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rafecameronssl4t · 3 months ago

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First Impressions || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: the meeting in which your parents announce your arranged marriage to Rafe.

Warnings: mention of smoking, not much else ???

Word count: 1,724

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Your black Porsche roars down the gravel drive, tires screeching as they skid to a halt just in front of the grand entrance to your family estate. The car’s abrupt stop sends a shower of tiny stones in every direction, the sound cutting through the quiet morning.

With a sigh, you push open the door and step out, the morning air crisp against your skin. Taking one last drag from your cigarette, you savour the moment before dropping it to the ground, the glowing ember snuffed out beneath the heel of your designer shoe.

A quick glance at your watch—10:20am. Twenty minutes late. You were supposed to be here on time, but the delay feels inevitable. With a flicker of annoyance, you brush a strand of hair from your face and stride toward the front door, where the familiar figure of your family’s butler awaits.

“Miss Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” he greets you with a warm smile, the lines of age deepening around his eyes. “Likewise,” you respond, managing a small smile in return. The butler steps aside and opens the door, allowing you to enter the cool, polished interior.

Your heels click sharply against the marble floor as you make your way toward the formal dining room, each step echoing in the vast, silent hall. As you approach the double doors, two servants stand ready, pulling them open to reveal the scene inside.

Your parents sit at the table, their expressions betraying nothing as they notice your arrival. Alongside them are three unfamiliar figures, their backs turned to you, leaving you momentarily confused as to who they were. You exhale softly, bracing yourself, and walk into the room.

“Pleasure to have you finally arrive,” your mother remarks, her voice edged with a tight-lipped grin. Your father doesn’t even glance your way, his attention fixed elsewhere. With a deliberate movement, you stride to the table, tossing your Lady Dior bag onto the polished surface with a loud clatter.

“The pleasure is all mine, mother,” you reply, your voice thick with restrained anger as you take your seat. Finally, your gaze falls on the three guests seated before you—the Camerons. Your eyes land on Rafe, and for a moment, you’re taken aback.

He looks different, more rugged, with his hair shaved off, giving him a harder, more defined look. His eyes, however, remain downcast, focused on the table as if he’s avoiding meeting your gaze. “My, how beautiful you have gotten, my dear,” Ward Cameron’s voice breaks through the tension, drawing your attention to him as he regards you with a smile.

You force a smile in response to Ward’s compliment, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Cameron,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but distant. The tension in the room is palpable, every gesture, every word carefully measured. Your mother’s gaze flickers between you and Rafe, a subtle hint of expectation in her eyes, while your father remains silent, his face a mask of indifference.

As you settle into your seat, the silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the unspoken purpose of this meeting hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The Camerons, your parents, Rafe—all of them waiting for something, though none are willing to break the silence.

Finally, your mother clears her throat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “We thought it was time for you to meet again,” she begins, her tone carefully neutral. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, and given the circumstances, we felt it was appropriate to… reconnect.”

You glance at Rafe, his eyes still fixed on the table. The last time you saw him, things were different—less complicated, less strained. But now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, impossible to bridge. You wonder if he feels it too, this cold, empty space that has grown between you.

“I suppose it’s been a long time,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. The words hang in the air, unanswered, as you try to find something—anything—to say that might ease the tension. Ward shifts in his seat, his gaze settling on you with a calculating intensity.

“Rafe has been doing well,” he says, as if the words are meant to reassure you, though they have the opposite effect. “He’s matured a great deal since you last saw him.” At this, Rafe finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since you walked into the room. There’s something in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or maybe just regret—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same distant, unreadable look he’s worn since you arrived.

“And you, Miss Y/n,” Ward continues, his tone smooth, almost too smooth. “I trust you’ve been well?” You nod, forcing another smile. “Yes, quite well, thank you.” The words feel hollow, a formality that barely covers the unease simmering beneath the surface.

Your mother, sensing the need to steer the conversation, jumps in. “We’ve been discussing some… arrangements,” she says, her voice careful, as if she’s choosing each word with precision. “Given the history between our families, we thought it best to ensure that both sides are… satisfied with the outcome.”

Your heart sinks as the true purpose of this meeting becomes clear. This isn’t just a casual reunion or an attempt to reconnect old acquaintances. This is a negotiation, a transaction between two powerful families, and you and Rafe are the bargaining chips.

You glance at Rafe again, searching his face for any sign of how he feels about this, but his expression remains guarded. Whatever thoughts are running through his mind, he’s keeping them well hidden. Your father finally speaks, his voice low and authoritative.

“This is an important moment for both of our families. I trust you both understand the gravity of the situation.” The weight of his words settles over you, a cold, heavy pressure that makes it hard to breathe. You want to protest, to argue that this isn’t what you want, that it isn’t fair to either of you—but you know it would be pointless. In this world, duty and obligation come before personal desires.

Rafe’s voice cuts through your thoughts, quiet but steady. “We understand,” he says, his tone betraying nothing of what he might actually be feeling. Your mother smiles, a thin, satisfied smile. The silence in the room grows heavier as your father's words sink in, confirming what you’ve both known was coming.

This is more than just a meeting; it’s the formal beginning of the arrangement that has been hanging over you for months. The marriage. The merging of your two families. You glance at Rafe, catching the flicker of frustration in his eyes before he looks away, jaw tightening in silent protest. It’s clear he’s not happy about this, and a part of you understands his reluctance.

But for you, there’s no surprise, no anger—just a deep, overwhelming numbness. This is what your life was always meant to be: a marriage arranged for the benefit of your family, a union to produce heirs, to continue the legacy. There was never any illusion of choice.

As your mother and Ward exchange pleasantries, discussing the finer details of the arrangement, you find yourself tuning out, your gaze drifting to the large windows that overlook the manicured gardens outside. The sunlight streaming in feels distant, cold.

Rafe shifts in his seat beside you, the movement drawing your attention back to the table. His expression is tense, a mixture of resignation and barely concealed resentment. He doesn’t want this—at least, not like this—but he’s trapped in the same web of expectations that binds you.

Your father’s voice breaks through your thoughts, stern and final. “The wedding will take place in two months. The arrangements have already begun.” Two months. The words hang in the air, sealing your fate. You glance at Rafe again, hoping for some sign of how he’s processing this, but his face is unreadable, the brief glimpse of frustration now replaced by a mask of indifference.

For a moment, you wonder what he’s thinking—whether he’s angry, scared, or just as numb as you are. But you quickly push the thought aside. It doesn’t matter how either of you feel. This is what you were born for, raised for. This is your duty.

“We’ll be ready,” Rafe finally says, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. It’s a statement of fact, not a promise, and you feel the weight of it settle over you like a shroud. Your mother nods approvingly, while Ward offers a pleased smile. “I’m sure you will be,” he replies, as if Rafe’s compliance is exactly what he expected.

The conversation shifts to practicalities—guest lists, venues, and dates—but it all feels distant to you, like watching a play from behind thick glass. You nod and smile at the appropriate moments, playing the part you’ve been trained for your entire life, but inside, there’s only emptiness. This marriage, this life, was decided long before you had a say in it.

When the meeting finally ends, and the Camerons prepare to leave, Rafe stands, his movements slow and deliberate. For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and in them, you see a flicker of something—anger, perhaps, or maybe just resignation. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the same cold detachment you’ve come to expect.

Ward clasps your father’s hand in a firm handshake. “We look forward to the wedding,” he says, his tone full of false warmth. “Likewise,” your father replies, though his eyes remain hard. As the Camerons depart, leaving you and your parents alone in the dining room, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

The future, once a distant inevitability, now looms as a stark reality—a reality you must face with Rafe by your side, whether you want to or not. The weight of it settles over you like a suffocating blanket, each breath growing heavier as the room seems to close in around you.

Your mother’s voice slices through the thick silence, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "How many times must I remind you to break that wretched habit of smoking?" Her eyes narrow in disapproval, her gaze like a blade that cuts through any pretense of warmth. You feel the familiar irritation rise within you, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at her constant nagging.

"I could smell it the moment you walked in, and I’m certain the Camerons did as well," she continues, her words dripping with disdain as she takes a deliberate sip of her drink. The crystal glass clinks against her teeth, a harsh sound that echoes in the tense air. You lower your gaze to your lap, your fingers twisting together in a futile attempt to keep your composure.

The reprimand feels like a ritual by now, one you’ve endured countless times, yet it never fails to sting. Your father’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and unyielding. "Such behavior will not be tolerated once you're married," he declares, his tone cold and final. "Respectable young women preparing to have a family do not indulge in such habits."

His words hit you like a slap, a stark reminder of the life being imposed upon you—one where even your small rebellions are to be eradicated. Your father stands, his movements deliberate and composed as he smooths down his blazer. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his tone firm and unyielding. "Yes, Father," you reply quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper as you sit there, trying to disappear into the chair.

Your parents leave without another word, their footsteps echoing in the empty room, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The echo of their disapproval lingers, mixing with the cold reality of your future, a future where even your small, defiant pleasures are not your own.

You sit there for a long moment, the weight of it all pressing down on you until it feels as though you might break under the strain. But you don’t. Instead, you swallow the bitterness, pushing it deep down where it festers quietly. This is your life now, the one you were born into, the one you must live whether you want to or not.

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lixiepixiedust · 6 months ago

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menace!boyfriend k.sm. (a much needed headcanon)

: ̗̀➛ pairing — seungmin x gn!reader : ̗̀➛ word count — 530 : ̗̀➛ content — fluff, seungmin acting like everyone's annoying little brother

a/n — these pictures of kim seungmin killed me. who told him to look this good with a bowl cut???? i hope you guys enjoyed this!!

menace!seungmin who was definitely your friend before becoming your boyfriend.

menace!seungmin who suddenly yells "boo!" and grabs your shoulders to scare you during the quietest scene of a horror movie. if you screamed, he would laugh his heart out and you promise yourself to never watch a horror movie with him ever again.

menace!seungmin who would definitely act the silliest while you're drinking water to purposefully make you laugh while your mouth is FULL and dodge when you spray it out of your mouth and nose

menace!seungmin who brings food to your mouth like a gentlemen but then shoves it into his own mouth

menace!seungmin who throws a snowball at you in the winter and has it go down your back. but then on that same evening, he would hug you in bed with the heat of his body warming you up as if he didn't just freeze your butt off earlier.

menace!seungmin who refuses to ask you directly when he wants to see you so he "forgets" stuff at your house so he can go over to get it

menace!seungmin who walks in on you in the bathroom and starts a casual conversation like you aren't sitting on the toilet.

menace!seungmin who will never make a normal entrance whenever you've got a date planned. he told you to meet him in front of the movie theatre? he'll jump out of the corner to surprise attack you when you're there. he told you he'd pick you up? he's hiding beside the door when you open it, waiting to jump at you. if you dated him in high school, he'd definitely be the type of guy to cover your eyes and say "guess who?"

when you two are at dinner alone or with a group of people like your family, menace!seungmin will always put his foot on yours under the table and not let you go

menace!seungmin who will flick his wet hands at you while walking out of the bathroom to annoy you and he got you to do it to him every time as well

menace!seungmin who has you becoming a mini-version of him. you'd adopt his vocabulary and attitude so you joke about how he's being a bad influence on you.

menace!seungmin who is obsessed with kissing your hands. if you have your hand in his, he'll bring it up to his lips with any chance he gets. before crossing the road, waiting for the street food to be ready, going up in the elevator, you name it. sometimes if he's feeling silly he'll bite your hand while he's at it.

menace!seungmin who can't look into your eyes for too long or else he'll fold so he always ruffles your hair or gently pushes your head away if he ever feels like the eye contact is becoming too much. you don't know this so you just assume he likes to make your hair messy like the bitch he is.

menace!seungmin who's love language is being annoying but if he ever catches anyone else doing it to you, he'll fight their ass

menace!seungmin who loves you to the ends of the earth and will never fail to tell you

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shojizbae · 7 months ago

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Yeehaw!

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: This is spicy! Use of alcohol, behind drunk/drunk sex, Oral fem! receiving, cowgirl position

Everyone could tell with just one look at you that you were Southern. That being said, anytime there was a case in the South, everyone knew to take a step back and let you lead. This time, there was a string of murders in Aiken, South Carolina, and the team knew that you were all over it.

"Weren't you from a Carolina?" Derek chuckles as we board the jet.

"Yeah, I spent most of my time on Camp Lejeune with my daddy, then I went south for college in Charleston."

"So that means Hotch has been demoted for this." Emily snickers

"No, I just know the South, and I'll get a little gun-happy when I'm back home. It wouldn't be no different had we gone to Chicago, Derek."

"Wow, mama's go home heat today." We settle on the jet, and Hotch and Rossi debrief us. I take a nap as we head south, and unfortunately, the power of the state takes me over. I march up to the sheriff and flash my credentials.

"So, how's it happen?" The sheriff speaks in an accent so thick it makes grits look like juice. I glance at the team, and they seem to sigh in relief when they realize I can understand him. Tirelessly, we worked the case for 73 hours. We met at a fresh crime scene every morning. The unsub seemed to be in a frenzy. He was dangerous and mixed with a high concentration of amphetamine addiction in this area. It was likely he had no clue he was killing.

But, due to the trace amounts of meth, we knew that he was unstable and would trip up eventually. We got some sleep after the fourth body, and there was a trip up in the morning. A fifth, but he had left some of his powdered sugar at the crime scene.

I put a glove on and lifted the little baggie, showing it off to Reid.

"Hey, Spencer, check this out."

"Hey, I've been clean for years," He mopes

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugar," A detective approaches me with an evidence bag. "Here, swab it and run this through CODIS." Spencer and I kept sweeping the crime scene for any molecule of evidence. Nothing all that exciting. The killer left the knife in her this time. Indicative of the fact that they were out of control. I squat next to the body and ghost my fingers over the entrance wound.

"Hey Spencer," He perks up like a gopher, "If you were going to kill someone and you were going to stab them to death, how'd you do it?"

"Are you sure that's an appropriate question?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'd probably use something with a curved blade. It would do the most damage and be the hardest to remove." His eyes go kind of dead, as he explains. An awkward air hangs between the two of us as we survey the wound.

"Damn, Spence, that's messed up."

"You asked." He sasses

Not later that evening, a woman called to suspect a strange man was in her house. We move in immediately and find a man pacing in circles in the bathroom. He's violent and angry, and his nose is bleeding. He tried to swing a knife at Morgan, but I grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his head into the wall. I use my hips to push him forward and cuff him while Emily helps the woman safely out of her house.

I march him to the car while he screams that I'm a bastard whore. Finally, I shoved him into the police car and muttered a good riddance. I even patted my hands like a baker getting flour off.

"I need a drink." I put my hands on my hips

"I could use something to cool off, too. This southern heat can be beat." Derek wipes his brow

"Hotch you think we have the leeway to spend the night here?" Emily asks

"That's all up to JJ, anything pressing enough that we need to get back to Quantico?"

"Well, nothing too scary that we couldn't cut loose after working for six days straight." She smiles at the team

Hours later, we showered, ate a full meal at a steakhouse, and put on the nicest clothes in our go-bags. The team was shocked to discover I had a cowboy hat in my bag. We moseyed our way to the bar, a small dive bar with a pool table. A mechanical bull is in the center of the room, and my eyes light up at the memories. Rossie buys us a pitcher of beer, and we all unwind from the stressful week.

As we knock 'em back slowly and let college stories fly, the team starts to forget what we had seen. Rossi tells us some funny stories about going to college during the summer of love, and Reid accidentally brags about going to Cal Tech.

"Well, what about you? Didn't you go to school nearby?" Emily says as she refills her glass.

"Uh yeah, in Charleston, South Carolina." I clarify

"So you must have spent most of your nights like this." Derek motions around the bar, playing honky-tonk music. Pool balls clack around us, and there's a thin layer of dirt around the edge of the bar.

"Well, most nights I spent in my dorm or the library. Every other Saturday, my roommate and neighbors would go to a dive named Fat Daddy's. We would make bets with the alcoholic dads about being able to ride the bull, and if we stayed on longer than they said so, they'd buy us all a drink. I didn't pay for my own liquor for three semesters." The team stood in shock. Hotch's jaw was agape and Rossi just nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

"Well, now, baby girl, I have to see you in action." Derek almost commands

"No, I ain't dressed right. And ain't nobody betted me."

"I bet you won't last seven seconds on the mechanical bull," Spencer interjects "If you do, I'll buy you that coconut margarita that you've been eyeing."

"Alrght, there's my bet." I march up to the bartender "I'm'onna ride that bull." I point at it and he looks me hat to boot.

"Alright," The bartender seems disinterested. He hits a button, and lights around the bull flash like a carnival. I draw the attention of the whole bar as a pre-recorded announcer calls me a brave challenger.

Big men with fat beer bellies gather around, and I readjust my top. If I play my cards right, I might get more than a coconut margarita out of this. I'm not wearing anything too special—just one of my combat scoop-neck tees and low-rise daisy dukes. The bartender offers his hand, and I use it to mount the big plastic bull.

"You ready, little girl?" He asks

"Yes sir." I grip onto the handle at the 'bull's nape and a bell rings. Slowly the bull starts lurching forward and back while exciting music bounces around the bar.

one Mississippi

The bull speeds up

'ride it, cowgirl!" Derek yells from the edge of the bull enclosure

two Mississippi

It starts going sideways

three Mississippi

I fake with my appearance that I'm struggling and readjust my grip

four Mississippi

I use my hips to grind with the rhythm of the bull as men whoop and cheer

five Mississippi, six Mississippi

My heart starts to thump against my ribs

Seven Mississippi, I win.

The team cheers for me. I keep going, getting bold enough to grind more dramatically. I hear more whoops and hollers as I lift my arms and squee. Someone yells, and another man whistles. I hold onto my hat as the bull speeds up, and I feel my shirt lift.

'Yeehaw!' I hear, and the bar just erupts. I feel so full of life, and I jump up on the bull, riding it like a surfboard. I drop down and sit backward on the bull. I twist around and ride the bull until the bartender slows it down.

"You done broke our record. 39 seconds on the highest speed." The bar screams in glee, and the team closes in on me, handing out high fives. Reid hangs behind the group, and I see him ask Derek a question

"Did you know that (Y/n) has a stomach tattoo?"

"Wow (Y/n), that was incredible." Emily looks starstruck

"I told you I didn't pay for a drink for 18 months." I give JJ a hug, and Reid emerges from the crowd

"I guess I owe you a drink." He smiles, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt

"One coconut margarita, please, sir." He leads me to the bar, where the bartender makes one for me. I hold the glass up to his face, and Reid takes the first sip.

"No, that's fine," He pushes the glass from his cheek

"C'mon, you paid for it."

"Listen, you know that coercion isn't a great thing to do. Most serial killers are more coercive than a skeezy lawyer."

"Aw, you're using my metaphors." I coo and step closer to his chest

"When did you become so flirty?" he braces me on the hip

"All that shaking around must have got the beer movin' in me." I giggle and sip on my glass. "I saw you askin' Derek 'bout my tattoo. y' wanna see it?" I start to roll up my shirt

"No, no, that's fine," He holds my wrist to stop me. "Why don't we get you some water."

"No, this is yummy." I smile and down the cup. He grimaces at the action and tries to walk me over to our table

"Hey, Spencer, you wanna know why I'm so good at riding that thing?" I halt to play with the button of his shirt, and he stops, too.

"Uh sure," He swallows

"Ever the curious doctor," I slur. I'm good with the bull because I love riding," I whisper drunkenly in his ear. He swallows hard and tries to shimmy us back to our table. His hands shake as he grips my tricep.

"Why're you so nervous?" I ask the side of his jaw. My voice swings up an octave, but I snort as I survey the team.

"The liquor got to her quick. I'm gonna get her back to the hotel."

"Oooh, why don't you take me someplace fancy," I tease

"Well, make sure you use protection." Derek snorts as he lifts a brown bottle to his lips

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry. I've got an IUD." Spencer soothes my sentence with a pat on my shoulder, and I slide a hand down his back

"That won't be a problem. I'm just going to ensure she has water, Advil, and comfortable clothes." He jumps away as I make an attempt to grab his butt.

"You sure you don't want either of us to take her?" JJ offers and points between Emily and herself. I rest my head on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my temple.

"You gonna take good care of me, Doctor?" I smile up at his concerned face

"I'm not that kind of doctor." He scolds. He helps seatbelt me into one of two FBI SUVs. Slowly and carefully, he drives me to the highway motel we were placed in, and he marches me into my room.

"Alright, are you sober enough to shower?" He sits me on the bed, and the mattress shrieks beneath me

"Yeah, so long as you help me get my shirt off."

"No, I won't be doing that," He finds a glass and fills it with water. He digs in my go-bag and finds the bottle of Advil. He drops two in his hand and gives them to me as well as the cup. "Drink this," he tucks some hair behind his ears.

"My feet hurt," I whine and put the pills in my mouth.

"Well, you're wearing those ridiculous boots," He stressfully tucks some hair behind his ears

"They ain't ridiculous." Stick out a foot and twist it to see the whole design, "Maybe a little flashy." I tuck my foot in and look up at him. "Will you calm down if you held me out of these sugar?"

"Yeah, sure." He kneels down and tugs each of my boots off, and lines them up with the rest of my shoes.

"Aww, you're so caring. C'mere sugar." Reluctantly, he finds me on the mattress, and I pat it next to me. He's hesitant, but he sits, and I lean against him. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"You wanna ask about my tattoo?"

"No,"

"Really, because you keep glancing down at my stomach. I may be a drunk one, but I am a profiler. What about it? Gets you going so much?"

"What?" He scoffs in shock "It doesn't 'get me going'." I hold onto his arm

"Really? Because I'm pushin' my tits against you, and you're still lookin' at my stomach."

"I uh I'm not." He's distracted enough that I can swing my legs across his lap "(Y/n), this is really inappropriate conduct for coworkers."

"I ain't on the clock," I slowly drag my shirt up to reveal the design. Two big blossoms of overlapping lavender and olive flowers. Any protests he tries to make are halted as he studies the image.

"These ones, "I guide his apprehensive hand as hi pointer finger traces my stomach "Are olive blossoms, they stand for peace. and these are lavenders."

"They mean feminity and grace." He clears his throat

"I've got more," I whisper playfully

"C-can I see them?" He swallows. I cross my arms at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, lifting the hem of my bralette.

"There's some text under my boobs."

"te amo para siempre." He reads without an accent, so it sounds stilted. "Did you get that for a boyfriend?"

"No, it's something my grandpa used to tell me." he runs his thumb over the cursive, "And on my collarbones." I guide his wrist to my right clavicle.

"'An eye for an eye,' I guided him across my chest, and he traced like he was reading braille.' leaves the whole world blind.' He connected his eyes with mine. His pupils were real big.

"Aw gee, I just realized I'm a little underdressed."

"Of course," he shifts around to encourage me to get off

"Uh uh, it could be you're just overdressed," I hold onto the knot in his tie

"No (Y/n),"

"You know, darling, your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes." I slide my hips forward and feel him suppress a shudder. I direct his head to look at me with blown-wide puppy dog eyes. "Maybe we should tell your mouth to let your body take over." I sink my lips against him, and he melts into me. Our lips smack as he pulls away

"(y/n), no, this isn't professional," he tries to disable my arms as I slide his tie knot apart

"Well, that's good. If I were professional, you get a hotel in a local jail for soliciting a prostitute." I get the knot loose and free his neck, making headway on the buttons. He shiftsbutI kiss his complaints away. Soon, sounds of complaint turn to moans as he succumbs to his body.

"Hey, Spencer," I pull away briefly and chew on my lip at the view. His hair is fluffed, and the top half of his shirt is flipped open. "I've got one more tattoo, and I think you'd really like it."

"I would?" he pushes his hair back "Why." I give him a peck as I reach for the button on my shorts. He grabs my hand and undoes the button himself. I guide his hand to the zipper, and he tugs it down. Instead of shimmying out of the shorts, I hook his finger in the elastic of my underwear. He pulls it down just enough to read the black text that slowly faded to show green.

"C6H12O6?"

"Yeah, you remember what that means?"

"It's the chemical formula for sugar." He snaps the underwear back into place, and I jump at the sensation, "Why?"

"Because I'm so sweet." I dive back in and kiss him. Heated aggressively like he's got the last cup of water on his tongue. He reaches into my hair to steady me, and with his second hand, he grabs my hip. I continue to unbutton his shirt until he shores it off into the distance.

"Well, look how handsome you are," I watch him blush, but I run my hands up his chest and over his collarbones. He blushes but guides my hand to his belt buckle. I love the sound a belt buckle makes. Before I can get his pants off him, Spencer surprises me. He picks us up and twists us, so my back slaps against the squeaky mattress.

He slithers down my body, kissing down the various tattoos. Gently, he slides his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. He slides them down and separates each of my knees. Almost entranced he licks up the gray cotton panties I wore.

"Spencer!' I moan in shock

"Please, this is my favorite part." He pulls the underwear off and tosses it to the side. I don't protest any further. It's rare to find a guy willing to go down on me, much less one that initiates. He wraps his arms around my thighs and places my knees at his shoulders. He wastes no time diving in.

With every man I've slept with, I've never felt someone go down on me with such fervor and skill. I'm taken down. He clings onto my clit with desperation. He drops my right leg so that he can trace gentle circles around my pussy.

"Spenc- Uh"

"Sh-sh -shh, just relax." He soothes me and rubs my inner thigh. I try to look down at him, but as he continues his ministrations, I lose my strength and flop my head back. Slowly, he sinks his pointer finger in, and I take a sharp inhale.

"Spe-EUUh!" His skill is shocking as he slowly moves his finger in and out. Once I was acclimated, he pulled out and put both his pointer and middle in. I do my best to suppress it for the comfort of the surrounding guests.

"Don't hide from me." He comes up and looks my face over

"There's other people around, Spencer."

"Then let them hear." He places a kiss on my forehead and sinks down to continue devouring me. I don't hold back as much as I'm embarrassed. He starts a 'come hither' motion and I roll my hips up into his face. He braces a hand on my hip.

"Sit still." He commands

Steadily, I felt a climax rising in me. I felt the muscles in my stomach clenching and tensing. I feel like yellow waves of pleasure ripple through my body.

"SPE—Spencerr, I'm gonna!" I desperately reached around and threaded my fingers into his hair. With my other hand, I felt around for the disheveled comforter. I balled my hands into a fist around what I held: his hair and the blanket. I climaxed faster than I had expected. Accidentally, I locked Spencer in with my legs. Desperate to keep the pleasure close to me.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. When I came to, I released my legs, and he resurfaced, wiping his mouth as he checked on me.

"How are you doing? Was that any good?"

"Good?" I gaped, and I saw him crumble a little in insecurity. Spencer, that was the best head I've ever had." He chuckled boyishly as I held his pants so he lay on top of me.

"Spencer?" I ask slowly

"Yeah," He kisses me on the side of the mouth

"I'm gonna fuck you now,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I sit him up and unzip his pants and pull them down. His legs are ridiculously long, and it feels like an eternity to get him naked. I geek at his boxers. His cock is jumping against the fabric, and there is a small precum stain. I rub over the fabric, and he keens into my touch.

"Aww, so you're all talk," I tease

"S-shut up, you were just writhing under me." He leans back on his arms. The veins in his forearms are bulging, and I can see his stomach shift as he shifts under my pawing.

"Yeah, and now you will be."

I slide my fingers under the elastic, and he lifts his hips to help me free him. Gently, I stroke him, and he gulps back and moans. I mount him, letting Spencer guide himself into me. I sigh as I feel him slide in, and his hands gravitate to my hips.

"Woah," he grunts. It's probably the strangest reaction I've gotten, but I appreciate being such a stunner.

"How are you doing, Reid?"

"I-I'm sublime. How are you?" I shift my hips in contemplation, feeling my eyes pool in the back of my head.

"Oh, I'm doing-g just-" My sentence cuts itself off as the head of his dick kisses a sweet spot inside me. "Can you just give me a little boost?" He holds each of my hips and drags me across my lap.

"Oh fuck," I sigh, and I pick my hips up. We fall into a sensual rhythm as the world disappears around us. "Spencer, that feels so..." My forehead collapses against his collarbone. There's something about his dick that itches a scratch I didn't know I was feeling. Similarly, he mews below me.

"(Y/n)," he groans out below me "Don't stop." and I don't. Instead, I pick up the pace. I brace myself on his shoulders and slam my hips back and forth until my thighs burn. And when the sensation becomes overwhelming I keep fighting.

"Oh my- uh," He groans beneath me "(Y/n), (Y/n), I'm gonna cum." He sounds desperate. "(Y/n) you have to get off." He whimpers

"No, I'm gonna cum too. I won't-" I keep my hips galloping against his thighs, "PLEase- fuck, I'm gonna." I feel his cock twitch inside me, and warmth spreads through my thighs.

"Uh, nice and deep." I halt myself for a second," Spencer I gotta keep going."

"M'kay." I ride with such speed that I'm scared the legs on the bed will snap. Finally, I feel the point of no return—like watching a slow vase fall over, knowing you're too far away to stop it. I came. My knees buckled, and I fell chest-first onto Reid.

"Are you okay?" He holds my back steady and gently rubs my spine, and I catch my breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sit myself up, and Spencer tucks some frizzy hair behind my ear. "Probably some of the sex I've had in... ever." His face lights up. I use his shoulder to stand up, and I feel it slide down my thigh.

"I'm gonna need a shower, but there's always room for two." I smile and trot off to the ensuite. It's not long before Spencer is chasing me behind the vinyl curtain to wet his hair and press a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #the south #mechanical bullride #smut

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primofate · 6 months ago

Text

Time: 3:00 am

Status: can't sleep. Sudden urge to write something. Here goes.

Timer: 10 minutes

Actual time: 28 minutes

Warning: might be messy and rushed

Characters: Wriothesley x gn!reader

"Do you remember when I first met you?"

"...bits and pieces. It isn't very clear in my mind anymore," you reply rather curtly.

There's a short pause of silence at the dinner table, your cutlery and his cease to move as the two of you try to piece the event together.

Wriothesley chuckles and recounts the events with detail "It was one of those spring nights. Breezy, nice weather, sun wasn't up too high in the morning so the night was cool," as you continue to eat, he has stopped for the moment. "I was cut up from head to toe, small scratches everywhere. Some trouble with the meka that day,"

You raise your eyes up from the food, suddenly getting a wave of nostalgia as you recognize the moment all too clearly.

"On my way back to the Fortress I ran into you. All tidy and clean, box in your hands, looking up at me blankly. Do you remember what you said?"

You stifle a smile, because this part, you remember all too well.

"Here's your tea," the two of you say in unison, followed by a small laugh from you.

"...you left it in my hands, and then walked away as if it was the most normal day in your life. Like you never even saw me injured,"

"In my defense, you didn't look like you were in pain at all,"

He raises an eyebrow, meeting your gaze and ignoring your comment altogether. "I was suddenly obsessed with who you were. It wasn't as if you were trying to be mysterious, but who was this uncaring person standing at the Fortress entrance with my box of tea? I had to know,"

"Uncaring isn't quite the word for it. I was tired," you gently explained.

Yet again he continues as if not hearing you, "Only to find out the following week that my exotic tea dealer carefully hand picked herbs and mixed them, then personally delivers them to their customer's door. Lovely service. You remember what happened after that?"

Wriothesley's gaze on you is soft, with a hint of mischief on it, one that you returned. "I got orders. Tons of it. All to the Fortress of Meropide. I was there nearly every day doing deliveries,"

"Mmhmm. And then?" There's a chuckle on his lips, amused that you had taken over telling the story.

"And then one day I got fed up, asked to see the duke, burst into his office and said "Why don't you make your orders all in one go?!""

The scene in your mind is vivid now. The anger you felt at that moment whiplashed into your memory. It had been tiring, to go there everyday, only to deliver a miniscule amount of tea.

"And I said...?" Wriothesley has opted to lay his head on his fist, smile playing on his lips as you close the story.

You roll your eyes, "Here's your tea," but couldn't help the laughter that escaped your lips. "Poured me a cup as if you've never seen an angry person before. I was fuming!"

"It worked didn't it?" He had gone back to his food, hands now busy with cutting, smile still on his face. "I wasn't sure how to meet you again so I had ordered a box of tea for every day...that day you burst into my office? I just happened to be there at the right time, it was the first time in days I'd been able to sit and prep tea for myself. It was busy,"

"Or so you say,"

He chuckles at your suspicious look. "I made up for it, didn't I? The rest of the orders I placed, I personally picked them up from your store,"

"Everyday," you recall fondly.

"Every single day, I found time. And I'd do it all over again, in that same way, same words," he sounded like he was done talking, but him being the charmer that he is, added "except maybe I would've kissed you earlier. By the 24th order, maybe?"

You kick his leg from under the table. He hides his amusement with a short bark of laughter.

#wriothesley #genshin impact #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact fluff #wriothesley fluff #genshin fluff

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kaivenom · 1 month ago

Note

Hi :) could you please do some benn beckman headcanons (nsfw and sfw) that man is too overlooked 😔

Dating Benn Beckman would include...

A/N: this IS the first time i write for this man so i hope i did It right. NSFW under the cut

Masterlist

SFW

Like the rest of his crew, he is a womanizer and likes drinking and parties but he is the calm one among that storm of people.

He prefers to be a little distanced from all the noise that his mates are doing, just like you, and that's what make you two coincide that night.

He was trying to light Up his cigarrette, failling, and you offered your lighter. Of course you've been observing this fine men for a couple of minutes but this was the time that he noticed you.

That led to a nice and fine conversation until the sunset (which is a lot), and then his crew mates went out and took him with them.

"I hope we meet again lady." He simply said with a grin while his captain pinched his ear.

From that day, he was thinking about you, it's difficult for him to have such a nice, calm and genuine conversation like he had with you.

So, he tried to subtly convince Shanks to come back to the island, once, and then twice and third times....

Not that the crew were annoyed at him, they loved the party, so they accepted everytime and everytime he spent all night outside the club with you.

He didn't quite realize he liked you, he just thought that you were the best company he has and since you aren't from the crew, he just has to get to your island... But nobody takes that way if it's not because It likes someone.

You on the other hand, liked him and your know It but you were waiting for him to ask you out or something because he is the one with the difficulties.

But he went oblivious for several months, the moment when he realized that he liked you was the most innapropiate moment.

Shanks invited everyone to a brothel and of course he won't say no to his captains orders, but when he was with the hooker, he couldn't stop thinking about you....wishing It was you, moaning like a teenager just at the thought of you, wanting you to be there and be real, to say "I love you" to him.

He didn't even finished and ordered the girl to go out, he sat on the bed, naked and with an existencial crisis. He did in fact imagined that type of situation with you but he thought It was his usual men thought of fucking every one but seeing It so vividly and wanting It so badly WITH YOU, not anyone else but you.

He sat there the whole night, remembering all the times he was with you and seeing that scenes with a different point of view now.

That morning he said to Shanks that he needed to go to the island, Shanks simply said "Finally". It's clear that everyone but Benn noticed the truth.

You were on your house and this big appeared with a sweaty look, flowers, chocolate, a card and a plushie of you favourite animal... Like he has been running for the last hour getting all that stuff.

"I am not too late, right?"

"Late for what?"

"For you." And he left everything on the entrance and kiss you.

Now you are offically dating which means you now have to get along with the crew and that makes him jelaous, cause he is, a lot (he says that he is a man and know what men thought when they see a pretty girl, and you are one of those).

He is also a really oblivious men at the emotional side, he hada rough time starting to understand your mood and your subtle messages but he compensates It with his memory for special dates and good gifts (cause he showers you in them).

You are sometimes insecure of him being a pirate and experienced men and you just being you, but he says that that thoughts are stupid and that he loves you no Matter what.

Temple and forehead kisses almost everytime, kissing you in the mouth IS something private cause he can't keep It pg, if he tastes your mouth he becomes an animal.

The type of men that obliges you to sit on his lap on social events.

You somehow becomes the mom and dad of the crew, and they joke about that a lot.

He has had a lot of relationships previously but nothing serious, so he is a little insecure about doing things well, so he tries to put all his efforts for you to see that he loves you.

At some point he wants to live with you and maybe form a family and two things can happen, he leaves the Red haired pirates (difficult but if he is really sure he can do It) or you join the crew (which IS more likely).

This can sound crazy but i just picture you both on one of the crew's parties but you two are laying far from the people, on a corner. And you are lazily sat on his lap, chatting and drinking and he just starts smoking and at some point he takes your mouth and pushed the smoke into your mouth... Probably with weed and not tabaco.

Less to say, his lips are sweet cause he tries to always eat gum before you both kiss (especially if you dont like tabaco)

NSFW

He is experienced, a lot, so you are always on a rollercoaster of orgasms.

That sometimes makes you insecure but he is such a calming pressence and has a special, really sexy, way to explain things that justs turns you on and relaxs you.

The first time he almost looked like he was afraid to hurt, like his mind was somewhere else and you were a little worried about It but he was reliving the moment at the brothel and was trying to recompose himself cause you are not a hook Up you are his dreamed one, he wants to love you and to make you feel loved, to treat you with love not lust.

You kissed him slowly and he Finally started to do something. Your first time was filled with love and pure adoration.

But then you started to feel like he was repressing himself and of course you aproached him, and he explained everything and you understand It obviously but you wanted him to be more rude with you so you make sure to make him saw that.

"If you love me so much, fuck me like you mean It"

And with that, with that confirmation, he transformed into a beast. Daddy/sir kink, a little choke play, biting, a little bondage, doggystle, creampie and even anal.

You loved every minute of It, how he grabbed your hair and pulled you to meet his chest while he groaned on your ear and slamed his hips onto yours with a slap, how he cums inside you and pushes his sperm back into your cunt if it's driping.

Once he got the aproval expect a lot of that, cause he is a little kinky bastard and even loving you the most, he also loves the idea of having you under him whimpering and squirming, asking for his cock.

One of the things he likes the most is having contact with you, so his hands are everywhere on your body, pressing and squeezing, roaming all over your body.

When he is lazy or tired or even a little mean, he lets you ride him. He is still on charge and you know It but you love to be on top... The way his eyes look at you with adoration, how he helps you sink on his cock, how he sucks your tits with every thrust.

Speaking of sucking, he really likes to eat your pussy like a starved men but he loves when you suck his cock, it's like his stress reliever, he just lays there and all his problems go away.

Aftercare Its really important to him, specially if you two have been on a specially rough sex session. He never had to worry about these things but now he has to hold someone, he has to cuddle after.... And he is grateful for that.

#benn beckman #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman imagine #benn beckman x you #one piece imagine #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece headcanons #benn beckman headcanons

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outofconcheol · 2 months ago

Text

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach.

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise.

But he was Lee Minho – a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune.

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again.

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music.

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them.

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city.

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure.

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out.

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt.

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment.

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster.

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin.

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved.

“I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones.

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip.

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.”

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched.

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background.

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied.

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind.

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars. For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat.

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice.

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you.

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face.

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . .

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand.

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long.

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.”

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine.

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon.

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream.

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches.

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…”

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over.

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person.

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down.

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend.

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking.

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…”

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both.

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two.

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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rowanmutt-afterdark · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober Day 4 Sounding (TFO Orion and D16)

Word Count: 1,511

TFO Orion and D16 X Cybertronian GN Reader

18+ tags: Rough sex, teasing, sounding, and light voyeurism.

(Yes I am planning a second part, the original plan was to make it 3,000 words. That backfired so expect a part 2!!)

Read more below the cut!

During the day, you were all miners working hard in the mines to keep Iacon running. At night, you and your two mechs were lovers who couldn't get enough of one another. The three of you retreated to your respective stations and waited until every bot was in recharge when you all snuck off to enjoy each other's company.

Which brings you to now.

The muffled sounds of Orion were erotic, his hip struts bucked as the vibrating rod within his spike made him a complete mess for D16. You watched the arousing scene before you unfolded as D moved behind your shared lover and grabbed his neck cables with a rough yet calculated gentle hold. It was firm, pulling his helm back so he could kiss the whimpering mech's cheeks as he sobbed behind the gag and blindfold.

“You are doing so well Orion, you have no idea how beautiful you look right now. The way you squirm, begging for release. It's intoxicating, I feel so lucky to see you like this.” D16 purrs in the sinfully deep voice of his he used when he was aroused. It sent shivers down your spinal strut.

To bear witness to such an intimate display, your partners taking part in this little fantasy you thought up was such an honor to you. Your spike was pressing hard against its housing. It was becoming unbearable, but you stayed closed while D took care of Orion.

His servos traced down his front, focusing on the sensitive cables lining just under the edge of his bulky chassis. His digits explore Orion's heated frame, feeling up every inch with eager optics. Hungering for any reaction he could get out of your shared partner, his golden yellow optics were dark with desire, and his intake was drawn back in a smirk that showed just how much he was enjoying being in charge of the both of you.

His optics focused back on you, and your frame stiffened under the heated stare. His frame rumbled as his servo moved to the blindfold and removed it to allow him sight once again. Orion's optics flickered and adjusted to the light before he focused on the two of you. D16 leaned down to kiss Orion's helm before he stalked over to your kneeled position.

He looked over to Orion and barked an order. “Don't look away and don't overload. You must keep your optics on us at all times.” He slowly walked around your form, his servo grabbing a hold of your helm with a low, dark chuckle as he pushed you down.

Faceplate on the ground, aft up. His servo pinned you down with ease while the other rubbed along your panel, feeling for the sensitive wires to trigger that would open your valve. His thick digits ardently sought for that wire until it was pressed upon and the covering of your valve popped open. D rumbled his growl, not quite a chuckle. No, this was primal. It was low and vibrated through your chassis as the mech mounted you without hesitance.

His larger frame slotted against your own, fitting together like two pieces to a puzzle. Your frame shuddered at the impending thrill, his digits teasing your valve entrance. Smearing the lubricant around, testing your eager hole for the next step. His knees dropped one after the other as he pressed your frame into the floor, his hips pressed flush to your aft while one arm wrapped around your middle and the other went to your intake. His digits covered in your fluids pushed past your dermas, and you whined against the blunt object as he urged your glossa to clean it off.

Solvent soaked his digit, the writhing mass in your intake covered it until it was cleaned to his liking, and without warning, his digit was joined by another before the third was shoved inside. Your intake stretched wide and and the three large intrusions thrust inside to cover them in your solvent.

“Get them all nice and wet for me. Make sure they are throughly lubricated.” He purred, admiring the way your optics flickered as your frame started to whirr with the fans trying to cool your heated frame. His digits pushed further into your open intake, coating them with the fluids pooling as you drooled from the intrusion. Your glossa dragged along them to soak them as requested. He hummed approvingly as his hips grind against your rear excitedly at the feeling of your moist orifice preparing them for whatever he had planned.

He pulls his servo away, his digits throughly coated in solvent, he reaches down between your frames, and you hear a hiss, then something hard pressed against you. The slick sounds of something moist is heard from just behind you, curious, you lean your helm down and look under your frame to see that D is stroking his erect spike. It's absolutely weeping with trans fluids. His servo that was in your intake is stroking it. A chuckle vibrates youcatxck, you pull your helm back up to see that D is watching you.

You flush at the fact you got caught watching him lube his spike up. He doesn't push the subject. Instead, he pushes your helm down against the ground once again as he aligns himself with your valve and pushes inside your hole with little resistance. You gasp as he bottoms out with ease inside of you, his servo runs down your front until he reaches the buldge where his spike rests within your clenching walls. A low moan leaves him, a playful nip to your audial with a low rumble of his chassis as a growl passes through him

A whine from Orion has you glancing at him, but D quickly snatches your chin up and makes you look away from the needy bot.

“Eyes forward, he has to watch as I ravage your body all night long~” He purrs before his hips start moving. His spike is thrusting slowly at first, building to a speed that is carnal and rough. The speed takes you by surprise as each thrust leaves you breathless as he rearranges your insides with a pace so fast and hard you can't think. The noises you are making are lewd, solvent drools past your dermas, knees weak, and a valve pulsing with a building charge that has you begging for him to finish inside of you.

Orion is watching from his spot. His spike is aching with the need to release. His transfluids chamber aches to purge the building fluid, but the obstruction inside his spikes channel prevents him from doing so. He watches D ravage your frame, fragging you with a relentless pace. He's jealous that he isn't the one pulling the noises from you. He wants nothing more than to break from his binds and sample that tight valve he knew would suck him inside without hesitance.

Orion shifts his leg struts to sit just under him and starts to grind himself against his metal, groaning in relief as the aching need to be touched is achieved. It wasn't the touch he wanted, but it would do. He watched as D chased his building charge. The snarls and growls of his pleasure were hot. Fueling his grinding to get faster, his valve clenching around nothing as his node drags along his leg and with a roll of his hips he starts to grind roughly at a pace that starts to push him to the edge of his building overload. His hips rock desperately, humping with huffs of pleasure leaving him as he feels his charge building tight within his frame. It hurts so bad. He just wants to let go!

Your towards your own end, the savage rocking of his hips against your own is mind numbing. You are lost to the world around you as the rolling heat is close to snapping. A servo is between your spread thighs and rubs at your node as a low, sultry voice whispers a command.

“Overload for me.” D whispers, and you listen.

Your frame stiffened and shook as the hot flash of pleasure spreads through your body and shakes you to your very core. You cry out as your valve snaps down and D follows suit. His spike pumps you full with his transfluids as he fills your chamber with his hot fluids. You feel your body go limp, falling back against his as the euphoria floods your system, and D holds you close to his body to kiss your face and helm with his own exhaustion curling around his processor. He does pause to see that Orion is heaving, he grows worried that something happened until his optics land in the sounding rod on the floor,a limp spike, and transfluids covering the front of his frame.

He clicks his glossa with a hum of disappointment “That wasn't very smart of you, Orion. I have to punish you now. Only good boys get to overload. And you are far from being a good boy~”

#transformers #valveplug #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers one #tfo orion pax #tfo d16 #orion pax x reader #d16 x reader #kinktober 2024 #kinkyrowan #rowansmuts #transformers kinktober

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space-blue · 6 months ago

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Feyd thoughts from Fenring scene

I was sharing thoughts to a friend while rewatching the Feyd and Fenring scene and figured I'd share it here too, it's my blog innit.

He's walking on his own in a completely empty corridor. Upon being followed he ambushes and pulls a knife, meaning he immediately assumes he's in danger. Calm and collected attitude at this prospect, clearly not his first time.

But he also doesn't toy with her, doesn't threaten her beyond asking about her presence, he's not showing any sadistic traits.

He openly asks if they've met because he recognises her, isn't being coy.

Instead of being violent, he tells her the rules: 'You're not allowed in this section', meaning at least he knows not to be openly hostile to guests.

He's suspicious she got past the guards. He asks about that in a higher pitch, but extremely bland face. He doesn't sound upset or happy or angry. More like low key worried.

From there Margot uses the voice.

She reveals he's shunning his own celebrations, AND he refuses to say why despite being asked with suggestive voice.

He immediately recognises the use of the voice on him and calls her a Bene Gesserit. How? He doesn't answer when she asks what makes him say that. We have to keep in mind that his mother (who he killed) was BG, and since we don't know when she died, it's possible he received some training from her.

He instead says he dreamt about Margot, harkening back to Chani dreams from Paul. Meaning we can safely assume he's just as plagued with semi-visions as Paul was in Dune 1 before going to Arrakis, and we can safely assume that's not common knowledge.

Immediately goes 'Don't mock me woman' when she teases him. BUT crucially, she says "a pleasant dream I hope?" which is not mockery but closer to flirting? It's like he genuinely takes that as a literal tease, when the actual teasing is when she says "I wouldn't dare!" which he doesn't comment on, maybe because he's used to many forms of grovelling.

He also reacts as if the voice is a physical pressure, like when you come down on a plane and your ears get blocked, and tries to shake it off:

Again with 'I know your BG tricks'

Margot asks, again, and gets no reply, again. She even says "tell me" in a normal voice. There is no cut or weird editing afterwards, so we can assume that Feyd didn't answer either time he was asked.

Instead he takes his bearing and looks around. He is not aggressive or panicked when he admits to not recognising the place.

Dude is designed to blend into his surroundings. Bonkers he doesn't wear gloves at this stage.

Risk taking : he steps unprompted in the door entrance, and she then says "come to me, kneel," etc. BUT we know he KNOWS about the BG tricks, so we can suppose that he's actually making the decision to go in despite knowing full well she can and will control him.

There's plenty of hints that he may still be heavily under her charm, but there's also evidence he can resist the voice she uses on him (he never answers her repeated questions, tries to fight it off).

He never reacts agressively. He says "where are you going?" with some heat when she leaves though, which to me hints at loneliness. He was all alone avoiding every harkonnen under the moon on his birthday despite being the king of the night, meets a random chick he dreamt about, and now she leaves? Spiced suggested though he may ask because he's not used to people leaving without being dismissed. But imo these can blend.

I lean towards Feyd being quite resistant to the voice because they sent Margot in the first place. Yes, Mohiam wants a child made, but in her excuses, she does't say "I want him bred". Instead she says she's a motherly figure and he might have killed her because he killed his mom. If the voice was such a perfect tool of control, that wouldn't really be an issue, especially once you have him under the Gom Jabar.

There may be an element of "These men [Paul and Feyd] are one generation away from the KH and can't be toyed with carelessly".

He also killed his BG mother, which means he's capable of killing a sister and not any small fry.

So they send a sexy woman to woo him and yet she still has to ask multiple times about what he knows of the BG.

Regarding his dreams, it's also possible Feyd is so compliant and keen to follow Margot because he might have foreseen a freaky good time with her.

One is left to wonder if he looks at Mwaddib walking into the throne room with such intensity not because he's hot for him (he doesn't yet know it's Paul), but because he may have SEEN this scene in dreams. We know Paul was very affected by the spice in the air and food on Arrakis. We also know he made frequent false visions (Jamis helps but it ends up being Chani. Chani and him cut ambiguously in the killing scene. Seeing himself in Chani's place in the final combat scene...) So we can also imagine Feyd may be overconfident in taking in the Emperor's challenge because he's dreamt of this too. Just spitballing.

The BG call him a sociopath with a side of hollywood competency. He has a bit of the BBC Sherlock and Hannibal Lecter disease. He should not be as tame or as competent as he's described and shown if he had the full disorder.

It's very interesting to look at the Fenring scene with sociopathic traits in mind and see how they apply or don't.

He's not getting his need for validation avoiding the party, but he just survived an attempt on his life by his Dear Uncle before getting his freedom dangled in front of him. Lots on his mind.

He's not prone to anger outburst in general. His behaviour isn't very erratic either. Both of these classic traits were probably curb-stomped by the need to fit the mold imposed by the Na-Baron position.

But he definitely has a high sense of his superiority and is opinionated. He speaks up unprompted during the Baron's interview, and again behind the Emperor with 'he's bluffing'

High propensity for violence: check. Whole film, basically. He can be prompted by anger (against Rabban), perceived threat (arena), reactive/defensive (against Margot trailing him). Violence in reaction to fear isn't shown.

Difficulty maintaining relationships : the only people he seems fond of are his once shown, once mentioned pets he brings with him. His family relationships are what they are, and he has no friend to go to on his Birthday.

Generally fearful, vulnerable to anxiety and rejection, easy to humiliate : what a cincher. This is him reacting defensively to Margot's flirting. The BG say fear of humiliation is one of his levers, and if you give him a strong attachment to an honour code, it's very easy to manipulate.

IMO this feeds into his displays of vanity (black teeth, tailor made pretty pets). Also since black is seen as a rich and beautiful colour on their world, his all black outfits with clean cuts may not be as muted as we think they are.

the end... for now.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #house harkonnen #margot fenring #gom jabbar #dune 2 #dune #dune meta #dune part two #dune part 2 #paul atreides #character analysis #sociopathy #bene gesserit

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kittyball23 · 1 year ago

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Hi kittyball, did you read the trolls band together junior novelization? Does it include deleted scenes from the movie? I heard there was a scene cut with velvet and veneer buying yachts 😆 and another scene with velvet spraying veneer with troll without warning him.

Hi, I sure did! I do remember that there were scenes and/or little details that differentiated from what was seen in the actual movie, and I’d be happy to share them:

John Dory in the beginning was being a little more critical of Clay’s dance moves

“C’mon, Clay,” John Dory said. “They’re Funderdrawers! Underwear, but seventy-six percent more fun! Now let’s see those dance moves!”

“Fine,” Clay said with a sigh. He did a quick series of dance steps, naming them while executing them perfectly. “Rusty robot into a wiggle worm, and end on caliente puppet.”

“Not bad,” John Dory said, stroking his chin. “But your robot could be rustier. And your worm wigglier.”

Clay looked annoyed. “Don’t you want my puppet caliente-er?”

“I wasn’t going to say it,” John Dory said, “but yeah. Definitely.”

‘Bro-Time’ happened in both the beginning and the end, each brother doing a hands-in-the-middle thing

Beginning:

“If we can’t hit the Perfect Family Harmony, we aren’t perfect,” John Dory insisted. “And if we aren’t perfect, we’re NOTHING! Being nothing is definitely not an option. So just follow my lead.” He stuck his hand out, palm down. “Let’s do this!”

Each of his brothers piled their hands on top of his. Together, John Dory, Spruce, Clay, Floyd, and Baby Branch shouted, “IT’S BRO TIME!”

End:

Smiling wistfully, Floyd said, “I can’t believe we almost missed out on all this.” It had been a long time.

“We shouldn’t have let our differences break up our family,” Clay put in, joining them.

John Dory walked up. “That’s right. Because we don’t have to be perfect to be in harmony. We just have to be together.”

Branch started to point out that he had told them exactly that, but he changed his mind. “You’re right,” he said. “Good point, bro.”

Standing in a circle, the brothers each put a hand in. “On three,” Branch said. “One… two… three!”

“IT’S BRO TIME!” they all said in unison, lifting their hands.

Baby Branch was supposed to make his entrance suspended on a wire

“And making his first live appearance, the Baby!” Glitter burst over the stage, revealing Branch suspended on a wire.

“Awwww!” the whole audience said, charmed by the adorable sight.

BroZone rolled right into their first song. Cool, calm, and collected, John Dory danced up a storm. Spruce blew another kiss, and the fans went wild. Clay added a little goofy touches to the dance steps, getting lots of laughs. Floyd shed a single tear as he sang. And Branch flipped down off his wire, sticking the landing perfectly, nailing every move and every note as the five brothers came together.

As the Family Harmony started to happen, glass broke and a lightbulb shattered

The five brothers hit a chord and held it. Offstage, a water glass broke. KSHHH! Overhead, a light bulb shattered. SHHINK! The brothers looked at each other. It was happening! They were achieving the PERFECT FAMILY HARMONY!

Smead, Gristle’s Aunt, was supposed to be the officiate instead of Miss Maxine for Bridget and Gristle’s wedding

Gristle’s Aunt Smead, a tall Bergen with goggles and hair that stood straight up, was in charge of leading the happy couple through their wedding vows. She leaned over and joked, “Hey, Bridget, you still have time to run for it!”

Poppy and JD went through with the whole hug, fist-bump, and wave thing she suggested when meeting him

Poppy rushed over and introduced herself to John Dory. “Oh my gosh, I was being so rude! I’ve never met anyone from Branch’s family before. I’m Poppy. Branch’s girlfriend. Should we hug? Fist-bump? Smile and wave for now and see where the night takes us?”

“All of the above!” John Dory said, hugging her, bumping her fist with his and waving and smiling.

Crimp was supposed to be shown cleaning up the chair before Velvet and Veneer made their entrance on the Mount Rageous show ‘The Bop on Top’

In a TV studio, the pop duo’s put-upon assistant Crimp swept off a chair, making sure it was immaculate before one of her bosses sat on it. Crimp resembled the head of a straw broom, with green eyes, white glasses, and a purple hair bow scrunching a bun of papery hair on top of her head. She was much shorter than Velvet and Veneer, but was still at least three times the size of the average Troll.

Ignoring their assistant, Velvet launched herself onto the chair, squashing Crimp. FWUNK! “So,” Velvet said to Kid Ritz, “what do you wanna know? I’m an open book.”

You are correct, Velvet did spray Floyd’s essence at Veneer without him expecting it lol

Grabbing the perfume bottle, she squeezed the bulb, giving herself a big spray of Troll talent. SHHFFT! Floyd groaned as the energy was sucked out of him. Velvet tested the results, opening her mouth to sing. She let loose an impressive cascade of notes. Satisfied, she smiled and aimed the bottle’s nozzle at her brother’s mouth. SSSHHFFT! “Your turn, Veneer.”

Veneer coughed. “Ack! You’re supposed to say it before you spray it, remember?”

There’s a quick moment where Floyd sympathizes with Crimp

Rolling her eyes, Velvet said, “Ugh. I’m exhausted by this drama. Do you wanna go buy a yacht?”

“Oh, good idea!” Veneer said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s buy matching yachts!” They left the dressing room without another word.

"Can I come out of the corner yet?” Crimp asked.

Floyd looked at her with pity in his big violet eyes. “Girl, you need a new job. I should be the saddest one in this room.”

A small moment where Bruce and JD hug

Seeing an opportunity, Poppy decided to give Bruce a little encouragement. “Prove it. Prove it,” she started chanting. Bruce’s kids all joined in, balling their fists and pumping their arms in time with the chant. “PROVE IT! PROVE IT!”

Bruce took up the challenge. “Oh, I’ll prove it,” he said confidently. “I’ll prove it right now.” He took a deep breath and let it out. Then he hopped up onto the stage and stood next to John Dory.

“Yes!” John Dory cheered. “Bring it in, brother!” They hugged.

More of Velvet being a jerk

A stage manager popped her head through the dressing room door. “Knock, knock, knock – it’s ‘we’re ready for you’ o’clock!”

Velvet faked a super-sweet manner. “Look at you, making your job fun. Good for you! Just give us five minutes. We’re still working on our routine. Okay, doll?” She closed the door and muttered, “Loser.” Then she picked up Floyd’s bottle, planning to take in another spray of his Troll talent before the day’s singing began.

Veneer making a reference to a meme

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Floyd cried, holding his hands up against the inside of the diamond bottle. “Come on, it’s just dress rehearsal. You don’t need me for a dress rehearsal!”

Ignoring his protests, Velvet grabbed the golden spray bulb between her fingers and pointed the nozzle at her mouth, ready to spritz her vocal cords. Her brother spoke up. “Wait. Maybe he’s got a point. Do we even need a dress rehearsal?”

“Obviously,” Velvet said, making a face. “That’s why we’re getting dressed.”

“I’m just saying he doesn’t look so great,” Veneer pointed out. “He has, like, sad Troll face.”

Velvet shrugged it off. “He’s fine.”

Velvet’s suggestions for how to make Floyd better

But Velvet wasn’t overly concerned about Floyd’s see-through hand and overall paleness. “Oh, he just needs some blush,” she suggested. “Or is there a mini tanning bed we can jam into the bottle with him?”

More back and forth with Velvet and Veneer

Veneer paced the dressing room floor, clutching his head. “What are we going to do? We obviously can’t even rely on the Troll to get us through this dress rehearsal, let alone the Rage Dome show!”

Looking annoyed, Velvet said, “How come I always have to come up with something?”

“Because you’re the mean one!” Veneer told her.

“I’m not mean – I’m ambitious!”

Floyd having been conscious while Velvet was shaking the bottle

Picking up Floyd’s diamond prison, she said, “Maybe we should just try shaking the bottle.” She shook it. Floyd ricocheted around inside, banging against the hard surface.

“Ow! Ouch! Ooh, my knee! My other knee!” he cried.

Lonely People having been sung later on in the movie, after Floyd makes a ‘philosophical’ statement

Floyd looked at his body, becoming more see-through by the minute. “Well,” he said philosophically. “I lived, I loved, I lost.”

To the accompaniment of gentle ukulele music, he sang quietly to himself. He looked and saw that it was Crimp who was playing the ukulele.

Bruce’s response to learning about Velvet and Veneer’s song

On an empty road that night, Bruce steered Rhonda, listening to Velvet and Veneer sing one of their pop hits on the radio. “My kids love these guys!” he said. “We’re a total Veneer household.”

“They’re the ones who are holding Floyd prisoner,” John Dory called from the back of the van.

Bruce looked shocked. “Wow, everyone’s getting canceled these days.”

A little more Clay and Viva friendship displayed

Viva put an arm around Clay’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’m the face of the operation, and Mr. Clay takes care of the boring stuff!”

“Guilty!” Clay admitted. He and Viva tapped elbows and laughed.

Branch and Poppy having a short exchange after leaving Putt Putt Village

Heartbroken, Poppy watched as the gate closed. She leaned her scrapbook against it for Viva. Branch ran up behind her. “You were right, Branch,” Poppy said. “Family is… complicated.”

Velvet and Veneer having labeled bottles for the rest of the brothers

In Velvet and Veneer’s Rage Dome dressing room, Floyd’s diamond bottle sat on a shelf next to four empty bottles labeled Heartthrob, Fun Boy, Old One, and Baby. Floyd’s bottle was now labeled Almost Dead One.

Branch’s line about the diaper slightly differing

They tried singing one of their old songs, but John Dory soon cut them off. “Stop! Stop! Time-out. Let’s take it from the top. Spruce, I want some smolder in those eyes. Clay, you’re being too stiff. We need some sillier robot moves. Branch, maybe a smaller diaper.”

“Or some clothes not from the toddler section,” Branch grumbled.

Clay’s line about his CPA position replaced with this:

Bruce got right in his brother’s face. “This isn’t going to work if you keep being the same old John Dory.”

“Yeah,” Clay agreed. “We’ve all changed. Bruce settled down. Branch is slightly taller with zero glasses. And I’m not the guy who shoots milk out his nose and smiles through the burn!”

“Yup,” Poppy said to herself, remembering past milk blasts through her nose. “Been there.”

Crimp also confronting Velvet and Veneer when Poppy and Branch do on the red carpet

“You’re stealing BroZone’s talent because you have none of your own, you big PHONIES!” Poppy said, pointing her own accusing finger at them.

Crimp popped up out of the van. “They’re MEAN!” she shouted. “And I was their assistant, so I KNOW!”

The fans, listening to this exchange, started whispering to each other. Could what the little Trolls and the papery mop with glasses were saying possibly be true?

An extra line JD said when the talent was being sucked out of the four brothers

Velvet lowered herself back down through the sunroof and punched a button on the car’s dashboard. The roof folded back, clearing the way for a metal arm to rise out of the car, holding an entire round stage. Velvet and Veneer both hit the buttons on their shoulder pads and inhaled big whiffs of Troll talent. The four brothers winced in pain.

“Floyd, why didn’t you warn us about how uncomfortable that is?” John Dory asked.

Slightly different lines when Poppy, Branch, and Viva arrived at the yacht

When she saw Branch, Poppy, and Viva on the deck of the boat, Velvet wasn’t dismayed. On the contrary, she was delighted! “More Trolls!” she exclaimed happily. “This will last us a lifetime!”

Velvet trying to sing after she and Veneer came out of the river that they had fallen into, and Crimp calling the two out again

The yacht came to a stop, wedged diagonally across a narrow passage in the river. Velvet climbed out of the water, turned the camera on herself, and tried to sing.

She sounded awful.

The crowd gasped. “Hey, what happened to your voice?” a fan shouted.

Veneer decided it was time to come clean. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Listen up, Mount Rageous. We are FRAUDS! And we’ve been literally torturing little Trolls!”

The fans were horrified. One yelled, “My illusion of celebrity has been shattered!”

Crimp stepped in front of the pop duo. “It’s true,” she confirmed. And they’re mean. Not ambitious, but just plain MEAN!”

Veneer having put the handcuffs on Velvet instead of Crimp

“Oh, give it up, sis,” Veneer told her. He faced the cameras. “We just wanted to be famous. Honestly, my sister wanted to be famous, and truly, I was too afraid to stand up to her.”

Disgusted by her brother’s admission, Velvet said, “It’s like I don’t even know who you are.”

“Yeah, you do,” Veneer said firmly. “And you asked me to change anyway. Which isn’t okay, family or not.” He snapped a pair of handcuffs onto her slender wrists. She held them up, asking, “Veneer, what have you done?” Then she admired the shiny cuffs, saying, “Oooh, are these real silver?”

And the ending scene, in which Kismet is not mentioned, and Branch and Poppy have one last exchange

Over the loudspeaker, Crimp announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, you know ‘em, you love ‘em – give it up for the Trolls Kingdom’s very own… BROZONE!” She opened the curtains revealing the five brothers in sparkling new costumes. The crowd went wild!

In the front row, Poppy cheered along with them. Branch offered her his hand. “Poppy,” he said. “I have a small proposal. Will you – “

“Join the band?” she interrupted, bursting with excitement. “Of COURSE, I will! I thought you’d never ask!”

“You know me too well,” Branch said, grinning. “Now get up here and sing with us!”

“AAAAHH!” she squealed, leaping onto the stage. She extended a hand to her sister in the front row. “Viva! Viva, get up here! We’re in the band!”

“This is my dream life!” Viva cried, joining her and whipping out a pair of castanets.

The seven Trolls joyfully sang and danced together, and the audience absolutely loved it. The concert turned into an epic dance party. Fireworks exploded, lighting up the night sky.

Poppy turned to Branch. “I love you, Branch!”

“And I love you, Poppy!” Branch told her.

“Would it be weird if I fainted?” Poppy said. “Oh, I’m gonna faint right now.”

And she did. But Branch caught her. He would always be there to catch her when she fell, and she would do the same for him, no matter what.

Those were a majority of the main differences I could find in the junior novel. I think most of it stayed true to the movie, but some little details I would’ve liked to have made the final cut (the Cliva friendship stuff, the extra Broppy exchange and, while I understand the purpose of NSYNC’s cameo, I think the movie would’ve worked just fine without it)

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #branch trolls #poppy trolls #velvet and veneer #velvet trolls #veneer trolls #floyd trolls #crimp trolls #john dory #spruce trolls #clay trolls #dreamworks #thanks for the ask!#kittyball answers #100+

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inkmonster21 · 23 days ago

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Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: none

Part 11

Series Masterlist

You Say You Really Like It Being Mine

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

The set was bustling with work, with filming taking place most days of the week. Your interactions with Hugh were limited to brief encounters in passing or at the end of the day when one of you walked through the door.

Today's filming session featured everyone preparing for a surprise birthday party scene for Wade. You walked over to the set, thoroughly scanning the script to ensure complete memorization.

An unexpected warmth envelops your body as Hugh embraces you from behind, nuzzling his chin against your shoulder and bestowing a soft kiss on your cheek. His gentle affection makes a smile tug at the corners of your lips, and you lean into his embrace, receiving his tenderness wholeheartedly. Hugh's voice, laced with a hint of relief and affection, breaks the air and he murmurs, his words carrying a sense of warmth. "There you are." He tightens his embrace, his tone filled with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness.

You turn around, still held securely within the warmth of his arms. A playful smile graces your lips as you meet his gaze, your voice tinged with a hint of curiosity. "Were you looking for me?" Hugh's gaze locks with yours, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and amusement. He nods gently, his embrace remaining tight around you. "I was, actually," he responds, a hint of playfulness in his tone. "I couldn't go too long without seeing you." You can’t help but melt with his words. You lean towards his hold, “I missed you.”

Hugh's face softens, a warm smile spreading across his lips at your words. "I missed you too," he responds, his voice holding a gentle longing. As you lean in, he meets you halfway, reciprocating the kiss with equal fervor. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle and affectionate.

Ryan's voice cuts through the air, jolting you and Hugh apart. You both turn to look at him, slightly disoriented. Ryan has a cheeky grin on his face. "Hey lovebirds, we're ready on set." You chuckled softly as you walked hand-in-hand with Hugh towards the set. Just before you moved to your mark, he gently pulled you in for one last kiss, the affectionate gesture lingering on your lips. The kiss was a reminder of his presence even as you assumed your positions for the scene.

The director's voice rang out, commanding and authoritative. “Action!” The set is set into motion, the crew falling into their positions and the actors taking their marks. The cameras begin to roll, capturing every moment as the scene unfolds.

With a sense of excitement, you announce to the others, "Okay, Peter just texted me, and they're heading this way now! Everyone, time to hide!" The other actors scatter, finding their places to conceal themselves behind furniture, pillars, and other objects, their anticipation palpable in the air.

Sabrina quickly darted towards the nearby kitchen, her mind focused on her task. Within moments, she efficiently lit all the candles on the birthday cake and swiftly found a hiding spot near the door. She stood as still and quiet as she could, waiting anxiously for the perfect moment to make their surprise entrance, her heart pounded with anticipation.

The moment arrives as Wade and Peter enter the room, unaware of the awaiting surprise. The lights suddenly flicker on, accompanied by a chorus of voices yelling "Surprise!" Wade's eyes widen in surprise and disbelief, his mouth forming a wide smile. Peter stands beside him, with a grin.

Wade steps further into the room, still chuckling as he remarks, "Six years ago, you'd all be dead!" His words, playful and filled with humor, resonate through the room. He moves closer to the assembled group, a mix of amusement and affection in his gaze.

The party festivities continue, filled with lighthearted banter and laughter. Suddenly, a knock on the door disrupts the merriment. Sabrina, her smile still bright, takes it upon herself to open the door.

Sabrina's smile instantly fades as she steps outside, only to find not strippers, but several TVA agents instead. Her brows furrow with confusion and disappointment. She looks at the agents, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Hold on, you're definitely not the strippers I ordered."

One of the TVA agents steps forward, his tone firm and authoritative. "We need to speak to Wade Willison," he states matter-of-factly. The agent's eyes dart around, surveying the situation. Sabrina's annoyance and frustration mounts as she exclaims, "No shit! He's going to be so pissed!" Her voice rises with anger as she continues. "I specifically asked Patty to send-"

In a swift and ruthless manner, the TVA agent doesn't bother engaging further with Sabrina. He quickly unsheathes the pruning stick, wielding it with precision. Before Sabrina can utter another word, the stick glows and vibrates, sending her immediately into the void, erasing her existence in the blink of an eye.

The unexpected turn of events prompts the director to abruptly call out, "Cut!" The atmosphere on set shifts as everyone processes what just happened. Crew members pause their work, and the actors turn towards the director.

As the filming comes to a halt, you smile and walk away from the set, knowing that your next scene isn't scheduled until Thursday. You take a moment to relax and unwind, enjoying the break from the hectic filming routine. Just as you thought you had a moment to relax, Megan approaches, an iPad in one hand and a smile on her face. She takes a seat beside you and Hugh, clearly excited about something.

Megan gleefully shares the exciting news, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "So, I've booked the acoustic show for tomorrow, and you won't believe it – all the tickets sold out within the first hour!" Hugh's eyebrows shoot up with pride, "That's amazing darling!" The news definitely grabs your attention, a mix of excitement and disbelief palpable in the air.

As the news sinks in, a sense of pride washes over you. It's a significant achievement, a testament to your hard work and dedication. You can't help but feel a surge of satisfaction, knowing that your efforts have paid off.

Megan continues with more updates, her voice filled with excitement. "And the music video and single drop for 'Please' tonight at 10 p.m." She hands you the iPad, gesturing for you to approve the set list. Your thoughts drift to Hugh, anticipating the release of the video. A smile dances on your lips as you reflect on how he has truly brought the project to life. You can't help but feel a sense of anticipation, knowing that the video will undoubtedly captivate the audience and showcase his exceptional talent, and you know, his ability to ooze addictive sexual aura.

You looked to Hugh with a smile, “Would you come with me? As a little good luck charm?” Hugh's gaze meets yours, his smile mirroring yours as he responds to your question. "Of course, darling," he says, his voice holding warmth. "I'd love to come along as your good luck charm. Not that you need it."

You relished the cozy atmosphere of the acoustic performance. It allowed for a more personal connection with the audience, enabling you to engage with them on a deeper level. You felt a sense of closeness as you conversed and shared stories, creating a unique bond with the people who had come to support you.

At the mirror, you took a moment to appreciate your appearance. Tonight's dress carried a cleaner look, a departure from your usual stage costumes. Its snug fit, accentuated by tastefully placed cutouts, flawlessly showcased your personal style. With its chic design and effortlessly fashionable appeal, the outfit stood as a testament to your impeccable taste and undeniable style.

As Hugh stepped into the room, his eyes fell upon you, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. "My god," he murmured. A mix of admiration and adoration filled his expression as he took in the sight of you in your dress. With a soft smile, you reach out, wrapping your arms around him in a warm embrace. The fabric of your dress rustles softly as you draw him closer, relishing the comfort of his presence.

Megan's cheerful voice pierces the air as she calls out, "Smile!" She positions her phone, capturing a picture of the two of you in a candid moment. The click of the camera shutter captures your embrace, immortalizing the moment in a single snapshot.

As you wait for your cue to take the stage, you find comfort in leaning against Hugh. His presence provides a sense of reassurance, and you can't help but feel the steady rhythm of his breaths against you. The backstage chatter and nerves begin to melt away, replaced by the reassurance of his support and love.

You step out from behind the curtain, greeted by a wash of applause and cheers from the small room. The energy in the room is palpable as the audience reacts to your appearance on stage. A warm smile spreads across your face as you soak in the moment, feeling the support and adoration from the crowd.

With a warm smile, you greet the audience, your voice carrying over the crowd. "Well, hey guys," you say, the words laced with a friendly and inviting tone. You wave to the audience, a sense of excitement and anticipation bubbling within you as you connect with the people who have come to support you.

As you continue with the set list, you seamlessly transition through a mix of songs from your previous albums, some well-chosen covers, and even a few special requests from the audience. Each song is performed with passion and authenticity, the music flowing effortlessly from your lips. You feel connected to the audience, their engagement fueling your performance and making the experience even more magical.

You take advantage of a brief interlude in the set and perch on the edge of the stage. Your gaze sweeps across the faces in the audience, and you take the opportunity to engage in casual conversation with a few spectators. The interaction is natural and unscripted, creating an intimate connection between you and the listeners as you share anecdotes, answer questions, and exchange lighthearted banter.

“How’d you do it?” One girl asks with a smile. You meet the girl's smile with one of your own, your eyes sparkling with warmth. "How did I do what?" you ask curiously, genuinely interested in her question.

“Lockdown Hugh Jackman!” A wave of laughter erupts from the audience as the girl playfully poses her question, causing you to burst into laughter and cover your mouth in mild embarrassment. You regain your composure and smile broadly. You chuckle and playfully respond to her question, playing into the tabloids' gossip. "Oh, come on now. You guys really believe all that junk they say?" Your tone is light and tinged with humor as you address the audience, maintaining the lighthearted atmosphere of the moment.

You can sense a mixture of excitement and disbelief in the audience as you mention Hugh, the anticipation mounting in the air. You smile and direct their attention towards the back, "Well, you should believe it because he's right back there." Your words send a ripple of curiosity and delight through the crowd, their gazes shifting towards the backstage area where Hugh is likely waiting.

You gesture for him to join you, and he steps out from behind the wings. Hugh emerges, offering a warm wave to the crowd. The audience erupts into cheers and applause, their excitement surging at the sight of him. His presence adds a touch of magic, making the moment more special and memorable.

You bite your lip, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through you. You pass him the spare mic, hoping he'll take the cue and join in. Your eyes implore him, silently asking for his participation, and anticipation hangs in the air as you wait for his response.

Hugh takes the mic with a warm smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. He knows exactly what you're hoping for, and the anticipation builds. The audience watches intently, their excitement growing as they eagerly await what's to come.

“What do you say, baby? Sing with me for these lovely people?” Hugh smiles warmly at your proposition and responds to your request, his voice smooth and confident. "Oh, Of course." The audience erupts in cheers and applause once again, their excitement growing as they prepare for a beautiful duet.

You share a smile with Hugh, feeling a rush of excitement as the audience eagerly awaits the upcoming song. The atmosphere is electric as you both prepare to engage in a special performance together. It's moments like these that remind you of why you love what you do, and you feel incredibly thankful for the support and connection you have with your audience.

Without further ado, you begin the song, your voices joining together in a seamless harmony. The lyrics flow effortlessly from your lips, and Hugh's voice provides the perfect complement, blending with yours in a beautiful symphony. The room is filled with music and joy, the audience captivated by the performance.

As the last notes of the song fade away, you smile and lean into Hugh. Just as you're about to kiss his cheek as a sweet gesture, he catches you by surprise and brings your lips to his. The audience is completely enthralled, gasping and whooping as they witness the unexpected moment unfold before them.

You push him away with a cheerful smile, playfully exclaiming, "Okay, okay, you're stealing my show!" The crowd is in stitches, laughing and applauding as they revel in the playful banter between you and Hugh. The atmosphere is light and joyous, filled with a sense of amusement and affection.

You take a moment to take pictures with some of the fans who were lucky enough to get backstage. You smile and pose for the pictures, making sure to capture the special moment with each fan. The conversations are light and friendly, and you make an effort to engage with your supporters on a more personal level.

With a smile, the fan gushes over you and Hugh, remarking, "You two are so cute!" Your heart swells with appreciation as you bask in the compliment. Hugh wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and responds with a humble and gracious "Thank you."

A wave of contentment wash over you as you realize that your relationship is widely accepted and supported by your fans. They genuinely want you to be happy, and this knowledge fills you with a profound sense of gratitude. You feel a deep appreciation for their loyalty, understanding, and love, and it strengthens your connection with them even more.

#hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #logan howlett #marvel

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queerfables · 1 year ago

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Why all the crowd scenes look the same, aka: Something is WRONG in Soho

I'm not even gonna tease and draw this out because it's so cool it doesn't need the fanfare. Ready?

Season 2 takes place over the course of 5 days. During that time, most of the passersby in Soho - maybe even all of them - stay exactly the same. It's the same people every day, wearing the exact same clothes, and they wander through the neighbourhood in paths that don't make any sense. You won't be able to unsee it. I can't believe it's taken us this long to realise.

Don't believe me? Rewatch the scene from 2x03, I Know Where I'm Going where Shax confronts Crowley outside the bookshop, appearing in a series of different guises. Pay attention to the people going past.

I've marked out five people you see on screen when Crowley first exits the bookshop at 39:37:

Numbers 1, 2 and 3 are following the path right. Number 4 follows the path left. Number 5 crosses the road.

Here the five people are again, at 40:19, when Crowley goes to return to the bookshop:

Number 5 is still visible in the distance, in the direction she walked in. This makes sense! But numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 are rounding the same corner they just passed. It's as though 1, 2 and 3 all decided to turn and head back the way they came just 40 seconds ago, and number 4 has circled the block to join them.

This on its own would be super weird, but they're not the only people to do that in this scene. The man in the purple sweater from the first picture crosses the road, then appears back next to the bookshop, then starts walking back the way he came again.

Here's the part that made me absolutely certain, though. At 40:05, a man wearing an orange hoodie with blue sleeves walks past Crowley, who is heading towards the bookshop entrance.

The camera cuts to a view from behind Crowley, and a moment later, at 40:08...

He reappears in front of Crowley and walks past him again.

It's such a distinctive outfit, there's no mistaking it. They are absolutely fucking with the background characters and they are absolutely doing it on purpose.

Your turn. There are at least three other characters in this scene who pass by multiple times. Watch it again and try to spot them.

This scene is really chaotic and obvious, but the phenomena I'm talking about is much bigger than just one scene. Let's go back to the first thing I said: the background characters don't change. All our leads do. Maggie and Nina wear distinctive outfits, clearly demarcating each new day. Even Crowley and Aziraphale, who in season 1 were like cartoon characters with wardrobes full of identical clothing, vary their looks. Crowley changes his (very subtly) each day; Aziraphale is less rigid on timing, but he has a few different coats that he switches between. The background characters, on the other hand, wear the same outfits every single day. They walk by on the street but they never actually seem to have a destination. They sit in the coffee shop or pub and don't eat or drink anything, and nearly everyone leaves together exactly on closing time. It's eerie.

For reference's sake, here's a rough timeline of season 2, with pictures of Maggie and Nina's outfits to show the passing of time. I had to outsource this section because my post was too image heavy, lol. The main point I wanted to make is that five days go by.

Five days, and all the same faces keep showing up in the background, and almost none of them change their clothes. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but there's no way it's an accident. It might, in fact, be a game changer. To me this is proof positive that something is not as it seems. I've been a massive Clue skeptic, adamant that I'd only be convinced by the most unambiguous evidence, and honestly? This is enough to move the dials. It's too big for me to ignore. Whatever grand explanation of Good Omens we come up with has to account for this. I don't have it yet, but my current working theories are that Crowley and Aziraphale are under some seriously heavy surveillance, that time warping is involved, or that reality itself is not what it seems.

It would take a really long time for me to go through all of the background characters who turn up over and over but I do want to show you what I'm talking about. To wrap up, then, I'm going to pick out some memorable characters and walk you through a few of their appearances through the week. I highly recommend looking out for this yourself on your next rewatch and seeing how many other characters you can recognise.

Yellow Skirt

The first person I kept coming back to as being not quite right. You probably remember her from the first episode - she's the one who waves and walks past Maggie and Nina the night they're locked in together. Incidentally, she's also Person Number 3 in the scene with Shax.

Day 1 (2x01 - 36:20):

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 06:36)

Day 5 (2x06 - 30:00)

Coolest Leather Jacket In The World

It's not so easy to recognise people wearing lots of nondescript dark colours, but I love his hair and his jacket, so he stood out to me. I think there might be a lot more people who are wearing fairly nondescript clothes who I just can't recognise from episode to episode.

Day 2 (2x02 - 16:44)

Day 4 (2x04 - 41:20)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:20)

Dressed In Mustard

Ms Mustard shows up everywhere. If you want to see what I mean about their paths not making sense, pay attention when she comes on screen, because she'll often show up a few times in succession and walk very purposefully to nowhere in particular. The thing that she is doing, essentially, is behaving like an extra in a tv show. Which of course she is, but you're supposed to make that invisible by not having the same person go back and forth in the same scene, or changing up their outfit each in-universe day to give the sense time is passing. Not doing that is a really deliberate choice.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:37)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 01:49)

Day 3 (2x03 - 37:07)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:59)

Swishy Dress

This character shows up a lot in the first episode. I've struggled to find her in later episodes, though. None of the characters seem to follow the same patterns or show up to equal extents each day, which makes me think this isn't a straightforward time loop. I haven't actually cross referenced character appearances to in world times, though. Possibly this is a project for someone who's more across the time-related shenanigans than me.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:43)

Day 3 (2x03 - 07:01)

Yellow Vest

I've only seen this guy a handful of times, always around the French restaurant. I wonder if there's significance to that.

Day 2 (2x02 - 41:06)

Day 4 (2x05 - 12:49)

Fuzzy Blue Coat

Another background character who shows up frequently. The blue doesn't stand out quite as much as the yellows and reds some characters wear, but it's very distinctive.

While we're getting a lot of shots of the street, it's worth noting that I'm pretty sure the vehicles we see are also just the same few cars repeating each day. A lot of them are in neutral silvers and monochrome, but there's a couple of blue cars, one red, and one black and white that I'm fairly sure I've seen over and over through the season.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:45)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:04)

Day 3 (2x03 - 02:00)

Day 5 (2x06 - 40:10)

Day 5 (2x06 - 48:56)

Day 5 (2x06 - 50:06)

One final note: Whatever this is, Nina's employee who you see in the background at the coffeeshop sometimes isn't affected by it. He's wearing different outfits each day. On the other hand, some of the other shopkeepers do seem affected. I'm fairly sure Mr Brown and Mrs Sandwich wear the same outfits a few different days, only changing because of Aziraphale at the ball.

And that's it! Thanks for reading and I hope your mind is blown as much as mine is.

EDIT:

Hey I don't mind anyone pointing out production reasons that this might be the case or disagreeing with my analysis (over-analysis, some might say 😉). Please be kind about it, though. I'm not ignorant of the practical limitations involved in film making, but some of these costumes were really distinctive in a way I thought might be intended to draw attention.

For those of you who do find this theory convincing, I feel I should mention that I was working under the assumption that this stuff would have taken a few days to film, even filming it all together. That would strongly suggest that the actors were deliberately costumed the exact same way over multiple days of shooting, which made me think it had to be purposeful. @coranax was kind enough to point out, though, that behind the scenes videos said the extras were filmed separately to the main actors because of Covid protocols. In that case, they could have done it in just one day and that weakens my confidence in its intentionality.

Finally, all of my points about the scene with Shax in 2x03 stand. That was not a case of accidental continuity errors, it was really elegantly choreographed to enhance the tension in the scene. I say that with confidence because the extras are doing exactly what Shax is doing: circling Crowley, appearing where he doesn't expect them, creating a whirlwind sense of being off balance and out of control. I think it's really cool and effective, whether there's a deeper meaning to it or not.

#good omens #good omens meta #fable talks good omens

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namjoonscoffeeshop · 26 days ago

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Deep | Chapter 9

Deep | M.YG ✧ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader ✧ warning(s): explicit sexual content, angst, explict language, degradation kink, did i mention a bit of angst? spanking, making out w tongue, overstimulation, claiming/possesiveness, multiple orgasms for reader, hes a asshole but its ok cause its yoongi, maniplulation, filthy words, oral sex (both m/f rec), multiple sex scenes, anxiety, cold and detached yoongi, ✧ genre: angst,fluff,smut,fake dating au,contract ✧ synopsis; you're in love with your childhood friend but he does not see you more than just a friend. One day you ask him to be more than just friends, he agrees. ✧ word count: 7.9k ✧ Theme song: Fri(end)s by V a/n: BOO! heres the new chapter. I will be posting the next chapter very soon. expect the unexpected, our female lead is not going to have a break any time soon. also if there is any errors...ignore them I have to reread one more time but wanted to keep my promise and post this. prev | index | next

She lay sprawled on the floor, her eyes fixed on the ceiling above, though she barely registered it. Her luggage in the entrance, not even opened. The moment Jungkook pulled up to the apartment she stepped out of the car and walked in without thanking him. Nibbling her inner cheek she mentally curses herself for not even saying thank you. He cut his trip short just to bring her home and….shit.

You had attempted to text him but your phone had died. She felt the anxiousness seep through her, the thought of her marching off being a bad idea. Her thoughts circling back to Jihye and how she kept this to herself. She cringed at how she would tell her everything that had been happening the past months with Yoongi. Getting up from the floor she plugs her phone in to charge, pulling off her clothes one by one as she tosses it to the ground. “I need a shower,” she mumbles.

Just as she was about to leave the living room, her phone buzzed with notifications. She picked it up, biting her lip as she scanned the messages. Taehyung had texted her, filling her in on what happened after she left with Jungkook. Most of it blurred together, but one line kept replaying in her mind: “Yoongi and Jihye left together not long after you.” The words twisted in her stomach. She turned her phone off, refusing to look at anything else.

It had been only thirty minutes after you came out of the shower and you had become a stalker. Standing beside your window as you looked out to see if he’d arrive. His parking spot, empty. Just as you convinced yourself that you were pathetic, waiting for him. You were about to walk away when he pulled into the parking lot, quickly hiding behind the thin see through curtain.

He steps out of the car, opening his trunk as he pulls out his bags. You let out a sigh of relief when you confirm that he’s alone. Your eyes not pulling away from him as he walks up to the building. You turned to look at your apartment door, waiting for him to knock or even just enter your apartment. But he didn’t.

You didn’t bother to talk to anyone, you only stepped out to buy groceries once and then decided to just stay in your apartment the rest of the break. You needed to gather your thoughts and being alone felt like just the right thing to do.

It wasn’t.

He was right next door, and the urge to confront him was nearly impossible to resist. If it were any other day, she would’ve just asked him, and he’d probably explain. But this wasn’t like every other time. Not only had he kept his past with Jihye from her, but she felt blindsided in a way that only twisted the knife deeper.

You turn on the television and just put on a random show you had been postponing on netflix as you brushed your hair. You were into the show when the doorbell rings, groaning as you walk to the door and the only reason you opened the door without checking to see if it was him was because you knew it wouldn’t be him but it still didn’t stop you from being surprised.

“You look horrible,” Junho said, raising a brow. you stared, wide-eyed, before replaying softly “Hi” Glancing around the hall, you grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “What are you doing here?” you whispered.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” you snapped, stepping back. “If that’s why you’re here, you can go.”

“I want to apologize, the last time we were together well..” he stayed in place, you turn to him seeing how awkward he stood. “It’s fine…i’m glad you’re here..” he hums with a light nod, following you to the sit in the living room “I was actually thinking about how to reach out to you” you mumble. “Because of what happened?” if there was someone who would willingly talk about Yoongi’s wrongdoings it’d be Junho and as pathetic it made you look, you were desperate. “Did you know?” you ask suddenly, cursing yourself mentally. If he knew then that made you the only ignorant person around the two who had no idea.

Junho purses his lips as he tries to think of what to say to you. He lets out a sigh “yeah I knew that they had been together…but I didn’t find out right away” he watched your eyes fill with hurt, he continued “ and before you get angry with me for not telling you. Just remember that I met you after you and Jihye had been friends for a long time. I thought you already knew” his voice was rushed as he kept talking “and in my defense you two were so close I didn’t think you’d be that close unless you knew. And knowing Jihye…who can’t keep a secret to save her life..well”

“Oh she can keep a secret” you roll your eyes.

“She got drunk one day and confessed. Listen, she told me they never talked after that until you introduced him to her. Even then they never talked unless you were around” could you be acting overly dramatic? Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that she saw how head over heels you were for him..”stop over thinking about it, look Jihye was crying her eyes out when she called me. This happened a long time ago, she didn’t tell you because you shun everyone who gets even a inch of attention from Yoongi”

“No I don’t!” you yell

“Yes you do, and you know it! You’ve always been like that!” you were about to argue with him but his phone rang. “Is your phone off?” he says after reading the message from who ever texted him.

“What?”

“Jihye said she’s been texting you and calling but you won’t answer.. I had called you earlier but thought you had blocked me or something” shaking your head you walked over to the table where you had left your phone “it’s dead”

“Since when?”

“Since I got back” plugging in your phone you don’t wait long before the missed calls and messages start flooding in.

20 missed called from Jihye, 50 messages

10 missed calls from Yoongi, 5 messages

1 missed call from Junho, 2 messages

1 missed call unknown, 1 message

Muting your phone you place it down and turn to him. Junho, who was already standing up, shoves his hands into his pocket. “Look, I hope you two can deal with this as grown-ups. I only came here to make sure you weren’t dead because she was screaming at me through the phone to check on you”

“Thank you” you say softly

You open the door for him, stepping out. You felt bad for him, after Jihye sent him here to check on you even though she knew the two of you weren’t talking and he clearly felt uncomfortable with it. Now that you were thinking about it, pulling him inside without asking what he was doing here first was not a very smart thing to do, you suddenly became self conscious of the spaghetti strap shirt and shorts you were wearing.. Thinking back to him inside his eyes never ever left your face. After what he pulled the last time, you should’ve been more alerted. “Let me know if you need anything” he says, pulling you out from your thoughts.

few seconds before...

“She found out, and instead of going over to talk to her and beg for forgiveness you’re inviting us over?” Taehyung says in disbelief. “She’ll get over her drama and then we’ll talk” Yoongi sighs, already regretting inviting Taehyung. One, he doesn’t shut up and two, even after being told to drop the topic he still can’t shut up about it. Jimin senses the frustration from Yoongi but can’t help but chime in when Taehyung brings it up “but you said she hasn’t been answering nor have you seen her..aren’t you worri-” the three turn the corner and Taehyung gasps loudly, making Yoongi stop glaring at Jimin who was also looking a bit confused. “I thought they weren’t friends anymore,” Jimin mutters.

“They aren’t” he responds calmly, not bothering to make a scene. The three walked towards Yoongi’s apartment and the two who were talking in front of her apartment door which was wide open.

You hadn’t noticed them, not until you were already leaning in to hug Junho goodbye. Yoongi raises a brow as his fingers fumble with his keys, he looks down at his keys not bothering to say anything to you. You smile at Junho who whispers a small goodbye as he walks past the group. What did you expect? For him to overreact? Get mad? Jealous?

Jealous, that’s what you are.

Taehyung and Jimin walk over to you “you left early the other day, I hope Jungkook was not much trouble” Jimin smiles, clearly trying to make small talk, waiting for him to open the door. “We’re going to watch a movie, and also got food! Do you want to come over” Taehyung butts in awkwardly showing you the bag he was holding. You glance at Yoongi to see how he was reacting to the offer and as if sensing your stare he looks back at you.

“What?” he says

“Nothing” you respond

Yoongi’s eyes scanned your body, lingering on the light fabric of your outfit, which draped over your form. Shorts that accentuate your legs, a casual look, but the way it hugged your figure made him want to gauge Junho’s eyes out. "you look like you want to tell me something" you raise a brow, noticing his narrowed stare.

"Do you want me to say something? maybe invite you in? act as if you didn't lash out like a child and then left without talking to me" opening the door he scoffs "and now" he can't help but laugh sarcastically "now you're opening the door to your apartment to him? openly giving him the opportunity to do it again and this time have something worse happen" as he lectured you. you instantly regretted telling him what happened that day.

"he came to check on me after ji-"

he snickers "right, he found the perfect moment to come crawling to you like a rat. how can you be so gullible, but yet you walk away from me and don't even think of talking about what happened”

"What was there to talk about? I heard everything I needed to know" you couldn't help but laugh at how he was turning this against you "I can't even think of anything to say to you or her"

"you got...you know what it's pointless talking to you. it's like each time...all we do is run in circles"

"that's so like you, always avoiding to talk about anything" his face twisted into an arrogant scowl "avoiding? bullshit! you- fine" dropping the bags to the ground he didn't care that the items scattered.. pushing Jimin aside he grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment shutting the door behind the two of you.

"Go on then, what do you want to talk about" his grip on your arm caused you to whimper but he didn't loosen his grip.

"Why are you angry! I'm the one who had to learn about Jihye and you after years of being her friend!" you try to get free from his grip but fail as he pressed you against the wall, his face incredibly close to you, causing you to unknowingly hold your breath.

"I have the right to be upset with you when you let someone into your apartment, and it's not just anybody it's the same guy that tried to force himself on you and you broke friendship with! I can be upset when you do something as stupid as let him into your apartment and I don't know!"he snarled

"Why do you need to know!" you yell back, thrashing as you push him but continue to struggle "are you that stupid?!" his grip loosens and he walks away from you, entering your apartment "you talk about me and how I avoid talking. you left!"

"because jihy-"

"That was nothing!" he screams, causing your body to jump at his sudden raised voice. "It was before she even met you y/n! We met that summer and had sex a couple of times and that was the end of it!"

"Then why not tell me!" you yell back, you feel as if you didn't, your voice would betray you, your heart beating so quickly that you hear your pulse in your ears. "because it wasn't your business y/n! you never cared about anyone I was with before, why should she have been an exception?!"

Your hands are clenched into fists, and the frustration boils over. Glancing at the chair beside you, you grab a stuffed toy and hurl it at him. "because you saw how much she mattered to me! you saw me befriend her and you know how I feel about those girls" catching the toy he groans, frustrated with the conversation "She asked me to not say anything for that exact reason! shit, I was gonna tell you the day you introduced her to me as your friend but she fucking cried" not caring if you looked childish you kept throwing the stuffed animals at him it wasn't until the fifth one till you successfully hit his head. "Stop throwing shit y/n!" he yells but you had already sat on the empty chair having pushed aside the rest of the toys onto the floor.

you lost, again.

He watches you as you bury your face in your hands, your muffled cries breaking through the silence. “I didn’t know if you’d even stay friends,” he says quietly. “At first, I was skeptical about her. I warned her that if she tried anything, I’d tell you… but then I saw how close you got.”

He doesn’t move toward you, and though you hate it, you wish he would. You wish he’d hug you right now.

Pathetic, you think.

“You always had a hard time making friends with girls, so I kept quiet.”

“Get out.”

“What—?”

“Get out! I don’t want to hear your excuses.” You stand, wiping your tears as you walk past him, sidestepping his attempt to reach you. “I don’t want your friendship or hers. Just leave.” You shut your bedroom door, leaning against it as you try to catch your breath. “You’re making this bigger than it is!” Yoongi shouts from the other side. “This is what you always do when something bothers me! You say I’m exaggerating, and I’m done with it! The deal, everything—it’s over. Leave!”

“No. Open the damn door.”

“Go to hell.”

"y/n!" you both stay silent and then you hear his footsteps grow distant. I hate them. dropping on the bed you hug your pillow. not even two minutes passed when you hear him come back "Yoongi i'm serious get out!" your eyes widen when you hear the door's lock click, jumping to your feet you run to the door but he was faster than you. the door swung open and he walked into the room "I get why you're mad, but you're not going to kick me out of your life over this. You're testing my patience with all this dramatic show you're putting" he said angrily as he strode to you.

"I give two shits about your patience" you say through clenched teeth, you shake your head. "I'm not gonna stand here and let you tell me that my feelings mean nothing!" you were about to race out of the room but he blocked your path, closing the distance between the two of you , before you could complain Yoongi grabbed the back of your head and pressed his lips to yours.

yanking at his hair you try to pry him off. Yoongi frowns, biting your lip causing your lips to part from the pain, his hot tongue pushed into your mouth entwining his with yours. He did not give you a break, continuing to kiss you until you felt faint. his chest heaving as he brushed your hair from your eyes "I never said your feelings didn't matter" he muttered roughly "just that it happened a long time ago, and It was nothing. you hear me?" glaring at him you try to push him but he wouldn't let you "it meant nothing, it meant nothing" you mock him "that's all you can say!"

"I have nothing else to say about the matter." His answer left you speechless. and it snapped, your sanity "then that's all I want, I don't want our friendship anymore just sex, that's all you like or am I wrong!"

"That's what you want?! "

"You treat me-" Yoongi stops you, ravaging your lips. His hot tongue tangled with yours as he deepened the kiss. fighting for air, he didn't pull away until he felt your grip on him weaken. All the build-up emotions inside you made you act without thinking. The moment the kiss ends your hand raises and strikes him against his cheek. the room falls silent as he stares to the side.

coming to your senses your eyes widen. "yoong-" "fine, if that's all you want. then i'll happily give you just that" you were too stunned to move, his lips pressed against yours this time more aggressive than the last.

He was quick to lift you off your feet, wrapping your arms around him and carrying you to the bed. He pulls down your shorts against your complaints. "Wait" you say as he tosses them aside with your underwear "stop" he says, holding your ankle "isn't this what you wanted" before you could rebuttal he spread your legs, his long finger traced between your dripping wet folds. the tip of his tongue swirled around your clit, you're lips parting to try and tell him to stop but instead you yelp as he closes his lips around it and sucking, he finally tasted your release on his tongue but he didn't stop there, nose pressed against your clit as he continued to suck. whining from the oversensitivity "y-Yoongi stop" you cry out. his thumb wiping his wet lips as he stared at you specifically stared at your tear filled eyes. you felt your heart swell up as he got up from the bed. thinking about how he would usually wipe your tears and give you kisses, instead he undid his belt pulling down his pants and briefs, his hardened length in full view. his cold eyes looking down at you "get on your knees and suck"

you stare at him and then glance at his throbbing length. "Hurry up, you're wasting time" he scowls.

swallowing you get on your knees on the comfort of the mattress, gently grabbing the hem of your shirt he pulls it over your head. taking him in your hands you can feel him watching you. you wrap your lips around the tip and begin to suck slowly. you begin to take all you could and wrap your hand around what you couldn't receive. tears brimming at the corner of your eyes, his large palm gripping your hair as you keep bobbing your head on his shaft. your drool from the side of your mouth coating his balls. you hear his low moans, he'd move his hips thrusting his cock down your throat "fuck" he mutters through gritted teeth. "swallow" he says sternly, releasing in your mouth.

letting go of your hair you pull back, coughing. scoffing he grabs your chin "you never listen to me do you" ravaging your lips he doesn't care to taste himself as he shoves his tongue in your mouth. You press your hand against his chest you could feel his heart racing just as fast as yours. but there was something different, his eyes were cold. nowhere near as loving and kind as the first night you two spent together.

there was a hint of pain, as his forehead creased and he held your arm but only to yank you down, face first into the softness of your bed. "raise your ass" he says, his patience thin as he watches you rise slowly. He wraps his arm around your waist, lifting you quickly. "You're dripping wet from sucking my cock huh" he says, his fingers entering your entrance "you stopped begging for me to stop" his hand plays with the clasp of your bra before undoing it. "Do you want me to continue" he says as his hand cups your breast pinching your taut nipple. you nod, gripping the bed sheets "say it" he pinches your nipple causing you to moan.

"please put it in already" your throat was dry.

“Is this what you want? you want me to find you only when I need my dick wet?" he growls against your ear "do you want me to come to you only when I want your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock" pressing two fingers against your lips you open your mouth as his fingers enter. "want me to take you from behind and leave right after?" he presses his fingers down against your tongue and you begin to drool. "because if that's all you want from me....then you really are no different from them" you feel as his hard length rubs against your folds. removing his hand from your mouth he goes to your night stand, pulling out a foil.

Say something, tell him that he isn't just sexual relief for you

But no words left your lips, you were on your back in seconds. your eyes on him as he pulled his shirt over his head "then I'll give you what you want" your tongues intertwined passionately, feeling his length brushing between your legs. He entered you with a single, deep thrust. Your toes curled as he thrusted into you mercilessly. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tightly hug him, his name being the only sound that left your lips. His thick length slowly slid into you before pulling out to the tip only for him to thrust in deeper. Moaning quietly, your back arched as he leaned over you to put his mouth on your breasts, each suck causing the heat in your belly to intensify. As if a bolt of lighting had struck you, the feeling of almost cumming is robbed as he scooped you up and placed you on his lap. you claw at his shoulders as you try and steady yourself on your knees while facing him. without giving you a chance for anything you receive him even more deeply as he thrusts upwards. You clung to his neck each time he sank into you, your hips moving on their own. You feel the knot in your stomach release, the intense pleasure causing you to bite down on his shoulder. Just when you thought you'd faint from the overstimulation his movements stop as he groans.

You lift yourself, his length slipping out of you as you fall back onto the bed. You could still feel the sensation of having him inside you, "don't even think that it's over yet" your eyes snap up, he was already sliding on another condom on his hardened length. He laid you back, initiating a kiss he grabbed your ankle and propped your leg on his shoulder, lifting his hips he thrust into you. You let out a low moan, your eyes shutting tightly. "Watch" he says "watch how I enter you" he moved urgently inside you. Wave after wave of passion you had already orgasmed twice but it did not stop him. Yoongi gritted his teeth and shuddered as if he was suppressing something. Rocking his hips as his length swelled inside, biting down on his lips he moved faster. Moaning as he releases his load.

Pulling out from you, he ignores your whines. Getting off the bed he begins to get dressed after disposing of the condom. "Yoongi" you mutter but he doesn't stop, you try to sit up but your back and hips ache causing you to whimper. The sudden noise makes him freeze but he doesn't bother turning around to look at you. Once he's fully dressed he leaves the apartment.

Yoongi didn’t contact her after that day, nor did they didn’t coincidentally bump into one another even if they lived in the same building. The anxiety and regret she felt made her cry herself to sleep, cursing herself for not telling him that he wasn’t just a sexual relief for her.

Looking at the mirror one last time she pushes aside her bangs, thinking about getting them trimmed later. Gulping she opens the door, peeking out slightly to see if he was there, thankfully there was no one in the hall. Therefore another day of not seeing him began. “Make sure to read the next chapter and check the assignments posted online” the professor spoke but no one listened. Every student beelinning to exit.

Groaning at the thought of the next class, her stomach twisted at the thought of having to see Jihye. I shouldn’t be trying to avoid her, she’s the one that hid it from me. She thought as she took the long way to class. For a moment as she stood in front of the building, she considered simply skipping. All four years she had never skipped class, nibbling on her inner cheek she’d wave at people who say hello from either this class or another.

Fuck it, turning on her heel she attempts to escape hell but instantly bumps into someone. Quickly apologizing, she looked up, it was Junho. “Are you alright? You’ve just been standing there” awkwardly smiling as she takes a few steps back which he respected by staying in place. “I was just..”

“Thinking of skipping to avoid Jihye?” feeling embarrassed for her petty actions she blushes. Sighing he looks at his watch “do you wanna go eat or something…I’ll ask a friend for the class notes”

“Oh” her voice filled with a bit of hesitation. One, she was thinking of skipping and two, with Junho. That was already two reasons for Yoongi to kill her. “Here at the cafeteria” he adds “Jihye isn’t in your next class, that way you can make it in time” she stares at him for a few seconds before giving in and nodding.

At first, she thought it would be awkward, but that feeling quickly faded once they sat down and started catching up.Laughing at his jokes like the old times, she couldn’t help but think that skipping class was worth reconciling with him.

“y/n, are not planning to make up with her?” you stop slurping on your drink, looking up at him. “I don’t know,” you mutter. “As stupid as I think of what i’m about to say” he licks his lips “you and me made up..after what happened”

Raising a brow you purse your lips “yeah but… it won’t be the same you know.. I…Right now I just needed to get out of that situation” you stutter

“Right, yeah…” he exhales “I’m just saying that compared to me what she did wasn’t as bad” smiling you gather your book bag and books “thanks for this, next time i’ll get you a drin-” grabbing your hand he says your name which you freeze up and stare at his hand. He pulls back and curses under his breath “I’m sorry, I just think that you need to hear her out”

"“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” She hurried out of the cafeteria, pulling her phone from her bag, which she had silenced earlier for class. Biting her lip, she looked down at the message:"

Yoongi:

Where are you?

Not wanting him to cause a scene looking for her she sends him a quick, blunt message. “Woke up late.” Stepping outside, she quickened her pace down the street, feeling her phone buzz again as his name flashed on the screen. “Damn it,” she muttered, pressing the side button to silence it and shoving her phone into her pocket.

Just when she thought the rest of the day might pass peacefully, she spotted him waiting by the building. She ducked out of sight before he noticed her, slipping in through a side entrance. Her phone vibrated again—Yoongi’s name glowing across the screen—but she ignored it as before. By the end of class, though, her luck ran out; with only one exit left, she walked straight into him. There he was standing by the doors, glaring at her.

“Where were you?” he demanded, irritation clear in his voice.

"I told you, I was late," she replied, brushing past him.

"Don’t give me that—I got here after you and saw your car," he shot back.

She paused, turning to him. "And how exactly do you know if I skipped?"

Yoongi closed his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. "That’s not the point. Did you seriously skip class just because she was in there too?" His tone bordered on exasperation.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Oh, did she tell you? Wow, you two must be real close. How ignorant was I to have never noticed before "

“Don’t skip class. And get home early” he says walking past her, too tired to argue with her. She was used to him being all high and mighty but at this moment, the urge to become violent and slap him once more flared inside her.

Jihye got the message. In any class they shared, she avoided Y/N’s area, keeping her distance. Junho noticed, giving both of them a wary look before deciding to sit far enough from either to avoid taking sides. But Jihye couldn’t stay away forever, by the end of class the two girls were running across campus. One being chased, the other doing the chasing.

“Stop being like this! Please let’s talk” Jihye shouted, sprinting behind her. Passing students threw them confused looks, but Y/N kept moving. When they reached the parking lot, she tried to unlock her car quickly, but Jihye blocked her path. Out of breath, they stared each other down, and Y/N couldn’t help but think that, under different circumstances, they’d both be laughing right now. But this was anything but funny. “Fine. You’ve got a minute,” she managed, standing upright. “After that, we’re done talking.” Jihye’s face fell at her demand, but she pressed on. “Let's go talk somewhere else” she says which y/n then looks at her wrist acting as if there was a watch “you have 30 seconds left” Jihye’s patience snapped. “Why are you acting like this? Fine, I didn’t tell you what happened back then, but how could I? We probably wouldn’t even be friends now if I had!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends” she shots back

Jihye takes a step closer “you don’t mean that”

“What If I do?” you scoffed “even now you go snitching to Yoongi about me ditching class.

“ I was just worried about yo–”

“Don’t be! Clearly, you weren’t worried about how I’d feel finding out, or you’d have told me the truth! Even if it risked our friendship.”

“to think that I came ranting to you about him, about how I felt and shit you already had him!” she screams

“That’s not fair! I didn’t know you back then!!”

“You sound just like him. Your minute’s up. Move.”

Jihye’s jaw clenched as she stepped aside, watching her get into the car and drive away. She blinked hard, but her eyes still burned as tears finally slipped down her cheeks.

You slam your apartment door shut, tossing everything to the floor in frustration. The encounter with Jihye was still fresh, making your blood boil. Guess I'll need to fill up the gas tank tomorrow, you think, flicking on the lights. Maybe driving around to clear my head wasn’t such a smart move after all.

A voice cuts through the silence, making you jump. “So, is this how you’re planning to act from now on?” Yoongi’s voice is calm but pointed as he sits up, pushing the blanket off himself.

Clutching your chest, you try to calm your racing heart. “What are you doing here?!”

He raises an eyebrow, looking at you as though waiting for an explanation. “What am I doing here? I told you to get home early. I come back, and you’re nowhere to be found.”

“I can come home whenever I want,” you say defiantly. His eyes narrow, and he takes a step toward you, gripping your chin before pressing his lips against yours. Caught off guard, you instinctively try to pull away, but he tightens his hold, lifting you onto the counter as his kiss grows more intense.

You let your arms fall around him in reluctant surrender, responding to his intense advance. "Where did you go?" he murmurs, his hand tangling in your hair as he yanks your head back, drawing a surprised whimper from your lips.

"I just drove around," you manage, feeling the heat of his gaze, but his expression shifts as he presses on.

"And when you ditched class?" His brow arches, his patience clearly running thin as you hesitate. "Y/N, don’t make me ask again—where were you?"

“With Junho,” you finally admit, watching as his expression darkens. He releases your hair and steps back with an exasperated chuckle. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That guy again?!”

Jumping down from the counter, you glare back, incredulous. “What’s so wrong with me talking to him? Yes, he made a mistake, but I’m not giving him a free pass. It’s different now—I’m more aware—”

“Oh, that’s rich," he cuts you off, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He gets a ‘mistake pass’ and you move on, but Jihye and I keep something from you, and we’re the worst people in the world?”

That was the last straw.

“Don’t you dare compare what you and Jihye did to what happened with him!” you shout, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “I’ve told you before, it meant nothing, it was just a fling, and we were both just—god, what do you even want me to say?!” I shake my head in disbelief. How could he expect me to move on like it meant nothing? If I’m angry with him, it’s because he didn’t tell me. With Jihye, though, it’s different. What I hate most is the way she looked at me every time I talked about him, and when I finally admitted how much I liked him...she just sat there and encouraged me. She’s nothing but a hypocrite.

“Where did the two of you go?”

“What?”

“That guy and you”

“That guy has a name–” you stop talking as he shuts his eyes in frustration, inhaling a deep breath. “To eat, that’s it”

Turning on his heel he walks towards the door, and you just couldn’t believe he thinks he can just end the conversation whenever he wants.

“Is that all you were here for?”

Maybe it was the teasing or me leading him on that brought us to this. And as much as I wanted to just enjoy the moment. His words from the last time kept repeating in my head, but being bent over the counter as his fingers were knuckle deep inside me, how could I even have a single sane thought. His eager mouth found mine as our lips slid against each other. “You’re just so eager to have my dick huh” he mutters.

Yoongi parts your legs, his arm resting on your ass as he tugs down his shorts and boxers revealing his erection. He pumps his length a few times before slipping the condom on. Then he pushes the head of his cock into you, making you moan his name.

He exhales in pleasure, feeling content. Pushing his length into your hot, wet core. You grip the counter as he pulls his length back out and slams it all in one go. Reaching down to your face he turns you to face him “just forget about it, about what happened. Can’t you?” you couldn’t manage to reply as he starts moving at an erratic pace. His pelvic area slams into your ass with each thrust.

Your legs begin to feel like jelly and he feels your knees buck. Slipping out of you he lifts you up, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Don’t tell me you’re tired?” His voice was hoarse, he quickly took you to the couch. Hovering over you he pushes himself inside with a force that takes both of your breaths away.

“Fuck” he groans

You squirm underneath him “Y-oongi” he covers your lips with his, not letting you say anything. The room filled with muffled moans and skin slapping as he thrusted into you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you reached your peak, it wasn’t long before you orgasmed. Your hands snakes around his nape, closing the distance between the two of you as you devour his lips. You whimper as the familiar knot formed in your stomach making your walls clench around him “yoongi” you moan his name which he hums in response “I know babe, I know” his hips continue to harshly snap into yours, the indescribable pleasure that felt like shocks along your spine making you arch your back as you cummed on his shaft.

A sob rips through your throat, nails painfullying digging into his skin as he fucks your through your high, his chuckle rings through your ear as he lowers his face into the crook of your neck. “Stop talking to that bastard, aren’t I enough” he growls as he quickly turns you over, lifting your ass quickly as he positions himself. He doesn’t enter you but rather rub his length against you.

“No–” a sharp sting spreads on your asscheek as you yelp in suprise, realizing he spanked you. And as much as you’d want to yell at him to never hit you again, you felt yourself getting wetter at the idea of him doing it again. Your thighs attempting to clench together at the feeling “you think you deserve to have this pretty pussy fucked if you act like a fucking brat?” he growls. He shoves his dick back inside without warning but doesn’t move at all. “Where did he take you out to eat” he asks, you were still trying to gather yourself from what had just happened when you hear him click his tongue loudly and immediately spanks you yet again.

As if feeling like you had enough he begins to move, your ass bouncing back against his hips with each thrust. He leans forwards, pressing his chest against your back “does he know how much of a horny slut you are” you moan as he hits your sweet spot, gripping the pillow underneath you. “My slut, no one else’s” the low volume of his voice and the rough pounding of his hips along with the degrading words leaving his lips made me want to right there and then tell him how much I needed him all the time.

“What would he do if he knew. how I fuck you senseless, how this pretty little mouth of yours sucks my dick” you cry as your second orgasm washes over you, your body violently jerking under him from the overstimulation.

“That’s my girl” he growls as he fucks you through your orgasm, he thrusts his hips into you faster. He moans softly, his head hung back as in bliss. You feel your stomach twisting, a sob leaving your mouth. A soft moan resounds in Yoongi's throat when his own orgasm hits him, thrusts getting sloppy. He kisses you once more, groaning loudly into your mouth. You whimper at the sensation of him pulling out, turning onto your back slowly. He rubs your thighs with his palm softly. “Fucking brat” he says, his eyes staring into yours.

You felt your eyes shutting on you, but you quickly sat up when he attempted to stand. “Don’t go” you say without thinking.

Bitch what the fuck, you scream inside.

He licks his lips, bringing his hand to your check as he brushes strands of your hair behind your ear “ didn’t you say that you just wanted the sex” his tone was set to hurt you but as you stared into his eyes you knew he didn’t mean the words he just said, and he was just hurt for what he interpreted by your silence last time.

“Then why do you care who I talk to, or how late I get home” you scowl. He tilts his head, a brow raised “why don’t you just say it, admit you regret reacting the way you did. And things can go back to how they were”

One thing I always hated about him was how easily he could read me. But this time, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of being right. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you gave him a quick peck. “I don’t regret anything,” you said, standing up from the sofa and leaving him there as you walked away to take a shower.

By the time you got out, he was already gone.

This pattern went on for two weeks. Before class, we’d have a quick encounter, and he’d show up on weekends, catching me off guard in the middle of the day. Each time felt more intense, each encounter better than the last. We’d try new things, pushing past anything I’d read in books, which felt lacking in comparison. But each time it ended, there was a growing ache as we separated. If we were at my place, I’d be the one to walk away first, and he’d leave soon after. At his place, he never asked me to leave, letting it be my choice to go.

I was straddling him, my arms wrapped around him as we made out. It sometimes began like this, usually initiated by me. His hands squeezed my asscheeks, slightly sneaking their way into my shirt as I grinded my hips against him. The past weeks we’ve learned things about each other, things we should’ve never learned from one another. Like how he loves to spank my ass, his favorite position being from behind. How I had the hots for his degrading speech.

Just as things were about to progress his phone rang. Annoyed, he looks to the side, grabbing his phone. Kissing his neck I don’t hesitate to leave him hickeys as he doesn’t care if I do. “Who is it” I ask which he groans “my parents”

Lowering his hand I take his phone “you can call them back later” if there was something he loved about you lately it was the confidence you managed to build especially around him. Maybe that’s what he loved, the fact that it was just around him. That only he could see how beautiful you looked when you were confident.

His lips latched onto yours possessively, it doesn’t matter if she forgives me or not. As long as I say the deal isn’t over, she’s mine. And that’s never going to happen. You felt yourself in a daze as he caressed your body with his hands. His hands freezing at the sudden ring from your phone. Both groaning you stand from his lap “is someone dying?” he groans.

Picking up the phone your mom sounded rather energetic, asking you all sorts of questions. “Yes he’s right here too” you turn to look at yoongi who had already been staring at you. “Uh…I don’t know where his phone is…”

“I’m heading out, for you two to talk” he says, walking towards the exit

“She’s saying if we can go over this weekend..well she's asking me, your dad says you have to go” sighing in frustration Yoongi glares at me “I’m not going” not letting you rebuttal he walks out of the apartment.

Yoongi wasn’t lying when he said that he would not be going back home this weekend. Here I was packed and standing in front of his door. I know the two of us aren’t in talking terms and as unhealthy as it is that we only ever talk if it’s before the sex or after even if it's brief you had not made up with him or her.

Just as I step out of the building, I stop in my tracks, spotting Yoongi by my car. He’s wiping his hands on a towel, having just closed the hood.

“Hi,” I say.

“Your car’s good for the trip. Just needs some gas, but that’s all,” he says, turning and handing me my keys, which I blindly accept, realizing with embarrassment that I hadn’t even noticed I’d left them behind. I thank him, and he takes my bags. “Don’t stop anywhere—just head straight home,” he says, shutting the trunk.

Rolling my eyes as I settle into the driver’s seat, I reply, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” he says, leaning in to lift my chin, giving me a small kiss. “Call me when you get there.”

I nod, close the window, and drive off.

The moment I arrive, my mom envelops me in a tight hug. “My baby! Why don’t you visit more often?”

I sink into her arms, realizing how much I’ve needed this. Maybe the stress of the last few weeks has taken more of a toll on me than I thought. “I’ve just been really busy,” I say with a smile.

“y/n!” you felt an impact on your lower stomach as Hajun ran straight into you, tightly hugging you “did he come?”

“Who? Yoongi?” the younger boy nods his head “no he didn’t come” you could see the disappointment in his eyes for a split moment before he playfully grins.

“So it’s just us?” , laughing you pat his head “ yes it’s just us” taking out your phone you take a quick photo of hajun hugging your waist and send it to yoongi as your message of arrival. Quickly tugging your phone into your pocket you walk into the kitchen with hajun stepped on your feet as you walk carefully.

“How’s he doing?”

“Who?”

“Yoongi of course, I was hoping to see him” nibbling on your inner cheek you shrug your shoulders “he’s doing fine, i don’t know what he didn’t want to come but he’s good”

Nodding she places two plates down on the table “hajun has been living with us for a while now” your brow lifts as you look over to the boy who was chowing down completely ignoring the two of you

“Why?” you move aside with your mom, still cautious of him overhearing.

“His parents are having a divorce. It’s been messy, not a place for a boy his age to be.”I look back at Hajun, feeling a pang of sympathy. “How’s he handling it?”

“That’s the thing, he’s taking it like a champ. Afterall–” she glances towards Hajun softly speaks in a empathetic tone “he’s the one who told his dad”

You were exhausted after the long drive, resting in your room you couldn’t help but look at the window. A small part of you wanted to hear Yoongi knock on your window, asking for you to let him in. knocking at the door pulled your gaze from the window “sweetie, originally Yoongi and you were supposed to have dinner at his house..do you mind going alone?”

“No, I would love to go.” she does a flying kiss after wishing you goodnight.

@baechugff @thetaehyungstan @yoongibaybee @gimeow @pjmsneverland @eissenheimer @taetaechim7 @acquiescence804 @seoullove96 @waitaminswife @keshiadeija @gaby-93 @amarawayne @ykkjm @ot72025 @joonie1213 @vonvi-blog

#min yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenerio #yoongi smut #bts smut #namjoonscoffeeshop #bts angst #bts college au #bts fluff

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oceandolores · 4 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 9

Dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader

"𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,"

summary: it's the big day

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 9

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 8

next | chapter 10

The night was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum with unresolved tensions. Inside Joel’s dimly lit living room, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock as Joel’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. He had just finished a tense conversation with Ellie, who had reluctantly agreed to stay home and get some sleep. Her concern had been palpable.

"Now, get some sleep, Ellie, I'll be right back." He said as he pick up his jacket and his truck's key from the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie ask, "I need to go back to her house, I need to take care of her before her father's get home," Joel lies.

"Okay," Ellie said.

Joel closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he made his way to the truck, he could feel Ellie’s anxious gaze lingering on him, a reminder of the fragile line he was walking. The lie about returning to your house to take care of you was a necessary deception, a way to keep Ellie from discovering his true intentions.

The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the quiet of the night. Joel’s thoughts churned like a storm at sea, the images of your pain intertwining with the dark intent driving him forward.

He gripped the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles white against the darkness, he clenched his jaw over and over again, as he drove towards the bar where Jamie was likely to be. The truck's headlights cut through the inky blackness, but they could not penetrate the veil of anger that had enveloped Joel. He was determined to find Jamie and make him pay for the harm he had inflicted on you. Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom of vengeance, interspersed with fleeting memories of the tender moments he had shared with you. Every time his mind drifted to your pain, it only fueled his resolve.

He will keep you safe no matter what it takes.

The anger roiling inside Joel was a storm at sea, a hurricane of grief and rage that threatened to tear apart the calm facade he maintained. His feelings for you were like a fragile flower in a storm, blooming amidst chaos but vulnerable to the fury of the winds. Each image of you in pain was a dagger to his heart, a wound that only deepened with every second Jamie remained free.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked a short distance away, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator’s precision. The bar’s neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an unsteady glow on the streets. He watched from the shadows, a ghost among the night, waiting for Jamie to emerge.

Inside the bar, Jamie and his friends were oblivious to the storm brewing outside. Their laughter and raucous voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in Joel’s chest. He remained hidden, his focus sharp, his patience unwavering. Every now and then, he glanced at the entrance, his resolve hardening with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, Jamie finally stumbled out of the bar, his steps unsteady and his demeanor reflecting the effects of heavy drinking. But just as Joel prepared to make his move, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

Unbeknownst to him, someone had been following him, moving with the same stealth and purpose. The presence was unsettling, a silent observer whose intentions were cloaked in mystery.

Joel’s attention was solely on Jamie, his anger and determination a palpable force. Jamie, heavily intoxicated, staggered towards his car, fumbling with his keys. Joel slipped out of his truck, moving silently across the empty parking lot. He followed Jamie’s unsteady path. The scene was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

As Jamie clumsily tried to unlock the door, the keys slipped from his grasp and fell into a nearby drainage ditch. "Fuck, C'mon!" Jamie cursed loudly, his frustration evident as he bent down, reaching into the dark crevice. The night was still, the only sounds being Jamie’s muffled swearing and the distant hum of traffic.

He kept his eyes fixed on Jamie, who was now still crouched beside his car, struggling with the keys. The empty parking lot was dimly lit by flickering streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the slightest movements.

Joel’s footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible as he approached Jamie from behind. His anger was a fierce, controlled fire, burning with the intent to protect you and ensure that Jamie faced consequences.

As Jamie struggled to retrieve the keys, Joel’s voice cut through the silence. “Looking for something?” The tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. Jamie’s head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder to see Joel standing behind him, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Joel's smile was devoid of warmth, more of a grimace shaped by his dark intent. His brown jacket, now illuminated by the faint light, made him appear as a looming figure from the shadows. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, but his posture and expression spoke volumes of the resolve that lay beneath.

Jamie’s eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized Joel. “Mr. M-miller?” he stammered, his voice a mix of surprise and trepidation. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stillness around them amplifying the tension of the encounter.

Joel's demeanor remained unnervingly calm. “Are you looking for something, Jamie?” he asked with a pretense of friendliness that masked the dangerous undercurrent of his intentions. His voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom, creating a facade of benevolence while plotting something darker. The contrast between his calm exterior and the turmoil brewing within him was as stark as light against shadow.

Jamie, visibly shaken, struggled to maintain his composure. “Uh, I, uh, my car keys fell,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he tried to retrieve the keys from the ditch. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s response was as measured as it was unsettling. “Oh, I was just out drinking at the bar with Tommy. I think your keys might have fallen too deep.” He offered the lie with an almost casual ease, as though discussing the weather rather than the dark purpose behind his presence. “Are you heading home?”

Jamie’s fear was palpable, his mind racing to keep his anxiety hidden. The dread of Joel uncovering his involvement in your assault was almost suffocating. He attempted to push aside his panic, focusing on the trivial matter of his lost keys. The fear of Joel’s inquiry seemed to magnify with each passing second.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said, his voice betraying his unease. He began to back away, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that Joel created.

Joel’s smile remained, but there was an edge to it that hinted at something darker. His voice was smooth, as though offering a simple gesture of kindness rather than concealing a deeper, more menacing intent. “Well, do you need a lift?”

Jamie’s anxiety was palpable, his body language betraying his fear. He glanced nervously between Joel and the dimly lit parking lot, where the shadows seemed to close in on him. The weight of his recent actions and the looming threat of Joel’s presence created a sense of suffocating dread.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Jamie stammered, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “I’ll just walk.” His voice was uneven, betraying his attempt to mask his fear with bravado.

Joel’s gaze was unyielding, a quiet storm of determination masked by a façade of concern. “You sure?” he said, his tone smooth and insistent. “the roads aren’t safe this time of night, and it’s not a good idea to be out here alone.”

Joel’s demeanor was calm, yet his presence was a heavy shadow, looming over Jamie. “I can get you home quickly,” Joel pressed, his offer carrying an undertone of menace cloaked in false kindness.

Jamie hesitated, glancing back toward the bar, where the distant sounds of laughter and music seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness. “Okay,” Jamie then said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you,"

Joel’s smile widened, not with warmth but with a predatory satisfaction. He gestured toward the truck, his movements deliberate and controlled. “No problem,"

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, the world outside the truck seemed to dissolve into a blur of darkness and shadow. The engine roared to life, its vibrations a stark contrast to the icy resolve simmering within Joel. The truck rumbled into motion, each bump on the road a reminder of the storm brewing in Joel’s heart.

Joel's mind was a tempest, a relentless maelstrom of anger and righteous fury. His thoughts were as fierce and unyielding as a hurricane tearing through a desolate landscape. He was not swayed by fear or hesitation; the night and its secrets wrapped around him like a shroud, fueling his unshakable resolve. He had witnessed your pain, and it had ignited a fire in him—a fire that burned away any feelings inside him.

Jamie, on the other hand, was ensnared in a cocoon of fear and uncertainty. The truck’s interior was suffocating in its silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. Jamie’s eyes darted nervously from the road to Joel, trying to gauge the other man’s intentions. The weight of his secret pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, each moment of silence more unnerving than the last.

Joel's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a relentless focus. The darkness outside was a metaphor for the storm raging within him, a canvas upon which his resolve was painted in stark, unforgiving lines. He was a man forged from shadows and steel, willing to embrace whatever darkness was necessary to shield those he loved from harm.

As the truck continued its journey, Jamie's unease grew palpable. He realized with a creeping dread that the streets they were navigating were not the ones leading to his home. The road was unfamiliar, winding through the outskirts of town where the lights grew sparse and the shadows deepened.

Jamie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. The weight of his fear pressed down on him as he repeated, “Uh, Mr. Miller, I think you missed the turn.” His voice trembled, betraying his mounting anxiety.

Joel’s response was a mere flicker of acknowledgment, his gaze fixed resolutely on the road ahead, an unyielding expression carved into his features. The night outside seemed to close in around them, the darkness a heavy shroud that swallowed any remnants of comfort. Jamie’s fear mounted with each mile that passed, his discomfort palpable as the unfamiliar roads stretched into an abyss of uncertainty.

“Mr. Miller?” Jamie’s voice wavered again, his nerves frayed. He tried once more to engage Joel, but the older man’s silence was more intimidating than any words could be.

“Joel, are you okay?” Jamie’s question was almost desperate, a thin veneer of concern masking his growing dread. Joel’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of cold determination. The silence stretched, a taut string of tension that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You did this to her,” Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the stillness of the night. The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Jamie froze, his face draining of color. The realization that Joel knew, that Joel had connected the dots, was like a chilling blade pressed against his throat.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to form a coherent response. His usual bravado crumbled, replaced by a stammering mess of excuses and denials. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words faltered, a mix of fear and confusion rendering him almost incoherent.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as he continued to drive further from the city lights, deeper into the uncharted darkness. The truck’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path ahead but leaving the destination shrouded in uncertainty. Joel’s eyes were darkened with an intensity that spoke of a burning resolve. He was a man driven by a fierce need for retribution, his mind a tempest of rage and protective fury.

The truck roared through the darkness, its engine a ferocious growl that mirrored the storm within Joel. The relentless rumble seemed to amplify the cold fury burning in his eyes. Joel’s patience had frayed, and his control, once a bastion of composure, was now cracking under the weight of his rage.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me," Joel’s voice cut through the night, a blade of ice that seemed to slice through Jamie’s crumbling bravado. The truck hurtled onward, the asphalt giving way to the rugged expanse of the desert, a barren land that seemed to echo the desolation of Jamie’s soul.

Jamie’s attempts at deceit faltered, his voice a stuttering mess of fear and desperation. The darkness outside pressed in, its oppressive silence broken only by the sounds of the truck’s tires shredding through the emptiness.

Joel’s anger reached its breaking point. With a roar that shook the night, he bellowed, “YOU HURT HER!” The words were a thunderclap, a declaration of war against the man who had inflicted so much pain. The truck veered violently off the asphalt, plunging into the desert’s desolate grip, its speed a reckless testament to Joel’s unbridled fury.

"Fuck!" Jamie clutched at the dashboard, his fear morphing into a primal terror as the truck skidded and swerved. "Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as Jamie screamed.

The landscape outside was a blur of shadows and dust, a chaotic dance of darkness that mirrored Jamie’s unraveling sanity. The desert stretched endlessly, an unforgiving expanse that swallowed the truck’s lights and swallowed the screams of its occupants.

When Joel finally brought the truck to a halt, the silence that followed was almost more oppressive than the storm of noise before. Jamie’s eyes darted around, seeing the monstrous transformation of Joel before him—a man driven by a fury so deep it seemed to burn from the inside out. The calm, collected Joel Miller was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a relentless predator with eyes like burning coals.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Please, don't hurt me," Jamie’s pleas for mercy were swallowed by Joel’s unyielding gaze. The fear in Jamie’s eyes was palpable, a reflection of the terror that now gripped him as he realized the gravity of his situation. “Please, Mr. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Joel’s response was cold, his voice a low rumble that held no hint of compassion. “And you must pay for it.” His words were a death knell, an inexorable judgment that left no room for hope.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jamie’s desperate attempts to flee were futile as Joel locked the doors. The finality of the action was a chilling confirmation of Joel’s intent. Jamie’s sobs were raw, a chorus of despair that filled the air as Joel reached beneath the seat and retrieved the hammer.

The metallic glint of the hammer was a dark premonition, a cold harbinger of the violence that was about to unfold. Jamie’s cries for mercy mingled with the sound of the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled in the night’s oppressive silence. His pleas were desperate, trembling with the raw edge of fear as he realized the inescapable fate that awaited him.

“No, no, no! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Jamie’s voice cracked, each word a plea for a reprieve that would never come. His eyes darted around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

Joel’s expression remained a mask of chilling resolve. The hammer in his hand was a dark and unforgiving symbol of his determination, a tool of retribution that he wielded with a cold precision. As Jamie’s sobs grew more frantic, Joel’s grip tightened, his own emotions a turbulent sea of anger and grim satisfaction.

"No, no, NO!"

With a sudden, powerful swing, Joel drove the hammer into Jamie’s head. The impact was brutal and final, a shattering blow that resonated with a sickening thud. Jamie’s body jerked violently, the force of the hit sending a spray of blood and fragments across the truck’s interior. The sound of the hammer meeting flesh was a grotesque punctuation to Joel’s wrath.

***

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, it cast a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred from a fitful sleep, your body heavy and aching from the events of the previous night. The pain, particularly concentrated in your thighs and between your legs, was a constant reminder of the trauma you had endured. Each movement was a delicate balance between discomfort and exhaustion, and you willed yourself to remain still, finding solace in the dim sanctuary of the room.

Your gaze fell upon Joel, who had fallen asleep beside your bed. The sight was both comforting and surreal. His presence was a beacon of safety in the storm that had engulfed your life. Joel, dressed in a snug army-green t-shirt and jeans, looked worn yet strikingly handsome. His features were softened in sleep, a rare vulnerability showing through the rugged exterior you were more accustomed to. His hand rested gently on the bed, his fingers curled around yours, a silent promise of protection and care. His arm was draped across the bed, propping up his head in an awkward but tender manner.

The bucket of warm water and napkin on the nightstand seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your shared anguish. They were symbols of Joel’s dedication to your comfort, a small oasis of normalcy in the wake of chaos. His thoughtful attention to your wounds was a stark contrast to the violence and fear of the night before.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—relief mingled with guilt, gratitude with sorrow. You marveled at Joel’s dedication, his sleepless vigil a testament to his fierce protectiveness. His tired expression spoke volumes, each line etched into his face a story of his struggle to shield you from harm. Despite the crushing weight of your pain, there was a flicker of warmth in your heart for Joel’s unwavering presence.

You slowly extended your hand, gently squeezing Joel’s fingers. The softness of his touch was a balm to your aching body and soul. Carefully, you called out to him in a whisper, “Joel...”

He stirred, his movements slow and groggy. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the depths of his concern and fatigue. As he became fully awake, his demeanor shifted from the soft vulnerability of sleep to a sharp, focused alertness. He sat up, his gaze quickly assessing your condition with an intensity that spoke of his unyielding commitment to your well-being.

“Hey, you okay? I'm here, baby,” Joel’s voice was rough but filled with genuine concern, the harshness of the night giving way to the tenderness of the morning. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge the extent of your pain and the depth of your emotional wounds.

As Joel's focus shifted solely to you, the outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this tender moment of solace. The ache in your body was still present, a harsh reminder of the pain you had endured, but Joel's presence provided a comforting anchor, grounding you amidst the tumultuous emotions.

"I'm okay, but still hurt," you managed to say, your voice soft and strained. You shifted to a sitting position, wincing as the pain flared. Joel moved carefully to assist you, his hands steady and gentle. His concern was palpable as he looked at you, his gaze searching for any sign of distress.

“Where does it hurt?” Joel asked, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“Everywhere,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “From my legs all the way up.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his eyes filled with earnestness.

He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to you with a steady hand. As you took a sip, your gaze wandered, and you noticed something that made your heart sink. There was blood on Joel’s forehead, a stark contrast against his otherwise rugged features.

“Joel, there’s blood on your forehead,” you said, your voice tinged with concern. You reached out instinctively, touching the area gently. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, and he glanced at the blood with a faint, dismissive look. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to downplay the situation. “Just bumped into something last night. It’s not a big deal.”

His words were calm, but there was a hint of something guarded in his eyes, a subtle shift that made you feel uneasy. Joel’s attempt to brush off the injury was met with a frown from you, his casual demeanor not fully masking the gravity of the situation. The blood on his forehead was a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded, a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to protect you.

Joel’s attempt to redirect the conversation was gentle, but there was a firmness in his voice that conveyed his concern. “You don’t need to go to the church fellowship event today,” he said, his tone softer now, but still resolute. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re not in any condition to perform with the dance troupe.”

The mention of the event brought a rush of urgency and panic. Your heart raced as you remembered the hours of practice and the responsibility you carried for leading the troupe. “No, Joel, I have to go,” you protested, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t just not show up.”

Joel’s expression grew more serious, his eyes darkening with concern. “But you’re still not well,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you looked around the room, realizing the intimacy of the setting. Joel was here, and your father had not yet returned. Panic surged through you. “What about my dad? Is he back yet?” you asked urgently.

Joel shook his head slowly. “No, he's not here yet, I already spoke with your mother, made something up so she's not suspicious, said Ellie wants to make sure you're okay and send me here because I told her to prepare for the event,"

Joel’s gaze softened, yet there was a steeliness in his eyes that belied his calm demeanor. “Look, doll, you’re not strong enough to perform,” he said, his voice tender but insistent. “I need you to rest.”

You met his gaze with a determination that belied your frailty. “I’m fine, Joel. I can do it.” Your words were firm, a declaration of your will to push through despite your condition.

Joel’s eyes held a depth of emotion, a storm of conflicting feelings swirling beneath the surface. The concern etched in his features spoke of a man torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect your wishes. His gaze was a turbulent sea, reflecting a depth of care that was both comforting and unsettling.

“Okay...” he said quietly, his voice like a soft breeze before a storm, “But, I need you to tell me right away if you’re not feeling up to it, or anything else. Promise me that.”

You could see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection that made your heart ache. Despite his gruff exterior, his eyes were windows to a soul deeply worried for your well-being.

You nodded slowly, "I promise,"

Joel’s relief was palpable, though he still wore a worried frown. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours with a gentle firmness. “Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Now, let’s get you settled," as Joel help you to get up, you held his hand.

"Joel.." you say, "Thank you," you look into his brown eyes, "For protecting me,"

Joel’s eyes held a rare tenderness as you thanked him, a flicker of warmth breaking through the stormy depths of his gaze. The sincerity of your gratitude seemed to touch something deep within him, a part of him that had long been guarded and hidden. His hands, rough and strong, gently gripped your shoulders as he knelt beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken vows and sacrifices. “I’d burn the world down to see you safe, to make sure you’re protected.” His words were like a fierce storm, powerful and relentless, but also oddly comforting in their sincerity.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you charged with an electric intimacy. Joel’s presence was a fortress, a wall of unwavering strength that shielded you from the chaos and pain of the world outside. His promise was a beacon in the dark, a light that cut through the shadows of your fear and uncertainty.

You leaned in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a silent expression of the gratitude and affection that words alone couldn’t fully convey. The kiss was tender, a soft melding of your emotions and his, a moment where the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the closeness you shared.

Joel’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the strength of his feelings was laid bare in the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss lingered, a shared breath of solace and connection, a promise of protection and care that transcended spoken words.

As you pulled back, the connection between you felt stronger, the bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain and Joel’s unwavering resolve. The look in Joel’s eyes was a blend of fierce determination and quiet affection, a testament to his commitment to your safety and well-being. The room, once filled with tension and fear, now held a fragile peace, a space where the echoes of your gratitude and his promise intertwined in a delicate dance of trust and protection.

As the warmth of your kiss lingered, the delicate tranquility of the room was abruptly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The sound jolted both you and Joel back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from Joel, the sudden shift in the atmosphere a stark reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon of safety.

Your mother’s voice came through the door, tender yet laced with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?”

Joel, with a subtle nod of understanding, shifted aside, allowing your mother to enter. Her gaze was a mixture of relief and worry as she took in the sight of you, still seated on the bed but looking more composed than you had the night before.

"I’m fine, Mama” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “I’m feeling better, just a bit sore.”

She approached you with a comforting touch, her maternal instincts immediately taking over. “Are you sure, dear? You still look pale."

You shook your head, a sense of determination anchoring your resolve. “I have to go to the church fellowship event. I’ve practiced so hard for this, and it’s really important."

The conversation between you and your mother continued, the urgency of the situation mounting. “But you’re still in pain,” she insisted, her voice edged with a mix of worry and frustration. “It’s not worth making yourself worse.”

“I should go, Ma. I’m fine, really,” you insisted, the determination in your voice evident. You understood the importance of this event, not just for yourself but for your family’s reputation and your father’s expectations.

Joel, sensing the growing tension and the need for him to avoid your father’s possible return, decided it was best to make his exit. He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm despite the underlying tension. “Well, maybe I should get going,” he said, his tone professional yet carrying a hint of warmth. “Ellie needs my help to prepare for the event."

Your mother nodded, her eyes showing a mix of gratitude and concern as she glanced between you and Joel. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate all your help. Please, let Ellie know we’re grateful.”

"Thank you, Mr. Miller," you said to him.

Joel gave a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of your mother’s thanks, and made his way to the door. He paused briefly, casting one last, meaningful look your way. The intensity in his gaze was softened by a flicker of concern, a silent promise that he was there for you, even if from a distance.

As Joel left, you turned back to your mother, her hand still tightly clasped in yours. The weight of the conversation and the urgency of the event pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you could feel a new layer of understanding and connection between you and your mother. The barriers that had once seemed impenetrable were beginning to show signs of cracking, revealing the raw, unspoken truths that had long been buried beneath the surface.

With Joel’s departure, the room felt slightly emptier, but there was also a sense of quiet relief. Your mother took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, and then looked at you with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Your mother’s expression softened as she saw the fear in your eyes, a fear she had known all too well herself. “Mama, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to upset Father. If I don’t perform, he’ll be so angry, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around yours as she searched for the right words. Your eyes welled up with tears as you looked at her, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. “If I don’t do this, he will...I can’t take it, Mama. I can’t take it anymore,"

For the first time in a long while, your mother didn’t look away. Instead, she held your gaze, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for not protecting you, for not standing up to him. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my role as a good Christian wife, but in doing so, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed as a mother.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a raw confession that peeled back layers of pain and resentment. You could see the torment in her eyes, the struggle between the life she had chosen and the daughter she had neglected. “Mama…” you began, but she shook her head, stopping you.

“No, let me say this,” she insisted, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. “I’ve watched your father take out his anger on you, and I’ve done nothing. I told myself it was for the sake of the family, for our standing in the church, but those were just excuses. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve been scared for so long that I forgot what it means to be brave, to be a mother who truly protects her child.”

She reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped your face, her touch tender but firm. “I’m sorry for every time I stood by and let him hurt you. I’m sorry for every time I didn’t speak up, for every time I told you to be obedient, to not make him angry. I was wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of her words. You had waited so long to hear something like this, to have her acknowledge the pain you had endured. But it was bittersweet, the apology tainted by the years of silence that had come before it.

“I promise, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, stirred something deep within you—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. “Mama…” you whispered again, your voice choked with emotion.

She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as if she could shield you from all the hurt in the world. “You’re my daughter, and I love you,” she said softly. “I should have said that more often. I should have shown it. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it. I love you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears flowing freely as years of pain and longing poured out. It was a moment of profound connection, a bridge built over the chasm of fear and regret that had separated you for so long.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in this, that maybe your mother was finally ready to stand by your side. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless, and in that moment, it was enough.

As you pulled away from your mother’s embrace, the warmth of her words still lingered in your heart, but the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. “Mama, but I have to perform,” you insisted, your voice steady though your body still ached. “I can’t abandon my friends like that. We’ve worked so hard.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home. We don’t want him asking any questions.”

With that, the two of you moved with quiet efficiency, working to cover the evidence of the previous night’s horrors. The bruises and soreness were masked with layers of foundation, and by the time you were done, you looked almost as if nothing had happened. The pain still lingered beneath the surface, but on the outside, you appeared fresh and composed.

Just as you finished, you heard the front door creak open. Your father was home. Your mother gave you a quick, reassuring glance before heading out to greet him. You followed a few steps behind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, deep and authoritative as always. “How’s everything been while I was gone?” he asked your mother as he set down his bag.

“Everything’s been fine,” your mother replied, her voice steady. “How was New Orleans? How did the preachings go?”

“Productive,” your father answered curtly. “The congregation there is strong, but they need guidance. I gave them what they needed.”

His gaze then shifted to you, and your breath caught in your throat. You quickly smoothed out your expression and stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Father,” you said, your voice carefully controlled.

He looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized your appearance. “Are you ready for today’s performance?” he asked, his tone as stern as ever.

“Yes, Father,” you replied, your heart racing as his gaze lingered on you. “I’ve been practicing hard,"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. Have you been a good girl while I was away? Helping Pastor Ben and your mother?”

“Yes, Father,” you said quickly, keeping your voice steady.

He seemed to study you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to catch something out of place. You held your breath, praying that the makeup was enough to conceal the bruises. Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright then. We’ll head to the church together. I’ll go change first.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his room, leaving you and your mother standing there. “Make me a coffee,” he added over his shoulder to your mother as he disappeared down the hallway.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as your mother turned to you, her expression a mix of concern and support. You weren’t out of the woods yet, but for now, you had managed to keep things under control.

As you waited in the living room for your father to return, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on you. The church, the performance, the constant need to appear perfect—it was all so exhausting.

Meanwhile, your father, in his room, couldn’t shake the odd feeling gnawing at him. Something about you had been off since he walked in the door. You looked put together, your makeup flawless, your demeanor obedient—but there was something beneath the surface that unsettled him. As he changed out of his travel clothes, his mind kept drifting back to the look in your eyes. He knew you too well. You were hiding something.

On his way back to the living room, your father passed by your bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. Something in the room caught his eye, a subtle shift in the air, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The room was as you had left it, seemingly in order, but as his gaze swept across the space, his eyes landed on something out of place—a wallet on the floor, half-hidden under the bed. His brow furrowed as he walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he reached for the wallet, a small slip of paper slid out and fluttered to the ground.

Curious, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, a photograph slipped into view. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image—one that shouldn’t exist, one that told him everything he needed to know.

It was a photo of you and Joel.

Taken in a photo booth at the Houston night fair just a couple of weeks ago, the series of images unfolded like a nightmare. The first captured your innocent smile, Joel’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The next, you pressing a kiss to Joel's cheek, was enough to make his heart pound with a mix of disbelief and growing fury. But the final image—the one that made his blood boil—showed the two of you locked in a passionate kiss, your hands around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, while Joel’s hands held you close, deepening the kiss with an intimacy that could not be misunderstood.

The reality of what he was seeing hit him like a punch to the gut.

The world seemed to narrow around him as he stared at the photograph, the air in the room growing thick with his mounting rage. How long had this been going on? How could you, his pure daughter? with Joel—the man who was supposed to be his friend, a man he had trusted?

His hands trembled, the photo crumpling slightly in his grip. The room suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. He could feel the anger, a searing heat that spread from his chest to his temples, blurring his vision with the sheer force of it.

In that moment, a dark cloud settled over him, a mixture of fury and cold calculation. He knew now that you had been lying to him, deceiving him in the worst possible way. The facade of control he held over you began to crack, and his anger surged.

You had been tainted by Joel.

His thoughts spiraled into a storm of biblical proportions, each one more damning than the last. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was an unforgivable sin, a defilement of everything he had tried to instill in you. The preacher in him seized on the gravity of it, framing it as the ultimate transgression, a stain on your soul that could only be cleansed through punishment, through retribution. You had not just sinned against him, but against God, against the very order of the world as he saw it. He was ashamed of you.

As he turned to leave your room, the photograph burned in his mind, each image seared into his memory as a reminder of the depth of your sins. His mind raced, formulating the words, the punishment, the retribution that would follow. He would make sure you understood the gravity of your actions, that Joel understood the consequences of his. This was not just a matter of discipline; it was a matter of redemption, of cleansing his family of the shame you had brought upon it.

"Father? What's going on?"

***

Joel entered his house to find Ellie already dressed. Tommy and Maria were there too, with Little Luke gurgling happily in his mother's arms. The small family was ready, waiting for Joel to join them for the church event.

As soon as Joel stepped inside, Tommy glanced at him, noting his distracted demeanor. "Joel, where’ve you been? We’re almost late for the service."

Joel stood still, his expression hard to read, his thoughts elsewhere. The tension in his body was palpable, and it was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Tommy exchanged a concerned look with Maria, then called out again, his voice tinged with worry. "Joel, you alright?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Joel responded in a low, gruff voice as he started walking towards the stairs. "I'm fine, Tommy. Y’all go ahead without me. I’ll catch up. Just need to take a shower first."

Tommy watched him go, his brows furrowed in confusion. Joel wasn’t acting like himself, and the unease in the room grew as they watched him retreat up the stairs. Maria shifted Luke in her arms, her expression mirroring Tommy's concern, but they didn’t push further. They knew better than to press Joel when he was like this.

As Joel closed the door to his room, the walls seemed to close in around him, the familiar space offering no comfort. He stripped off his clothes mechanically, his movements stiff, almost robotic, as if on autopilot. The cold bathroom tiles pressed against his feet, grounding him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm raging in his mind.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over his head, drenching his hair, and running down his body. The chill was sharp, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the darkness that clung to him. The cold water was like a penance, a physical manifestation of the anger that churned within him. It flowed over his shoulders, down his back, mixing with the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse him of the memories that haunted him.

As the water beat down on him, images from the night before flashed before his eyes, searing into his mind with a vividness that made him clench his fists. He could see Jamie’s face, twisted with fear and pain, as Joel confronted him. The sound of his own voice, raw with rage, echoed in his ears, mingling with the sickening thud of the hammer striking flesh and bone.

The first strike had been deliberate, calculated, smashing into Jamie’s skull with brutal force. He remembered the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide, the life leaving them almost instantly, but Joel hadn’t stopped. The fury inside him had demanded more, had driven him to raise the hammer again and again, even as Jamie lay lifeless on the ground. Each blow was a release, a catharsis, as the hammer connected with sickening squelches, turning bone to pulp, spraying blood in every direction.

Joel’s breath had come in ragged gasps as he continued to hit, his body acting on pure instinct, on the overwhelming need to obliterate the source of his anger. By the time he was done, Jamie’s head was nothing more than a ruined mess, unrecognizable, the blood spattered across Joel’s face and clothes like a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

Even now, under the cold spray of the shower, Joel could feel the phantom weight of the hammer in his hand, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. He could hear the dull thud of metal meeting flesh, the sound reverberating in his mind like a macabre metronome. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, a grim reminder of the thing he would do for you. To protect you.

The cold water did little to numb the memories, the violence replaying itself in a relentless loop. Jamie’s face, the fear that had flashed in his eyes before the first blow had landed, was burned into Joel’s mind. The brutality of it, the sheer force of his rage, was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. He had known he was capable of violence—he’d done plenty in his lifetime—but this had been different. This had been personal. This had been revenge.

As the water pounded against his skin, Joel tried to focus on the chill, the sharpness of it, hoping it would pull him out of the dark spiral. But it was futile. The memory clung to him, heavy and suffocating, as if Jamie’s blood was still on his hands, refusing to wash away.

He had justified it to himself in the moment—Jamie had deserved it. For what he had done, for the way he had hurt her. Joel had wanted to protect you, to ensure that Jamie could never lay a hand on you again, and in that blinding fury, he had become something monstrous, something he had thought he left behind a long time ago.

The boy's voice still ringing in his head.

"NO!"

Jamie’s screams became strangled, reduced to guttural noises as the hammer struck again and again. The once-bleeding man now lay in a crumpled heap, his pleas silenced by the relentless assault. Blood splattered across the truck’s seats and floor, a vivid testament to the violence that had transpired.

Joel’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he surveyed the aftermath. The interior of the truck was a chaotic tableau of violence, with blood staining every surface, a stark contrast to the pristine desert night outside. The once-clear lines between justice and vengeance had blurred in the haze of his fury.

The desert around them remained eerily still, a stark witness to the brutal act that had unfolded within the confines of the truck. Joel’s eyes were hard, the rage within him momentarily spent but leaving behind a cold emptiness.

He turned away from Jamie’s broken body, the hammer lay on the truck’s floor, a silent witness to the dark turn of events. Joel’s thoughts drifted back to you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood that now marked his hands and the interior of his truck.

His fingers moved methodically, driven by a deep, visceral need to erase the evidence, to scrub away the blood that had stained not just his truck, but his soul.

He dragged Jamie’s body to the back of his truck, the weight of the lifeless form a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired. The tarpaulin was a makeshift shroud, hiding the brutal reality beneath its coarse fabric. As he carefully wrapped the body, Joel's movements were precise, each action a testament to his resolve to contain the fallout of his rage.

The interior of the truck was a chaotic scene of carnage, the once-pristine surfaces now marred by splatters of blood. Joel worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the stains with a rag that seemed too small for the enormity of the task. The blood, now a dark, congealed mess, clung to every surface. Joel’s efforts were relentless, each swipe of the cloth a desperate attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. It was as if he were trying to erase the very essence of the violence, to wash away the sin that had seeped into the fabric of his life.

As he poured water over the dirt to dilute the remaining traces of blood, the sound of someone's voice cut through the silence, a chilling revelation that made Joel’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re gonna burn in hell,”

It's pastor Ben.

Ben’s voice echoed with an unsettling clarity. Joel’s body went rigid. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. Pastor Ben, standing with an air of grim determination, had followed him all this time, tracking the aftermath of the night’s violence.

It turned out Ben has been following you, watching you all this time—Ben had seen everything. He had been there when Jamie had assaulted you, and now he had witnessed the culmination of Joel’s fury.

“Joel, you’re a monster. I’ve seen you with her. You should be in jail, and you will burn in hell for what you’ve done. Murder is a grave sin, and you’ve committed it without remorse."

Ben's voice cut through the desert night with a chilling clarity. Joel’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly to face the source of the accusation. Ben stood there, framed by the dim glow of the truck’s headlights, his face a mask of grim determination and righteous fury. The weight of his presence pressed heavily on Joel, a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that now surrounded him.

Ben’s condemnation was unrelenting. “You’re not just a murderer, Joel. You’re a depraved man who preys on innocent girls. You’ll face the wrath of God for your sins. You’ve defiled yourself, and you’ve defiled her.”

Joel, who had initially been uncertain about Ben's identity, now connected the dots. This was the pastor who had condemned him, the one you had spoken about. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Joel's heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage. His secret had been exposed, and Ben’s condemnation was a direct threat to everything Joel was trying to protect.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joel realized there was no choice but to eliminate this threat. He seized the hammer, his mind racing with a singular purpose: to silence Ben and protect you.

Joel lunged at Ben, the hammer’s cold metal a grim reassurance in his hand. Ben, recognizing the imminent danger, bolted into the darkness. The night air was filled with the frantic sound of their pursuit, Ben’s footsteps echoing in the still desert.

Joel was relentless, driven by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. He tackled Ben to the ground with a forceful impact, the two men grappling in the dust. Ben struggled fiercely, but Joel’s determination and strength overwhelmed him.

With a grim resolve, Joel brought the hammer down, each strike a release of his pent-up fury and fear. The hammer met Ben’s skull with a brutal finality, each impact reverberating with the sickening sound of metal against bone. The desert was silent save for the harsh breaths of Joel and the final, dying gasps of Pastor Ben.

As the violence subsided, Joel stood over Ben’s lifeless body, the hammer still clenched in his hand. The reality of what he had done settled heavily upon him. The desert night was an eerie witness to the brutality, the air thick with the smell of blood and the weight of Joel’s actions.

Joel's thinking about you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that surrounded him. He had done what he felt was necessary to you, so nobody gonna take you away from him, but the cost of his actions was a burden he would carry with him, a reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

Joel’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he emerged from the shower, the cold water rinsing away the remnants of the night’s brutality. As he dried himself, he couldn’t shake the haunting memories of the violence he had committed. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled with the weight of his actions. The sight of his blood-stained palms, now scrubbed clean but still bearing the marks of his deeds, reminded him of the dark path he had trodden.

He had buried them deep that known only to him. These actions, buried under layers of dirt and deceit, were the grim price he had paid to ensure your safety.

Joel’s resolve to protect you was unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice anything, to face any consequence, to keep you safe from harm. His thoughts were a turbulent sea, with the constant push and pull of guilt and determination. The darkness that had overtaken his life was a relentless force, shaping his every decision and action.

Yet, even as he clung to his resolve, Joel knew that every action had its price. These bones he's hiding will bound him to the consequences of his choices.

The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the karma of his actions would eventually come calling.

As he prepared to leave for the church event, Joel’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep you safe.

He will do anything to keep you safe. to protect you.

He will do anything. Anything.

And for the first time in a while, he pray to God to keep you safe and forgive these bones he's hiding.

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