#i feel like this is a jumble of thoughts and feelings

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; fem!reader + daddy kink

shoko smoking a cigarette while she's fucking you with her strap.. chuckling at the way you're drooling into the pillow,, she's got a knee on the bed while her other leg is propped up on the mattress, so she can reach even deeper, so she can fuck you even better. her free hand kneads the plush flesh of your ass, slapping it every once in a while just to hear you whimper her name. it's like music to her ears, she fucking loves it.

throwing her hair over her shoulder, she leans forward, her strap now slotted so deep inside you that you feel it in your throat. her tits press against your back and you arch up into her on instinct. she takes the cigarette from her lips and places it onto the ashtray right next to the bed, just so she can get closer to you.

her pace turns into a slower one, simply grinding her hips into yours as she kisses your sweaty temple. "does it feel good, hm?"

your grip on the sheet below you tightens, the flame in your stomach burning brighter at the sudden proximity. your mind is hazy, your thoughts all jumbled inside your head, so you give her a faint nod, hoping that'll be enough.

shoko's lips trace down the side of your face and your body moves all on its own, leaning into her touch like a cat in heat. you feel her smile against your skin. "c'mon, use your words, baby... tell daddy how you feel."

her voice is raspy, the coo trickling from her lips like sticky goo, trapping you under her indefinitely. you're burning all over; the rays of sun that peek from between the curtain cradle your faces, they illuminate the pleasure painted onto your expressions. shoko places another kiss right in the middle of a light patch right on the corner of your lips and it all feels unreal.

she presses you down further into the mattress, the sweat of your bodies mixing together as she continues rocking into you. the words get stuck in your throat and she laughs at your cute, fucked out expression.

the sound makes you want to take a peek at her and you regret the decision to do so immediately, because she's right there, staring down at you with low eyes, her lips swollen from all of the kisses you stole but a mere hour earlier. the makeout session escalalated fast – with you sat on her lap, nipping at her neck and her mouth hungrily, all while whining about her not paying enough attention to you, it was impossible for it not to go from one to a hundred. you asked for this. begged for it.

the marks on her neck are darker now and she looks fucking heavenly. her lipstick is smudged, a droplet of sweat dribbling down her forehead – there's a sick little grin glued to her lips, the kind that lets you know that she's so fucking far from being done with you, despite the numerous orgasms she's pulled from you already.

when you still can't muster up a single word, she slithers a hand into your hair and gives it a tug strong enough for you to raise your head from the bed. you hiss at the faint tinge of pain and she lets out another raspy laugh – she likes seeing you like this, she loves ruining you. with her mouth latched onto your jaw, you feel her wet and warm tongue draw shapes into your skin.

"aw, has daddy fucked you dumb already, baby?"

the coil in your stomach tightens at her words and you don't even try to hold back the filthy moan that spills from your sore throat. she gives your hair another tug and you know she expects a proper answer and that there will be consequences if you don't give her one. so you try to hold her gaze with everything you've got, tears brimming in your lashline from how much everything is starting to become.

"so– so good."

you sound pathetic and you know it. her grin widens.

"who's making you feel so good?"

"you are."

her lips brush over the shell of your ear.

"who is?"

she angles her hips, making the tip of her silicone cock hits the spongy spot inside you that makes your eyes go cross. "i– fuck."

her hot breath fans your face, her fingers still twisted around the strands of your hair as she waits for your answer.

"daddy is."

you bite down onto your lip at the pleased hum she gives you and let your heavy head fall back onto the pillow the second she lets go of your hair. she leans closer once more, pressing a sloppy, haste kiss to your lips before pushing herself into her original position while dragging her nails along your spine. with her thighs flush to yours, she reaches for her cigarette again; she doesn't rush it, she takes her time ashing it, reveling in the way you're trembling on her cock.

her lips wrap around the already stained stick as she stares at where you're connected, the mess of it all – her masterpiece.

"good girl."

[hisunflower]

 𓈒 𓈒 ✿ ˚ bestfriend | lee jeno,

who cares deeply about you.

genre: fluff, bestfriend!jeno | contains: soft!jeno, no warnings !

bestfriend!jeno who picks you up bridal style from the couch, where you had fallen asleep on his lap during your early holiday movie marathon (he was the one who was so excited to begin a whole month earlier, convincing you also that you could stay up all night through the films).

bestfriend!jeno who adores the way his stolen oversized shirt from his laundry basket jumbles across your body, while carrying you down the hallway to your bedroom (he intentionally placed the shirt on top of his other clothes to support your crime).

bestfriend!jeno who almost falters as your sweet scent envelopes around him, taking notice of how he knows your natural fragrance by heart (he smells good too by the way).

bestfriend!jeno who tries to regulate his heartbeat when your head rests against his bare chest, as he holds you within his muscular arms (the house was so quiet you could hear the rhythm).

bestfriend!jeno who settles you down gently onto the bed and slides the socks off of your feet, before he lifts the covers above you, tucking you in (you weren’t a fan of sleeping in socks).

bestfriend!jeno who sits beside you smiling with his doe eyes, as you hum in your sleep while your chest rises and falls slowly with each inhale and exhale (wishing he would turn off the light and snuggle up against you).

bestfriend!jeno who loves to look at how beautiful you are when you’re not paying attention, so he can cherish all of the imperfections you complain about (“perfect?” “me?” “shutup,” you’d say with a laugh).

bestfriend!jeno who traces the hairs of your natural eyebrows and feels the slight coldness of your cheeks with the backs of his laid out fingers (just, kiss me…thoughts are thoughts).

bestfriend!jeno who is afraid to confess his feelings to you in fear of losing his best friend (you love him more than anything).

bestfriend!jeno who firmly whispers that he likes you, “so much,” as you lie underneath the blankets you always share, whenever he comes to your bedroom to hangout and tell you secrets…

bestfriend!jeno who gasps with an oncoming blush to his cheeks when he hears you softly reply, “I like you so much too, samoyed,” all with your eyes remaining closed and your lips curving into a warm smile.

bestfriend!jeno who wonders if you had been awake this whole time, who doesn’t have the slightest hint of embarrassment, who’s hoping you had been—so you could feel through the silence—everything his heart’s been wanting to say (you’ve known all along).

author’s note: hi it’s 2am and i have the most cataclysmic crush on jeno right now.

[shitsndgiggs]

heyyy Kaya!

im so sorry again haha i feel so greedy. May I have a fic where reader x jobe bellingham. Reader is also from Birmingham and has been Jobe’s childhood best friend. And finally when he goes to Sunderland Jobe begs her to stay with him and they both open up on their feelings for each other tyy

JUST WANTED TO SAY UR MY FAV WRITER EVER. IM SO HAPPY YOU WRITE. MASHALLAH. THANK YOUUU FOR TAKING IN ALL MY ANNOYING REQS HAHA

COME WITH ME - JOBE BELLINGHAM

Jobe asking you to move with him

Jobe Bellingham x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The news hit me like a punch to the gut—Jobe was leaving Birmingham. He was off to Sunderland for a new chapter in his football career, and even though I knew this was a big opportunity for him, it made me nervous.

The thought of him leaving, of being so far away, made my stomach twist.

We’d been best friends since childhood, growing up side by side on the streets of Birmingham. He was always there, and now, everything was about to change.

I sat on the edge of the park bench where we’d hung out countless times, my mind racing.

Jobe was pacing in front of me, hands running through his hair, eyes flicking to me every few seconds like he was trying to gauge my reaction. “You’re not saying anything,” he mumbled, his voice edged with worry.

“Please, say something.”

I finally looked up at him, my heart heavy. “You’re really going to Sunderland, huh?”

He stopped pacing, his expression softening. “Yeah... it’s a big move, but it’s the right one for my career.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “I know. You’re gonna be great there, Jobe. I just...” I trailed off, unsure of how to express the pit in my stomach. “I just don’t want you to forget about me.”

He blinked, stunned. “Forget about you? Are you mad?” He dropped onto the bench beside me, his knee brushing against mine. “There’s no way I could forget you. You’re my best friend. You’ve always been there, ever since we were kids.”

“But it’ll be different,” I muttered, staring down at the grass. “You’ll be up there in Sunderland, making new friends, living a new life. And I’ll just be... here.”

He was silent for a moment before letting out a deep breath, turning his body to face me fully. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

I frowned, glancing up at him. “What do you mean?”

Jobe rubbed the back of his neck, clearly nervous. “I don’t want to go without you,” he blurted, his words rushing out. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. I don’t want to do this without you,” he said, his eyes pleading. “I need you with me.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. “Jobe, you can’t just take me with you. It’s your dream—”

“And you’ve always been part of that dream!” he interrupted, leaning closer, his voice earnest. “You’re my lucky charm, Y/N. You’ve been there for every big moment in my life, and I don’t want to do this without you.”

My heart pounded in my chest as he continued, his words coming fast and a little frantic. “I need you there. You’re not just my best friend—you’re everything to me. I didn’t want to say anything before, but... I have feelings for you. I always have. And I can’t imagine going to Sunderland and leaving you behind. I can’t...”

His words started to jumble together as he rambled, trying to convince me. “We could make it work. We could get a place together, and I promise it wouldn’t be weird. Or, well, it might be at first, but we’d figure it out. And I’ll be there for you, I swear. We could—”

I couldn’t take it anymore. Before he could finish his sentence, I reached up, grabbed his face between my hands, and pressed my lips to his.

The world seemed to freeze. His breath caught, and for a second, he didn’t move. Then, as if everything finally clicked into place, he kissed me back.

His hands slid up to my waist, pulling me closer as the tension and nervous energy between us melted away.

When we finally pulled apart, he stared at me, his eyes wide, his breathing uneven. “Does this mean... you’ll come with me?”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You really do talk too much, you know that?”

He grinned, his hands still resting on my hips. “Yeah, but... you love it.”

I smiled, my heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Yes, Jobe. I’ll come with you.”

His grin widened, and he let out a breath of pure relief. “Good, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I leaned my forehead against his, our noses brushing. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jobe let out a soft chuckle, pulling me closer. “Thank God.”

[imfoive]

The Youngest Son - Chapter 10 | END

Minho x Reader (fem.) Genre: non-idol au!, Suspense, Angst, Romance, Mature Warnings: tw-descriptions of car accident, mentions of blood, cursing, attempted m*urder, implied death, somewhat proofread WC: 6.8k A/N: I literally can't believe this series has finally come to an end. I had such fun creating this word, the characters and the story. I truly hope everyone who read this, enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it! Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The youngest son of the Lee family was stubborn, he was arrogant, he was conniving. Hiding it all behind the mask of a calm and collected man, the youngest son was a master at mind games. Playing a dangerous game where trust is a luxury and betrayal lurks around every corner. He had sworn once, to not let family ties or any feelings hold him back. Yet, against all odds, she had him completely wrapped around her fingers, and he had no desire to break free.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10 ───────────────────

The youngest son had never known what a life of normalcy would look like. Not having to double, triple-think about what to say, what to do. Not having to distinguish what those expression on the faces of his so-called family members meant, were not things Minho had ever thought about.

The youngest son had always lived with his eyes peeled open. His gaze sharp, his actions calculated.

His heart, guarded.

The chairman’s lessons were engraved in his mind. Love has no place in business. Love was distracting, it hinders one’s ability to think with a sound mind, unbiased. A conniving businessman didn’t need those useless emotions.

The youngest son didn’t know what love was, he had never cared to find out. Yet he found himself already drowning in it even before he could realize.

Lee Minho had started to dream of normalcy.

The night he kissed Y/N the first time.

Perhaps even back when he drank that salt-laced water.

The loud bass of the music, bounced off his ear drums, vibrating the very ground he stood on. The vibrant colors, bright against the dark of the club.

His eyes scanned for just a few moments before he was drawn to her figure. Like a moth to a flame, hypnotized by her. He stood rooted to his spot, unable to look away, no matter how much his mind told him to leave. He was stuck.

Like an insect in a spider web. One she had intricately woven around him as she broke down his walls.

And deep down he knew he had no intentions of trying to break free.

The birthday girl swayed to the music, eyes shut, serene almost in the chaos of the club around her.

He inhaled sharply.

Minho didn’t plan on showing up. God, he should have just turned off the light and went to sleep that night. Yet when he had caught a glimpse of Y/N in that photo, uploaded by some other person amongst her group of friends, his breath hitched. Eyes scanned over her. Her smile, her figure, her dress.

He found himself moving on his own.

He found himself at the club, trailing behind her as she staggered her way off the dance floor, eyes searching for friends who she failed to recognize amongst the crowd in her drunken haze. Her words were jumbled, yet fingers easily clawed at whatever shot of alcohol was handed to her.

Minho’s body moved on it’s own.

The alcohol burned down his throat. A silent hiss escaped his lips as he slammed the glass down. Staring at her big eyes that glared at him.

Some accusatory words were exchanged, he couldn’t even recall it anymore, his mind had been fixated on the fact that her lips had engulfed his ones. On the kiss, the hot and wet kiss, that had sent alarms ringing through his head.

He should have never held her. Should’ve never allowed his fingers to cup her jaw, returning the kiss almost instantly, desperately.

He shouldn’t have allowed her to tie him in her web. Shouldn’t have loved her.

Minho shouldn’t have dreamt of normalcy.

───────────────────────

There was a chill in the air, the night enveloping the chaos that had occurred in its darkness.

Minho’s car a few feet away, slammed against the guardrail.

The larger, white car that had hit it stood alone in it’s own scrappy mess.

Lee Joohyeon’s senses were reeling as he gasped against the deflated airbag, the suffocating smell of smoke and the taste of his own blood made him groan. Made him nauseous, his head spinning.

His glasses lens was shattered, the frame digging uncomfortably into his temple. His neck throbbed painfully, and every movement sent sharp reminders of the impact coursing through his body. A constant hissing noise hitting his ears.

Slowly, he peeled himself away from the airbag, his hands trembling from pain, and aftershock as he gripped the wheel.

Reality crashed down on him with brutal force almost instantly.

He had caused this. 

The realization made his stomach churn, his breath hitch. Joohyeon leaned back into the seat, staring through the wrecked windshield, shards of glass casting shattered patterns across his view.

The chaos around him was surreal, aftermath of his violent collision. His car was a twisted mess, the front of it crumpled and the engine smoking.

He was lucky to even be alive. Lucky to have seemingly minimal injuries.

But even before he could take a sigh of relief, he stared mortified at the other car.

The sight of Minho’s car.

The younger brother’s totaled vehicle, sent a fresh wave of horror through him.

Joohyeon’s eyes traced the damage, a new fear tightening in his chest. He had struck Minho’s car with almost full force, driven by a storm of emotions that had instantly disappeared as he looked at this scene. 

Was it truly worth it?

The words of his grandfather, Park Hyunmin, echoed in his head. Their words of dismissal, of being deemed unworthy compared to his favored brother, Minho.

Lee Minho was capable.

Lee Minho was worthy.

Lee Minho deserved to become the next leader.

They had called him useless, not worth their time, while Minho basked in their praise and expectations. Raising in ranks, falling in love.

Being happy.

Anger had simmered beneath Joohyeon’s surface for years, fueled by resentment and the constant feeling of being overshadowed. Things he had suppressed in attempts to keep his facade as a capable son.

But today, something snapped. 

He hadn’t planned this. No. It was just a mere coincidence.

Truly. The older man’s actions were not premeditated.

A wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time kind of situation.

But perhaps this was exactly the right opportunity for Lee Joohyeon. To soothe the anger that coursed through him.

When he had spotted Minho’s car on the road, triple checking the license plate, the make and model, a sudden surge of fury had consumed him. A fury that drove his actions without conscious thought.

He remembered the moment vividly.

The white-hot rage that had coursed through him as he stomped on the accelerator. In that brief, reckless instant, nothing else had mattered but the desire to lash out, to take a revenge he didn’t know he wanted. Nothing else had mattered when he was determined to hit the car. But now, all that was left was fear. Only one thought repeating in his mind over and over again.

That he was absolutely fucked.

Slowly, the second grandson gathered his senses, his trembling hands tracing the cracked frame of his glasses. Struggling against the pain, Joohyeon managed to pry open the door that rattled at the slightest touch, wincing as he stumbled out onto the pavement. He leaned heavily on his shredded vehicle, his breath catching in his throat as he limped towards the crumpled remains of Minho’s car, praying that he hadn’t actually ended up killing him. 

As he drew closer, he realized Minho’s car was much more of a wreck up close, its passenger side a mangled mess. His wide eyes scanned, peering inside.

He froze.

There, amidst the shattered glass and twisted metal, lay Y/N Park. Her serene stillness and the stark contrast of her blood against her once-white dress, blood running down her face, sent a chill down Joohyeon’s spine. 

He suddenly wished he did kill Minho. 

Joohyeon staggered back, his mind reeling with disbelief and horror. He swallowed hard, tears mixing with the blood on his face, panic setting in. The ringing in his ears drowned out the distant sirens approaching the scene. He was still in pain, but he knew that he should just consider himself dead now. There was no way Park Hyunmin would let him out of this alive. 

So the second grandson of the Lee family, did what he does best after creating a mess.

He ran away.

But of course he doesn’t think about the cameras, the witnesses that watched him do so.

Because after all, he wasn’t worthy of leading anyone, forget L Corporation. A dimwit indeed.

The news of Lee Joohyeon’s reckless actions and the tragic aftermath of the car accident spread swiftly through the media, overshadowing what should have been a joyous occasion celebrating the civil marriage of the youngest Lee son and the Park heiress, which had barely been announced before tragedy struck.

Breaking News.

This just in.

What should have been a happy day for the couple.

Brother attacks brother.

The headlines flashed across screens, capturing the attention of viewers nationwide. Among them, Chairman Lee stared at the broadcast, his face drained of color, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. The reporters at the scene of the accident were mere feet away from the twisted wreckage, their voices somber as they described the scene. 

Secretary Cha entered the room hastily, but his steps faltered when he saw the stunned expression on Chairman Lee’s face. He approached cautiously, concern etched on his features as he realized the impact of the news on his superior.

Chairman Lee could feel it again. That pain in his chest. But this time, the pain struck him suddenly and fiercely, stealing his breath. He groaned in agony, the pressure in his chest unbearable.

   “Chairman!” Secretary Cha exclaims, holding onto him before he collapses.

Amidst the chaos, another alert flashed across screens.

Breaking News: Chairman Lee of L Corporation has a heart attack. 

Then there was Park Hyunmin.

Y/N’s father was beyond pissed. The kind of fury that could only be extinguished by seeing Lee Joohyeon pay for whatever chaos he had left behind in his recklessness.

Just this morning the father had seen his daughter, giddy and glowing. Radiant. She had hugged her mother, dressed up more than usual. Exclaiming she had a surprise for them, one she would bring home that same night. An inkling that it had something to do with Minho.

Yet the only surprise he received was a phone call. The kind no parent wanted to get. 

He stormed through the house security and kicked down the doors of the Lee Residence, wielding a katana.

Inside, the remaining members of the Lee family were gathered in the living room, visibly shaken by the day’s events. The Chairman’s two older sons had rushed him to the hospital, while Jihoon sat among the women, who were in hysterics over the family’s misfortunes.

   “Where the fuck is Lee Joohyeon?!” Park Hyunmin roared, his fury unmistakable, seethed through clenched teeth.

Joohyeon’s mother rushed to him, her voice trembling with desperation.

   “I’m so sorry Director Park, my son has done something so terrible. He didn’t mean to hurt Y/N. Please. Please forgive him.” She pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

Park Hyunmin shot her an angry glare.

   “Even if he didn’t mean to hurt Y/N, his original plan was to harm Minho. My son-in-law. He’s had it out for him—even going as far as airing out his illegitimacy!” He spat, his voice laced with venom.

His words took the members of the Lee family and Minho’s so-called mother off guard, bewildered. Unaware of exactly what kind of misdeeds her competent son had been stacking behind their backs.

Now, with a sword in hand, Y/N’s father was searching for the man he had treated with kindness only hours earlier. Even going as far as pretending his nonsensical babble over their brief encounter, was nothing but drunken words.

   “I don’t care if I get arrested. Only god can save that son of yours. Because if I see him.” He warned, leaning in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

   “I will end him.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

───────────────────────

Minho’s eyes snapped open, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breath coming out in ragged exhales as he adjusted to the blinding hospital lights. The sterile smell of the hospital overwhelmed his senses, as his eyes darted over the pale ceiling, trying to figure out exactly where he was.

And almost instantly his thoughts were consumed by Y/N. The image of his bride, who had smiled so brightly at him, the image of her bloody figure slumped limply at just an arms length away, came surging back to him.

But now Minho was alone. In the room that smelled heavy of antiseptic and the loud, sharp ringing of machines. He was alone and his new wife was nowhere to be seen.

The youngest son grimaced as his hands attempted to push himself up, wincing in pain at the sharp sting he felt on his left arm, realizing it was in a cast. Struggling, he still managed to sit up, another surge of pain shot through him, making him groan.

His body was a patchwork of bandages, perhaps even cuts and bruises he hadn’t gotten a chance of looking at, the cast on his hand felt heavy. But not heavier than that anxious feeling weighing in his heart.

He glanced around at the emptiness of the room he was in a daze, confused, panicked. 

The door slid open, Secretary Kim, who Minho hadn’t seen since the day he found out about his mother, entered the room. Upon seeing him awake, the younger man rushed in, his face etched with a mixture of relief and distress.

   “Sir!” Yongguk exclaimed, hurrying to Minho’s side.

Minho attempted to rise, a sudden rush in his actions. But his legs felt weak, and he nearly toppled over before Yongguk steadied him. Minho’s eyes, filled with a desperate and pained intensity, searched for answers. Fingers clawing at the fabric of Yongguk’s jacket.

   “W-where’s Y/N?” Minho’s voice cracked as he barely managed to whisper, the horrifying image of her bloodied form haunting him.

Yongguk hesitated, his face falling as he braced himself to deliver the crushing news. “Miss Park… she’s—”

   “She’s what!?” Minho’s voice was a raw, desperate plea as he gripped Yongguk’s jacket with a tighter grip, his tears spilling over.

   “She hasn’t regained consciousness.” Yongguk said softly. “The impact of the accident was on the passenger side. She sustained critical injuries. Miss Park has been unconscious since the accident.”

The weight of the words crashed over Minho like a tidal wave. He slowly sank back onto the bed, his face a mask of pain. After a long silence, he wiped away his tears, his gaze piercing as he looked up at Secretary Kim.

   “Who did this?” Minho’s voice was barely more than a whisper, quivering with dread.

Minho knew.

His mind raced, fearing that this was no mere accident. His grandfather? Because he decided to leave? Or Jungshin? Getting revenge on him for the overseas slush funds? Perhaps even his uncle?

   “Lee Joohyeon.” Secretary Kim’s voice was grim.

Minho was surprised. 

No. 

He didn’t see this coming. He thought he didn’t ever have to worry about that idiot. Thought he took care of him, sending him away with his tail between his legs. But now the only person that Minho cared about was hanging between life and death because of him.

   “He had fled the scene.” Yongguk continued, his voice heavy with frustration. 

   “The authorities are trying to track him down, but he’s vanished.”

Minho’s hands clenched the bed sheets with white-knuckled fury, his eyes burning with a dangerous intensity.

    “Release the CCTV footage from the yacht.” The superior ordered, his voice a low, dangerous growl. 

   “I want Joohyeon found. I’ll kill him myself.”

Yongguk swallowed. His form rigid as he took in the sight of his superior’s cold expression. He nodded, suddenly understanding the gravity of Minho’s command. Understanding the “risky” tasks he had been warned about.

   “I’ll take care of it, sir.” He found himself stating.

A sudden silence ensued. The secretary wondering if he should bring it up or not.

   “There’s more.” Yongguk added, hesitating. 

   “The Chairman had a heart attack after hearing the news.”

The chairman’s youngest son stared at nothingness as he processed the additional news. For a moment there was an unreadable emotion in his eyes before his gaze darkened.

   “That old man won’t die. He’s as stubborn as they come.” 

Minho was right.

The Chairman wouldn’t die so easily. 

As if Minho’s recovery was his medicine. Chairman Lee’s resilience was remarkable. Despite the heart attack, the news of Minho’s waking up, mostly fine and alive, seemed to invigorate him anew. 

The old man sat in his hospital bed, reading the news. He was angry, but after Secretary Cha came in with the news that Minho had woken up, the father felt fine, as if his heart was healed. 

Though it was a pity that Y/N Park was still in such a critical condition. As long as Minho was okay, it was solace enough for the greedy Chairman.

   “Secretary Cha.” Chairman Lee’s voice, though weakened, was still cold, authoritative.

   “Has Joohyeon been found yet?”

   “Not yet, sir. He’s injured, so he can’t stay hidden for long.”

   “Find him.” Chairman Lee ordered, his voice carrying sharply.

   “Yes, sir.” The secretary responded promptly.

   “Find him and deal with him.”

Secretary Cha blinked, a little taken aback. Even after working over thirty years for the Chairman, it was a first that the superior had ordered him to harm his own blood. But Lee Joohyeon had already been on thin ice because of his hand in Jae’s demise.

   “I will not tolerate anyone who harms my family.” Chairman Lee declared, his voice unwavering. 

   “Especially someone who attempted to kill my son.”

The Chairman’s words were cold. As if the man in question wasn’t his grandson. But some scum that was a threat to their lives.

The scum, Lee Joohyeon was painfully aware. Of course Joohyeon knew. 

Fully aware of the gravity of his situation, Minho’s awakening and the Chairman’s recovery had sealed his fate.

Oh, the things Minho had probably planned to do to him. The older “brother” knew what the youngest was capable of.

Chairman Lee had recovered and most definately would bury him alive.

Even Park Hyunmin wanted his head.

Lee Joohyeon had managed to anger three people that were capable of demolishing him. The threats against him were overwhelming.

He was better off in Japan. Exiled.

The second grandson made a fateful decision. A decision driven by fear. By his lack of choices, cornered.

Probably the best one in his pathetic life.

Wounded and desperate, he limped into the police station. He would rather surrender, than live with the relentless fear of being hunted down by his enemies.

At least he had some sense in him. 

───────────────────────

Minho gazed at his new bride, a sight that shattered him every time.

She wasn’t in the beautiful white dress she had chosen just for him. Instead, she lay in this hospital bed, littered in cuts and bruises, stitches and castings. An oxygen mask obscuring her face, while the relentless beeping of the heart rate monitor echoed in the oppressive silence.

Five agonizing days had passed, and still, Y/N hadn’t awakened.

The doctor’s words echoed in his mind. The longer she remained unconscious, the slimmer the chances of her waking up.

That thought terrified him more than he’d ever thought possible. He leaned closer to her bedside, taking her limp hand in his. Gently, he pressed his lips to her cold fingers, trying to hold back his tears. She looked so peaceful, almost serene in her stillness, a sight that only deepened the clench in his heart.

Still, an anger festered within him. Fueled by the knowledge that Lee Joohyeon had surrendered to the police while he sat here, helpless. 

He should’ve found that man first. Should’ve taken Joohyeon’s life for snatching away Y/N’s radiant smile.

Minho should’ve protected her.

Another promise he failed at keeping.

The Chairman’s heart attack ignited an inheritance battle between his two sons, unaware that neither had even been favored by the old man. 

The two sons sat down with the Chairman’s attorney, their greed barely masked by their feigned concern. They demanded the reading of the old man’s will. Even though he wasn’t even dead yet. 

Those greedy bastards.

   “I’ll just tell you myself.” A voice came from the doorway.

Mooyoung and Doyoung were surprised. Chairman Lee, seated in a wheelchair and pushed by Secretary Cha, entered the room. His expression contorted in annoyance and disdain.

   “You ungrateful fools couldn’t even wait for me to actually die.” He spat, his disappointment palpable

   “Father!” Mooyoung rushed to his side, his younger brother trailing behind.

   “It’s not like that.” Mooyoung stammered, trying to salvage his dignity. 

   “We just wanted to take precautions.”

   “Yes, brother is right.” Doyoung chimed by his side, attempting to justify their greed. 

   “Especially with everything that’s happened this week.” The brothers shared a glance.

The Chairman’s glare was unyielding, unconvinced. He looked past his sons to Attorney Goh, who stood by, waiting for instructions.

   “Attorney Goh.” The Chairman started.

    “Please, go ahead and tell them what I’ve decided. You have my permission.”

Although the lawyer didn’t have the document on him, he was familiar with its contents, especially after the numerous revisions. He had been relieved when he was told that the final draft was indeed final.

   “Chairman Lee has decided to give seventy-percent of his assets and shares of L Corp. and all businesses tied to L Corporation, to Lee Minho.”

The old man watched the expressions on his two sons’ faces fall. The shock on Mooyoung and Doyoung’s faces was immediate and profound. Their expressions darkened with disbelief and resentment.

   “Twenty percent will be divided between Lee Mooyoung and Lee Doyoung, with five percent allocated to Lee Jookshin, to her son, Chairman Lee’s great-grandson, five percent. Should something unfortunate happen to Lee Minho without an heir, the remaining assets will be sold, and the proceeds will be donated to charity.”

This new information shocked Mooyoung and Doyoung even more, hittling them like a sledgehammer. Anger flared in Mooyoung’s eyes as he turned to his father in his wheelchair. 

   “Father, how could you do that!?” Mooyoung’s voice trembled with fury.

Doyoung, though silent, was visibly seething. Falling into a silence as he began to ponder.

   “You built everything from the ground up. How can you just give it away to charity?” Mooyoung’s voice cracked with a mix of outrage and disbelief.

The Chairman’s eyes flared with anger. Already thinking about the what-ifs of Minho’s death.

   “Someone in this family tried to kill Minho. How else am I supposed to protect him?” He demanded with a glare.

Lee Mooyoung’s brow furrowed deeper, his frustration evident in his expression. “Why do you need to protect that bastard?”

The venom in Mooyoung’s words only served to further enrage both his fake father and The Chairman, his real father.

   “He’s my blood, Mooyoung.” the Chairman said with a chilling calmness.

The intensity of his gaze silenced Mooyoung, who took a step back, his anger turning to sullen defeat.

Lee Doyoung, however, was already plotting his next move. 

   “You’ve made a very wise decision, Father.” He said with a grin, clearly scheming about the potential shift in power, the change of ranks within the family.

   “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” The Chairman said coldly. 

   “If you think you can continue to exploit Minho, you’re a fool. He’s no longer the boy you could keep pressed under your thumb.”

Secretary Cha began to wheel the Chairman towards his bedroom.

   “He surpassed you a long long time ago.” His words seemed final.

Of course, Lee Doyoung didn’t grasp the gravity of his father’s words. He was, indeed, a fool. A fool who had made his way to the hospital where Minho sat by his new bride’s side. The new husband still clung to Y/N’s unconscious hand.

The hospital door slid open with an intrusive screech, jolting Minho. His gaze shifted from Y/N’s still form to the entrance, where Doyoung’s imposing figure appeared.

   “I knew I’d find you here.” The “father” declared, his eyes briefly flickering to Y/N before settling on Minho.

Yongguk ran closely behind, halting at the door and bowing deeply. 

   “I’m sorry, sir. I tried to stop him but—”

   “It’s okay. You can go.” Minho interrupted, his voice firm.

Doyoung’s eyes narrowed in irritation as he watched Yongguk exit. “What kind of secretary did you keep, that disrespectful fool—”

   “You’re the disrespectful fool.” Minho cut in, his tone icy and unyielding.

Lee Doyoung’s face twisted in disbelief. “How dare you speak to me like that!” He snapped, his anger bubbling over, suddenly recalling Chairman Lee’s words from earlier.

Minho was pissed. How much more shameless could he get? 

   “How dare you barge into my wife’s hospital room like this?” He said, his voice low, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. 

   “Oh. You must have heard about the Chairman giving you seventy percent of the shares. That’s why you’re so cocky now, talking to your father so rudely?” Doyoung came to his own conclusions.

Minho’s eyes darkened further. And without warning, he shoved Doyoung against the door, the impact echoing through the room. He pinned Doyoung with his good arm, his face a mask of intense fury. The man under his grip stared back with bewilderment. A shock that made his face grow almost pale.

   “I don’t care about the shares of L Corp., Lee Doyoung.” Minho said, his voice a chilling whisper.

Doyoung’s eyes widened with shock at the way Minho addressed him. The intensity of Minho’s words left him momentarily speechless.

   “You’re not my father. You never were. The man you look up to so much, the one you’re so terrified of, set you up twenty-eight years ago and you didn’t even realize it.”

Doyoung’s anger surfaced on his face, shoving the injured man back. 

   “You ungrateful brat! The Lee family has taken care of you for all these years, and this is how you repay us?” He poked Minho’s chest, his voice dripping with venom.

Minho’s laughter was a bitter sound that filled the room, almost in disbelief.

   “Take care? You must be joking.” He said, his laughter abruptly stopping as his expression hardened.

   “The Lee family made a mess of itself. Don’t blame me. Rather, you should be grateful I had been there to clean up your messes. Or you would have fallen a long time ago.”

Doyoung’s realization that Minho was no longer a pawn but a force to be reckoned with was dawning on him. A realization he made after being humiliated. He suddenly understood, Minho would no longer be controlled, instead would be the one in command now.

   “Son, listen—” Doyoung began, his voice trembling.

   “I’m not your son, Lee Doyoung.” Minho cut him off coldly. 

   “And I don’t want to hear your rambling.”

Doyoung’s face paled with sudden anxiety as he looked up at Minho, who now seemed towering over him.

Minho leaned in, his breath hot against Doyoung’s ear. 

   “Make sure to tell that pathetic Joohyeon, that I was the one who sent those threatening texts.” He whispered, pulling back to watch Doyoung’s face contort with shock and horror.

Minho’s laughter, dark and menacing, filled the space as he opened the hospital room door and forcefully shoved Doyoung out. The door shut with a faint slam, and Minho closed his eyes, his jaw clenched in frustration.

It was one thing after another. The reporters wouldn’t stop calling him, Chairman Lee kept trying to contact him, the company couldn’t get anything done without him.

All he wanted was Y/N to be by his side.

Awake.

   “Min...ho.” A soft, fragile voice called out.

His eyes flew open, and he turned to see Y/N slowly turning her head toward him. His heart leaped as he rushed to her side. She weakly tugged at the oxygen mask, removing it with trembling hands.

   “Y/N!” Minho’s voice cracked with emotion, tears pricking in his eyes.

She tried to smile despite the pain, her tear-filled eyes meeting his as he held her hand to his lips, letting out a sob of relief. 

   “I thought I was going to lose you.” He whispered with his cries.

   “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She murmured, tears mingling with her smile as she watched him break into a vulnerable chuckle, crying into their loose grasp of entangled fingers.

───────────────────────

The youngest son of the Lee family might have been on the lowest ranks when it came to the members of the family, but he was now the only one capable enough to run L Corporation. 

Lee Minho was the only one left. Mooyoung and Doyoung guessed it correctly, their times of pushing around Minho had come to an end. They were forced to acknowledge Minho’s authority, bow down to someone decades younger than them. 

Bow down to their younger brother. Though they never found that out.

The youngest son had been ready to leave behind the Lee family and L Corp. altogether. But after the accident, a realization dawned. 

Without the power and influence that came with his role, he could not truly protect those he cherished.

Protect Y/N.

The Chairman had practically begged Minho to return. His declining health, suddenly made him desperate perhaps. He could not bear to watch L Corp. crumble because of the rotten sons he unfortunately fathered. 

His company. His child. 

Minho went back.

But of course it came with clauses.

There were going to be significant changes in the dynamics of the so-called family he grew up in. A revenge in its own.

A change that amused the youngest son plenty, unable to hide his sinister smile as he stared at the faces of all those who looked down at him. The disgust-laced gazes were suddenly filled with desperation. A look he enjoyed the sight of.

Lee Jihoon, who had always wanted to live his life away from the spotlight of the Lee family, was free to do so. He took that opportunity to leave for his next trip to South America. Last anyone had heard from him, he was road tripping through Brazil. Though he did keep in touch with Y/N from time to time.

Lee Jookshin didn’t interact much with anyone in the Lee family following her brother’s fall from grace. Her interactions became sparse, her presence a distant figure.

Lee Jungshin, tainted by the scandal of the slush-fund fiasco, chose to disappear after learning of the potential prison sentence for money laundering. He fled overseas, with his mother in tow.

As for Lee Joohyeon, his fate was sealed with the weight of multiple crimes. Convicted not only of attempted murder but also of manslaughter in Jae’s death years earlier, Joohyeon’s downfall came swiftly. 

Prosecutors received an anonymous email with the yacht CCTV footage. Then a few days later, the chip containing Lee Jae’s car dashcam evidence showed up on the lead detective’s desk. 

As if it all came with the wind.

Minho’s ascend to the presidency of L Corp. was solidified with the success of The Rose Garden Resort, a testament to his leadership and vision. His victories affirmed his place as a formidable figure in both business and the family.

Chairman Lee rejoiced, as if he had planned everything from the beginning.

Except he didn’t plan another heart attack.

This one however, kept him tied to the hospital bed for the next three years.

───────────────────────

Lee Minho walked into his new office, its grandeur evident in the bright white walls and gold-framed paintings. His fingers brushed over the crystal plaque bearing his name.

Chairman Lee Minho. 

He paused, feeling the weight of his new title settle around him. Uncertainty and pride mingled within him. He did not know how to feel. He had once wanted this position. Only for the sole purpose to drive the company to the ground.

Yet, now that he was here, he found himself hesitating.

A knock on the glass door drew him from his thoughts. He turned to find Secretary Kim, greeting him.

   “I’ve declined the invitation from the directors for a celebration as you requested.” Yongguk reported.

The new chairman nodded, looking out of the large window once again.

   “There’s also a gala hosted by the Director of Yeom Arts tomorrow evening. I’ve arranged your schedule around it.��� Yongguk continued.

Minho turned with a raised eyebrow. “Yeom Arts…Isn’t that where the Hwangs married into?” He tried to recall, to which his secretary nodded.

   “Their second son Hwang Hyunjin married Director Yeom earlier this year.” Secretary Kim clarified.

Minho let out a nonchalant “hmm”, already lost interest.

   “Madame Park has arrived and is waiting in the lobby.” The secretary continued.

The mention of Y/N brought a genuine smile to Minho’s face. The only one he wanted to celebrate with.

His family.

Heading to the lobby, Minho’s heart lightened at the sight of Y/N. Her presence already made him relax into a familiar comfort. She beamed as he approached, and Minho’s smile widened in return. Then his gaze flickered down to the approaching patters of small feet.

   “Daddy!”

Minho instinctively crouched down to catch his two year old running towards him, into his arms. Her laughter erupted as he scooped her up, his grin wide. 

   “Did you miss me princess?” The father asked, his voice full of warmth.

Y/N approached the father-daughter duo, reaching over and gently brushed back the little girl’s hair.

   “She got really excited when I told her we’re having dinner outside today.” 

Minho laughed, holding his daughter close before reaching for Y/N’s hand.

   “Let’s go.” He smiled softly.

There was a time the youngest son had doubted his capabilities as a father. But now, looking at the admiration in his daughter’s eyes as she played with his tie, made his heart swell.

Minho didn’t know what being a good father looked like. He had never seen a true example of one in his life.

The father figures, the fake, the real, had never embodied the qualities of a good father that Minho had glimpsed throughout his life of other children, of his siblings.

But he swore. To himself, to his then unborn child in the quiet of the night when Y/N had long drifted into her slumber.

He would be a good father. He would try to be a good father. He would do everything his fake father, his real father, hadn’t done.

Minho read the baby book. Studying it with such intensity that it felt like he might tear it apart.

Y/N would giggle, brushing back his hair as she pulled away the glasses that had been perched on his nose. A soft graze of her fingers that brought him out of his thoughts.

   “Are you planning on getting a PhD on newborn babies?” She laughed, settling on the edge of his desk.

Minho shook his head, closing the book before staring at her with a new intensity. His eyes darted from her soft expression to her stomach. Deep in thought once again.

   “Don’t be so nervous. We have plenty of time to prepare. I’m sure everything will be alright.” His wife’s words were reassuring, her smile unwavering.

He rolled his chair closer, sighing as he took her hand into his, attempting to thin his lips into a smile as he nodded.

But Minho was afraid. Still afraid that he wouldn’t be a good father. That he couldn’t be a good father. He was a mess of a man who was the outcome of a disastrous family line. An embarrassment he didn’t have the courage to even admit let alone bring up.

Minho knew he would be protective, just as he was with Y/N, the love of his life, the only person he truly cared for. He knew he would stand by his child’s side, watching over them and keeping them close. But he wasn’t sure if he could truly love them.

The youngest son had always claimed he didn’t know what love was. For a long time, he didn’t understand what it felt like to be loved. Not until Y/N had entered his life. 

Even then, he didn’t know that the feeling clenching in his heart whenever she hurt herself, whenever someone spoke ill of her was protectiveness. 

The sour taste in his mouth when hearing her name connected. To another’s, seeing her attached to someone else, was jealousy.

The overwhelming fear of losing her was, in fact, love. Nothing but love. Something he took too long to recognize, nearly losing her in the process.

But perhaps the cries were all he needed to hear.

The pure, innocent wails of a newborn that echoed, loud in his ears. A call to the world that she was finally here. A part of him, a part of Y/N. Evidence of the love he swore he didn’t know about.

And all his worries, his nervousness that he had bottled up during the months before she had arrived, melted in an instant. And the new father suddenly knew that he was going to be fine.

Lee Minho would make an excellent father, one that he had never known.

───────────────────────

Lee Minho was an excellent father. But he could never be a good son.

He would never be a good son. Both to the fake and the real.

The former Chairman had been bed bound ever since his second heart attack. The stillness of the hospital room was both suffocating, but serene.

Secretary Cha entered quietly. Like he did every day, a routine he had fallen into over the past three years. But this time he had a somber expression on his face.

The old man lay in bed, his movements slow and breaths labored, an oxygen mask over his nose.

   “Did Minho refuse to visit again?” The old man asked in a raspy whisper.

Secretary Cha’s silence answered him. The former Chairman managed a small, knowing smile.

   “Call him for me.” The old man requested, his voice strained.

Secretary Cha made the call. Minho didn’t pick up the first time, nor the second. By the fourth ring on the third attempt, his voice finally came through, cold and detached.

   “Chairman Lee, your father wanted to see you. He wanted to congratulate you in person.”

Minho’s silence was followed by a laugh, harsh and dismissive. 

   “Tell the old man to stick to the deal we made. Don’t contact me for such trivial matters.”

The call ended abruptly. Secretary Cha looked at the former Chairman, who continued to gaze at the ceiling. A faint smile spread across the old man’s face.

   “My son.” He murmured, his voice a mix of pride and resignation.

   “He’s achieved what he set out to do... reach the very top.”

The old man coughed, turning his head to meet Secretary Cha’s sympathetic eyes.

   “Perhaps it’s time for you to retire, Cha Wonshik.” Former Chairman Lee said softly.

Secretary Cha hesitated before nodding, his pity evident. “Go prepare for you granddaughter’s wedding.” The Chairman added weakly.

After a heavy silence and Secretary Cha’s hesitant exit, the room fell silent once more, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor.

The former Chairman stared up at the ceiling again, at the bright light and slowly whispered to himself.

   “My youngest son…is stubborn, he is arrogant, he is conniving. But he’s always done a very good job hiding it all behind his mask. He’s a master at mind games.” He attempted to chuckle to himself.

His laughs morphed into labored coughs. Former Chairman Lee took a strained deep breath, and whispered once more.

   “Lee Minho is…”

His voice trailed off into silence, the heart monitor’s beep stretching into an unending, haunting note.

Minho walked into the private dining room of the restaurant, his gaze softening as he saw Y/N and their daughter seated at the table. He placed his phone down and slid back into his seat.

Y/N looked up from her meal, her eyes curious. 

   “Who was that?” She eyed the phone he had discarded atop of the table.

Minho gave a reassuring smile, shaking his head.

   “Not important—How’s the food?” He easily changed the subject.

Y/N had always been one to easily read Minho’s expressions, his body language. And although she was aware that it was more than just a “not important” phone call, that his shrug as he sat down was to shake off her worries, she just smiled in return, nodding as she took another bite.

Minho’s gaze shifted to their daughter, who was happily making a mess with her food. Pasta sauce smeared across her lips which made her father chuckle, his eyes creasing into crescent-moons. Y/N watched as her husband leaned over to gently brush back their daughter’s hair and wipe the mess from her face, his eyes filled with the same warmth and affection he showed when he was with Y/N.

She watched Minho with a tender smile.

Lingering.

And for a split second, her expression wavered.

Y/N’s smile faltered.

Just for a fleeting moment though.

A millisecond of uncertainty.

A millisecond of something else.

Her husband glanced back up at her, hand reaching over to caress hers. Minho smiled. The genuine ones she loved seeing on him, one that she returned with her own wide grin.

Lee Minho is… just like his father, isn’t he?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ end.

── thanks for reading! - @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23, @tsunderelino, @thecutiepieme, @candyquokka

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 7: Keep watching the skies

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 7: Keep watching the skies

Wordcount: 6.4k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Grooming, Implied sexual assault/rape, non-consensual drug use,

Description: You follow up on your own lead, convinced it's the only way, leading the rest of the 141 on a hunt to find you.

A/N: Not sure I got all the typos, let me know if you find any <3

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

If Price was ever going to grant any of their wishes, Johnny prayed to the lord that it would be to get better beds. Even if he and the taskforce had slept in worse places than this, on the ground in half fallen buildings, in bundles of hay or random items, it didn't keep Johnny from being grumpy about the lack of space and stiff mattresses.

He wasn't sure why Laswell hadn't accounted for the one missing bed. Sometimes he thought that she expected one of them to take the janky couch, but she couldn't really, could she? It was what Simon did most nights, or at least Johnny was pretty sure he did. He typically didn't come into the room during nights, letting Johnny snore away on the little space there already was. Then again, that man never truly slept much on missions.

Simon got the optimal amount of sleep he needed to function for a day, and not a second longer. It was a habit that was hard to coax him out of when he and Johnny went back home. When they had first bought an apartment together, it even took a few weeks before Johnny managed to get Simon into a somewhat normal sleep rhythm.

One thing he found that worked, was letting Simon listen to his heartbeat. It seemed to calm the man for whatever reason. Johnny supposed he understood, it was something consistent, a lifeline in the most literal sense. It assured someone that the other was still alive, that their heart was still beating and their lungs still breathing.

They had both spend a lot of long nights like that. Nights after missions with too close calls, nights fuelled with terrors and horrid images on their minds, nights where it was as simple as the fact that one of them couldn't fall asleep.

Johnny didn't know when Simon had moved from the couch to laying on top of him and squeezing half the air out of his lungs, but he was sure woken up by it. The first rays of the morning sun peeked through the blinds of the window, and highlighted the dust particles floating around in the room.

Simon was a steady weight on top of him. His breathing the only thing inconsistent from his otherwise still form. He reached out, smoothing his hands over the muscles of Simon's back, feeling him sigh further into his hold.

He was still awake then.

"Mornin' wee lad," Johnny whispered teasingly into Simon's ear, conveniently placed right next to him from how he was hiding his face in his neck.

Simon grumbled something unintelligible against Johnny's skin. "Shut it MacTavish..." was about the only thing he could make out of it. It was enough to incite a round of his personal infectious laughter.

The sheets were jumbled between both of their legs, creating an odd display of tangled limbs probably resembling some deformed eldritch horror from an outsider’s perspective.

"Didn't think ye would actually join me...thought ye didn't want affection when spider's around," Johnny mumbles cheekily yet still pulls the massive man even closer. He closes his eyes again, enjoying the weight on his chest, the comforting assurance he'd been craving for all too long.

"They're not here..."

Groggily, Johnny opens his eyes again to catch a peek of the other bed. Surely enough there was no form occupying it, the bed made with military precision. "Mh...got an early start then..." a way too early start even for his own standard.

"They barely sleep..." Simon grumbles and let's out a long huff, resigning to the fact he isn't falling back asleep anytime soon.

"Ye alright love...?" Johnny reaches up to rub his hand through Simon's short hair. A rare occasion for him to take off his mask, even here. Johnny would enjoy every second of it. With gentle movements he guides Simon's head a bit further up so he can place soft kisses to his face. Over his scars, his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

Simon let's out a sigh, lazily kissing him back. "M'fine...jus' exhausted," he did sound it.

Johnny nods quietly, pressing another kiss to his forehead. It had been a long time since they'd taken time just for themselves, their apartment was practically just sitting back collecting dust from how little they managed to actually use it.

"We should take a vacation when we're done here," Johnny suggests.

Simon doesn't get any time to reply before the door is thrown open. Johnny shoots an arm over his shoulders, to shield his face with his arm just in case. The both of them relax seeing Kyle's face linger in the doorway, he looked around the room settling on the two in a pile with a sigh.

"Would you two lovebirds get a move on," Kyle huffs and crosses his arms.

Johnny groans dramatically, making a show of how exhausting Kyle's request really is. "You could always just join us Garrick," he suggests instead, wiggling his eyebrows long enough to make both men groan.

"I'm good," Kyle shakes his head but can hardly hide the smile on his face, "any of you seen Spider? We can't find 'em."

"The fuck do ye mean ye can't find 'em, they can't have gotten that far out," Johnny paces around in the kitchen. His usual energy spiking at the odd occurrence of an unpredictable event. The facts were staring him the face. You were nowhere in the house, nowhere around the house, told nobody and left no note. You were just gone.

You wouldn't just have run away, would you?

He looks over at Simon. He'd put his mask back on, his eyes closed behind it. He still seemed half asleep, nursing a cup of hot tea in his hands.

"They could have gone to town, taking a look around and forgot to tell anyone?" Kyle throws one option on the table. He'd prepared breakfast for himself, sitting opposite of Simon munching down on it.

"We need tae go find them," Johnny says and rubs his nose. There's something uneasy settling in his system, not knowing where you are, what you were up to. He was sure you were capable, that you knew what you were doing, but you had told no one. Even if you were fine, there had to be some stern talk to make sure you wouldn't pull a stunt like this again. Not even Price was liking this at all.

And speaking of Price. Johnny's attention sharpens when the captain comes back into the kitchen. "Laswell heard nothing either, but she mentioned they talked of the mountains" Price shakes his head lightly. "They likely went for them, but we have the town to look into as well."

"We'll split up, cover more ground, they are likely fine on their own but I’d like to have a talk with them so bring them back. Ghost, Soap you take the surrounding area, follow the trail towards the foot of the mountains. Me and Gaz will take a visit to the town, sniff around and see what else we can figure out about this community."

Simon is already on the move, abandoning his still steaming tea at the table. Johnny is hot on his heels, refusing to let him go and make some stupid choice in the heat of it. He still didn't fully understand it. The lingering connection between the two of you, but he knew that it was important. He wasn't going to let him down.

"Listen up My Angel, this is one our newest members. My very own brother, Graham," The Father introduces you to the buffer man standing in front of you. He's taller than him, keeps a short buzzcut you've come to expect from anybody here. It didn't take long before it was enforced on both the men and women, didn't matter what anybody said to it.

The collective has grown significantly and fast. Michael even insisted on being called The Father. You didn't quite understand why. He never explained himself, merely enforced it like he enforced the haircuts. You guessed it was to keep a resemblance between him and God, but you found it more creepy than holy.

His connections expanded a lot more over a very short time. People from far and wide was informed about what you all did here, and they travelled all the way to join you. It was a great feeling. You quickly received a lot more responsibilities for the younger sheep, but you found a lot of the exercises were more cathartic than anything.

"It's good to meet you," Graham speaks your name with a cold indifference. He wasn't very interested in anything that wasn't his brother. He crossed his arms over his chest, looked expectantly at The Father.

You're distracted. That much is obvious to both men on either side of you. Despite doing your best to keep your focus, you keep drifting towards different thoughts. Your gaze continuously looking towards the gate where the mail picked up from town would usually come through.

It's been several weeks, almost two months.

Simon still hasn't answered you.

You felt The Fathers hand gently push against your back, guiding you forward. "Graham trains more unorthodox K9's," he explains while making sure to place you between the both of them, "he specialized in dogs and wolves before he transferred here."

"Don't oversell it Michael," Graham grumbles. He looks off to the side, observing the newer recruits running drills around a makeshift obstacle course.

The Father clears his throat. In all the time you've known him, you've never seen him even close to nervous. "Point remaining...he's going to...train you...afterwards you're going to help him train up the rest," he sounds as if he isn't sure. The final details not yet decided.

Your eyebrows furrow at that. You already have the formal training; you're learning rapidly from shadowing The Father and you don't think you're doing half bad. Still, you needed more training? What else did you have to learn?

"Don't worry your pretty head angel," his hand finds a firm grip on the back on your neck, "just be good, follow orders and everything will turn out just fine."

"Good, again."

Your head was spinning from the pain. He'd had you going for hours at a time, didn't let you stop till you lost consciousness. Your thighs ached, your heart pounding out of your chest. The objective was simple. Shoot the targets he'd set up.

You'd finally completed a full round, and Graham's expression hadn't even changed a bit. He didn't care.

It's not like he was making it any easier on you. Whatever medicine he'd shot into your blood at the start was starting to make your head throb. You could still see the broken glass of the syringe laying amidst the sand and dirt. It glinted in the lowering sunlight.

The wooden targets were starting to get this bad habit of taking form, of looking more and more like moving people. People with angry faces, people with hurtful words, people with guns and ill intent. Around them the shadows crept, licking up against the figures and swallowing them hole. You weren't given much time to question as you were flung through the obstacle course another time.

In the beginning he put on a song on a speaker. An older one, slow and rather beautiful, a love song you think.

It's been on loop ever since. He seems obsessed with it, humming along with the tune for the hundred time as you run through the course. You hit your targets with a shake in your arm, making you miss a few a couple of times. It staggers your progress, and it's like you can feel his displeased look in the back of your neck.

You keep going, shooting at the shadowy figures that remain stationary. He's not saying anything you don't think, but still, you can hear his comments in your ears.

Do better

You're better than this

Wrong

Follow my orders

You miss the last target, by a stroke of bad luck. The ground comes closer all too rapidly when your body decides to give out. It refused to remain standing, to continue the strain that could no longer be received properly.

You heave for air, your grip on the gun all too lose. It falls to the ground and you just manage to push it out of the way before you collapse all the way onto your back. The air is too warm for this, your body already drenched in sweat.

He comes to hover above you.

You don't have time to squirm away.

Graham pulls up your shirt, takes his knife and adds another cut next to the other five. Your scream falls on deaf ears. He was ruthless in his violence. He knew exactly where to cut, knew exactly how deep to make it so you'd lose blood without dying. He timed the seconds in your blood loss, he kept an obsessive eye on your movements, your expressions, until he knew your tells better than you did.

He was lethally precise.

Graham hauls you back up to your feet, shoving the gun back in your hand and turns you back to the obstacle course.

"Cull the herd."

Somewhere along the way, the vials became less mandatory. Mr. Graham stopped forcing them on you one random night. It should've relieved you, no longer being woken up before you normally did with violent movements and a syringe pressed into your skin, but the abrupt change dysregulates you.

You still didn't sleep easy, expecting to be unnaturally woken up by either Mr. Graham or The Father with whatever they had decided they needed from you. Not having the altering substance in your system started feeling weird. You began to crave it again, the precision you had with it, the strength and clearness in your mind. You missed how clearly your targets would be highlighted for you.

So, you started injecting it on your own.

Mr. Graham never objected to it. He supplied you whenever you were low with nothing more than a knowing smile and a strong hand on your shoulder. Whether he ever regretted it, he never told you, but he did notice the change in your mental state. The rapid decline like falling down a ladder, you'd grab unto it, try to save yourself, only for it throw you off once again.

At first, he didn't mind it, even gave you an extra length of patience whenever you'd start to space out outside of fighting, or when you'd take longer to process his words when things were too calm for you.

But then you started to get snappy, too eager for the fight your body ached for.

You hadn't even realized it was the wrong thing before you had done it. Maybe the day had been too long, maybe you were overworked, too tired. It didn't matter, it was you that fired the shot. You had taken the injection earlier than usual, double the dose so it would last until training.

As always, Mr. Graham had met you on the field but he wasn't alone this time. The Father, being ever so gracious, decided to observe you both this time. You had stood dutifully next to Mr. Graham, your head bowed, posture straight, your mind a strange mix of muddy and sharp. Shadows crept at the corner of your vision, making you twitch.

You felt unsteady. Your trigger finger twitching with an odd need to hunt, to expel the uncomfortable energy swirling in you, an energy that needed to be used. All the excess adrenaline seemed to even be noticed by The Father.

"Are you alright, My Angel?"

Mr. Graham gives you a look that's hard to discern. Like he's trying to figure out where on the scale you are from collapsing and going rabid. He gets his answer in the worst way he'd have wanted it.

Something too real moves in your vision, rounding the corner of a building. A small shadowed figure, too stark in the contrast of the white wall. It smiled cruelly, moved erratically and it triggered every sensor in your brain. You act without thinking.

A loud squeaking sound comes from the creature. It collapses to the ground like a dying animal. The shadows slink away revealing the silhouette of a dog, laying gasping on the ground, whimpering and clinging to the life you took from it.

None of them react at first.

Three pairs of eyes watching the life drain. One shocked, one calm, one furious.

You don't even hear the angry words coming out of Mr. Graham's mouth. Your world is spinning, your head is buzzing and you still haven't quite recognized what you had just done. Which of them you had just killed.

He grabs your arm, drags you along to no protest from The Father. You don't remember the way, or where he took you. You only remember the pain of being thrown into the dark room of stone walls. There's no window, no light, and nobody else.

"I'll come get you once you've learned to calm the fuck down."

Those words are all he leaves you with before closing the door. Your breathing is unsteady when you lean against the cold wall and slowly lower yourself to the ground. It's unnerving. You know they're there. They're always there. Watching you, taunting you, baiting you into doing something.

They didn't make noise before; they didn't talk before but now in the darkness they still feel the need to make their presence known.

Calm down calm down calm down

You don't know whether it's you or something else that keeps repeating it. Your heart rate elevates, your body starts to shake. You try to scream out for help but your lips don't move. You don't even hear the little whimpers coming from your throat.

They creep around in the dark. They inch closer. They caress your skin. They fester inside your head.

Spider?

You freeze up in your corner at the familiar voice inside your mind. You don't want to look because you know who you'll see.

"No no no no no no."

Your hands clutch around your head, pulling at your hair.

"Go away!"

I brought food

"No go away! Please! Don't- don't do this."

Go on, I could hear your growling stomach from the gate

"Please!"

I made it

"You're not- you're- not- not-"

Did you hurt yourself?

"Leave me alone! You're not real!"

Whenever you're ready, little Spider

The snow has a blinding purity that's always mesmerized you. It stains so easily, the slightest touch disturbs the perfectly laid coat, creating chaos in the pillows of comfort and sanity. You'd spent most of the morning, most of the day, trekking through that purity and soiling it with the dirt underneath your boots.

There had always been a specific kind of thrill in your chest when you defied orders directly given. A small part of you taken back in your own hands, for better or for worse. You used to thrive so well under watch and order. Even if that's not the case anymore, you'd really ought to listen to the words of your betters.

At least then maybe you wouldn't be here. Standing as still as a statue, having a staring contest with a wolf and its red eyes. They're terribly vibrant. Reminiscent of the blood you could spill now.

Your hand clutched around your gun, ready to move at the order of a split-second decision. You're not here to hunt, you have to remind yourself. Never mind the wolf, never mind your thoughts. It doesn't matter that you used to hunt with them, that they used to sniff out your target for you.

It doesn't matter It doesn't matter It doesn't matter It doesn't matter it does-

The thing isn't even full grown. You'd have been more inclined to leave it alone if it wasn't for the bleeding cross running down it's snout. The red mixed with its fur in a beautiful symmetry. It's growling at you, you think. It makes you wonder if this is what your old targets used to feel when the wolves would corner them. Unlikely. They usually kept a face mixed with fear and hopelessness. Runaway members of the collective never lasted long under the knife.

There's a part of you that doesn't dare look away from it. The fatigue in your eyes almost do it for you, the snow around the creature makes it melt into the surroundings. The wolf was too focused, too interested in the way you looked, in the way you smelled.

He's still training them

They were likely right. If Mr. Graham was still alive, still with the collective, he'd be doing what he'd always been doing.

Cull the herd

Be the guide, the cold example

Cull the herd

And if that was the case, it wouldn't only be wolves lurking around out here. You'd need to relay this to Price, or Laswell, without rousing too much suspicion. It was a mere hunch, a feeling in your gut, but one you'd learnt to trust long ago.

You start to slowly move backwards, if you were tactical about it, you could still come out of this unscathed. Something flickers in the corner of your vision. All it takes is a moments distraction and the creature lunges at you.

The gunshot echoes in your ears. Your instincts took over, fired for you, and in a rare moment of luck you actually manage to hit. The wolf falls to the snow, its left eye is half gone and blood oozes out of it. The snow becomes dirty in its blood.

You take a step closer to it, observing the dead creature. The cross is gone. Something else flickers in the corner of your vision, something bigger and a lot faster. Luck doesn't strike twice, favouring others in a moment of misfortune.

Sharp teeth sink into your shin. You cry out, despite the second wolf only managing to hang onto more clothes than skin, it still penetrates. Scalding pain shoots up your leg. A second gunshot sounding out. You're not sure how you managed to hit it properly this close, but the wolf falls to the ground next to its mate.

You sink to the ground next to them, breathing heavily as if you'd run half a marathon. Your brain runs loops around itself trying to understand what had happened, why both of them had attacked like that, and why the bleeding crosses on their heads were no longer there.

Was it a trick from him? A trick of your mind?

It would take a lot for you to even attempt to call yourself sane any longer but this felt out of hand. Despite your own distorted reality, when it came to the cult you could usually rely on the rampant voices in your head. Were you really turning this paranoid?

With groans and sputters, you manage to move yourself around enough to take a look at your leg. It could've been worse; the damage wasn't deep but you wouldn't be making it to the mountains like this. You let out a curse to the heavens. You'd been so close to achieving your goal before somebody came looking for you, and now you'd have to backtrack.

You had the two options, and you knew you had to choose the boring one.

A higher pitched scream in the distance catches your attention, followed along with a loud splash and arguing not that far from you. The snow carried the sound a bit further than normal but it wouldn't be more than a minute’s walk from your location.

And just when you thought you could make your way back with no complications.

You hoist yourself back on your feet, letting out a hiss as your leg protests to the movement with more pain shot up all the way to your thigh. You lean on a nearby tree, perking your ears to listen to the nearby voices.

At first you can't make out what they're saying but...they're familiar.

Simon and Soap.

Your stomach drops.

Price must have sent them out to look for you. Part of you scolds yourself for not leaving some sort of note or message. No matter how elusive. At least then they might not have come out for you. You could've gotten further, if it hadn't been for the sake of those pesky wolves.

You run a hand over your face, the gloves taking some of the fallen snow off your eyebrows. You walk in the direction of their voices, using their argument to steer you in the right direction.

There was safety in numbers now that they were out here. You weren't keen on being mauled over by another pack of wolves.

"For fucks sake Johnny, I told you to watch where you're placing those feet of yours!"

"Not my fault the bloody stones are so slippery in this weather!"

"Bloody hell just get your arse up!"

You peek out between a set of bushes, the thicket giving you enough cover to observe the situation before you approached them. You tilt your head, your eyebrows turning a bit up in surprise at the sight.

Soap, coming out the water from one of the deeper creeks, completely wet.

Your lip twitches, and you feel the urge to bubble up with laughter. You don't know how he fell in, and you don't really need to know to see the entire event as hilarious.

"Bloody river, stupid weather, stupid snow" he grumbles angrily as he tries to dust off the water like it was a simple speck of dirt.

Simon sighs heavily, his entire gear moving along up and down with him. "You need to go back, gonna get hypothermia if you stay out here," he says sternly. There's concern laced in the order, but it's an undeniable order nonetheless.

"No way...am not letting you stay out here alone, Price told us tae look for 'em together," Soap protests.

"Don't need to look much further," you sigh and speak up.

You emerge from the thicket, startling the both of them at the same time. They're drawn guns are trained on you in an instant, and in return your own gun is trained on Soap. Force of habit and all that.

Simon relaxes when he gets a proper look at you. Soap following soon after.

"Good, you're not dead then" he speaks in a relieved manner. Did he really think you'd act that recklessly? Probably.

"You really think I'd let myself get killed over something that idiotic?"

He looks at you for a moment, but not because he needed to give it any thought. No, his eyes aren't displaying a complex need for that, because he knows the answer. He's giving you the chance to take it back, to explain the limp in your walk. You don't.

"No," he says just as sternly in the crass voice of his.

"Ghost is right," you say and turn towards soap and his half assed attempt at squeezing water out of his gear, "we need to get you back home...get you warmed up."

"Aye."

The entirety of the town is already giving Price the creeps. He's seen his fair share of things in his time, the awful, the creepy, the monstrous. But the feeling this town gives him? Unlike most things he's encountered.

There's no hostility, nothing but the purest of hospitality even for mere tourists. There's something wrong with the smiles, their incessant need to accommodate practically anything he asks for.

He opens the door to the car, holding the two coffee cups against his chest. Garrick reaches over, takes them from him when he gets himself comfortable in the front seat. "I think I got your order right...don't kill me if it isn't, got a bit distracted in line," Price grumbles and leans back in his seat.

Garrick takes a sip of his own, then handing back Price's cup to him. "It's just fine cap, thanks" he mumbles and drinks some more. He let's out a satisfied groan and relaxes back into the seat. "Despite how weird this place is, at least they know how to make coffee."

"Hm that we can agree on," Price takes a sip of his. It's not bad, but he's definitely had better. The shop he went to would do better serving tea on the menu as well.

He'd parked the car in one of the open parking lots, not many seemed to come here. Most of the day it remained practically empty except for the few people coming to and from town. They'd spent the last two hours walking through town, posing as the tourists they undeniable were today. They hadn't learnt much, except for the fact the locals remembered faces too well for comfort.

Though it was to be expected, the town wasn't too big.

"Walked by the church..." Price says with a sigh, "struck up conversation with a few of the locals changing up the sign outside."

"Got anything useful out of them?" Garrick asks as if he'd conducted a whole interrogation.

"They've got daily mass...but most people come on Sundays as to be expected," he tells him before taking another sip, "a few of us should attend on Sunday."

Garrick let's out a louder groan, likely already picking up what he's putting down. The man clearly didn't want to, but like anything else they'd do here in this town, it was all work. Just work.

Price takes another long gulp of his coffee. The energy barely ever worked for him these days, the stress getting to his bones. He looks out towards the bustling little market a bit further up the long road. There wasn't many, but most of them would come through the market at least once a day. Garrick had mentioned a few familiar faces he'd spoken to in his other trips to town.

"Captain, do you think they'll...." he goes quiet, hesitating to finish his question.

"They'll find them," Price says assuredly.

"That's not..."

The captain doesn't bother looking at him, gives him a moment to think his question through. "Speak your mind, Garrick," he urges.

"How much do we actually know about them?" he knows why he's asking. Price had his own doubts, his own concerns, when Laswell first presented your file on his desk and insisted this was the only way.

He hadn't fully shed his doubts yet.

"We know enough, sergeant" it's not the answer he wants nor the answer he needs but it's the answer Price has for him. He'd have to do more digging, for the safety of the team, for the prosperity of the mission itself. You were too big a mystery, one where the only thing he could rely on was Laswell's word.

"They've been helpful, they'll continue to be helpful, it'll have to be enough for now." Price adds on shortly after.

 Garrick says nothing in return, simply continues to drink his coffee dissatisfied.

Price starts up the car, intending to have the rest of the way home in silence. And it was, much to his admiration. The sergeant could have a talkative tongue when he got excited about something, he'd think this whole situation would give him a few things to say.

Instead, it leaves him a quiet contemplating mess. Much like the rest of them.

He only ever speaks up in a low grumble when he sees the tip of the house revealing itself in the distance, only to render himself quiet once again.

The silence stretches on until Kyle sees the three figures bickering at the front door. "Isn't that..." he trails out as he realizes they probably don't have the key for the home. He does his best at holding back his laughter. It earns him a side glare from Price.

"Seems like they found 'em."

Price turns the car around and parks it in its usual spot next to the temporary home. "The fuck happened to you?!" Garrick says bemused by the sight of Soap.

Price does raise a questioning brow as he exits the car after Garrick. They were only supposed to go get Spider, why the man was wet as a dog was lost on him.

"Fell in the river..." Soap grumbles.

Garrick fails to hold in his laughter this time around, snorting on the spot. "I know you like water but maybe you should stay away from the literal ice water mate," he claps Soap on the back a few times.

Soap pushes him away annoyed, "agh away n' bile yer heid!"

Price rolls his eyes, pushing past the two to unlock the front door. As soon as it's open, you dart past him to head inside in the warmth with a surprising urgency. He looks to Simon, coming to stand beside him to move inside as well.

"They're fine...mostly fine...we're all fine," he assures him.

He eyes you suspiciously. His boys might've said you were fine, you might've said you were fine to them. Little observation told him that your limping leg wasn't all that fucking fine.

He followed you out back, the rest remaining in the living room to keep MacTavish warm. "Spider, slow it up" he spoke up causing you to freeze in place. He walked with steady steps until he could place himself in front of you.

"Come, I need to talk to you, and we need to take a look at that," he gestures to the leg that has a stained pantleg. He turns back around to walk to his and Garrick's room. He doesn't bother looking back to see if you're following, he has a deep-rooted feeling that you will.

You may be a rulebreaker when you get the confidence, but there's still obedience in you. From where he doesn't understand just yet, but it doesn't take all of his wisdom to gather a lot went down when you were hunting the cult on your own.

He holds the door open for you. Your eyes meet as you make your way inside, there's that stubbornness he's used to seeing in Simon. "Sit," he points to one of the beds pressed into the corner while he closes the door.

You do as he says, your voice stuck in your throat. He rummages through the cabinets, finds the first aid kit he always saved a few of. He didn't even need to tell you to roll up your pantleg, you'd taken the hint way before.

The wounds weren't deep, but whatever you'd been bitten by had been out to be vicious. "You'll need to get a doctor to look at this...lucky for you the town's got a local practice."

You tense up at that, dodge his touch as he tries to keep your leg steady enough to clean. "It's fine..." you say hastily, "It just needs to be cleaned I don't need to see anyone."

"Yes you do and that's an order," Price is stern in his voice.

One thing was to go out of your way to disobey the laid-out deal between the two of you, to run away to look for clues on your own, but this? He wasn't about to let you walk about with an injury that'll make you hurt yourself even more.

You go quiet at that. It's enough for him to grab your calf and put a wet rag against your wound. You flinch but make no sound. Your muscles are tense under his grip and your eyes shut tight.

He allows you the moment of silence, understanding the discomfort of it. He doubted you'd be able to answer anything if he even asked you right now. He cleans off the excess blood, checking the toughness of the teeth punctures. It wasn't as serious as it looked, but you still needed a checkup, he wasn't changing his mind about that.

He removes the rag, and binds the wound. "Did you find anything?" he doesn't look at you as he asks, merely focusing on cleaning up the opened supplies.

"No..." you speak in a low whisper; he wouldn't have heard unless he was this close.

You don't elaborate, and he doesn't find the energy in him to ask.

"Next time you want to go on an adventure like that you take someone with you, or at the very least inform me," he's back to speaking sternly, the voice of a captain that's been carefully crafted over the years in service.

"I can't have rogue soldiers running around, is that understood?" he looks up to catch your eyes.

You hold his stare with an uncomfortable intensity, trying to be as intimidating as he is.

"Yes sir."

He pats your calf, tugging down your pant leg once again. That time you held back your flinch, but it was obvious in your eyes to him. He takes a moment to observe you, trying to dig through your rougher exterior, to see if you were really softer under in it all.

Had you been soft once?

He calls your name in a quiet voice, makes a point to use a softer voice with rounder edges.

"There's parts of your file not even I have access to," he starts slow, careful, then pauses. You're wary of him, more than the others. He chalks it up to his authority over you, the one you can't quite find your place underneath.

"What's haunting you that much...that you won't even let me in on surprise plans...we're all a team here we-"

You rise from your seat with no warning. You're quick to make your way around him, careful to not step on any of the scattered things on the floor. He doesn't stop you nor does he continue what he was about to pry out of you.

He understands in some underhanded way. He'd dealt with Simon a lot longer than he'd dealt with you. There were undeniable similarities yet still something entirely different between the two.

"You'll go to town first thing tomorrow morning, I'll get Ghost to take you" he speaks up from his seat on the floor. You stop somewhere close to the door, listening to his words, his order. You don't answer him, but he knows you heard him, that you'll heed him this once.

You leave the room, closing the door with a care for potential noise.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami @ellabellabunny123 @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @haipasa

[zeeinkzquill]

Zooble Headcannon / Theory I Have Now (Leave a comment on my thoughts if you want)

I had to make a post about Zobble therapy chair clip therapy because honestly SAME.

But I feel like this episode is going to be one of the only times that we cracked Zooble open as a person.

I'ma put my 2 cents into what I think bc they scratch my in a way that I can't explain. And though I'm going through my mental health struggles and such I am in no way am I professional so take what I say with a grain of salt (or just ignore it if you hates it).

When I first saw their design I was like "Woah I don't know where to look at!" then ep 2 came out with their design changed and I was like "Hmmm that's interesting"

this led me to think about many things, especially how they view themselves identity-wise. Bc about a week ago I was talking to someone about the identity that Carvial Jax may have. I learned something new that day and I took that idea and looked back at Zooble.

And part of me feels like that's why Zooble may change how they look bc of how they view themselves identity-wise. And Part of me feels like that why their designed that way. Like a jumbled mess. Mayber Bc that how they view themselves??? (If you explain this well OR disagree with me leave a comment. I wanna learn more about this and what others in the community think!)

And part of me thinks Caine might take an interest in this and try to help them (or at least try to bc he's a computer lol)

IK this lil thought dump of mine is messy and weird but if you guys understand what I'm saying give me your thoughts. I find each character interesting in their own lil way so I might do more of these but what do you guys think about Zooble as a character.

Have a nice day yall💫

[flzrencent]

matthew sturniolo ,, bones and all au

! warnings ! ; mdni. if you're unfamiliar or uncomfortable with the movie by luca guadagnino i'd advise you not to proceed. blood, lots of it. light gore, but gore nonetheless. cannibalism as a metaphor (or form) of love. heavily based on the acts in the movie bones&all, but you could probably read it without needing to watch the movie. violence. mature themes.

authors note ; sooo basically i've litch never posted on this app. like at all. it took me embarrassingly long to figure out how to use it! i haven't seen this type of fic on here, and im a little iffy on how it'll be perceived and a little concerned about hate on the first post considering the plots insane nature, but i loved the movie bones and all so much and i cannot stop thinking about it, so naturally i had to write something about it and who better to write about than matt! summary ; A life lived under the careful eye of those around her, a carnal urge suppressed, and Matthew Sturniolo — the boy who'd taught her how to love without consuming them all.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Clean teeth was to be a privilege. Just one bite, and they stain forever.

Eaters; a state of cannibalism, not acquired, but passed down to at birth. The all-consuming, overwhelming urges to consume flesh broken down and seeping into every part of the brain. The only ever growing hunger, the need to eat, to feed.

Skin to skin, layers of it ripped and shredded beneath sharpened teeth and frantic claws, all in which disguised as one amongst all.

Hidden in plain sight is how she lived the first 17 years of her life, and it is how she would live till death.

Her fingers tapped rapidly, nerves at the tips tingling with each bounce of her leg. Her jaw clenched with restraint. It had been a year without an incident, her father told her this morning. He’d like to keep it that way.

She would too, really, it’s her only wish – but, she couldn’t help it.

Saliva pooled in her mouth, quick swallows pushing the thirst down. The dull voice of the teacher talking was drowned through the ringing in her ears, eyes rapidly flickering across the room. 

And then, with a muffled cough, she quickly gathered her things. The class fell silent, eyes confused and tracing her on her way out, her fingers clutched against the old green cross-body bag, knuckles white and teeth bared.

Red covered the lower half of her face, her lithe body stood guiltily at the doorway as her father rushed around her. The familiar route of packing, his voice shouting, profanities directed at her she couldn’t help but ignore through the ringing playing out stubbornly in her ears.

The sticky feel covered her palms, metallic taste lingering in her mouth as her tongue ran over the crimson stained surface of her teeth.

“I’m sorry,” The repetitive mumble spilled from her lips, pushing its way through the blood. It was useless, apologising. The damage had been done, and they would have to yet again flee without a word and the search for her eventually turning cold. Families left broken, and yet her hunger was found disturbingly satisfied.

Her jeans were old, and if you really looked close enough, drops, which once stained red, littered the ankles where she’d dragged herself from that girl’s home. Maybe it wasn’t her - maybe it was the ones from before - but nowadays, they all blended into one.

Nevertheless, nobody batted an eye, and everything would be okay. 

Almost.

Her head, thoughts like a broken record, jumbled with worries and wishes, and wouldn’t stop racing. 

Okay, that's fine. Maybe no sleep would do her good; a reset, almost.

Boots hit the floor, the ugly squelch of mud beneath her feet with the dim moonlight doing little to guide her. The dirt road was long, and she was yet to find the end, or figure out where exactly she’d set herself to go.

Wails disturbed her peace, frame startled beyond what she’d expected. Her feet halted, body frozen in place whilst her eyes searched for somewhere to go – grasping on nothing but dirt and mulch. Fear was irrational, she realised. What could get worse than her own self? Accustomed to the idea of bravery, faux awareness of safety building herself up to get moving again, she set herself onto the scheme of investigation. Her feet moved swiftly towards the sound, and her breaths dwindled to as small and silent as she could get them. The smell of familiarism halted her once again.

Something she’d sensed before - a similarity she’d only heard about, one she was yet to collide with. Then, a shouted ‘Hey!’ was sent her way, and a boy – seemingly around her age – almost covered head to toe in a darker hue she could distantly recognise in such faint gleam began approaching.

It was carnal, animalistic, almost. It seems most things she did were that way.

Silence engulfed the young as they ate, fulfilling the longing desire that she had been saving in hopes of normalcy, because maybe, just maybe, if she ignored it long enough it would fade.

Her knees were red where they dug into the harsh grounds, the rustling of the leaves in the wind taunting her, howls reminding her of the grief she’d brought, eerily familiar to the last time she feasted, seemingly similarly reminding the boy clawing at the same meal.

With slickened hands, shaking with something she didn’t wish to place (a sense of satisfaction), her eyes hesitantly trailed to who was slumped (Matt, she learnt, the name mumbled uncertainly her way after he’d invited her over), propped up on his hands, legs outstretched before him, and head tilted back with steady huffs of air. Curiously, she gazed on the droplets falling their way down the pale expanse of his neck, possibly for too long, because returning back to now caused the girl to meet his stare.

Was this how they felt looking at her? How her father felt?

“Thank you.”

Her words were muttered uncertainly into the wind. Quietly, as if sharing a secret, as if she hadn’t shown him the most vulnerable state one like them, such a force of evil, could experience. Nevertheless, with someone she had only met for the first time just moments ago.

His gaze was cold, and although she couldn’t quite place exactly where it was in the midst of the darkness, she could feel its intensity; the warmth left where he trailed it.

“You smelled hungry, s’all.” His sultry voice caught her off guard, equally dirty hands coming to rub along his jaw. The sight made her shudder.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

florence ,

first fic hellooooooo?!?!?! i was debating on wether or not i should keep this going so let me know, because i know this typa fic isn't everybody's favourite thing ever so im hoping it reaches the target audience lol

[emma-ofnormandy]

Off topic for this blog, but I am raging so you’ve been warned.

I do not feed into most actors lives, nor pay much attention to gossip columns about their happenings but Jennifer Aniston’s admission to failed IVF and the media surrounding her parent status has caught my attention.

The fact that she felt the need to come out and admit her IVF journey after years of media speculation and gossip about her childbearing status disgusts me on a level I struggle to put into coherent words. Whether she wanted to do this in solidarity with others who struggle or to finally set the record straight and stop the speculation is a moot point to me.

The fact the media and fans alike sensationalized this status and speculated to no end speaks to a society that has no respect for a persons personal choices or struggles. It also proves to all of the people who do not have offspring, for whatever reason, that society as a whole thinks their life is not complete without offspring.

And the above does not even begin to go into the damage this conversation does to those who are trying to get pregnant/ bring offspring to full term and have failed at that. All of the discussion around this topic can be soul crushing to those who are struggling on this front. You have no idea what others around you may be suffering through and when you speculate about a celebrity and this issue, you do nothing but heighten the shame your acquaintance may feel or remind them of the losses they’ve endured.

Most infertiles have hardened themselves to these conversations, whether we have come to terms with our situation or not is another matter, but we push on and do our best to not let the struggle show but that does not mean it doesn’t hurt. This decision, whether it be chosen or not, is a private matter and everyone deserves the right to keep it as such.

Never, and I mean never, should a person feel like they have to justify why they do not have children. I don’t care if they’re famous or not- no one owes anyone that explanation. Ever.

[blueboyluca]

“When I first heard it, from a dog trainer who knew her behavioral science, it was a stunning moment. I remember where I was standing, what block of Brooklyn’s streets. It was like holding a piece of polished obsidian in the hand, feeling its weight and irreducibility. And its fathomless blackness. Punishment is reinforcing to the punisher. Of course. It fit the science, and it also fit the hidden memories stored in a deeply buried, rusty lockbox inside me. The people who walked down the street arbitrarily compressing their dogs’ tracheas, to which the poor beasts could only submit in uncomprehending misery; the parents who slapped their crying toddlers for the crime of being tired or hungry: These were not aberrantly malevolent villains. They were not doing what they did because they thought it was right, or even because it worked very well. They were simply caught in the same feedback loop in which all behavior is made. Their spasms of delivering small torments relieved their frustration and gave the impression of momentum toward a solution. Most potently, it immediately stopped the behavior. No matter that the effect probably won’t last: the reinforcer—the silence or the cessation of the annoyance—was exquisitely timed. Now. Boy does that feel good.”

— Melissa Holbrook Pierson, The Secret History of Kindness (2015)

[invinciblerodent]

This is going to be very ranty and disjointed, probably borderline incomprehensible post, but with the "return" of Dragon Age Discourse (and really, did it ever go anywhere?) and me repeatedly seeing the complaints and dismissals of DA:I as a "chosen one"-type of a narrative, I just.... I keep finding myself thinking about the relationship of truth and lies within the game.

Throughout the course of DA:I, the idea of a malleable, flexible personal identity, and a painful confrontation with an uncomfortable truth replacing a soothing falsehood, follows pretty much every character throughout their respective arcs.

There are some more obvious ones, Solas, Blackwall, The Iron Bull, their identities and deceptions (of both those around them and themselves) are clearly front and center in the stories told about them, but this theme of deception (both of the self- and the outside world) is clearly present in the stories of the others as well.

Like, for example, ones that come immediately to mind are stories like that of Cullen, who presents an image of a composed and disciplined military man, a commander- all to hide the desperate and traumatized addict that he sees himself as.

Dorian grappled with the expectations of presenting the image of the perfect heir to his father's legacy, the prideful scion of his house, his entire life (he even introduces himself as the result of "careful breeding", like one might speak about a prized horse)- all while knowing that his family would rather see him lobotomized and obedient, than anything even just resembling his vibrant and passionate self.

Cassandra calls herself a Seeker of Truth, and takes pride in that identity- only to learn that in reality, she has been made a liar, a keeper of secrets, without her knowledge or consent, and it is up to her to either uproot the entire organization and painfully cut out the abscess it is to build it back from the ground up into something respectable, or let the information she had revealed sit, and continue to fester.

And this theme continues and reframes itself in, among others, things like Sera's own inner conflict between her elven heritage and her human upbringing, or in Cole being caught in this unconscionable space in-between human and spirit, between person and concept, etc.

The Inquisitor isn't exempt from this either.

I feel like this is where the core of the many misunderstandings of this plot come from, why so many people continue to believe that Inquisition is a "chosen one" or "divinely appointed" type of story, because I think many might just... not realize, that the protagonist's identity is also malleable, and what they are told in the setup/first act of the game is not necessarily the truth.

The tale of the Inquisitor is the exact opposite of that of a "chosen one" story: it's an examination and reflection of the trope, in that it is the story of an assumption that all wrongly believe to be the truth, and thrust upon you, even if you protest. The very point is that no matter who you choose to say that you are, you will be known as the Herald of a prophet you don't even necessarily believe in, and then that belief will be proven wrong, leaving you to cope with either a devastating disappointment if you believed it, or a bitter kind of vindication if you didn't.

There's a moment just after Here Lies the Abyss (when you learn of the lie you've been fed your entire journey in the game) that I don't often see mentioned, but I think it's one of the most emotionally impactful character moments, if you are playing an Andrastian Inquisitor who had actually believed themselves chosen (which I realize is a rather unpopular pick, lol): it's when Ser Ruth, a Grey Warden, realizes what she had done and is horrified by her own deeds, and turns herself in asking to be tried for the murder of another of her order. As far as she is concerned, she had spilled blood for power, and regardless of whether she was acting of her own volition at the time, whether she had agency in the moment, is irrelevant to her: she seeks no absolution, but willingly submits to any punishment you see fit.

And only if you play as an Inquisitor who, through prior dialogue choices, had established themselves as a devout Andrastian, can you offer her forgiveness, for a deed that was objectively not her fault- not really.

You can, in Andraste's name, forgive her- even though you, at that point, know that you have no real right to do so. That you're not Andraste's Herald, that Andraste may or may not even exist, and that you can't grant anyone "divine forgiveness", because you, yourself, don't have a drop of divinity within you. You know that you were no more than an unlucky idiot who stumbled their way into meddling with forces beyond their ken.

You know you're a fraud. You know. The game forces you to realize, as it slowly drip-drip-drips the memories knocked loose by the blast back into your head, that what all have been telling you that you are up to this point, is false. And yet, you can still choose to keep up the lie, and tell this woman who stands in front of you with blood on her hands and tears in her eyes, that you, with authority you don't have, grant her forgiveness for a crime that wasn't hers to commit.

Because it's the right thing to do. Because to lie to Ser Ruth is far kinder than anything else you could possibly do to her, short of refusing to make a decision altogether.

There are any number of criticisms of this game that I can accept (I may or may not agree depending on what it is, but I'm from the school of thought that any interpretation can be equally valid as long as there's text that supports it, and no text that contradicts it), but I will always continue to uphold that the Inquisitor is absolutely not- and never was a "chosen one".

They're just as small, and sad, and lost, as all the other protagonists- the only difference is that they didn't need to fight for their mantle, because instead of a symbol of honor, it acted as a straitjacket.

[kacievvbbbb]

I think it’s interesting how as time goes on Zoro kind of becomes more and more like mihawk in some ways whether that’s just because if you spend time with someone for 2 years you’re bound to pick up their habits or a deliberate attempt to emulate him is a conversation for another time. And Mihawk and Zoro where already pretty similar at the start so it’s a little hard to notice now.

But yeah whether unconsciously or consciously Zoro is becoming a bit more like Mihawk and it’s interesting to think that while this means maturing in some ways (he’s swordsmanship for one but he’s also just quieter much more assured of himself) it also means deaging in some others.

Despite their significant age gap and general dispositions, when it comes down to it Zoro is just a lot more emotionally mature and developed than Mihawk is. And a big part of why is because he found something larger than himself to devote his life too, hell Mihawk himself even kind of acknowledges this when he agrees to take Zoro on as a student when Zoro begs for the sake of his captain and crew. He acknowledges that putting aside his own ego and dreams for the sake of someone else isn’t something he can do and sees it as a fault in himself and a strength in Zoro.

Mihawk may be outwardly mature and his skills defiently did not stagnant but I’d wager that Mentally Mihawk is still stuck at the same age he was when he took over the title of world’s strongest swordsman. Honestly maybe even younger. And it isn’t until training Zoro, letting Perona stay with him, for probably the first time in his life taking charge of lives outside his own did he finally unarrest his development.

If Zoro is purposely trying to emulate Hawkeyes, which it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was that’s who he’s trying to be Afterall, then it would honestly set him back emotionally because fundamentally as he is now Mihawk’s attitude doesn’t work in a crew. It’s too singular, too abrasive. And while that abrasiveness can be useful in Zoro’s role as Luffy’s first mate sometimes it makes him a little too callous a little too apathetic, like with his disregard for Luffy’s sadness over vegapunk.

But Zoro has his crew to temper that, they are honestly just too ridiculous to ever stay serious around. And try as he might to hide it Zoro is also just a silly dude who likes to be horrifically petty with his opponents. And zoro still has so much fire in him, so much he has too prove and so much he wants to protect to ever really fall into Mihawk’s apathy. Zoro has Luffy who even after they reach their dreams will probably still continue to turn the world upside down forever keeping Zoro in some kind of trouble and his life interesting.

Zoro can’t be Mihawk because even Mihawk can’t be Mihawk anymore. Being with crossguild and crossing with the Red hair pirates and the strawhats is going to change him, it has too. if Mihawk is going to live after losing his title he’s probably gonna have to become a little bit more like Zoro.

[angelnumber27]

violently forcing myself to have better days

[eggy-the-boy]

The funniest thing about the insane amount of Clue boards the boys have is that I feel like Clue would be such a boring game with just two people??

Correct me if I'm wrong but doesn't Clue need like a minimum of three people? These boys have been each other's only friend for 30 years. Like I love imagining them sitting on the floor playing board games made for multiple people.

[volfoss]

i think honestly what irritates me about yoshidas work SO much is that people will tell you that banana fish is THE gay manga (ignoring the many things that came before it and were more groundbreaking, ie MW literally having on screen (or like. on panel but still.) gay sex in it and that came out like a decade before BF did) when there really isn't barely any gay rep outside of the pedophiles and the one time ash drops the f slur. like im sorry but somehow yasha, a work she wrote in 1996, has more gay rep in it but also has the same issues.

i truly do not get how people can enjoy banana fish with the rampant racism every 2 pages or the rampant sexual assault plotlines (on women and ash bc he is just... written like how yoshida writes women lmao) that are handled IMPOSSIBLY bad and sincerely i hoped yasha would be better because it had been like a decade or so between works. and then it proceeds to continue with the heres our blonde genius protagonist who everyone is weird as fuck to and will sexually harrass and everyone finds it a VERY funny joke to point out how feminine he is when theres barely any women in the work (if you exclude the ones that are being raped/killed/creepy to minors. which to be fair yasha has toned down the sa a LOT) and that its funny that hes kind of gay except not really!! and its just absurd to me how it just persists in all of her stuff because she is not an author that handles gay stuff well. like the scene in banana fish where ash is completely ok getting gang raped and did it solely to get into the hospital when its been SHOWN that he has a lot of trauma with that. and then right after his friend makes a joke at ash's expense about that. like sincerely and genuinely is this what we are hyping up as the old retro gay manga. go read some tezuka and stop reading shit that the most the main characters do is share a kiss in a nonromantic sense and is obsessed w making every gay person be evil!!

[rg11]

whats your fav aspect(s) of jadekat?

anon im sorry but i had like 40+ notes prepaired for my thoughts on jadekat but i lost all of them proof-reading it and this is all i got

they are the ultimate yuri to me

[chicohungers24-7]

(respost because it wasn't showing up in the tags + I made a mistake) A what if concept I made up at like 3 am where Nine used the Prism to make himself a Prismatic Titan