he’s going to kiss you, and you’re going to kiss him. You’re about to do what you’ve been wanting to do for ages, all for some stupid excuse that you can’t be worried about. 

As he moves, gracefully, it all stops mattering for a brief moment. 

It doesn’t matter if the painting is good enough. 

It doesn’t matter if the admission committee thinks your work is good enough. 

It doesn’t matter if this complicates your friendship or not. 

He sits down beside you, a trembling hand pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his lips slightly parted, his eyes switching between your eyes and your lips. The electricity is tangible now, you almost feel like you could fill up jars with it, a weird anticipation, an excitement. A promise almost. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, his thumb gracing your lower lip, his breath so close to your lips you could actually drink it if you wanted to. He smells of vanilla and sandalwood.

“Yeah.”

Then it happens. 

Eddie kisses you, softly. 

A soft, sweet kiss is left on top of your lips, as you close your eyes and enjoy it, one of your hands travels slowly to the back of his neck, tentatively, you start playing with his hair. You see a flash, a bright light that makes you giggle, only brighter when you feel the way he’s also smiling. 

Eddie can’t stop kissing you. 

He’s delighted that he’s finally doing this. He doesn’t care that he can’t fully give in, somehow worried that the photo won’t turn out good, he takes a couple more. And then he finally gives in. One last touch, a small bite to your lower lip, and he gently pulls away. His forehead against yours. Catching his breath, you can feel the way your lips are left tingling now. How your heartbeat seems happier in a weird way, like something got fixed for a moment.

When Eddie opens his eyes, he can see that yours are still closed. And that your lips look pinker than before, that your cheeks are flushed and you’re breathing faster than usual. He smiles quietly to himself, and looks down, between your bodies, lays the camera and the polaroids spread around, proof that he didn’t imagine it all. Proof that he did just do it. 

He carefully bumps his forehead into yours, playfully almost. 

You open your eyes, looking down. 

He hands you one of the photographs, you can’t help but smile. 

“I don’t think I ever had such a beautiful photo” You whisper, as you’re taken back for an instance. You’re blooming with joy, an uncontrollable smile decorates your face. The shyness gone for this brief moment. 

“Me either.” Eddie adds as he holds another one. 

You’re both idiots. 

Happy idiots, unaware of each other's feelings, not knowing that it was more than a favour. 

“Thank you, Moon.” You tell him, as he blushes even harder. 

And he’s not sure if it was the eye contact, the way you look right now or the fact that you had just given him what might be his new favourite nickname. 

“Now, get back to work.” He teases, while he decides to lay down, resting on his forearms so he can still look at you. 

“Don’t distract me.” You add back, a flirty banter evident in the air now. 

“I won’t kiss you until you ask for it.” And in that moment it's clear, he’s being sincere. 

You can’t help but laugh, softly. And he can’t help himself, echoing your laugh. 

He doesn’t need to say anything, and neither do you. You just know that now he knows something more about you, you know that now that he’s tasted your lips he will be left craving for more, just as much as your craving for a new encounter. 

Eddie is left mesmerized, proud of you, seeing how now you’re determined to finish this painting, with a soft smile and quick brushstrokes. So, you spend the next afternoon painting, and stealing soft glances at him, as he just sits there, amazed by you, as he continues talking with you as if nothing has changed, as if his heart isn’t now all yours, even if you know as well as he does, that it is. 

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 6

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟔 | 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter word count: 3.2 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: I lied. Inspiration struck and I got this done much sooner than I expected. Next one will probably take a while though so sorry for that in advance lol. This one comes out earlier in honor of my philosophy class discussing freedom in today's class.

Thanks for reading!

𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐘 in a flash, and life continues on as normal as it could be in Liberio. You don't take any more impromptu trips to the Warrior’s Headquarters, never going further than the entrance when waiting for Gabi to exit the building. The Warriors only appear sparingly as the months pass by, with some, such as Pieck, leaving for long periods of time to support the front lines in the developing war.

You continue with your studies, learning written Marleyan on your desk, and hiding your Eldian notes under loose floorboards in your room. You bury yourself in mastering both, thanking whatever deity made it so you automatically understood the spoken language. Maybe it had to do something about how in the series everyone spoke a common tongue, and yet had different writing systems.

You didn't think too hard about it though. Any more questioning about the laws and nature of this universe would have you up at ungodly hours. Again.

Your steps are lighter, the river of your consciousness less turbulent. It is still nowhere near calm, but the dam constructed with the reassurance of your soon to be made trip helps keep it at bay. The change in your attitude is apparent even to Gabi, with whom you've quickly grown close to.

“You seem… less tired, somehow,” she says when you're out on a stroll, HQ getting smaller and smaller in the distance as you walk away from it.

“Do I?” you hum, tilting your head to the side.

Gabi nods, swinging her arms around as she matches your stride.

“Colt has the same eyebags you had months ago. How come yours are gone and his are still there? Is that like,” –she skips over some rocks– “a teenager thing?”

You snort. It's more of a ‘forcibly ripped away from your home universe and stuck into one with masacre woven into its story’ for you, and a ‘pressured into becoming the successor of the Beast Titan to remove your family from the suspicious eye of Marley’ for Colt. Gabi doesn’t need to know that though.

“Sure. It's just a teenager thing.”

Gabi nods, satisfied with your answer.

You pass by the wall of the hospital, revealing its courtyard full of both patients and the nurses attending them, as well as blooming trees that sway with the gentle breeze. You wave at Dr Jaeger when he spots you and Gabi, his red armband marking him amongst the crowd.

A ball is chased by two children, their grandfather slowly following their trail as they run over the blades of grass. A nurse in a light blue blouse hands a clipboard to one of the doctors, signaling something with her pencil. A young blonde girl stands in a corner, clad in white.

Long, brown hair stands out in your peripheral vision, belonging to a figure hunched on a bench. The wall dividing the street from the patio had hid them from your vision, and your heartbeat speeds up without your permission.

You almost mutter his name, before remembering that it is far too early for his appearance in that very bench. Falco is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Eren and neither is the Rumbling. Everything will be okay. For a little while.

As if sensing your gaze, shining black irises meet yours from under the dark locks and you avert your eyes. The woman in baggy clothes you were looking at simply turns away, and your moment of brief panic dissolves with the cool wind.

“Have you thought about joining the Candidate Program?”

Gabi’s voice snaps you back to the conversation at hand, and you frown when you process her question.

“I don’t…” you falter, not knowing how to explain your disdain for the program without offending her. “I’m not sure our values align.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm just not too convinced I can achieve the level required,” you laugh nervously, waving her off. “Besides, I’m far too old to enter.”

Gabi nods. “Makes sense,” she says. “Not everyone can be on my level, after all.”

You sigh, already used to her antics. “Sure, squirt. I'd have to kneel to get on your level, after all.”

Gabi splutters, stopping abruptly. “Hey! That was uncalled for!”

“Was it?”

The girl goes on and on about how you're too mean to her, when she hasn’t done anything to deserve it. You nod at her complaints absentmindedly, too caught up on enjoying the mild breeze that runs through your hair. While Gabi flails around, a member of the Warriors approaches you from the courtyard.

“Reiner? What are you doing here?” you ask when you notice him walking in your direction.

Reiner raises up his hand in greeting, which you return after a moment.

“Y/n. Gabi. Didn't think I'd be seeing you guys here. Don't you have an exam tomorrow Gabi?”

You narrow your eyes at the girl. She had told you that she was free for the afternoon, and that all her activities had already been taken care of. The liar in question averts her eyes, and tiny beads of sweat appear on her temples.

“Well– I mean–” Gabi stammers. “It's not a difficult exam exactly…”

“Did you study for it, at least?”

“Of course I did! Who do you take me for?”

You sigh, shaking your head faintly as Reiner chuckles at the exchange. The times you two had met could be counted with both hands, and yet the both of you had bonded over looking after his cousin.

“Y/n’s kinda right on this, Gabi. I had to study hard to acquire the Armored.”

If it were up to you, Gabi would never inherit the Armored Titan. And yet, her being in the program, reaching for the privilege, was the very thing that put her in the right place to survive.

So for the time being you would voice your agreement with Reiner, reminding the girl to not slack off on her studies and training sessions, hoping that, even if things went to shit, she would have the closest thing to a happy ending this world had to offer.

“When I said I wanted you two to meet it wasn’t so you could antagonize me.”

You shrug as Gabi crosses her arms, pouting. Such is life, kid. Such is life. You turn your attention to Reiner next, whose answer hadn’t been delivered to your initial question yet.

“Were you meeting with Dr Jaeger then, Reiner?”

“Oh no, just… got some prescription,” he says, fishing a small cardboard box out of his coat.

That was a surprise, but you suppose that even Marley would care if one of their Titans wasn’t performing at their best. Modern therapy and medications would work better, but they aren’t accessible for a tiny reason:

They don’t exist. Fun!

That is also partly why your old headaches were coming back, and, while you hadn’t fainted since the day you had arrived, you still constantly had the nagging feeling in the back of your skull.

“That’s… nice,” you say. Even if you know more about Reiner’s trauma than probably anyone here, it still wasn’t your place to comment on it.

I’m glad you’re working towards healing your traumas before they catch up to you with suicidal ideation in like four years wouldn’t cut it.

“Are you sick or something?” Gabi asks like she normally does — without tact.

“Just feeling a little under the weather.”

Reiner waves off her concerts after answering, returning the small container to his pocket. You take a peek at the side of the box, noticing part of the font that reads Inhaler. Maybe it was just a cold then, and Marley actually didn’t care about the mental health of its soldiers. Shocking.

“I hope you feel better,” you offer.

You really do hope he does. The boy (because that is what he is, what they all are, a boy just a little older than you) that you had forged a tentative friendship with had earned a small corner of your heart, which was squeezed a little tighter with every droopy smile he sent your way.

The end of the world would come, and it was only by preventing it that he would be able to reach self forgiveness.

“Thank you,” he says. “I've definitely felt better before.”

Gabi lets out a disbelieving sound. “Where? With the devils?”

Yeah, probably, you think. But it would be a crime to voice such an opinion, so you refrain from commenting. Reiner doesn’t flinch, but something indecipherable passes through his eyes, akin to guilt.

“No, definitely not with them. They were, uh, barbaric.”

Gabi nods in agreement, and you stay quiet.

Reiner sighs, and surveys the courtyard one more time, before bidding you and Gabi goodbye, and heading off in the direction of Headquarters. He ruffles his cousin’s hair before leaving, and you both wave at his retreating figure, before falling into step in the opposite direction.

You are glad for the constantly growing distance between the hospital and yourself, your small spook earlier not forgotten.

“...He’s been getting sick a lot recently,” Gabi says.

“What makes you say that?”

Gabi looks back at the hospital, catching your gaze when she turns around. “I see him at the wards sometimes when I’m walking from headquarters.”

You mull over how to respond. You could lie and reassure the girl that her cousin probably caught a cold, or that the newfound pollen of the changing seasons was affecting him. Hell, you could even poke fun at Reiner and say that he’s got a hospital sweetheart he’s been visiting.

“He’ll be fine,” is what you end up saying.

And he will. Eventually.

Dinner is always a quiet affair in the house. There's only the clinking of the utensils against the plates and the occasional comment about the day’s activities. Eating is something that captures all of your attention, at least with Zeke. It was a ritual of sorts, a way to share space while still allowing for both people to recover from their day to day interactions.

When dinner is finished, however, conversation would start, and you would both stay at the table for a little while longer, working on whatever needed to be worked on for the evening, talking about whatever needed to be talked about during the time.

“How’s the… foreign language coming along?” Zeke asks, returning from the foyer with his briefcase. He unlocks it and retrieves a small stack of papers from its insides, laying them on the table.

“I like to think I’m almost fluent,” you answer, already with your own work in front of you. It wasn’t worksheets or learning material, but an old Eldian history book you had unearthed from the bookcase in your room. “The book’s been getting easier to read.”

“Quite a feat for someone who’s only had a year to learn it.”

You shrug. “It was significantly easier than Marleyan, that's for sure.”

“Are you still struggling with grammar?” Zeke looks up from the turning pages as he asks, reminding you of the endless tutoring you had to endure in order to even understand a lick of written Marleyan.

You huff, throwing your hands up in the air. “It's not my fault you guys use half the alphabet in a word and then decide to make the unused letters be written basically the same.”

He chuckles, penciling in something in his documents. “Well, that's an exaggeration.”

“My bad. I meant to say that you use half the alphabet in a word, and manage to mispronounce all of it.”

“The other has significantly more grammatical norms than Marleyan. How come you haven’t been struggling with those?

You shrug. “I don’t know. It's just easier.”

Zeke takes a minute to look away, letting out a noncommittal hum when he finally does. You raise an eyebrow at his behavior but decide not to comment on it, already used to Zeke’s oddities.

“That’s good,” he says after a beat. Another passes, and he continues. “The boat is leaving soon.”

The boat, of course, refers to the one Marley would send in a recognition mission to Paradis, in order to know what was going on in the island after the failure of the mission to retake the Founding Titan.

In other words, it was the one the Volunteers would hijack. The one you would be smuggled into, with the intention of making the journey across the sea.

“How soon is soon? Because I promised Gabi and Falco I would take them to the new candy store that is opening–” Zeke cuts you off.

“A week.”

Your mouth slips shut, your brain processing Zeke’s words. A week?

“So no candy shop?” you say weakly.

Zeke shakes his head. Silence falls in the room, not stifling, just firm. Unyielding.

“What will…” you falter. “What will I– we– tell the others?”

Zeke rummages through the stack of papers, bringing out a file which he then places in front of you. You grab it, eyes flitting between it and Zeke, before reading its contents.

There is no picture on the identification papers, but you recognize a single name. It is not the one that belongs to the person it is describing, but one placed in the table depicting the kinfolk. The name of the dead soldier you had adopted as your dad when you arrived sits in the middle of it, with a small annotation to its right, which in turn reads 3rd cousin once removed.

“We’ll tell them we found a closer blood relative, near where you supposedly lived before.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Zeke confirms. “It was easier than expected, I must admit. Marley liked the excuse to take your red armband away.”

He smiles, but there is no amusement in his gesture. Thinking about it, it does make sense that Marley would want the least amount of Honorary Marleyans possible, given it was not only resources that, in their eyes, they wasted, but also a way of uplifting the morale of a community they thought below them.

“Okay.” You read quickly through the information, not noticing anything relevant. “Okay,” you repeat. “And is this person… real? Do they know?”

Zeke chuckles, extending a hand to grab the paper. You hand it to him after memorizing the name of your supposed cousin, returning to nervously fiddling with your book.

“Oh, it was a miracle that they were found at all. Nobody knew of any other relatives up until two days ago.” He winks. “Lucky, right?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Lucky.”

Your unenthusiasm bordering on indifference causes Zeke to frown, and he tilts his head slightly, questions swimming in his gray eyes.

“I thought you’d be happier. Wasn’t this what you asked for, all those months ago?”

A baseball. A conversation. A deal.

“I didn’t expect to get so… attached?” You shrug helplessly. “I don't know. It feels weird. What I’m about to do. Where I’m about to go.”

Zeke leans back on his chair, analyzing you. His gaze doesn’t make you feel like running anymore, but there is still an undercurrent of cold, calculating intention in the gray storm of his eyes.

“Are you getting cold feet?” he asks.

“No!” you exclaim, almost shooting out of your chair. Your feet are slightly separated beneath the table, ready for you to stand up. You force your muscles to relax and quickly arrange your posture to something more casual.

“No,” you attempt again. “I’m just nervous, is all.”

You are tempted to add an And I’m one hundred percent on board with the plan! Fuck the kids, am I right? – but that would be laying it on too thick, and it wouldn't take a genius to notice your too-eager grin, or the almost desperate look in your eyes.

Zeke accepts your answer, and you both go back to a (nearly) comfortable silence.

You break the news to the others on the following days, and you receive a multitude of different reactions. Reiner sends you off with a pat in the back, Colt with some heartfelt words and a hug. Falco gets a little emotional when you tell him, but nothing compares to Gabi’s response.

You thought that, while you had forged a strong friendship with the girl, her tenacious personality and pride would prevent her from taking it to heart.

The night before your departure, however, she shows up in a storm determined to make you stay.

You open the door at the frantic knocking, wondering who it could be at these hours. It is not midnight, per se, but the sun has already left its place in the sky, and so it is not a time where you could excuse it as a random visit from one of your friends.

You know you are wrong when you open the door and a small hand reaches for your skirt, the small figure of Gabi colliding with your torso. The sudden impact takes your breath away for a moment, before you understand the situation at hand, and your arms snake around Gabi, returning her bone crushing hug.

“Gabi?” you start. “What are you doing here so late?”

You feel as Gabi starts to move her head from one side to another, further hiding in the folds of your clothing.

“You can’t leave,” she says, her voice close to breaking. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Gabi...” you pause, taking a moment to find the right words. “I’m very sorry kid, but the arrangements have already been made.”

“But why do you have to go away?” Gabi stammers, her words tangled in tears, making your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Squirt–” you sigh, bringing your hand to the top of her head. “Gabi. I'm very, very, sorry I have to leave, but I want to go home. I miss my home.”

Your voice comes out in a comforting whisper as you soothingly thread your fingers on Gabi’s hair, feeling the echoes of her cries against your body. She squeezes you tight, as though letting go for just a second might make you vanish. You can't help but think that there’s some truth to it.

“Liberio could be your home–” she hiccups.

“Gabi–”

“Stay!” she finishes with a sob.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. Who knew a year-long friendship could tug and rip your heartstrings like this?

“I’ll write you letters, okay? You’ll respond, and it’d be as if I never left, won't it, squirt?”

You try your best at comforting her, but her fists just seem to get tighter around the fabric of your clothes. Gabi almost slumps against you, before she inhales shakily and softly releases you from her hold. Her hands immediately come up to wipe her tears away, and she looks furiously at the floor.

You know the letters are just a temporary solution. One that, given her age and profession, she would slowly forget about. And then, little by little, the letters from you would stop too. Zeke would tell her you moved, lost contact. That is, if by that time he is alive to do so.

You embrace her again and let her cry until her tear ducts dry out, holding her close, because you know you won’t be able to do that for a long, long time. Or at all, if your plan succeeds.

So you stay for just a moment more, relishing in the feeling of being cared for so deeply that it spills tears.

a/n: Reiner jumpscared me ngl. I was writing, as one does, and he just appeared, demanding he be written. I hope I did him justice hsajshd I had a difficult time writing him. On a completely unrelated note, did ya'll know that Amphetamines, sold as Benzedrine Inhalers, were used medically in the 1930's to treat depression? Neat. Anyway, guess who makes his first appearance on the next chapter.

Thanks for reading!

taglist: @dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13

ask or comment to be added!

[zeroxxlhero]

Girlfriend Headcannons • Ymir

Contents & Warnings: everyone is 18+, Hispanic! Ymir, Black!Fem! Reader, top! Ymir, bottom! Reader, public sex, established relationship, cunninlingus, strap-ons, pussy eating, mentions of squirting

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan)

Pairings: (Ymir x Fem! Reader)

SFW:

— Ymir’s known you since 7th grade but didn’t start developing feelings until 11th

—was a generally nice friend before she discovered her feelings for you and became even more nicer afterwards

—you had to ask her out because she was scared but she was happy (threw up one time because she couldn’t ask you but would never admit it)

—super clingy (can’t even sit up in the bed before she asks where you’re going. literally stands by the bathroom door while you pee or poop)

—always has a body part on you, maybe a foot, an arm, a leg; didn’t matter but she NEEDED to be touching you

—can make a mean ass dish like pozole and elote

—a literal natural-born chef and always wants you to taste her food before it’s served

—talks so fast in Spanish when she gets upset

—only wears black and white shirts

—has a closet full of designer brand Jordan’s and Nike shoes

—refuses to eat at any fast food restaurant but buys it for you

—has a tendency to be forgetful but tries to remember important details

—always gets you something when she comes back from going out

—sometimes says mean things without realizing how bad it could hurt your feelings and takes her days to apologize for it

—has a pit bull named Bruno that she treats like a human child (He’s a big spoiled baby)

—hates feet

—loves hugs and making out

—love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

—always smells like cherry and chia milk

—taught herself how to braid

—wants a daughter someday

NSFW:

—loves pussy and will eat it anywhere and everywhere

—loves having you face down and ass up while she breaks in your back with her strap

—can make you squirt

—prefers rough but switches to soft if need be

—will let you eat her out if you want

—has a tendency to fuck you in public if she’s horny enough

—mild sex drive

—depending on what you want, can last 1 to 2 rounds

—doesn’t tolerate the bratty shit, will put you in your place and make you apologize

—grips your skin too hard and leaves it sore

—loves hair-pulling

—would impregnate you if possible

—loves hearing you moan

—talks you through it

—cleans you up after and gets you anything that you want

Loves you very much and just want the best for you.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

3/9 Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

She googled the name Simon Riley and found close to nothing. He wasn't on Facebook or any other social media platform, and she was pretty sure he had given her a false name until a short news article popped up. It was in some Manchester local paper, and from almost 20 years ago. He had won medals in local school olympics, and even with the black and white raster image and a 20 year younger, estimated 90 pounds skinnier Simon Riley, she could recognize that jaw and those eyes.

Days passed by, and he sent her a message every night. They communicated only through text – he never called. It felt like she was living in the turn of the century, the way he refused to use social media or any messaging app. He asked her how her school was, what classes she was taking at the moment, and if work was good. She sent her a photo every night before going to sleep; it simply became a habit. Some were cuter, some were naughtier, but he always expressed his gratitude with a sly, sexy comeback that made her think she might actually be the only girl Simon was texting with.

He rarely disclosed anything about his work, and never sent another picture even when she tried to request one in a roundabout way. She soon stopped fishing for more details of his work because he always redirected the conversation elsewhere. All she knew was that he was used in some special operations of a private, international company. And from what she could deduce from that one single picture he had sent her, the company he worked for had a lot of money.

The headset, the tactical gear, the weapon she distinguished with another profound googling session to be some sort of an assault rifle… All that shit spoke the language of international investors with certain political interests. Simon was doing something that most likely included hybrid warfare, clandestine operations, dealing with nuclear threats and bio-weapons and whatnot.

She wondered why he had been so trusting; after all, she knew his whole name now and knew it wasn't an alias but his real, actual childhood name. Not that she was any kind of threat. Perhaps that was why…

But what made her a bit depressed was that he also didn't seem to regard her as someone he needed to protect. By staying in contact with him, she supposed she was taking at least some kind of a risk. But Simon didn't seem to care. It was both exciting and infuriating to keep in touch with a man like him.

After six days of excited, heated messaging, he sent a text "Off to work." It wasn't that cryptic; she figured it meant that he wasn't to be disturbed or that he wouldn't be able to talk for a while.

A while… that turned into a week.

She found herself zoning out in dull classes, thinking about what Simon was doing right now. Was he infiltrating some foreign military base, or going on a mission to prevent a hijacking, or storming a terrorist compound, or… whatever the fuck soldiers like himself did.

She began her day with a caffeine overdose and then went to listen to some professor talk about medieval manuscripts or Dante Gabriel Rossetti or curse tablets of ancient Rome, only to realize she was thinking about Simon firing his assault rifle in another continent with a skull mask on. She kept thinking about whether he was in danger, whether he would come back, whether she would ever see him again.

The while turned into another week, and she began to get anxious. Should she text him and ask how he was doing? Ask “You still at work?” or “What about that date?”

The last message she had sent was a reply to his work announcement. Have fun! — from 17 days ago.

17 days.

Was he dead?

His message It's your fault if I get killed now seemed more like a gloomy prediction of a future without Simon Riley.

But at the beginning of the third week of silence, she realized she had just been an idiot. Simon wasn't dead or injured or taken prisoner or anything like that.

He had simply forgotten about her.

He had realized she was not a Bond girl after all, but just another boring chick. He had found someone better. Something like that. A man like him could have pretty much any woman on this planet if he wanted to.

That was just the way the world was built.

She wouldn't say that she was depressed. She wouldn’t admit that she was devastated. She just needed a little time to clear her head.

It was difficult to sleep, and school felt more boring than ever. Work just reminded her of him. One day, she nearly fell from the pole while doing a simple straddle because she saw a man looking like Simon walk in the club.

He had given her an exorcism, only to replace the demons that haunted her with himself. Now she needed an exorcism from Simon, but no one knew how to do that.

She just needed to give it time, sleep it away, study it away… Distractions filled her day, and still, she refreshed their conversation every night before going to sleep, as if it was a fault in her phone that prevented his messages from reaching her. And felt like a stupid bitch, a lovesick fool while doing so.

And then, one Tuesday afternoon, after almost four weeks, he appeared at her uni.

She was arriving from a class that had just ended when she hurried past a man she had been pining for for 25 days.

"You working tonight?"

Hearing that voice in a place she had least expected to hear it made her shoulders shoot up and her breath get caught in her throat as she stopped and turned around.

"Jesus…- You scared me."

He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Boo."

"When did you… What are you doing here?"

She didn't say I'm happy to see you. I missed you. That would've sounded too desperate. Right? Even after 25 days.

He looked her up and down, and her knees felt like pudding.

"I like to stalk school girls."

She tried to suppress her smile. God, she had missed that cheeky humour.

"Pervert. No, I don't have a shift tonight."

"Then I can finally take you out on that date."

It was like her dreams had suddenly come true in one single minute. She went from a bird with a broken wing to Icarus flying toward the sun.

"What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see."

He was even taller than she remembered, broader, even when he was wearing all black. People were staring at them, staring at him, because he certainly didn’t look like someone who studied in the Art and Culture Department.

"How did you even know I was here right now?"

"Doesn't really need a rocket scientist to find that out, luv."

Right. But the fact that he had made the effort to dig up what classes she took, when and where, and then come and surprise her like this, made her heart ache. He gave her another once-over, and she squeezed her bag against her chest like that could shield her from the searing gaze.

"You look hot."

And that definitely made her blush… She was an umptieth year student and didn't bother to take pains anymore when she dragged herself in the class. She had her comfiest ballerinas on, her hair was tied to a simple ponytail, and she had no foundation, no mascara, only a bit of her favourite lipstick on. She was wearing a huge, flowy skirt the color of a Halloween pumpkin and a black, simple turtleneck — while perhaps neat and cute in this environment, to him, she would've thought she looked more like a librarian. Far from a hot Bond girl who danced at a strip club with curled hair and cat eye makeup.

"Um.."

"Such a diligent little student."

It seemed he did have an actual thing for school girls, even if they were almost 30 years old. She would never have guessed that this would send him itching. If Simon preferred the girl next door look to her being half-naked on a stage with a pole, then perhaps she did have a chance after all.

"I knew you were a good girl but I didn't know- "

"Stop it, people can hear you," she hissed while, in truth, feeling quite exalted by that good girl talk. She grabbed him by the arm, and he allowed her to guide him out of the building while looking perfectly content with himself and what he was doing to her.

They began the walk to her place so she could shower and get changed for whatever he had in mind for that date. The complete turnaround in her mood, the shot of hormones and giddy feelings and butterflies in the stomach left her feeling shaky. Even the colors seemed more vivid all of a sudden. It was a bit frightening how one single person could change the whole world in a second, have a remedy for all the shit she had been rolling in for the past week. Or two weeks. Or three.

"Sorry that it took so long. Work was... a bit of a challenge."

"It's okay."

Well, it really was not, but she would rather die than tell him that.

"It's better if you don't know where I am and when. I hope you understand that."

Safety measures for her sake after all. Now she felt almost flattered that he hadn't told her he was coming. Jesus...

"Yeah. Sure," she tried to sound neutral about it, but the sudden shyness that had taken over made it sound like she was being passive-aggressive. "I mean, I didn't expect you to entertain me every night."

Well, that sounded even more sour and pathetic… She snapped her mouth shut and tried to calm her heart that was racing from his presence, his scent which had been only a memory until now.

"So, what will you become when you graduate? A historian?”

"I’ve always wanted to work in a gallery. You know, as an art curator or something like that."

"Hm. Ambitious."

She wasn’t entirely sure if he was mocking her, but she laughed. In the culture business, it was a sought-after position, but of course it wouldn't seem like much to someone who wasn’t familiar with the art world.

"What about you? What do you wanna be when you grow up?"

"Alive."

Simon's humour was dark, but after seeing that picture of him, she knew he meant what he said. And she realized that it wasn't perhaps one of her most brilliant ideas to get attached to a man who could actually be killed.

When they got to her place, she went straight to the shower and left the door open, secretly wishing that he would be the one to sneak in this time. But he never showed up, and when she stepped into her small living room, she found Simon had dozed off on her sofa. He barely fit her neat little couch and was lying on his stomach, with one hand dangling out and brushing the floor. The soft snore made it clear that he was very tired and not just chilling in a very relaxed position.

It was a cute sight, downright adorable.

But it also hurt her heart. What made him so exhausted, time after time, month after month? He wouldn’t tell her, and it was futile to ask. The man was overloaded with stress and things ordinary civilians had no clue about. She had no clue about.

He must think of her as a harmless little mouse who knew nothing of the world's darkness. And she didn't. She had her own demons and traumas, but didn't everybody? Simon, on the other hand, seemed to have the combined lives of a gladiator, spy, and war veteran. He had access to a reality that was out of sight and mind for the rest of the civilized world.

Was Simon a good guy or a bad guy? Was he a hero that saved people, or a soldier who executed orders of rape, torture, and kill?

These were questions she had never thought she would need to find answers to. The guys she had dated had been equally as harmless as her. If not even more harmless. And that was saying something.

When she had dressed, she walked to him and heard how the snoring stopped immediately.

Simon was awake and listening. He had woken just from a few soft steps, from her tiptoeing and kneeling beside the sofa, and she wondered if he had been trained for this; to wake up when someone was sneaking up on him. The thought was both gruesome and spine-tingling.

But she hadn’t meant to steal his precious sleep. And if he was so exhausted, he should sleep and not take her out…

Now that he was supposedly awake, she dared to raise a hand and caress his back, remembering what he had said in the shower when she had stroked him. His upper back was tense, even when he was lying relaxed like this, and she felt pity: someone should give this man a back rub, a whole body massage to get those muscles loose. Get some blood flowing. She caressed him with the back of her palm, then slowly traced every little vertebra of his spinal column with two fingers.

He was using both one of the cushions and her sweater as a pillow. Something in the sight of him pressed against her old, snug woolen shirt made her hand come to a halt somewhere on his lower back.

“Don’t stop,” he muttered, sleepy against the softness of her home and hand. She had to fight back the reflexive flinch: his voice was always so rough, even when he whispered and the words were muffled by the support his head was resting on.

“You have tension in your back,” she told him, not knowing why she was whispering too. It wasn’t like he was about to dart off from a sudden noise.

He merely purred for an answer, still sounding drowsy and half-asleep. How disarmed and defenseless he seemed now… On that little couch, under her gentle touch.

“I need to buy you a massage gift card for Christmas,” she blurted and regretted it immediately.

Buy him a Christmas present? As if they were some kind of a couple already… As if this wasn’t barely the second time they were spending time together.

At first, Simon didn’t show any signs of wanting to escape that hopeful suggestion of them becoming something more than just fuck buddies someday. But then he suddenly turned, and she took her hand away.

“I’d rather have you massage me,” he offered with a soft smile and a dreamy stare.

Good. Good, everything was good..

She hadn’t ruined it, hadn’t lost another poker game to this man. She still had cards to play.

She noticed the obvious signs of his arousal and felt wild in the breeze of the moment. Or perhaps she wanted to brush away what she had just said — and make him forget it too.

She reached for his pants to take them off, and he helped her with them, clearly having no objections to what she was about to do. Which was giving him a blowjob that would erase the traces of him thinking he had an obligation to buy her a present for this Christmas.

When she took him in her mouth, he grabbed the edge of the sofa as if the situation was a little too much for him.

"Didn't see that coming…"

His voice had an edge of trepidation to it. Uneasiness, almost worry. But he must've liked it, for he eased into it shortly after, slumped back onto the couch, and spread his legs in relaxation. She guided her frustration and doubts into the blowjob, tried to turn into someone else — to that girl from the stage. The Bond girl he had met, the woman of his dreams: just anything but a meek little woman who rarely left her house except for class or work.

She was fully present, not sloppy at all, almost felt like a magician as she forced groans out of him and felt his balls pull taut under her touch. He would never fit inside her mouth completely, but she tried her best.

She sure as hell made an effort.

"You must've really missed m- ah… Fuck.."

It was pretty evident that he enjoyed it. After those weeks at work, perhaps this was what he had wanted all along? To come somewhere safe, some place completely different, and throw himself on a soft couch for a quick nap before some homely girl came to give him a few caresses and a blowjob.

She swirled her tongue around the tip, gave him a little suck, then took him in as far as she could and felt him all the way at the back of her throat.

"Bloody hell Sarah..."

It couldn't be that good…

But he was all but melting under her tongue and touch. Was it just that it had been so long, or was this a rarity in his life? She'd thought that women touched him often, but apparently, they didn't. Or then he didn't allow them to.

Perhaps Simon didn't allow himself to be touched by women. He made love to them and fucked them against a wall in the shower, but he didn't get attention and caresses and blowjobs.

Well, this was news.

It didn't take too long before he came with a hoarse grunt that nearly made her shrink from him. It sounded both sublime and painful, and sent ripples of gold in her stomach and a pang of wet heat between her legs. The load was generous, but she didn't pull away, briefly wondering how awkward it would be to choke on his cum the second time they met. It had been a while for him, then, and she felt disappointed. It wasn't anything special after all, merely the cause of him not having had the opportunity, desire, or time to fap.

His chest was heaving, and she had made a mess in her attempt to swallow it all while keeping everything under control. With Simon, she wasn’t in control, and she had no choice but to accept it.

He reached a hand to absentmindedly caress her hair, and she rested her head on his thigh — but they didn't stay that way for long, for he stirred, and she had to draw back.

"Your turn," he suddenly rose from the couch while still looking like someone who was about to pass out. He got out of his pants, pulled his shirt over his head, threw it somewhere on the floor, and hauled her up in a bridal carry. He literally swept her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom, and she must’ve looked like a deer in headlights.

Because Simon was and wasn't safe.

He had strength, charisma, and forearms to die for, but he didn't feel like someone she would choose to tell her every secret, someone who she would call if she needed help. He came into her world and walked out of it like there was a swinging door between the two of them.

He didn't commit. Which meant that she couldn't commit. Which furthermore meant that she had trouble getting wet.

As infuriating as it was, dark and dangerous didn't exactly turn her on. This wasn't dating; this was more like an adventure or a roller coaster ride. She didn't know what phase they were in because the usual dating-related stuff was off the board. There was nothing to hold on to.

He laid her on the bed, crawled next to her, then reached a hand under another skirt she had chosen for going out with him.

"Perhaps later," she whispered as his hand was already traveling up her thigh. She almost took those words right back when she saw the obvious hurt flash in his eyes. She didn't know if she had de a chip to his pride or if it was something else, but he clearly hadn't expected her to say no to him again.

"Why won't you let me touch you?"

"I…"

She didn't know what to tell him.

What could she say? That she felt unsafe with him? That wasn't even entirely true.

She couldn't tell him that she needed trust and commitment while knowing he couldn't give them to her. Her shy silence stretched on, and the frightened state she was in only worsened when he stared at her, tilted his head, and wouldn't remove his hand.

Then he kissed her — unhurriedly, languidly, and the hand just stayed there under the skirt, pressed against her thigh, firm and broad. Only after she answered his kiss with a shy hunger did he move it further up, up — until it came to rest on her sex.

The kissing finally did it: at some point, she could feel the sudden rush of wetness down below. Her lips trembled when he pulled away only an inch and looked into her eyes while their breaths danced in between their lips. His palm moved only a tiny bit; he was soothing her, coaxing her to open for him. Eventually, his fingers met the soaked spot on her panties, and she swallowed. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, just a tiny little hint that he knew he was doing it right.

"Did you like the picture I sent you?"

Oh fuck.

"Um, yeah.."

He pressed a finger against the center of her wetness, covered only by the thin fabric, and she tried to draw breath as inaudibly as she could.

"Did you get wet?"

So fucking cocky…

"Yes, she whispered against his lips, which finally curved into a small smile.

"Come again?"

"Yes."

The smile widened into a smirk as he moved to slip underneath the fabric. Her folds parted without effort as he guided his finger over her, the length and thickness now resting on her entrance and all the wetness that only increased by the second. She was blinking and breathing shallowly against his mouth while he simply continued to drink in every sign of her unease and arousal.

"Is that why you asked for more?"

Oh God… 

"Yes. Would you just-"

"Begging already?"

He was so… infuriating. So cocky, so damn self-confident… It drove her crazy.

"No."

Something flickered in his eyes, a twinkle of endearment.

And not just a twinkle. It was bold, blazing mischief. Shit… She was fucked.

"I'll make you beg."

Oh my God…

He moved even lower, then dipped one finger in, so deep that she was left blinking again. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she realized she must be looking like a fish on dry land. He pulled out, and she wanted to protest, but her pride stood in the way. The moisture was spread all over her folds, especially over the tight, sensitive bud that had been left without attention for so long from the sadness and hopelessness, from her having thought Simon wouldn't come back. She couldn't even touch herself because she had already gotten used to thinking about him when she did that.

A shaky little moan finally hit his lips, and he kissed her again while drawing a circle on the bud, sweeping a few strokes across her folds, then driving two fingers in. Slowly, lovingly. The laced fabric that was stretched to give him space must be sodden by now, but he wouldn't pause to take it away. He just continued to fuck her slowly with his fingers while holding that kiss, holding her steady with his mouth only.

He had taken her hesitation as a challenge, and she wondered if she was some kind of a challenge to him overall. If something in her made him want to break her, get to the bottom of her, get a reaction out of her… And he was succeeding splendidly. She was everything but frigid now. He only needed a finger or two to make her like this. And perhaps that voice of his. That stupid cockiness.

He left her mouth and pulled out, only to finally reach for her poor underwear and take it off. She didn't object this time, but when he moved between her legs and she realized he was about to replace those panties with his face, she jerked away from him.

"Hold on…"

"Nah. You hold on."

He wouldn't relent. He simply pressed his mouth against her pussy which, by now, was wet to the point of leaking, and grabbed hold of her hips as if to remind her that she couldn't get away even if she tried. She could only sink back to the bed and let him have his way: to embark on a mission to make her beg.

And she did beg, eventually, when he pressed his tongue flat against her and plunged it inside, and sucked her clit and did it all with such infuriating patience and laid-back attitude that it made her squirm against him. He caressed her with his tongue, those lips, caressed her with his thumb before guiding it inside as well while kissing her thighs, now wide open for him.

She didn't beg with words, but she did coat the air with sighs and moans that must've stroked his ego like nothing else. Even the stubble did its job: it didn’t sting. It only drove her more mad. She could hear him chuckle against her occasionally, could feel him smile in her pussy as he ruined her with that mouth. Even the intrusive thoughts of whether Simon had done this to dozens of women before her and would do it to dozens after her didn't prevent her from approaching the peak in minutes, mere minutes…

Just as she was about to grasp his hair for support, to brace herself for the incoming, he withdrew. The bastard rose to sit and left her shaking and whimpering.

"Wh-… why did you…"

He was licking his lips, smiling, and stroking himself, fully erect again. The fact that he was hard from pleasing her with his mouth, left her feeling even more weak.

"You want it?"

"Fucking hell, Simon." She knew how she must look: dripping wet, with desperation in her eyes and a shaky curse on her lips.

"Is that a beg?"

He placed the thick tip to her entrance, and she throbbed and writhed against him like she was about to come from the slightest touch of that cock.

"Yeah… Yes, please, Simon, just-"

He granted her plea to the full before she had even finished it. The spread, the feeling of being filled with him, was so exquisitely divine that it only took less than five thrusts before she came.

He looked annoyingly pleased while watching her have one of the most powerful, gratifying, leg-shaking orgasms of her life. Perhaps it was only a proper way to greet a man who had been inside her head for so long: who was finally inside her for the first time in four desolate weeks. She didn't feel wild or raw now; she felt like molasses, like puddle of tears, a boneless, limp heap of muscle from all that love and gentle fucking.

After the tension, tremblings, and shaky sighs had left her, and she was merely panting, he finally stopped. Lodged deep inside her to feel the rest of the waves, he was still watching her. The stare of those warm eyes was too much to bear after another implosion that made her even more attached to this man.

"If you call me a good girl, I swear I'll slap you again," she whispered. The body against him shook from silent laughter. He kissed her again, buried his fingers in her hair, gave her another rock of his hips. And then, suddenly stopped just to whisper in her ear…

"That's my good girl."

Fuck…. 

It was useless. Utterly, completely useless with Simon.

"Ok… Ok." She tried to gather herself while he was still inside her, still filling her and shielding her with his body. "You're asking for it, so I'm not giving it to you."

"Poor me," he answered with that gruff, heart melting voice.

She was laughing again, smiling for the first time in days. Beaming, even…. Probably looking like a brain-dead idiot.

"This was a good date. I had fun."

In her opinion, it was the best date ever, but would she let him know it and stroke that ego further? Hell no.

"This wasn't what I had in mind," he hummed while moving to kiss her neck.

"What if we just stayed here for the rest of the day?"

"Wouldn't mind that."

“You know.. I... really missed you,” she finally confessed with a whisper while he was preoccupied with her neck; safely somewhere else than right there in front of her, staring her in the eyes, gathering evidence of her vulnerability. He huffed a chuckle against her skin in response, sounding close to relieved.

"I missed you too."