#there had to have been something going on behind the scenes if they’re a possibility she ended up like Joker on her own

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

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When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission���is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Not my idea, pointed out in Tiktok, but something had to be up with Martha Wayne if her alternate self becomes the Joker after seeing her son die.

Now, onto what is my idea; There definitely was something wrong, but it was handled for the most part until that point came up and she had a full mental breakdown over the event

And there are two ways she could’ve been mentally ill, and that depends on the time period you set Gotham back in

If it’s modern day? Martha could’ve been getting genuine medical help, seeing a psychiatrist and being properly medicated by some of the best doctors in the business. (Isn’t Thomas a doctor sometime too? They had to have trusted friends in the field to help her and keep it under wraps from the public) Maybe her symptoms are minimalized but still there in Bruce’s childhood and his young self can’t understand why there are some days where he just can’t be around his mother or why she has bad days, but there’s always his dad or Alfred able to distract him while the other keeps an eye on her in some other part of the Manor because there’s plenty of room to keep space when she’s not herself that day. Maybe, in that one horrible night, she breaks and doesn’t want to be there or lucid enough to understand that her son is gone and just falls further and further into the role she took up.

The worse outcome if it’s old Gotham? Lobotomy. Women who needed help and care having their brains irreparably damaged so they’re less to deal with, and what’s an eight year old to understand of what happened to their mother or how their mothers always been like?

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[jxckchxmpi0n]

hi :) love your writing btw

could you possibly do something where jack and actress!reader are both in scream 6 and they’re like really close or in a relationship and she steals one of his hoodies or shirts and he notices while hanging out on sept or in his trailer or something? (prompt being “is that my shirt?”)

tysm ilyyy

Behind the Scenes

Jack Champion x femReader! | m.list

Summary: the on screen relationship started to form off-screen. You and Jack aren't against it.

Warning: just fluff

Word count: 509

Did not proofread.

Ahhh, hi love! I hope you enjoy this! Thank you for requesting this ♡

Edit: first small post <3

There was about a week left to film Scream Six. Over the last few months, you have grown so close with the cast, both you, Jack and Devyn were welcomed with open arms. There was always something fun happening on set with everyone.

And with the last few days of your shoot, you decided to hang out longer on set even if you were done. At some point you and Jack became inseparable. always being at each other's sides having inside jokes. everyone saw the feelings you two had for each other and so did you, but both of you wanted to wait until filming and the press tour were done before going any further.

you were waiting for him in his trailer while he finished shooting his last scene. mindlessly scrolling through your phone you looked up seeing the door open. he came in with his blue shirt with fake blood on the front when he saw you he had this big smile. "oh there you are i was looking for you" he came in and closed the door behind him.

"been here the whole time" you sat up a little bit so he could sit next to you. he had a tired expression "long shoot?" you asked turning to him you rested on the back of the couch holding your head up.

he took the spot next to you closing his eyes for a moment and nodded. you kept quiet knowing he needed the silence. he eventually turned his head to you with a small smile on his lips. "what?" your voice was in a low whisper.

he lets his eyes linger on your face taking in all your little details. his eyes drifted taking in the familiar color jacket. he lifted his head and looked at the jacket closer then looked back at you.

you had a small smile on your face the corners of your lips tugged up as you looked at him. he reached out grabbing the material. then looked back at you. "is- is that mine?" he asked with a softness and with a chuckle following it.

you looked down and smiles "i got cold" you didn't answer his question so he looked at you reached up to lift your chin up.

"did you take my jacket?" he asked his voice soft but also raspy from being tired.

you nodded "i was cold and it was just here on the couch" a big smile took over his face as he thought about how cute you were. his hand brushing your jawline so softly.

"you know i like you wearing it" he said softly. your cheeks filled with a heat as you blushed.

your heart beating fast at this little moment. his chest also pounding from his heart rate. "keep wearing it" he let go of your chin and let his hand rest back into his lap.

you guys stayed in his trailer for another hour just talking and sharing soft little touches. the desire for the press tour and filming wanting to be over faster.

[mononijikayu]

hey lover! series

"did you hear?"

"huh? about what?"

"that actor ryomen sukuna!"

"what about him?"

"apparently he's dating his co-star!"

"what, really!?"

"yeah, but get this!"

"what?"

"we don't really know!"

GENRE: alternate universe - actors/celeb au

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 and above, singers au!, romance, fluff, minor angst, slow burn, humour, slice of life, will they won't they, light-hearted, flirting, playful, possessiveness, teasing, explicit content, possible, kissing, sexual content, innuendos, drama, feels, hurt/comfort, falling in love, love, happy ending, actor/singer! sukuna, actress/celeb! reader;

(a still from their romance upcoming film, winter)

ARE RYOMEN SUKUNA AND [Your Name] SECRETLY DATING? FANS ARE SPIRALLING AS THE TENSION CONTINUES TO BOIL!

By Akira Himasa, Writer for the Shibuya Scoop; Gossip Guru Extraordinaire;

Move over, celebrity couples of the year! The world has only one question on its mind: Are Sukuna and (Y/N) secretly dating?

Rumors have been swirling faster than a cursed energy storm, and fans are in a frenzy after the latest on-set shenanigans between the two enigmatic co-stars!

The notorious King of Curses, played by the enigmatic and charming Ryomen Sukuna, has always been known for his intense, bone-chilling stare and deadly aura.

But lately, sharp-eyed fans have noticed something peculiar: Sukuna seems to have a soft spot when it comes to actress (YN).

While the two have shared screen time in plenty of heated battles, the off-screen tension is what’s truly raising eyebrows.

Sources close to the set have reported seeing Sukuna offering you snacks between takes (Snacks! from the King of Curses!!) and making suspiciously heartfelt eye contact during rehearsals. And even enjoys private times in each other's trailer!!!

"You can cut the tension with a knife." said one insider, who claims they even saw the two laughing together. Laughing. Together. Are the sparks flying, or are they just that good at acting?

This week, both stars were spotted leaving a trendy Tokyo restaurant together. Sukuna, as usual, attempted to keep things mysterious by scowling (standard Sukuna protocol), while you looked effortlessly relaxed, sporting a mischievous grin that drove the internet WILD.

Fans on Twitter immediately exploded with theories.

“They’re totally dating! The way they look at each other can’t be just acting,” one fan tweeted. Another added, “I’m ready to ship it! Ryomen Sukuna x (Y/N) are THE couple of the century.”

But not everyone is buying it. Some skeptics claim it’s all a clever marketing ploy to build hype for the upcoming season.

"There's no way Sukuna would let anyone get that close," scoffed one source close to the actor's entourage. "He's Ryomen freaking Sukuna—romance isn't in his script!"

Meanwhile, fans worldwide are dissecting every interview, every behind-the-scenes video, and even Sukuna’s posture next to you during press events.

The alleged chemistry has reached fever pitch, with TikTok compilations of your most flirtatious moments going viral, and conspiracy theories flying about Sukuna’s infamous smirk during your most recent interview.

So, are they? Or aren’t they?

In a cryptic joint statement (because of course there’s a statement), Ryomen Sukuna and (L/N) (Y/N) had this to say: “We’re just very close.” (WINK WINK.)

Is this the biggest non-denial of the year? Or are we all being played like cursed puppets?

The world may never know. But one thing's for sure: Sukuna and [Your Name] are the hottest topic in town, and we can’t look away!

Stay tuned for more updates—because whether it’s love or just top-tier acting, we’re hooked!

➽───────────❥

THE SOURCE SAYS..................

CHAPTER (1) — RUMOURS

CHAPTER (2) — THE FEELS

CHAPTER (3) — OMG

CHAPTER (4) — WE GO

CHAPTER (5) — HIS PRIMADONNA

CHAPTER (6) — TBA

CHAPTER (7) — TBA

CHAPTER (8) — TBA

[COMING SOON]

[dizscreams]

jack champion x reader in behind the scenes of avatar where they're always seen asleep on each others shoulders?

THIS IS SO CUTE AAA

Good Days — Jack Champion ★

PAIRING: Jack Champion X gn!reader

SUMMARY: in Jamie’s little YouTube documentary he took of behind the scenes for Avatar you and Jack are always asleep on each others shoulders.

A/N: im going through my requests and doing my best to zoom through them also trying to get inspo for the new Jack fic 😛🫶 Hope you enjoy, my loves! ALSO THIS WILL BE TOTALLY INACCURATE idk what actors do when they aren’t filming I tried watching interviews to get info but they gave me nothing so this is the best I can do </3

this reminded me of good days by SZA 🥹

Since Avatar 2 came out in December a few behind the scenes clips have been released. The most popular one being Jamie’s documentary he made on YouTube. It was so cute it brought you to tears the first time you saw it, all the happy memories of filming overwhelmed you in the best way possible.

Before watching it you didn’t realize how you and Jack were almost always around each other. Specifically you guys were always asleep on each other. Your smile got even brighter as you watched a clip of you and Jack when you were younger resting before you guys had to film. You were both sitting in your trailer and still had the dots on your face and the performance capture suits on and your hair was still up. You could hear Jamie and Bailey laughing in the background as the went into they trailer and filmed you both.

Jamie and Bailey walked in the trailer, camera in hand, “Y/N can i get an interview with-“ he cut himself off when he saw you and Jack asleep. You were sitting on the small couch with your head on his shoulder. Bailey awwed at the two of you while Jamie boo’d and that made Bailey nudge him before they both walked out, playfully bickering with each other.

You kept watching the video and the second time you saw you and Jack asleep was in the car. It was taken at least a year later. The younger cast decided to go to the beach for a break and you two were asleep in the car. This time he had fallen asleep against you. Jamie was filming Trinity talking and she pointed out you and Jack.

“Look they’re asleep!”, she whisper yelled. “Oh, when are they not?” Jamie responded before turning the camera to you both. You were against the window and Jacks head was on yours, because of the height difference. “They look so peaceful.” Bailey quietly laughed before Trinity got bored and bugged her to play something with her.

You grinned as you watched different clips of you and your cast mates. Premieres, hang outs, dinners, little interviews. You were really glad Jamie put this together. There was a clip of Jack giving you a piggy back ride while Trinity chased you two around. You listened to what Bailey, Filip, and Jamie had to say about the whole process while clips of you and your cast mates having fun played in the background.

Near the end of the video there was a third clip of you and Jack asleep. You truly didn’t know that it was a thing between the two of you before watching this video, but it was special. In the third clip it was when you guys were a little older, at least 15-16 and you were in a hotel lobby. Bailey had the camera this time.

The camera was pointed at the two of you, “And here we have the two lovebirds!” She then pointed it back to herself. “I wonder how many shots Jamie has taken of them asleep. How many do you think, Trinity?” Bailey pointed the camera towards Trinity, who was next to her. She put her finger on her chin, pretending to think. “At least 10.” “10? I think it might be a few more but I’m not sure how many he’ll use.” Bailey flipped it to you both again while her and Trinity made bets. Your head was on his shoulder and your hands were intertwined.

The video ended and you closed your computer and smiled to yourself as you looked to see Jack asleep next to you.

THIS IS SO ADORABLE AND NOT PROOF READ!!

tags: @ashlesys-blog @dizzyscreams @beary-rambles @ang3lik

[from-izzy]

proposing to you | nct dream

“Marry me,” he started, “Carry a part of me wherever you go too.”

pairing » nct dream (individual members) x fem!reader​

trope/au » ​established relationship au!, non-idol au!, marriage au! (well it leads to it)

genre » it's all just fluff and vibes here hehe, dreamies who are all very much in love with you, mark's one makes me chuckle, renjun's one makes me wanna squish his cheeks (i miss him 😭), jeno's one makes me melt, haechan's one is chaotically (?) romantic (in my opinion), jaemin's one makes me want to have pets again so bad, chenle's one makes me want to splurge and treat myself, jisung's one is too adorable for me

word count; estimated reading time » 4303 (total); ~16 mins (total)

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » nicknames; members to reader (love, bubs), lots of kissing, ...not proofread---

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

my very first time doing something like this. this scenario has been in my head for some time and i finally had the time to sit and write it all 🥰 (and also because sem 1 results come out later today and this is my way of forgetting about it uhm 🤠)

this is my personal take on how each member from dream would propose to you!! i tried to make them all with similar word count but i can't help but to get carried away with some 🥹

Mark sits on the stool, one foot on the ground while the other is on the footrest, making sure that his guitar is tuned properly and that the new strings that he bought yesterday are set up properly. To ease his tension he strums random chords and raps random words on top, making the other Dreamies lovingly judge (and tease) him. Jeno would be tasked with calming him down, while Haechan does the exact opposite of what Jeno is doing, purposely annoying him to get his mind off his nervousness. Either way, it worked well to get the lovesick boy from the reason why they’re all gathered today. 

“You both are too loud!” Renjun says when Chenle adds random notes to Mark’s singing, belting high notes that are out of his range whilst also purposely hitting them off-tune.

“She’s probably going to walk in and think we’re crazy,” Jisung whispers to the boy who scolded Haechan not long after, who decided to join in on the chaos.

“Well, the point is that she doesn’t see the chaos right now…” Jeno lets out a nervous grin, turning his head to the still-closed door, “Maybe one of us should stand outside and text someone in the room or something.”

“No,” Jaemin crosses his arms, “This is funny,” taking out his phone to start recording, making the other three facepalm at how he’s indirectly contributing to the chaos. 

In the end, the noise and chaos were too loud for anyone in the room to realise the door opening. When he noticed you from the other side of the room, hand over your mouth, cheeks rising at the scene, his voice cracked and his cheeks blushed instantly. Mark’s voice cracked and his coughing caused the other boys to be immediately disciplined, rushing to their scheduled spots in their room as Mark mutters an “Oh crap…” thinking that everything has all been ruined.

You tried to keep your laughs at bay at your pouting boyfriend, but the image of him being silly only made it harder for you to wipe the smile off your face. But soon after, you realise the decoration around the room and the heart-shaped balloons and the unique balloons shaped like rings. Understanding how this is a different occasion to a date that you expected him to set up, you blurted a quick “No, I didn't see anything!” and rushed out the door, heart beating fast at the possible connotations behind the set-up.

It will forever become a memory that you two will always bring up whenever and wherever. A slight mention of it would instantly bring out a shy Mark who hides his red face in the crook of your neck, forever in love with you.

“Ah! That proposal was supposed to be perfect.”

Your mind replays the scene back again. After running out of the room, you waited around five more minutes, trying to calm the beating against your chest. When you did enter back, your eyes were only focused on Mark who started performing the little piece that he has prepared for you. Your body sways to the rhythm and the sweet melody of his voice and Mark who kept his eyes on yours for the majority of the performance only made the moment even more special. You remember the way you hopped on stage, only wanting to be held in his arms and unable to let go. Eventually, you did and Mark got down on one knee with the ring that he had prepared for this moment. Reminiscing the time always made you chuckle and Mark pouted and groaned, knowing that you were lost in that time once more. 

A kiss lands on his lips, wiping the pout effectively from his lips, “It’s perfect because it was you, Markie.”

Renjun is pacing around the room, making sure the decorations are placed at their designated spots properly. He would circle the room countless times, making sure the flowers were fresh and presented in the way that he liked whilst his hands busied themselves with playing with the case of your ring; that he hopes will be on your fourth finger soon.

Mark massages his shoulder, relieving his body tension. Jaemin has his camera ready to take pictures whenever he can, making sure not to interfere with the small bubble that Renjun would create with you. Jisung, being more responsible than the older members most of the time stands still with a proud look on his face while Chenle gives him a thumbs up along with Jeno as well. Haechan is just as encouraging; Renjun’s threat to make sure he didn’t cause trouble playing in his head.

“I think everything is set up,” Jaemin says as he takes more photos of the venue to add for the memory book.

“You’re playing a very important role here,” Haechan comments, a hand resting on his hand, “Don’t mess it up.”

Jaemin replies with a slightly menacing smile, “Don’t mess with me, Lee Haechan.”

“To be honest, everything will go well as long as Renjun doesn’t go blank as soon as she walks in,” Chenle teases the older boy at how in love and speechless Renjun would be around you.

“True,” Mark gives him an encouraging thumbs up, “But you’ll be fine. She’ll be here any minute now actually.”

You received instructions through text from Jeno about meeting at a place, a dress code and a time “when you should open the door (don’t open it before!)”. The text is odd and when asking Renjun about it, the tips of his ears growing red from each passing second tell you that he does know what’s going on but it's cleer he wouldn't tell. You couldn’t ask any more questions after he pulled your face into his for a quick kiss, hushing you from any more questions. 

When you walked in, outfit in line with the theme of the room and matching with his, Renjun’s heart melted once more, falling in love with you all over again. You slowly walk towards your boyfriend, eyes flickering around the area and taking in the decorations as well as giving the boys a smile and greeting back. When Renjun is infront of you, he playfully bows, momentarily stumbling and losing his balance. You cup his cheeks when he lifts his head, kissing his lips, not bothering about the camera capturing it all. 

“W-Woah,” Renjun stumbles with his words, “That was nice.” 

“This whole place is nice, Junnie,” your boyfriend is relieved by your words, “You look beyond nice, by the way.”

Few minutes later, Renjun takes his position on the floor and Jaemin captures it the memories with his camera: the way it dawned on you that he's proposing, to when you finally sealed Renjun’s love and to the way Renjun takes your lips after. 

Jaemin smiles behind the camera, capturing all the moments to make a physical memory of it all.

Including getting extremely closer than he said he wouldn’t take a better picture of the band around your finger.

“So this is why you made me dress up?” Taking in the fragrance of the flowers that Jisung gave as a token of congratulations from the rest of the boys.

Renjun nods, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Jeno and his little smile that would reach his eyes. That was one of the first reasons why you fell for Jeno but to him, it’s his default expression whenever he sees, thinks of hears anything related to you. At the start of your relationship, he’s shy about receiving and giving you affection but you didn’t mind initiating the skinship, hugging and pecking his cheeks that would gradually lean towards his lips. He loves the skinship from you even in front of the rest of the boys who would tease him about it.

“She loves you,” Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at the goodbye kiss you gave him.

“I love her more,” he replies, his eyes filled with heart shapes.

As the relationship developed and you got a little place with him, Jeno would slowly be the one who initiated the skinship, hugging your waist to sleep and keeping you close to him whenever he could. Even outside, he would be the one to link your hands together first and show his love through the bouquet of flowers from the start of any date.

“These bouquets just keep growing bigger and bigger each time in my opinion,” twirling the gift around in your hand while the other is in Jeno’s.

Your boyfriend kissed your head, “It didn’t really change from the first one, bubs.” Content with the little giggle you gave as he watched the elevator take you both to the floor where he booked the last dinner where you would be his girlfriend and the last anniversary as boyfriend and girlfriend; the start of a new title to the both of you.

His hand is stashed in his pocket where the ring is and he couldn’t help but gulp nervousnessly. The dinner went smoothly with the courses that Jeno pre-ordered and throughout the whole date, he loves the way you fill the atmosphere with the times that you didn’t spend together for the day, him updating you on his day too. He would never be tired of hearing your voice and the eye smile on him is a clear indication of that.

“I’m going to go to the restroom,” Jeno says as he kisses the back of your hand. He approaches one of the workers there, asking for the largest bouquet that he has ever given you in their back room where he dropped it off hours before the dinner. 

You’re preoccupied with taking pictures of the view from the windows that span from the floor to the ceiling but your boyfriend’s reaction comes into view and your phone screen rests on the table once again, ready to greet him. What you didn’t expect is when Jeno kneeled to one knee, arms outstretching the flowers he had with the opened box nestling between its petals.

“Jeno?” You asked him, tears beginning to fill up your eyes.

“I thought it would be nice to ask here, at this place. We always spent our anniversaries here and even today,” happy with how the corner of your lips rises with the event, “Will you marry me?”

It took you less than a millisecond to respond with a nod and a loud “Yes”. When Jeno stood from his position, your arms were immediately wrapped around his, hiding your lower face behind his shoulder.

“I thought you were shy.” 

“I am,” heat rising to his cheeks, “But I wanted to make this special for my very special girl.”

The Dreamies have never seen Haechan so nervous before. It bought them back to the times when he was crushing on you, blushing and being giddy all the time at the thought of you. They remember how Haechan was asking Jaemin for advice for the outfit on your first date that you prepared, and he rocked up with something really formal for a casual date, mixing up the place for the restaurant as a similar four-star restaurant. It would be something that not only you would tease him about, but when news spread to the Dreamies, they used it as the main thing to tease him about whenever he was being mischievous. It did die down quickly as after learning that the memory is very fond to you, the teasing wouldn’t work against him anymore.

The necklace that Haechan gifted you that day would be a reminder of the happiness that he has been giving you from the start of the journey and just like the sun pendant that reminds you of him, you love how just a glance of it knocks out all your worries that life may have weighed you down with. 

It all seemed to be a recent memory, but that was quite a long time ago for everyone who knew what happened. Now, Haechan is waiting for you to come back home after a night out with your friends and earlier in the day, the boy who was pacing around the room about what to wear to his first date with now is now pacing around the jewellery store on the perfect ring on your hand. 

He talked with the boys about his proposal plan to which the others have chipped in and helped him with. In the end, some of their advice is taken on board, but most of them made him grip his hair and made him say, “I’m just going to wing it.”

To which Mark replied with, “Sure, dude. If it doesn’t go ‘well’, it’s another thing to tease you about.” 

In all seriousness though, he wants the proposal to be perfect; just like how you are to him. He plops down on the bed, raising the box to the ceiling as he looks at the diamond he worked hard for. At the sound of the front door creaking and your voice greeting him from the other side of the house, he pockets the jewellery in his sweatpants, jumping from the cotton to greet you.

Your arms were outstretched and Haechan brings you to his embrace immediately, “How was your day?”

“So good,” your voice muffled with the hug, “We bought friendship rings,” pushing him away slightly to show him, “We thought about this so much but we thought it’s so pretty that we couldn’t not get it.”

You realised that as much as Haechan smiled at the decoration around your finger, it didn’t go unnoticed that he was playing with the hem of your jacket. An eyebrow perks up from that and you give him a kiss on his cheek, asking him what was wrong.

He took a deep breath, took the box from his pockets, got down to one knee and opened the jewellery to you for the first time, “Marry me,” he started, “Carry a part of me wherever you go too.”

Growing up, you were never able to have pets. Your dad is allergic to cats, one of the pets that you’ve always wanted, and your mum isn’t sure of how well the family would take care of another life due to how busy life is. You totally agree with her because pets should be well taken care of as much as any other kind of life form.

When you and Jaemin were financially ready to get a place for yourselves, one of his first promises was to get a pet that you wanted. Through motivation and a lot of saving, making sure that you were both ready to take care of another life and doing all the research on how to take care of cats, you and Jaemin finally adopted a pet to take care of. Jaemin is also thankful for the added company in the house as your work schedule wouldn’t match with his and that would mean that one of you would be alone in the house. Having another pet would make the house more lively and less lonely. With gradual time and more financial stability, you were able to adopt two more that you both love equally. 

“We should get another one,” you comment as Jaemin turns off the bedroom lights.

Your boyfriend hums at your thoughts, knowing exactly what you mean. He slips into the covers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to his warmth, “You really love taking care of others, don’t you?”

You close your eyes and hum a response, exhaling at the comfort of him next to you. “You know how I am.”

“I do, bubs. I do,” and he really does. With how your eyes light up whenever you take care of the people around you, always loving how you’re able to help out others whether it be him, your family, his family or the three cats that are sleeping soundly in the living room, it comes naturally that he’s thought of settling down with you permanently for the rest of his life; and having a little mini you or mini him later down the track. Similar talks have happened in the relationship and he thought that it would be perfect to make it happen soon.

No more words were said that night but Jaemin kissed a final kiss onto your soft lips and made a mental note to prepare for another life chapter with you. A few days later, he was able to speed through his work, being able to finish early to see the ring that he had been monitoring through the website. As soon as his eyes landed on it, he immediately thought of you and that’s how he made his final decision to buy it.

Thankfully, you had a later end to your work today and that gave Jaemin enough time to prepare a small, quick dinner as well as dressing the three cats into little outfits that would be fitting to wear in a wedding. 

“Come on, Luna,” he says as he struggles to get her paw in, “I don’t have a lot of time and I want to make mummy proud!” With this, the cat seemed to comply instantly and Jaemin squished the cat’s cheeks in thankfulness.

With each cat, he securely attached a note on their ventral side: Love, Marry, Me, and plans to release each cat one by one from the bedroom when you come in. Jaemin just made it in time, quickly scooping up all the cats into his arms, and rushing to hide in the bedroom.

“I’m home!” You routinely shouted, “Nana?” Confused about why the house was so quiet, especially when knowing that Jaemin finished work a long time ago. “Maybe he went out and forgot to tell me?” But that’s quickly proved wrong when pipping hot homemade food were neatly set out on the table. “Luna! Lucy! Luke!” Calling out to your three cats, wondering how none of them rushed to the door like they usually would.

Suddenly, the door to your room opens and you gasp, scared that an intruder is in your house but out comes all your three cats in different, cute attires. “Oh!” Kneeling on the floor to get a better look at them, “Did dadda do this? Hm?” Picking up Luna with his little white dress, rubbing your nose on hers. “What’s this?” Reading the ‘Love’ message on her stomach. You set Lucy down, picking up Lucy in a similar outfit, “Marry…” Your eyes widened, looking at a groom-like dressed Luke who sat patiently, licking the back of his exposed paw. Sure enough, the final and last note makes your jaw drop.

Jaemin emerges from your bedroom, smiling at how you look up at him in shock. He kneels on the floor, “I was supposed to let them out one by one but they got excited," he shrugs with a smile. "As much as I would love another pet,” he hinges the velvet box open, “If you would like to, I would also love a mini you or mini-me.” A hand rises to your gaped mouth, eyes staring at the cushioned ring. “But first, will you marry me?”

It seems that Luna, Lucy and Luke were on board with the idea, jumping on your lap and resting their little paws on your arms. Sure enough, you nod and verbally express your actions. The “Yes” is all Jaemin took to carefully place the three nosy cats away from you, sliding the new ring on your hand and pulling you into a kiss.

During ring shopping, Chenle would look around the places he could find and spend a lot of time window shopping on all the rings that were available in your size. He invited Jisung along on the journey and the younger boy was more stressed than him with how he was handling the situation. From the very first store, he already has about five rings that he’s thinking would be perfect for you. Jisung gave his input on each one which Chenle is thankful for, but did minimal in narrowing down the options. He even asked the other members, but it was still the same result. 

In the end, after visiting all the stores that he had listed, Chenle purchased about ten rings from each store. The employees are used to customers who are stuck between multiple choices as a symbol of love for their partner. But they weren’t prepared for Chenle to cross his arms, calmly exhale point to the rings and say, “I’ll just take them all.” 

Jisung tried to save his wallet but after deep thinking and checking the return policy, he decided to buy all the ones that his heart couldn't let go of. He'll figure out what to do with the rest of the diamonds later. Because of his massive purchase, on the day of the proposal, he looked calm and collected but inside, his heart was beating like he just ran a marathon. It was running so fast to the point that you asked him if there was something troubling him when you laid on his chest to sleep last night. Chenle shook his head firmly but from the way his finger trembled a little when he was patting your head, you couldn’t help but to question him once more.

“It’s not a big deal, I promise.”

After some time, your raised eyebrows relaxed, “Okay. Tell me if it weighs too much and whenever you’re ready, okay?”

And he’s so excited to tell you what is on his mind soon. The thought of finally being able to spoil the love of his life for the rest of his life excited him so much that with the boxes looking similar across the stores, he didn't realise that he also grabbed the one that he hadn't decided on the previous night. When you nodded to his proposal, too stunned and speechless from happiness to speak, the different ring to his expectations when he opened the velvet box made him let out the famous Pikachu face. 

“What?” You chuckled and tilted your head in confusion at his reaction, completely unaware of the boxes hidden under the bed. 

“N-Nothing,” well, it looks like he'll explain later but with the happiness written on your face and the kisses you showered him with, maybe he'll just gift the rest of the spares to you.

“Don't be so nervous,” a hit lands on the side of Jisung’s arm from Chenle, “She'll love this.”

In the early stages of dating, you were always sharing your date plans with him, planning most of them. You made sure Jisung didn’t mind them because being in a relationship isn’t only about one person. Jisung loves the way you talk enthusiastically about all the places you want to go with him and all the activities that you want to do with him. Jisung would give you that adorable gummy smile, eyes shaped like crescent moons whenever he did so. Those small event plans became more detailed, expanding into different topics naturally such as proposals, weddings and honeymoon places and Jisung being in love with everything about you, would mentally take notes of what you love for each occasion.

“I promise,” Jisung stops your words for a second, “We will do them all together.”

There was a time he was caught writing it all down on his phone to which Chenle teased him endlessly, the other Dreamies joining along at their youngest being in love. It’s not that he will forget the things that make you happy, he just wants to be able to see it all so that he can plan the perfect proposal. They promised to help him with every step when he was ready. 

Today is that day.

Jaemin tells him that the hinge of the engagement ring’s box would eventually break with how much he’s fiddling with it but it’s the only way he could distract his nervousness.

“Maybe you should recite your speech once more,” Jeno clears his throat, opening the paper in his hand.

“Jeno loves Jisung, guys. Look at him,” Haechan teased his same-aged friend. His bear-like friend would chase him around the room and Jisung would be shouting at the two to be aware of the decorations around the room.

You came in through the chaos, the door opening inwards where Haechan stops abruptly to avoid his face smashing against the wood and Jeno back hugged him as a result of that. You peeked behind the door, confused but smiling at the two. Before you could question what was going on, Renjun kicked Haechan out the door and welcomed you in.

“He’s not prepared for this,” pointing at your boyfriend who hides behind Jaemin. “Stay here while I talk to Haechan for ruining this moment.”

But the moment wasn’t ruined at all because just looking at how your Pinterest board came into life and the boys slowly giving Jisung the spotlight while you walked down towards him, everything is indeed beautiful and perfect.

“Oh wow,” you breathed out, “It's like my Pinterest came to life.”

Hearing that is the biggest compliment to Jisung who spent hours analysing your saved folders of wedding venue inspirations, trying to find a consistent theme. He gifted the teddy bear on his hand to you, pecking your lips and pulling away with a deep red blush across his cheeks. He readies himself to his rehearsed position after, “Will you marry…me?” Endeared by the way you hide your face behind the teddy bear. Yet, your answer is clear without your words.

Just like how he gives you a kiss on the lips with a “Yes” from you and the silver band around your finger that sealed your happily ever after.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿

[7-wonders]

"Watching horror movies together"

From a Halloween prompt list. Thanks for reading, guys :)

In your humble opinion, October is one of the best months of the year. How can it not be, when there are so many fun activities that come along with the fall season? Pumpkin patches and apple picking, haunted houses and costume parties, colorful trees and fall-scented everything. One of your favorite parts of October? An excuse to watch as many scary movies as you could possibly desire.

You don’t just watch scary movies in October, of course. Halloweentown and Hocus Pocus were made for this month, and it’d be a shame to not watch them both at least once. But horror movies, in all their spooky, creepy glory, have a special place in your heart, and they’re something that you go out of your way to watch this month. There are only so many days that you can pack in all the Halloween you can handle, after all.

You’re spending the night as you do so many others in October—with the lights off, a snack on your coffee table, and the horror movie of your choice on the screen (tonight’s pick being The Conjuring). The movie is maybe 15 minutes in when you get your first jump scare, but it doesn’t come from the screen. Instead, it comes when a man materializes out of the shadows of your living room, making you yell in fright before your eyes recognize the messy head of black hair and alabaster skin.

“You scared me!” you exclaim, quickly getting over your fear and being unable to stop smiling when it sinks in that Morpheus is actually here.

“My apologies.” He takes in the scene before him, you sitting in a darkened room with a blanket on your lap watching a movie, with interest. “What are you doing?”

“Watching a movie. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re almost never in the Waking.”

It takes him a moment to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “My duties have kept me away from you as of late. I wish to rectify that.”

After translating from Morpheus to English, you have to exert a lot of willpower to keep from breaking. He came all the way to a realm he’s not comfortable in simply because he missed you? Because he feels guilty for being busy and wants to try and make it up to you?

(There’s no need for him to make anything up, because you’re not mad at him in the slightest. He’s the ruler of a freaking realm; of course, that’s going to take precedence over almost everything in his life. But if his misplaced guilt causes him to spend more time with you, then you certainly won’t complain.)

“Okay. Do you…want to watch the movie with me, then?”

He considers the question, likely the first time he’s ever been asked such a thing. Regally, he answers, “I suppose.”

Now he’s here, sitting next to you on your secondhand couch in your cozy apartment, trying to wrap his all-knowing mind around what a horror movie is. You’re simply pleased beyond measure that your boyfriend is doing something so human and mundane with you, and therefore willing to answer any of his questions that take your attention away from the screen.

“These are watched with the express purpose to leave the viewer frightened?”

“Exactly. You know, like how people read Dracula and Frankenstein?” Relating the movie to classic literature he’s familiar with (you doubt he’s had time to catch up on Stephen King novels) finally makes it click for Morpheus, who nods. “It’s fun to be scared, sometimes.”

Even though this is likely one of the first movies that Morpheus has ever watched, he has enough of an idea of the concept to realize that it’s an activity that’s mostly conducted in silence. It’s a concept he respects…for the most part.

(“Why do they not simply move to another home?” Morpheus asks when one of the daughters sees someone standing in the dark behind her door. Smirking, you simply say, “Now you’re asking the right questions.”)

When the pictures fall off the wall and remind you that one of the best scenes is seconds away from happening, you smile as an idea comes to mind. 

“There is another plus to watching scary movies together,” you begin, making Morpheus look at you curiously.

“And that would be?”

“Well, when scary things happen on screen…” Carolyn Perron falls down the stairs as the spirit locks the door. “And if I were to, say, jump in fright because of it…” The basketball is thrown from within the cellar, and you jump exaggeratedly. “Then it would only make sense for you, as my romantic interest, to…” Taking Morpheus’s hand in yours, you maneuver his arm until it’s draped around your shoulders. “Comfort me.” 

It takes him a moment to settle into the new position, for his arm to relax around you until he naturally pulls you closer to him. When he does, your smile widens until you’re flashing a very smug grin at him.

“I believe you are right,” he says. “This does make the experience better.”

Laughing lightly, you kiss his shoulder before turning your attention back to the movie. October continues to be full of new reasons as to why it’s one of the best months of the year.

[onlinesuzie]

♡ looking after hamzah’s good boys pt.2 ♡

words: 2.8k

genre: fluff

summary: The idea of you as been playing on Hamzah’s mind and it appears that the connection between you two has become deeper than just you coming over for a few hours to look after his kittens.

note: GUYS I KNOW I SAID THIS WOULD BE MORE SMUTTY BUT LORD I COULDNT HELP MYSELF. a nervous and sweet hamzah was on the mind too hard. i will be definitely be writing another part to this soon!! thank you for the likes on my last part and i hope this second part lives up to the love!! also did not proof read lol >:D

☆

Hamzah had been on edge the entire day, distracted even during the filming session with Martin. His mind kept wandering back to his apartment, wondering how his kittens—and you—were managing. When filming wrapped up, he made his way home as quickly as possible, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

As he approached his door, he paused for a moment, trying to steady his nerves before entering. He took a deep breath, inserted the key, and turned the lock. The door swung open, and he was greeted by the sight of you sitting on the couch, Red and Blue curled up contentedly in your lap. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

"Hey," he said softly, closing the door behind him. The kittens perked up at the sound of his voice, but they seemed perfectly at ease with you.

"Hey," you replied, looking up with a smile. "Your boys have been absolute angels."

Hamzah couldn't help but smile back, his earlier tension melting away. He walked over and sat down next to you, his gaze shifting from the kittens to you. "Thank you so much for taking care of them. It means a lot to me."

"It was my pleasure," you said, your eyes meeting his. There was a moment of comfortable silence before you spoke again. "How was filming?"

"It was good, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how things were going here," he admitted, his voice softening. "I was worried, but seeing you with them... I feel so like relieved."

You reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm. "They’re great company, and it’s obvious how much you love them."

Hamzah looked down at your hand on his arm, then back up at you. "Thanks. By the way, about that coffee... When are you free?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your voice steady. "I’m free this weekend. How about Saturday morning?"

"Saturday morning sounds perfect," he replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I really hope that place nearby is your thing because I feel you’ll love it."

"Great, I’m looking forward to it," you said, returning his smile.

He glanced around the room, taking in the peaceful scene. "I’ll make sure to bring something special for the boys as a thank you for behaving so well."

You chuckled. "I think they’ll appreciate that."

As the evening continued, you and Hamzah chatted about various things, the conversation flowing easily. The kittens snuggled up beside you, content in the presence of the two people they now adored.

After a while, Hamzah hesitated, then looked at you with a hopeful expression. "You know, if you don’t have any plans tonight, would you like to stay a little longer? It’d be nice to get to know each other better."

Your heart warmed at his invitation. "I’d like that," you replied.

He smiled, visibly relieved. "Great. How about I order some takeout? We can, um, relax and talk more.” he blurts “Plus, the boys would definitely love more of your company."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed.

Hamzah quickly grabbed his phone and started looking up nearby takeout options. "Any preferences?" he asked.

"I'm good with anything," you said, watching him with a smile.

As he placed the order, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. The evening had turned into something unexpectedly special. You and Hamzah spent the next few hours sharing stories, laughing, and discovering common interests. The atmosphere was warm and relaxed, and the kittens seemed delighted by the extended company. By the time the food arrived, you felt like you had known Hamzah much longer than just a day. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself looking forward to the coffee date even more.

As the night drew to a close, you realized it was time to leave. The evening had been unexpectedly wonderful, filled with laughter and a deepening connection that you hadn't anticipated, but were pleased about. The kittens, now comfortably asleep, were nestled in their favorite spots, oblivious to the passing of time.

Hamzah walked you to the door, a contented smile playing on his lips. "Thank you again for taking care of them and for staying longer. I had a great time."

"Me too," you replied, your heart feeling light and full. "I'm really glad we got to know each other better."

He hesitated for a moment, then gently took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "I'm looking forward to our coffee date on Saturday."

"Me too," you said softly, meeting his gaze. There was something in the way he looked at you that made your heart race—an unspoken promise of more moments like this.

"Drive safe," he said, his voice tender. "And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to text or call."

"I will," you replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

As you turned to leave, Hamzah called your name. You looked back, finding him standing there with a thoughtful expression. "I'm really glad Mandy introduced us," he said, his voice carrying a depth of sincerity that made your heart flutter.

"Me too, Hamzah," you responded, a smile spreading across your face.

With one last shared look, you stepped out into the cool night air. As you walked to your car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation for the coffee date and what it might bring. Just before you reached your car, you turned back to see Hamzah still standing at the door, watching you with a smile.

"Goodnight," you called out, feeling a warm connection despite the distance.

"Goodnight," he replied, his voice carrying softly through the night.

As you drove away, you replayed the evening's moments in your mind, feeling the warmth of Hamzah's hand in yours and the sincerity in his words.

The next day at the cat rescue, you found yourself thinking about Hamzah and his kittens often. The rescue was bustling as usual, with volunteers and visitors interacting with the many cats seeking homes. As you went about your duties, you couldn’t help but notice a few cats that reminded you of Red and Blue.

During a quiet moment, you decided to send Hamzah a message. You pulled out your phone and snapped a few photos of the cats that caught your eye. One was a ginger tabby with a playful expression, much like Red, and the other was a smaller, energetic kitten with striking eyes, reminiscent of Blue. You smiled as you composed your message.

You: "Hey Hamzah, hope your day is going well! I’m at the rescue and couldn’t help but think of your boys. Check out these little ones—they remind me so much of Red and Blue!"

You: [attached photos]

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a response.

Hamzah: "Hey! Wow, they really do look like my boys. That ginger one has the same mischievous look as Red."

Hamzah: “How are things going there today?"

You smiled at his quick reply and typed back.

You: "It’s busy, but good. Seeing these cats always brightens my day. Your boys were great practice for today’s energy!"

You: "I can’t wait for Saturday. Any special plans for our coffee date?"

A pause, then another buzz.

Hamzah: “I’m glad to hear that! And I can’t tell you that! By the way, thanks again for yesterday. I felt so much more at ease knowing my kittens were in good hands."

You felt a warm glow reading his message. It was nice to know he appreciated your help and was looking forward to spending more time together.

You: “Sounds perfect. I’m looking forward to it too. And it was my pleasure—your boys made it easy!"

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, feeling a renewed sense of excitement. As you continued your work at the rescue, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation for your upcoming date with Hamzah. It was shaping up to be a week full of promising moments with Hamzah.

Saturday morning arrived with a mix of nerves and excitement. You got ready for your coffee date with Hamzah, your thoughts drifting back to the pleasant evening you had spent at his place earlier in the week. As you approached his apartment building, you felt a flutter of nerves.

Hamzah greeted you at the door with a warm smile. "Hey! Ready for our coffee date?"

"Absolutely," you replied, feeling your heart race slightly. "But before we go, can I say hi to the kittens?"

He chuckled and opened the door wider, motioning for you to come in. "Of course. I had a feeling you'd want to see them."

You stepped inside, immediately spotting Red and Blue lounging in their usual spots. They perked up at the sight of you and scampered over, nuzzling against your legs. You crouched down to pet them, smiling at their enthusiastic greeting.

"They really missed you," Hamzah said, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm starting to think you only want to see me for my cats."

You laughed, shaking your head. "They are a big plus, but... I wanted to see you too."

The words slipped out before you could catch them. Hamzah's eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "Oh, um, really?"

You stood up, feeling your own cheeks warm. "Yeah, I mean, I had a great time the other night, and I was looking forward to today."

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "That's, uh, that's good to hear. I was looking forward to today too."

There was a moment of awkward silence before he cleared his throat. "Anyway, we should probably get going. The coffee place gets busy on weekends."

"Right, let's go," you said, feeling a bit relieved to shift the focus. As you both headed out the door, Hamzah glanced back at his kittens.

"You two behave while we’re gone, okay?" he said, his voice softening.

Red and Blue meowed in response, almost as if they understood. You both laughed, and the tension from the earlier moment seemed to ease.

The walk to the coffee shop was pleasant, filled with light conversation and the comfortable silence of two people getting to know each other. When you arrived, the cozy atmosphere of the café put you at ease. You found a quiet corner table, and Hamzah ordered your drinks.

As you sipped your coffee, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about your work at the cat rescue, his YouTube channel, and shared stories from your pasts. The initial nervousness faded, replaced by a genuine connection that seemed to grow stronger with every word.

After a while, Hamzah looked at you, his eyes warm and sincere. "I’m really glad we did this. It’s nice getting to know you outside of kitten duties."

You smiled, feeling a sense of contentment. "I’m glad too. This has been really nice."

The rest of the date flew by, and before you knew it, you were walking back to his apartment. When you reached his door, he hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"Would you like to come in for a bit?’ he blurted out, before quickly interrupting himself, “The kittens- would love more of your company."

You nodded, feeling a happy feeling in your chest. "I’d love to."

Back inside, you spent some more time with the kittens, but your attention often drifted back to Hamzah. It was clear that this was the start of something special, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

Back at Hamzah's place, the atmosphere felt warm and relaxed. You both kicked off your shoes, and Hamzah led you to the living room where the kittens were already making themselves comfortable.

"Want to watch a movie?" he asked, picking up the remote.

"Sure," you replied, settling into the couch. "What do you have in mind?"

"I’ve got a few options," he said, scrolling through a list of films. "How about something light? Maybe a comedy?"

"That sounds perfect," you agreed.

He selected a movie, and soon the opening credits were rolling. Red and Blue jumped up onto the couch, each finding a spot next to you. As the movie played, you laughed together at the funny scenes and exchanged comments about the plot and characters.

As time passed, the room grew darker with the setting sun, and the soft glow of the TV became the main source of light. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been sitting until you felt Hamzah’s arm brush against yours. Neither of you moved away, and gradually, you found yourselves leaning into each other, the proximity feeling natural and comforting.

At one particularly funny scene, you both burst out laughing. In the shared moment of mirth, you leaned into him a bit more, and without thinking, you nestled your head on his shoulder. Hamzah tensed for a moment, but then he relaxed, his arm coming up to rest gently around your shoulders.

You glanced up at him, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

"No, it’s okay," he interrupted softly, a small smile playing on his lips. "I’m comfortable if you are."

You nodded, returning the smile. "I am."

With that unspoken agreement, you both settled back into the movie, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a growing sense of closeness. The kittens seemed to sense the change too, snuggling up closer as if they approved of the new arrangement.

As the film continued, you found it harder to concentrate on the screen. Your thoughts kept drifting to how warm and reassuring Hamzah felt beside you. You could hear his steady breathing, and it brought you a sense of peace.

By the time the movie ended, it was quite late. The credits rolled, and neither of you made a move to get up. Instead, you stayed there, comfortably leaning against each other, savoring the moment.

"I guess it’s late," Hamzah finally said, his voice a low murmur.

"Yeah," you replied, not really wanting to move.

He glanced down at you, his eyes soft. "Thank you for today. I really enjoyed it."

"Me too," you said, your voice equally soft.

For a few more minutes, you both lingered there, the silence filled with the unspoken connection between you. Eventually, you knew it was time to leave, but the promise of more moments like this made parting a bit easier. He walked you over to the door slowly, as if savouring the time spent with you.

As you stood at the door, preparing to leave, the warmth of the evening and the close moments you had shared lingered in the air. Hamzah hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if contemplating something.

"Hey," he said softly, drawing your attention back to him. "Before you go…"

You felt your heart beating a little faster. "Yeah?"

He took a small step closer, his expression earnest and a bit vulnerable. "I know this might be sudden, but, um, would it be alright if I kissed you?"

Surprise flashed across your face, but it was quickly replaced by a rush of warmth and excitement. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made your heart swell.

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hamzah's smile widened, relief evident in his expression. He stepped even closer, and the world around you seemed to fade away as he leaned in. Your heart raced as his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, testing the waters.

The kiss deepened, a gentle exploration filled with the sweetness of the moment. You felt a surge of warmth as you melted into him, the tension of the evening dissolving into something beautiful. Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, feeling a perfect connection that transcended words.

When you finally pulled away, both of you lingered close, breaths mingling in the small space between you. Hamzah looked at you, his eyes bright with happiness. "Wow," he said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That was..."

"So lovely," you replied, still feeling the warmth of the moment lingering on your lips.

"I’m really glad I asked," he continued, his voice softening. "I didn’t want to rush anything, but I couldn’t help myself."

You smiled, feeling a sense of excitement building within you. "I’m glad you did."

After a moment, you knew it was time to go. You stepped back, giving him a lingering look. "Drive safe, and text me when you get home?"

"I will," he promised, his eyes still holding yours with a mix of affection and tension leaving his body. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hamzah," you said, your heart fluttering as you turned to head to your car.

As you drove away, you couldn’t help but replay the kiss in your mind, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. The evening had been everything you had hoped for and more, and the promise of what was to come filled you with a sense of comfort. You looked forward to the next time you would see Hamzah, hoping your next kiss would be as special as that one.

[sansaorgana]

— A BETTER PERSON

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — Erik struggles with accepting the fact that his son is not a mutant.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hi, it's me again 😂 This fic can be read as a part two of THIS FIC but doesn't have to be at all. It contains some fighting between Erik and Reader but I promise it all ends well! 💗 Reader’s mutation is NOT specified (as much as it was possible).

WORD COUNT — 3,930

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

A BETTER PERSON

“No,” Erik stood up and clenched his fists to stop himself from using his mutation powers against Charles. “I do not agree,” he stated more calmly now.

“Anybody else?” Charles looked past him at the other teachers sitting inside his office.

No one else said anything, though.

“I’m sorry, Erik, you’ve lost,” Charles smirked at him.

“Fine then,” your husband clenched his jaw. “If you want to let the non-mutant children in this school, I’m leaving. I won’t teach humans.”

“Don’t be too dramatic, Erik,” you stood up as well and put your hand on his shoulder. “We’re building something special here and you know it…”

“Yes, we are,” he snapped at you and pushed your hand away, “but he wants to ruin it,” he pointed at Charles. “This place is a safe space for the mutants. Humans have always been a threat.”

“Well, obviously, the ones who hate mutants won’t be welcome here,” Charles rolled his eyes. “Your wife is right, Erik. You’re overreacting.”

“Oh, really?” Erik tilted his head. “Because I’m sure you’re going to invite everyone here soon. People who are against us so they can know us better and realize we are the same. People who admire us so they can look at us from a closer angle. I am not an animal in the zoo, Xavier, and I certainly am not a lab rat. Never again.”

“Erik, it’s just only about avoiding segregation,” you sighed. “Do you really have to make a scene? We don’t even know yet if we’re going to get permission from the government… It’s just an idea.”

“I am not going to teach non-mutants. End of discussion. They’re not welcome here,” he drawled out and that was when you heard a noise behind the door. An echo of the familiar legs running away as quickly as possible down the corridor.

“Alex…”, you whispered and laid your eyes on Erik to give him a dirty look. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” you snarled at him before running out of Charles’ office.

Your son was fast but he wasn’t extraordinarily fast and he was a child after all, so you caught him pretty fast. In fact, there was nothing extraordinary about him and he was already ten years old, which could only mean one thing that your husband refused to ever address. For Erik, Alex was just a late bloomer but he was the only person in the whole school who was thinking that.

Because the truth was, Xavier’s School already had a non-mutant student. And it was Erik Lehnsherr’s flesh and blood.

“Alex,” you grabbed your son’s shoulder and turned him around. His eyes were full of tears and his hands were shaking. It was breaking your heart to see him like that. “Alex, what were you doing there? It was a meeting for the teachers.”

“I wanted to f-find you,” he sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “Edie did it again…” he sobbed.

Edie was your second child, named after Erik’s mother. She was six years old and her mutant powers had recently started to show. One of her favourite activities was to tease her older brother. She couldn’t understand why he was always so upset instead of teasing her back. She inherited much more from her father than just his mutation.

“What did she do?” You sighed and fixed his ruffled hair.

“Locked me in my room,” he looked down, ashamed of the fact that he had been bullied by a little girl. “I couldn’t open it, she melted the lock.”

You sighed and pressed his head to your chest. Edie’s pranks were starting to get too cruel these days.

“I will talk to her,” you promised him and kissed the top of his head. “Now, about what your father said…” you brought up the topic and Alex burst into tears once again, pressing his face even deeper into the material of your sweater. “He didn’t mean you, love,” you didn’t know what else to say.

“Of course I didn’t,” Erik’s voice made you both turn around. He looked a bit uneasy and he was keeping a distance from you two. “Because you’re a mutant, Alex. You just need more time to figure it out,” your husband added.

“No, I am not!” Alex exclaimed dramatically and ran away again but this time you didn’t chase him. Instead, you approached your husband angrily.

“That was not what he needed to hear,” you drawled out. “What he needs to hear is that you love him nevertheless,” you explained and then you took a step back and furrowed your brow while staring deep into Erik’s bright eyes. He was staring back at you without a word. “Unless you… don’t,” you whispered before turning around and leaving him alone in the middle of the corridor.

You didn’t look for Alex after that. You decided to give him some time to cry alone first and instead of that you focused on giving Edie a lecture. One of many and probably not the last one. You loved her, of course, just like you loved her father. But sometimes you wished she was… less like him. One Erik was enough to handle.

Speaking of him, he was avoiding you for the rest of the day and he seemed to be offended because he didn’t even want to talk to you. When you bumped into him, he didn’t say “sorry” or anything, he just walked on by.

During supper he sat next to you as usual but he kept talking to Raven sitting by his other side. You were playing with your food and watching Edie from the corner of your eye. She seemed to be very giddy and joyful. Too much for a girl who had been scolded by her mother for bullying her brother. She seemed to brag to one of the boys about what she had done earlier. You stopped looking at her and started to search for your son amongst the children by the long table.

“Where is Alex?” You asked out loud after realizing that he wasn’t there.

“Probably still crying in his room,” Edie shrugged her arms and you stood up loudly, making everyone wince at the sound of the squeaking chair.

“(Y/N), let him be,” Erik laid his eyes on you for the first time since morning. “Boys process such things differently.”

“No, they don’t,” you had to fight the urge to slap his face. How could he not even be worried? How could he allow Edie to be so insolent? “Now, if you excuse me, I need to find my son,” you informed everyone and walked out of the dining room to hurry upstairs.

Alex was a son of two teachers so he had the privilege of having his own room next to yours. Not so long ago he had been sharing it with Edie but since she had started to show off her powers they had to be separated. You knocked upon the door and waited for an answer but there was none.

“Alex, baby, open the door, please. It’s me, mummy,” you whispered but there was still no answer. “I’m walking inside, honey,” you pushed the door open.

The room was dark. You put the light on only to find the room empty and your heart skipped a beat at the realization that you had absolutely no idea where your son was.

Desperately, to be absolutely sure, you looked under the bed and inside the closet but he obviously wasn’t there. So you ran back downstairs, feeling like your heart would jump out of your chest any given moment. Your head felt heavy and your ears were ringing.

“He’s not in his room,” you announced after opening the door leading to the dining room with shaky hands. Everyone went silent and looked at you. Seeing your terrified face and trembling arms, they began to worry as well. Erik stood up from the table and approached you slowly.

“He… He’s not… He’s not there, Erik,” you struggled to catch your breath out of growing anxiety as you held onto his sleeve.

“Maybe he’s hiding in the garden,” he tried to calm you down but he began to look worried as well. “I’ll look for him.”

“I will help you,” Hank left the table, too.

“And me,” Raven joined them.

“Can we help as well?” One of the students asked.

“You can stay here and finish your meal,” Charles told him. “Unless any of you has any idea where Alex can be?” he asked but there was a dead silence from all the kids. “Alright then, you stay here. We are going to look for him. I’m sure he’s nearby,” he approached you and took your hand in his. “(Y/N), come with me,” he encouraged you and you nodded before following him outside. You felt like you were inside a bad dream.

“He has never done anything like that… He… He would always tell me everything…” you stuttered out. “He’s a clingy child… With me at least… That’s so unlike him to just… To just make me worry like that.”

“I’m sure Erik will find him,” Charles tried to calm you down and you both went outside where the rest of the adults had been looking for your son.

You could hear their voices calling out Alex’s name but you were too petrified to move and help them. You felt helpless. Ten minutes passed and there was apparently no sign of him still being around the mansion.

“He’s not here,” Hank walked up to you and Charles and shook his head. Erik followed him, paler than ever.

“When was the last time you saw Alex?” Your husband asked you.

“The same time you did,” you snapped at him. “I gave him some time after what you had said to him and it was my mistake. I should have gone after him and left that brat Edie to you.”

“Hey, hey,” Erik took a step back and put his arms in the air like he was giving up, “don’t take it out on me and certainly not on our daughter. Charles,” he looked down at his friend, “you can find Alex, right? You shouldn’t have a problem with that.”

“Well…” Charles sighed and hesitated for a moment, “I’m a telepath but it’s easier to connect with other mutants.”

“Excellent then,” Erik nodded.

“I’m going to try but considering the fact Alex is not a mutant…” Charles began again, less delicately this time.

“He is,” Erik protested, “come on, Xavier, you know that he is. We’ve talked about it, you were supposed to help him to find out what his mutation was. Just because you haven’t found it yet…”

“Wait, what?!” You interrupted him with a scream. It was the first time you had ever heard of it. 

“I tried but… Erik, there is really nothing there…” Charles explained but you didn’t let him finish. You approached your husband and pushed him away.

“Hey!” He exclaimed.

“Stay away!” You yelled. “It’s all your fault, stay away!”

“(Y/N), calm down. Charles needs to focus if you want him to find Alex,” Hank tried to put his arm around you but you pushed him away as well. Your anger and worry made your powers grow stronger and stronger with every minute.

“You’re so full of shit, Erik,” you could feel your whole body melting under the power of your own mutation. Your every nerve and every muscle was filled with anger. You could kill him with a snap of your fingers if you wanted to. “So, your son is a human. In a place like this, though, he is the outsider. He is the one needing protection here. And instead of doing what a father should do, you were pushing him, behind my back, arranging secret sessions with Charles… You… Can’t you see that what you’re doing isn’t far from what has been done to you?” you asked while walking slowly towards him. Those were rare moments to see Erik Lehnsherr genuinely scared of anyone but it was one of them. “He’s not a lab rat or a weapon. He’s a person. And all that boy has ever wanted was for you to love him. You have no idea how many times he’s been asking me about it. Does dad love me? And I have never been brave enough to tell him to ask you instead. Because I was scared of your answer. But now I know it,” you finished with your face only a few inches away from his.

“No, you don’t. You think you do but you don’t,” Erik whispered and swallowed thickly. He wasn’t even trying to defend himself, it was like he had known, deep down, that he deserved it. “You must be insane if you think I don’t love him,” his words were almost inaudible at this point; only for your ears to hear.

“Then act like it,” you drawled out.

“Mrs. Lehnsherr!” One of the children’s voices made you turn around. It was the boy Edie had been talking to earlier. You had noticed a few times that he quite liked to pick on your son as well whenever there was such an opportunity.

“What do you want?” You asked him rudely.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you earlier…” he started as his voice broke. He looked scared and worried. “I know where Alex went… I saw him… I’m sorry, I should have said…” he started crying and you approached him quickly. “I’m so sorry…” he kept repeating.

“Stop apologizing and tell me where he is,” you grabbed him by his shoulders.

“(Y/N),” Charles raised his hand. He didn’t want you to be too rough with the students but you didn’t care. You wanted your son to be safe and back at home.

“I asked him where he was going… He told me he was running away to New York to get adopted by... normal people. I think he took the bus or something,” the boy sniffled.

“When was it?” You asked.

“Not long before supper.”

“He must be on the station or on that bus then,” you heard Erik’s voice. “I’m going,” he added and ran to the hangar to get one of the cars.

You wanted to stop him. To tell him that you should be there, too. But you were so heartbroken after what that student had told you that you couldn’t say a word. You couldn’t believe that your son wanted to be adopted by a different… normal family.

“Let’s go back inside,” you loosened the grip on the boy’s shoulders. “Thank you for telling me. You’ve done the right thing,” you added with a broken smile.

It was almost two in the morning and everyone was asleep except for you and Charles. You were in the living room, waiting for Erik’s return. Edie was also there, she refused to go to her bedroom before seeing Alex again but she fell asleep with her head on your lap around eleven. You were playing with her hair to keep your hands busy. 

Apparently it had been her. She had noticed the other student’s odd behaviour and it had been her threatening him to tell you everything. She had been crying and shaking in your arms and blaming herself. But you weren’t angry with her anymore. She was only six years old and putting a blame on her would be unfair. It would only make her feel even worse. It had been Erik who should have known better. Not her.

“They’re back,” Charles whispered after hearing a car on the driveway.

“Both of them?” You asked, worriedly.

“Yes,” he closed his eyes for a moment, “I can sense them both.”

You sighed with relief and gently moved Edie’s head away from your lap to put it on the sofa’s cushion. Then you stood up and walked out to see Erik and Alex entering the mansion.

When you saw them, you froze for a moment because Alex was being carried by Erik in his arms.

“He’s asleep,” your husband informed you immediately. “He fell asleep on our way here,” Erik explained. “He’s fine,” he added and you nodded.

“You couldn’t just wait at the next bus stop, right?” Charles’ voice interrupted you from behind. He was looking at Erik with a smirk. He had just been looking through his memories to find out what had exactly happened. “You just had to dramatically stop the bus in the middle of the road?”

“Yes, in fact, I had to,” Erik drawled out at his friend, “because my son was in there.”

“Alex!” Edie ran up to you. Her hair was ruffled and her eyes were squinted – she was barely awake – but she had a big smile on her face. Her calling woke Alex up and he moved in Erik’s arms before yawning and looking down at his sister. “Alex!” She called once again and extended her hands towards him. Erik put the boy on the ground so his sister could give him a hug. “I’m sorry I locked you in your room!” She cried happy tears and squeezed her brother tighter.

“It’s okay…” Alex hugged her back.

“I will never do it again!” Edie squealed.

“Thanks…”

“And you?” You crossed your arms and looked at your son.

“I will never do it again either. I’m sorry, mum…” He avoided your eyes, ashamed and scared. You crouched down and hugged him as well to place a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m glad Alex is safe. I’ll leave you now,” Charles nodded his head and went away quietly.

“Where did you even get the money from? For the ticket?” You asked your son.

“From dad’s wallet…” Alex looked down but you laughed instead of scolding him.

“Guess how much he’s taken,” Erik smiled for the first time in hours and you shook your head. “A hundred.”

“A hundred?!” You let out a laugh and Edie giggled. “Alex, how much do you think a ticket to New York costs?”

“I didn’t know how much it would be! I was worried it wouldn’t be enough!” Alex explained and you burst into happy tears of joy and relief to have him back. You kissed his forehead again.

“What did you do with the change?”

“I bought some comic books at the station,” he pointed at his small backpack. “And a bag of chips in case I get hungry.”

“Priorities,” Erik hummed.

“It’s time to go to bed now,” you announced when the clock struck two. “We will talk about it tomorrow before breakfast,” you stood up and Alex nodded. You took him by his hand to take him to his bedroom. Erik picked little Edie up off the ground to carry her upstairs as well. She was so sleepy she looked like she’d fall asleep standing.

When both children were already in their beds, you went to your own bedroom in silence.

“What did you tell him?” You asked when the door closed behind Erik and you were the only awake people in the whole mansion at that hour.

“Well, at first everyone was scared of me, of course…” He started.

“Yeah, no kidding,” you rolled your eyes.

“I told the bus driver my son had run away from home and that he must be there. The guy pointed his finger at Alex immediately. Not many ten year olds travel on their own. I just took him to the car,” Erik explained and sat down on the bed to run his fingers through his hair. He was exhausted.

“So… you didn’t talk to him? You haven’t told him anything?” You were shocked.

“What was I supposed to…? Listen, I was fuming! He stole my money and ran away and he’s only ten! Imagine what he’s gonna be like in five years! Absolute nightmare! I was worried sick and I was angry, so I decided it would be for the best if I shut my mouth. I have a tendency of making everything worse when I speak,” he lowered his voice in the end and put his face in the palms of his hands.

“I was too harsh to you earlier,” you sat next to him and gently took his hands in yours to move them away from his face, “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I was worried.”

“No, you were right,” Erik sighed and looked up to meet your gaze. “I was lying to myself and pushing him. It’s… I didn’t expect to have a human son. We are both powerful mutants, it shouldn’t have happened… Now all my beliefs and opinions and… And everything… It is being questioned. And it makes me feel uneasy,” he confessed but not without the visible struggle.

“Oh, Erik…” you sighed and cupped his face to caress his cheeks with your thumbs. “Perhaps boys really do process such things differently,” you chuckled.

“I’ve maimed and killed for the idea of mutants’ supremacy. If I abandon it now… What would that make me? A hypocrite. A traitor to the cause,” he clenched his jaw as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“It would make you a good father, Erik,” you wiped that tear with your thumb, “and that’s all that should matter. Also, people change. It’s a natural process. You’ve changed once already, after being hurt by Schmidt. Because before that you hadn’t been like this either,” you reminded him and a short silence occurred between you two.

“Why do you always have to be right?” he sighed and you laughed softly before leaning in to place a kiss on his forehead.

When you went to Alex’s room in the morning, he was still asleep, which was not surprising after a night like that. You sat on the edge of his bed to caress your son’s hair and Erik opened his backpack to look at the comic books your son had bought.

“They’re about superheroes,” he noticed.

“Aren’t they all?” You asked.

“Mum…?” Alex opened his eyes slowly and covered his mouth to yawn before rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, sleepy head,” you greeted him softly. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he sat up and extended his hands to give you a hug. You leaned in to put your arms around him and squeeze him tight.

“Your dad has something to tell you,” you said and moved back. Erik cleared his throat and sat next to you as Alex watched carefully while making big eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Erik started with an apology, which was quite unusual for him. “I’m sorry I made an impression that…” he hesitated. “No, it wasn’t making an impression. No more excuses. I’m sorry for pushing you into being a mutant. You are…” he sighed. “You are perfect the way you are because you are my son,” he finished. He had never expected to give such a talk to a non-mutant.

You felt tears forming in your eyes at his words and you squeezed Erik’s cold hand to give him more courage.

“But… I don’t have any cool superpowers,” Alex whined. “I wish I had.”

“Your superpower is being yourself and that’s enough,” Erik assured him. “And I’m sorry I haven’t seen it earlier. Even though you can’t defend yourself as well as me or your mum or your sister, I will never let anything bad happen to you,” he leaned in to give Alex a hug and pressed his son’s head to his chest. “You’re making me a better person and I was scared of that but I am not anymore. I love you.”

MASTERLIST

[miniy00ng1]

Die With A Smile

Five Hargreeves x Female!Reader

wc: 1447 (not proofread)

warnings: swearing, death, lmk if i missed anything!

find my masterlist here

hiii lovelies! i absolutely love the song die with a smile and felt it fit super well with tua, so this is the outcome. i actually had two separate ending ideas for this fic, so if you'd like me to release the alternate ending (it's a happy ending) lmk in the comments. as usual pls ignore any grammar errors and i hope you enjoy! thank you <3

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The Hargreeves Siblings and their families are gathered in the broken down Umbrella Academy. After fighting the giant hybrid monster, Ben and Jennifer, that is consuming everything and everyone in its path, the siblings are trying to come up with a plan of action. 

Five, your husband, has disappeared back to the subway station where he spent several years trapped with you with little hope on finding a way back home. He left in hopes to find something that he might’ve overlooked, a solution to the cleanse. He left you behind to help care towards his injured siblings and in hopes that you could be the brains while he was gone. 

“How the hell do we beat a thing that keeps getting stronger and bigger everytime we try and fight it?” Diego asks in exasperation. The siblings pace the living area trying to figure out how to beat the monster. “It’s only a matter of time before it consumes everything and the world ends…again.” Viktor states matter-of-factly.

At this time, Five blinks into the living room and his eyes immediately finds yours–there’s a look in his eyes of realization and acceptance. You get off the couch and make your way to him, interlocking fingers and giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

“I went back to the subway station and had a very long and strange conversation with me…well multiple mes. But anyways, we are the reason why all of this is happening,” Five continues to explain to his siblings how they should have never existed but they do and that they have caused a shattered timeline. “That must’ve been what Ben was trying to show me back at the department store, he showed me the original timeline. He was trying to tell me that maybe, the cleanse isn’t a bad thing.” Viktor says, recalling the serene scene that was the original timeline. 

Five recaptures his siblings’ attention, “We have to let the Durango merge with the Cleanse. It’s the only way to fix the timeline…” “And what happens to us?” “We cease to exist.” Five replies to Diego’s question, leaving everyone in the room too stunned to speak.

“Absolutely not Five,” Your words come out shaky, “There’s got to be another way.” “Yeah! I’m with Y/N. It turns out, I don’t actually like dying all that much.” Klaus says agreeing with you. Five looks at you with hurt in his eyes, he would never willingly leave you but there’s no other way to save the world. “Y/N, I’ve been through every possible outcome, there’s nothing we can do to stop this. My siblings and I should’ve never existed in the first place. We don’t belong here, we never did.” Your eyes well up with tears, “But you guys do belong, you’re my family, you’re my love Five. If you’re not here, I don’t belong in the timeline either.” Five shakes his head at your words.

“What about our families Five? What happens to them if we cease to exist? Diego asks glancing towards to other room where his children reside. “I’m not sure.” Five says defeated while tightening his grip on your hand. The siblings look at each other unsure of what to do. Allison sits up from the couch, still clutching her stomach from her injuries, “What about that train station? Can you bring them there? Y/N could go with them and make sure they’re safe since she’s been to the station before.” Before Five can answer, Claire enters the room, rushing to her mom.

Five brings you to the side of the room for a little bit of privacy. No words are exchanged as he pulls you into his embrace, his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tight as if you would disappear from his arms. You feel your neck dampen, this is your breaking point. Tears stream down your cheeks as you push your face into Five’s chest, trying to get as close to him as possible. Sobs rack your body, you begin to hiccup as your breathing becomes uneven. 

Five tries to pull away to get you to breathe. You sob harder pulling him tighter, “Just hold me for a little while longer. Please Five, just hold me.” Five responds by cradling you in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on you head, “I’m so sorry Y/N. I love you so much. I wish there was another way.”

The Umbrella Academy is a mess of emotions as the siblings say goodbye to their loved ones and accept their fate. You stand with Claire and Lila and Diego’s family waiting for Five to blink you to the subway station. You wave to the siblings that you have grown to know and love so much. Five grabs your hand and blinks the group out of the house. 

“Okay everyone, follow me onto the train, we’re going on a little trip!” You try to put a fake smile on your face to ease the nerves of Diego and Lila’s children. You guide the group onto the train, ensuring that everyone got on before you. After stepping on you turn to face the train door, Five is standing there with a sad smile on his face. The only thing separating you two is a solid yellow line on the platform. The strange announcement that you’ve heard a number of times before goes off over the PA system. You’re heart begins to race, the doors are going to close any second now and this will be the last time you ever see Five. He continues to stare at you.

The doors begin to make noise, signalling that they’re going to close. Your eyes quickly glance between the closing doors and Five. Five’s eyes widen as he realizes what you’re about to do but it’s too late to stop you. Five instead catches you as you stumble into his arms, “What did you just do Y/N?” “I told you earlier Five, you’re my everything. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. If you’re not with me in the original timeline…what’s the point? The world is ending, I want to be next to you.”

Upon your return to the Umbrella Academy, the Hargreeves are shocked to say the least. “Are they safe? Did they make it?” Lila bombards you with questions. You nod in response and she wraps you in her arms, thanking you. “So…what do we do now? Should we say our favorite moments with each other?” Luther asks awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as nerves surge through his body. Everybody shoots down Luther’s ideas and elects to just sit and wait. 

You and Five are seated on a couch, he holds you tight. He wouldn’t say it but he was scared shitless. You read him like a book and bring your lips to his ear, “It’ll be okay Love. I’m right here with you and I wouldn’t change my decision.” He turns his head to look at you and gives you a kiss that says everything he needs to. 

Suddenly, a shrill screech and crash can be heard outside the house. “You guys! I think he’s coming and I don’t think he’s happy.” Luther calls out while looking at the large monster approaching. Five grips your hand and stands up at the announcement. You and the Hargreeves move away from the window and form a circle on the other side of the living room. The monster hybrid’s tentacle-like appendages bust throught the glass window by the front door first. Then the window by the main stairway. In no time the tentacles were approaching the siblings from every angle.

“Relax and just let it do what it wants.” Five calls out to his siblings as the tentacles begin to reach their feet. Five looks at your intertwined hands and smiles, “I know I was a hardass, but I really do love you guys, as much as you do drive me crazy.” “Ew Five, I know we’re dying or whatever but don’t get all sappy on us now.” Lila says with fake disgust. “Thank you for letting me be in your crazy family. I love you guys so much.” You chime in, a tear slipping down your face. Lila reaches out to grab your left hand. Tears are now streaming down everyones faces as they hold hands with one another. The tentacles now enveloping up to their stomachs and climbing higher and higher.

You turn your head to look at Five and he mirrors your movements. It is now up to your chin and before you world goes dark, you’re able to make out Five’s final three words–said with a smile.

taglist:

@ohmyitsfaith @clairoscharm

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED FOR THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER MAGAZINE.

THAT EPISODE IS GOING TO SATISFY SOME DRAGON-HUNGRY FANS. RHAENYS CERTAINLY MET HER DEMISE, BUT AEGON'S FATE WAS LEFT A LITTLE MORE VAGUE.

"It’s a seismic event that’s changed the future going forward with these characters."

"Aegon’s fate remains unknown."

"I don’t want to spoil anything for anyone."

"But going into episode five, you are going to see the fallout of Rook’s Rest, which I can’t wait for people to see."

"It’s a massive blow for Team Black."

"The line in the sand has been drawn, and Aemond just crossed that line."

"And there’s no going back. I’m sure there will be retaliation."

WHAT ARE AEMOND'S TRUE MOTIVATIONS IN THIS WAR? IF NOT LOYALTY, WHAT IS IT THAT'S DRIVING HIM?

"I think there are many things that are driving him, but one of them that I loved to play with and explore was this idea that he wants his mum."

"Every time I shared a scene with Olivia Cooke around the council table, every time I looked at Alicent Hightower, I very much imagined Aemond and Alicent sitting on a Dornish beach, far from war, sipping on piña coladas [...]"

"Aemond having become the war hero and managing to make his mum happy, in his eye, so to speak."

"Whether or not that’s Alicent’s version of happiness is another thing."

"But that’s how Aemond sees it. So I think that’s one of his is driving motivations."

"Also, what Alicent does in episode seven of season one, that’s something that Aemond doesn’t forget."

"When they’re all arguing about where Aemond had heard this illegitimate [child of Harwin] Strong [rumor] from, Alicent went back to the idea that this kid had been physically damaged and changed for life."

"She was the only voice that was backing him up in that moment."

WHO DOES AEMOND BELIEVE BELONGS ON THE IRON THRONE?

"You don’t necessarily know what is going on behind Aemond’s eye."

"He’s a very calculative person."

"He’s not just your one-dimensional black cat and mindless sociopath kind of character."

"He is thinking at all times."

"You see that in the first four episodes — in so much of them he operates from the peripheries."

"But, does he even want the throne? (Shrugs)"

HAS HE FALLEN VICTIM TO THE "HEIR AND THE SPARE" RESENTMENT, LIKE DAEMON?

"He feels that Aegon lacks the perseverance to be king."

"Aegon says it himself: He has no wish to rule."

"Whereas Aemond, he’s been studying with the masters."

"He’s been training with the sword, so he very much feels like he would make a worthier king, whether or not that’s what Aemond wants."

DOES DAEMON SEE HIMSELF IN AEMOND?

"That’s a good question."

"I don’t know if I could answer it."

"Maybe it’s one for Matt [Smith, who plays Daemon]"

"But I think a part of Aemond would wish that Daemon saw Aemond in himself."

"There’s so much of his image that lends itself to that idea that Aemond is very much paying homage to a young Daemon Targaryen, with the Targaryen black and the long hair."

"It’s very reminiscent of the rogue prince. Aemond being Daemon’s biggest stan, he would definitely want to live in Daemon’s head rent-free."

DO YOU THINK SEEING AEMOND IN A MORE VULNERABLE LIGHT SOMEHOW MAKES HIM MORE FRIGHTENING? IT'S LIKE THE PERSONAL VENDETTA — WHETHER IT'S AGAINST HIS BROTHER AEGON, RHAENYRA OR ANYONE ELSE — BECOMES A LITTLE SHARPER.

"I very much wanted to portray the image of someone who had manufactured their body into a lethal weapon."

"This kid doesn’t need armor. He doesn’t need to be brandishing a Valyrian steel sword to appear like he could ultimately end those characters’ lives in those moments."

"There’s something powerful in that regard. Me and Geeta Patel, we always talked about the possibility, up to that scene, of maybe Aemond wrapping a blanket around himself as he was leaving, or maybe using his hands to cover himself as he was leaving."

"But we were very-like minded in the respect that this is a character who does not care what you think about him."

"And that carelessness, it’s quite scary."

"Talking about that code coming into place, he cannot be seen as weak at all costs."

"Love in Aemond’s world is seen as a weakness."

"And so he has to put duty above that."

"He puts strength above that."

WOULD AEMOND BE IN THE SAME DANGER THAT HE IS WITHOUT VHAGAR?

"Probably not."

"He recognizes that he’s a young man who possesses a power that no one else has in Vhagar."

"He can do things that no one else can do, and she very much shapes the dynamic of any room that he walks into."

"He doesn’t need to be anything, because her shadow looms so large behind him."

"And so if he’s being threatening, it’s not because he needs to be — it’s because he wants to be."

IS IT WEIRD TO SEE SO MANY FANS CRUSHINT ON YOUR CHARACTER? THEY HAVE BEEN DEBATING WHO IS MORE 'BABYGIRL': DAEMON OR AEMOND.

"I haven’t got social media, so I don’t see it. But one of the results of not having social media is that it produces these beautiful, badass, fun letters from people from all across the globe."

"To read that, I take it all as motivation, whether we’ve had a good reaction or a negative reaction."

"I never take it for granted."

"But is Aemond babygirl? I don’t know."

"It’s a dilemma. What’s the definition of a babygirl?"

I THINK IT'S AN ATTRACTIVE CHARACTER THAT PEOPLE TAKE PITY ON A LITTLE BIT. SENSIBLE, A BIT VULNERABLE. MAYBE THEY THINK HIS HEART'S IN THE RIGHT PLACE.

"Like maybe there is good underneath it all."

"I’ll take the compliment."

WHAT'S TO COME FROM AEMOND THIS SEASON?

"I don’t want to spoil it, but it’s going to be good."

WOULD YOU SWITCH TO TEAM BLACK?

"No, no — I’d want to stay on Team Green."

WHAT'S TO COME FROM EWAN MITCHELL? HAVE YOU GOT ANYTHING IN THE PIPELINE THAT YOU'RE EXCITED ABOUT?

"Nothing is set in stone yet."

"I’m down to the last few for something that I really want and I’m not going to say what it is because as soon as I do, I won’t get it."

"[I’m up for] any challenge, any character."

"I love horror, horror is definitely a genre I’d love to venture into."

[featguler]

bring salvation back ────── you calm him down after some camera flashes ruined your date night.

⌗ pairing : aurélien tchouaméni x reader ⌗ tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. pre-established relationship with aure. NOT PROOFREAD possibly very shitty. ⌗ wordcount : 849 ⌗ notes : i miss him so much it's a little crazy.... title is from i'll be there by mariah carey,,, heheheh ♡ masterlist.

Neither you nor Aurélien really enjoy having the radio on when you drive in his car. The space between you had always been filled with free-flowing conversations or the music Aurélien listens to, connecting his car to his phone via bluetooth. It’s just odd listening to music or people you don’t know, when each other’s company is perfectly perfect most times you are in his car.

Tonight, though, you decide to have the radio on.

Not that it matters at all really, especially with the voice turned down so low that you can barely hear the announcer’s voice. It’s just something to distract the two of you from the thick tension brewing in the air.

Aurélien is not speaking. Instead, he looks out the window, inhaling deeply and blowing all of the air out in one short exhale.

He did not mean to throw a fit over some fans.

You know he didn’t.

It was just a long day, after a long week, in the middle of a long month; and what was supposed to be the first proper date night the two of you had had in a while, eating in a nice, outdoor restaurant, was ruined by some fans forgetting to turn off their phone flashes.

It was lucky that you managed to drag Aurélien away from the scene just as his voice was breaking from the border of “polite, but stern” and stepping over to “downright rude and insane”.

And now you are in his car, in the restaurant’s parking lot. The engine is turned on and the AC is turned up—against his will, you hold one of his hands hostage on your lap, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Are you calm now?”

Hearing your question, Aurélien let out a breath. It was almost a scoff. Maybe it was a scoff. You don’t argue.

“No,” he murmurs, still hiding his mouth behind his hand as his elbow idles on the armrest of his side of the door.

“Come on,” you squeeze your hand around his even tighter, gently tugging it towards your lap, “Look at me, baby.”

He groans, glancing at you for a moment, and eyebrows raised. “What?”

You offer him a smile, swaying his hand on your lap, and when he catches the corner of his own lips tugging upwards, he shakes his head.

“The management’s gonna be fucking pissed,” he whines, throwing his head back against the headrest as his eyelids flutter close, focusing back on the issue at hand. “They got all that on video, too, it’s probably going viral right now. I hate everything about this.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, your smile dropping. “You’re gonna have fans backing you up, you know.”

He laughs, one eye shooting open to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Tchouméni is human too!” You lift your voice a pitch higher, reciting fake comments from fake fans possibly defending his actions. “You can’t follow him around and expect him to not get angry!”

“Stop it,” he chuckles, lifting his hand, still engulfed in yours, to press a kiss against your knuckles. “They’re technically not doing anything wrong.”

“They were taking pictures of us,” you turn on the passenger seat to look at him.

“Yeah, well, they’re fans,” he sighs, rubbing his free hand over his temples for a moment. In this moment, you can see the regret really settling deep into him—regret over lashing out at those poor people. “It’s kind of what they do, huh? Bet they were in the restaurant before we even came.”

“True fans don’t take pictures without their favourite footballer’s consent and ruin the first date night they had with their partner in a while!” Your “fan” voice comes back, drawing the sweet laugh from his throat once again.

“Babe,” he presses the back of your hand against his mouth to hide his amusement.

“Don’t think about it,” you grin. “You did nothing wrong, right? We paid for our food—we didn’t finish it, but that’s not on us!—and we even tipped the valet and the waitress.”

“Right,” he nods, smiling against the back of your hand. “Alright,” he breathes out, and you can feel his anxiety emanating from the way his breath shakes, “I just gotta worry about this… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you repeat, nodding your head.

He presses another kiss to your hand, sighing. “Right now, I’ll just be miserable.”

“Not miserable!” You fuss, “Just… don’t think about it.”

“I can’t,” he sinks to the driver’s seat. “I don’t wanna open my phone. You take it, ‘kay, babe? Be my manager for a day.”

“Oh, come on—” You sigh, raising your free hand. “Okay, okay, sure. But if you miss a call from whoever at Équipe de France, it’s not my—”

“Fine, fine!” He groans, looking at you with puppy eyes, and you stick out a tongue at him.

And after a while of trying to fish out some empathy from you, he gives up and brings your jaw closer to press a kiss against your lips.

And you smile against his soft hums.

[sweetsoona]

Watched more deleted scenes and it’s so clear that Mae saw Noa as a potential friend. Not just as a tool to use or an inevitable enemy.

During the campfire scene after Mae reveals she can speak, her and Noa were going to have a moment to themselves where they were going to talk about what they saw in the telescope & about the meaning of dreams. It was a very vulnerable conversation of Noa talking about his father and Mae talking about her mother. They were bonding not only over their mutual confusion about stars and space, but also over their parents.

Towards the end of the convo, Noa says something self deprecating and Mae stops him, saying he’s different from the others, before she walks away to sleep.

It was a really nice, touching moment between the two and I don’t think Mae was lying. Even she seemed surprised by her own sincerity. Like she’s still grappling with the idea that maybe Noa is different. Maybe apes aren’t all the same. Like this is the start of a very small seed undoing her preconceptions.

The scene definitely wasn’t them becoming besties, they’re still very far from that if they reach it at all. But I think Mae was beginning to see the POTENTIAL for a positive relationship. Something she didn’t expect traveling with an ape.

Which makes the finale where Mae holds the gun behind her back even more heartbreaking. Because she fears she might have to put down one of the VERY FEW apes she didn’t have to be afraid of. That she might not have had to be enemies with. Raka and Noa are the first apes she’s ever met that treated her with kindness, mercy, and compassion. Raka died saving her life, and now she might have to take Noa’s. It’s excruciating how alone Mae is.

But then Noa reminds her that maybe friendship between apes and humans is still possible. And Mae says she doesn’t know, but then she accepts Raka’s necklace and cries and leaves in peace, and it’s clear which path she subconsciously prefers (co-existence), it’s just going to take her some time to reach the conclusion herself.

While the deleted scene had to be scrapped because the subplots it covers got scrapped, I wish at least another version or rewrite of it had been made so it could’ve kind’ve stayed. That moment of them letting their walls down by the fire was really touching!

❌ Don’t tag as ship ❌

[fan-goddess]

MY ANALYSIS OF THE SCENE BELOW

Gif and photo credit goes to @barbieaemond

A/N: First of all! I want to say these are personal opinions and ideas I have come up with and discussed further on! None of the things I will say are confirmed! I am merely speculating and debating theories! The start is less on topic but it gets more focused the more I talk.

I didn’t want to bother users by directly tagging but there users are there and in some cases links to their posts are added in bold. I also bolded certain quotes.

Okay, first of all I want to discuss the words they had playing when they showed this scene before we look into the scene itself. When listening to the voiceover I couldn't tell who it was who was saying the quote, but after putting on the captions I found its Larys Strong which is interesting given his character is pretty much the master of whispers. He's the man who knows everything on everyone the man behind the curtains as shown in season 1 when he manipulated Alicent to make her believe she was responsible for Harrenhals fire and therefore make her guilty enough for her to feel the need to keep Larys in kingslanding where hes at his most powerful. Why go back to Harrenhal and trust his birdies to bring him the information while he sits back when he can do the dirty work himself? That is a key aspect of his character which is why it makes the quote so noteworthy.

The quote itself though is this: The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. Even the use of camera shots which are placed while he's saying that have meaning, as when he says the enemy without its showing Rhaenyra who has lost her daughter, her son, her crown and her throne. And when he says may be fought with swords Aegon shows to be possibly mourning the loss of Jaehaerys, and it's known that after finding out about blood and cheese Aegon went on a rampage killing all ratcatchers in the city. This is showing the shots they’re showing in this line have meaning, meaning we need to take into consideration the scenes/words they show next.

The shot saying The enemy within shows Daemon walking down in a dimly torch lit tunnel somewhere underground with no real indication of where he is. Perhaps they'll play around with blood and cheese by having Daemon come with them to show them the tunnels needed to get to Helaenas chambers, but that would not make sense as it's been highly discussed how Dyana (A maid shown in season 1 who had been a victim of Aegon) would be a part of season 2 for a few episodes, so its much more likely she'll be the one guiding blood and cheese to Helaenas chambers. Though I must say I feel Dyana will most likely be punished and killed for this as she has affectively been part of a plot to kill the innocent son of Helaena. I suspect her guilt will show, and maybe Alicent or maybe even Aegon himself can see that she knows something and questions her, leading to Dyanas confession and death.

Though the scene with Aemond as Larys says is more insidious, that is what caught my eye and no doubt brought you here. We can still that the whole line as part of the reasoning for the use of that scene, as I have discussed with @/anjelicawrites and we have thought of the possibility on this being Aemond crumbling down from his usual, "Tis I the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be-" This is a new side of Aemond. A version of him which we beleive is him finally directly suffering for his actions in the war, AKA killing Luke and indirectly causing the death of Jaehaerys. He looks as though he is becoming something that even he said he would never become as he even says to Criston, as Anjelica mentioned to me, that the two of them were people with morals. It's honestly quite an interesting take as by having the usually stoic Aemond break down in front of this woman, the identity of whom I will talk further on later, shows even he is not safe and that no one is truly immune to the grief of war and that sacrifices must be made by all.

Now we do not know the setting in where the photo takes place but if this truly is a brothel then maybe Aemond went back to the place which truly psychologically hurt him in order to enact punishment on himself, as what punishment can really be done after what Aemond has had to go through. Torture is not an option especially since he's already had to suffer through the major damages of loosing an eye which has already permanently damaged not only Aemonds vision but his whole nervous system. There is a post where a lovely individual goes through the medical side of Aemonds injury which I shall link here for those who would like to take a further look. Going to the brothels as well could be a sign of him becoming what he hates most of all. Aegon. Aegon has always been Aemonds biggest jealousy as he has everything Aemond wants. Aegon has the title of first born son, two eyes, a valyrian wife, heirs, even an actual inheritance and yet he throws it all alway and very easily wanted to when Aegon tried to convince Aemond to allow him to board that boat to wherever he was planning to run off too (Probably Lys when you think about all the people there who have silver hair and the violet eyes.) To see Aemond slowly develop into Aegon would be almost strangely poetic to see as he becomes the epitome of what he hates and wanted most, especially when its just the worst side of Aegon he becomes and not the good parts.

Now onto the context of the scene! The way Aemond is laid on the women suggests intimacy, as he has his hair put down naturally, has his sapphire eye on pure display, and most noticeably of all is naked as the day he was born. He also has his back to the person, which to him especially given his lack of vision on his left side, means he trusts them enough to be vulnerable. People are heavily implying that Aemond is in a brothel, but when you think about how Aemond reacted to the brothel owner in the first season, who it turned out to be the woman who SA'd 10 year old him, I do not believe he would go back there willingly with that much sense of vulnerability around those sort of people. But when you think about the idea of him going back there to punish himself for his misdeeds then it cannot be ruled out as a possibility. Though someone mentioned it didn't seem right how Aemond was the one in the nude while the woman he is laying his head on is still fully dressed, which is certainly odd especially when you remember that when we got a first glimpse of the whores they pretty much walked around the room stark naked with very little clothing. Perhaps Aemond walked in with her naked and demanded she dress in clothing that was either laying about or even brought her clothes for her to wear (possibly Helaenas or even his mothers) we will not know until we watch the scene on screen.

When discussing the position Aemond is in with the woman too like I said earlier defenitely gives an idea on intimacy, possibly bordering on motherly. We know that when Aemond returns from storms end and tells his family of what he had done, 'Queen alicent went pale when she heard what he had done, crying "mother have mercy on us all." nor was ser otto pleased. "you only lost one eye" he is reported to have said. "how could you be so blind?" In the books it is said that since Aemond did kill Luke with intention to kill, he was expecting to revieve pretty much a heroes welcome. But since they changed that and make Lukes death accidently Aemond will no doubt go back to kingslanding feeling grief and regret, with maybe some happiness that he finally in his own way got revenge back for Luke taking his eye. Going back to the almost motherly seeming position he is in, I suggested that perhaps Aemond went to the brothel for a sort of motherly comfort for what he has done as Alicent almost certainly will not be giving it to him for what he has done. Perhaps he went there to get comfort from women but not in a sexual way but in an emotional way so he can feel less at fault for what he has done, even when the physical reminder haunts him daily.

Some people have suggested this to be Alicent who he is with, and whilst that makes sense given the intimacy of the position he's in it does not make much sense to me as why would he be naked with his mother. That to me is more of an Aegon move than an Aemond move. Though it was also brought up how she possibly came into his chambers at night whilst he sleeps nudes which very well could be a possibility so I've decided not to rule out that idea.

Another possible idea on who the woman is is the brothel lady from season 1 who I talked about earlier as being the one who SA’d Aemond when he was 10 years old. When looking at how other people have viewed the picture and came across a user named @/scaly-freaks who gave great insight on this topic which I shall leave a link for here. Firstly they mention how of course CSA is a sensitive topic, I want to mention that first. Though what they further talked about what how in some cases a victim can subconsciously find traits of their abusers in romantic partners (which thinking about it may be why he went for Alys given that she was a much older woman similarly to the brothel worker) or they can return to their abuser even at an older age. I won’t discuss these two points further as consideration for those who may feel triggered with this topic and so I will just say to click on the link for the post and read the rest there. Like I said about Alicent, I will not rule out this brothel woman as a possibility especially as it’s supposedly been confirm that she has filmed some nude scenes for season two. We do not know if she will be the woman in the scene, especially since in the picture the woman is seen wearing clothing, she may have filmed some general brothel scenes involving Aegon. I read another user @/lovelykhaleesiii theory about who the woman was and she said it was the brothel women and that it was her, as possibly Aegon may have taken him to the brothel to celebrate Luke’s death as we’re apparently getting scenes of Aegon at the whore house. This would make a lot of sense given the evidence shown and makes it a lot more believable as to why Aemond is in a brothel in the first place as like I had mentioned earlier it’s a more Aegon thing to do not really an Aemond act. Also a user named @/magnificentdelusionr has spoken out about how apparently the woman Aemond is with and the brothel lady share the same scar, so my belief in this being the woman has increased I’ll tell you that now. Though like I said, I will not rule her out as a possibility. The evidence for the brothel is bellow. I think this may be the most likely theory honestly given all the evidence that has been shown for her to be the one Aemond is with.

Now, this third possibility for who the woman is technically unknown as we do not know who she is. The actress from the scenes shown appears to be a dancer and the theory as it shows in the photo shown bellow is that she may have been sent by Mysaria as a distraction for Aemond. But looking at the scenes (pictures of which are shown in the twitter post down bellow) I don’t believe the scene in the top right is of Aemond and her, purely from the fact Aemond does not wear rings and the fact it looks very similar to Daemons ring. Furthermore the woman looks as though to be a younger Aemma purely from her face shape so that is why I’ve decided to rule out this theory. I will admit that it’s a high possibility that Aemond would be seduced by a dragonseed, as in my mind Aemond wants tradition of his culture. If he could’ve he would’ve married Helaena, as those are the ways of his people and the culture he cares for. He also, as was shown in the scene where Driftmarks inheritance was called into question, is seen to have a great admiration for Daemon who has married two women of Valyrian blood and has fathered technically 6 children (two of which did not survive past the womb). Aemond in my mind if the war never happened would’ve 100% been a sort of student under Daemons wing so in my mind it is not hard to imagine Aemond as wanting to mimic Daemon in his own way, that way being bedding a Valyrian woman. Yet even so when looking at the dragonseed people believe to be the woman Aemond was with I believe she plays a different part of season 2, my belief is that her role of season 2 is to be one of the dragonseeds team black or team green hunt down to try and recruit, as it was said team black went around Westeros finding anyone of dragon blood and offering them a chance of a dragon. So I do not think she is who Aemond is with.

Now the final idea on who the woman is is Alys Rivers. I have seen people freaking out over the idea of Alys changing her looks to seduce Daemon, and that is who we see in the scene shown at the top left of the twitter post screenshotted above. But that is not Alys style as there is honestly less of a chance she could get shit done with Daemon. What there is though is a chance she could use Aemond given he was younger, more naive and ultimately more emotional and needing an outlet she is happy to become to ensure her freedom. Though in context with the scene, when discussing the idea about Alys with @/anjelicawrites, she brought up the idea about Alys possibly visiting Aemond in a dream. This lead me to think about her doing this which would ultimately force Aemond to come to Harrenhal and fulfil his ‘duty’ of coming to Alys and giving her a son of pale hair. I spoke to her saying how I like the idea of Alys visiting Aemond in his dreams, as this would further the witch allegations. With the context of the scene though I believe she could put this image of a finally calm Aemond who is finally at peace with himself in his mind and make him crave that part of himself. This would ultimately force him to come to Harrenhal in the future. One thing I do want to bring up is this connection that was brought to my attention by user @/boundlessfantasy. They made the connection about Alys possibility being the woman holding Aemond in a dream since Ewan said in the interview with TGC where they discussed three scenes from season 1, that the process of killing Luke haunts his dreams possibly hinting at a dream aspect of the season. This may end up being just a sarcastic comment, but if this actually a hidden Easter egg then I must applaud Ewan for being so sneaky. There is a screenshot of the interview down bellow with the line also a link to the interview here.

We cannot see the woman’s face therefore we cannot be sure on this woman’s identity, but out of these four main theories on the woman’s identity I think this is most strongest in my opinion. Though us could very well be some random women we’ve never seen in the series before so I very much am not exoecting my theories or anyone else’s to be particularly right. I accept them all (pretty much) but am expecting pretty much for the unexpected.

Some other theories though I would like to take into consideration is the idea it’s Helaena in the picture. I do like that idea as it brings further this idea of Helaemond, a ship I do enjoy personally, especially as they hinted at the idea that Aemond was the father of Helaenas children. The clothing the woman is wearing by the looks of it does seem to be a similar shade of blue that Helaena is usually seen wearing, and there are seem similarities in the hands (this idea was brought to my attention by @/lady-phasma who has talked on this idea on their account) Though I do suggest you click on the photos bellow to see them much more up close as then it’ll be a clearer image. Helaena and Aemond have been shown to be close together so it’s no surprise if he’d want to break down and show weakness with her. It’s a very intimate position as his back is to her showing he in his own way trusts the woman, making it believable this woman could be Helaena. I haven’t made this a main theory as there are some more compelling evidence for the other cases but still I will say this theory is quite strong especially when looking at other theories like the idea the woman is Alicent.

And the final theory on who the person is which I would like to take into consideration is that the person Aemond is with is Aegon. Now I’m sorry to have to break it to the Aegmond shippers but I do believe out of all these 6 theories I’ve talked about this one is least likely. For one it’s clearly a woman who Aemond is with, given the way the body is shaped, even when we cannot see her breasts. I will admit I have seen people though speculating it’s Aegon which is why I’ve decided to mention it and discuss it. One user named @/cyeco13 has done some incredible art of what it would look like if Aegon was the person Aemond was with and I shall link it here for those who wish to go see it (I do recommend it!)

Okay, out of the six Ive decided to rank those that I believe are most believable to be the woman!

1) The brothel madam

2) Helaena + Alys (as I’m tied with these theories not gonna lie)

3) Alicent

4) The unnamed dancing dragonseed woman in the trailer

5) Aegon

This is all I really can say on the matter as there are constant new theories daily and sad to say I cannot directly talk about them all. Still send me your favourite theories I am interested in hearing and if people would like debating them with me.

[drivinmeinsane]

COLT SEAVERS {Scene Partner}

{ drabble } ※ { masterlist }

※ Pairing: Colt Seavers x GN!Reader

※ Summary: The stunt guy gets recruited to stand in for your scene partner during a sex scene for a highly anticipated blockbuster.

※ Rating: 18+ for highly suggestive content (simulated sex)

※ Word count: 1,157

“If I’m not going to be the main focus of the lens, then forget it! I spent too long in the gym to get sidelined like this.”

You’re leaning against a headboard on the movie set watching as your co-star throws another tantrum. This is just another one of the many that he’s had over the course of filming. It’s been a rough two months and you’re already behind schedule as it is due to his theatrics. You groan and sag against the mattress. You hadn’t even particularly wanted to do the scene with him, but at this point you would gladly let him flex and posture all over you just to get it done so everyone could move forward.

The director desperately tries to talk him down, but he keeps shouting at her. Finally, he throws his hands up and loudly announces that he is not getting in bed shirtless with you because it won’t be a glamorous sex scene. He actually walks off set entirely.  There are a few tensely quiet moments while his agent chases him down and tries to beg the actor to set aside his arrogance and come back on set. The moment the agent returns empty handed with a defeated shake of his head, chaos erupts around you. 

They scramble to find a solution. Two of the crew are sent to find another blond man who could plausibly stand in as a body double for the scene. While they are away, the director and the writer desperately think if there is any possible reworking they can do for the script. Can they make this a solo scene? Edit your partner in later? And on and on they go.

The crew members come back shortly and they’re not alone. With them is a blond man, taller and broader than your co-star. He introduces himself as Colt from the stunt department. He’s distractedly handsome in a rugged sort of way. The stuntman is nothing but polite when he shakes your hand and greets you personally. His eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. You instantly agree to work with him.

The two of you get into position after he’s been prepped by the intimacy coordinator and had a brief explanation of the scene’s requirements. Your hands are on his waist, resting on the leather of his belt. He, for his part, has his fingers pressing into the arc of your spine, coaxing you towards his body with the lightest of touches. He looks almost shy. His hair is falling into his eyes in a way that makes you want to brush it back for him.

“Be gentle. It’s my first time,” he jokes.

You don’t have time to laugh before the scene director is calling quiet on set. You wipe the smile off your face and relax. Colt sobers up as well, looking deadly serious, like he is about to do something life threatening.

“Action!” The clapperboard snaps closed.

The scene starts with the two of you all but lunging towards each other. You meet in a kiss and your scene partner’s beard is rough against your face. His mouth is soft, he’s kissing you like he means it. Your hands clench on his waist and he moves things right along. The stuntman walks you back into the door that is pivotal for the scene. He kicks it open, hard, too hard. It slams into the wall with enough force to knock a hole into the plaster. You gasp into his mouth. A quiet groan answers it. 

Once in the room, you break the kiss and start fighting to get his shirt off. His hands meet yours and you’re working together to pull it over his head. The minute the garment is off and tossed aside, Colt is crowding against you, catching your mouth in another kiss while your hands splay across his chest. They're going to have to edit out his piercings, you realize faintly. If you were touching him under different circumstances, you would explore him in earnest. Learn everything there is to know about his body.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and your mind short circuits when Colt wraps his hands around your waist and tosses you back onto the mattress like you weigh nothing. That had not been in the script. You’re not sure if you’re breathless from the impact or because he is suddenly crawling onto the bed after you. Your legs fall open automatically at the sight of him. For the scene, you’re wearing  modesty undergarments and an oversized shirt that suggests that it’s actually the only thing you have on. 

He slots himself easily between your spread legs and braces himself over you. He rests his forehead against yours and rolls his hips. The pressure is barely there from all the intimacy padding but all the same, the action has you clamping your thighs tightly against him. Irrationally, you wonder what he would feel like for real. You’re barely aware of the cameras, barely aware that this is a scene. It feels too real, too good to be acting. 

The blond man tucks his face against the side of your neck, hiding it from the camera’s eye. You feel the press of his mouth against your skin as he kisses the juncture of your shoulder. That wasn’t a necessary action, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You bring a hand to the back of his head to encourage him, clenching your fingers into his hair. You feel more than hear the moan he makes when your nails scratch lightly over his scalp. Heat floods you at his indication of pleasure and-

“Cut!” The director’s voice cuts through whatever was building. “Excellent work, everyone. I think we got it.”

Colt lifts off of you and rolls to the edge of the bed where he sits for a brief moment before standing. You catch the barest glimpse of a scar on his back before the stuntman is on his feet and getting decent. By the time the director and supervising staff let you get dressed and off set, your impromptu scene partner is nearly out of sight. 

You take off running, ignoring the startled looks of the crew. You might be a total fool, but it had felt like there was something between the two of you in that fake bedroom. Weaving through the milling production staff, you get within yards of him before you slow down. 

“Hey, stunt guy!” You yell, winded.

He stops, startled, and turns to look back at you. He’s not the only one staring. It feels like everyone in the vicinity is watching the performance you’re putting on. You close the gap even further, coming to stand in front of him.

“Hey.” His tone is soft, questioning.

“I think we probably should have had dinner first, but will you accept after?”

He laughs, eyes squinting with the width of his answering smile. “I would like that.”