#i'm watching only murders in the building and i love it

[iamnotaware]

Not Oliver girl-dinnering his way through life

[autistic-britta-perry]

cellbit stuck on a costumer service job post prison and having not great therapy and being like ugh. ugh. trying to 'make it up to people' and get better while not disclosing he's done actual murders because he would not be free if he did. He roomed with Felps for a bit but then he found this very cheap place to live in and he just got that job and he knew Felps is not taking him changing seriously and was probably still doing bad shit that could get him in trouble. And he does want to keep having the somehow friendly relationship he has with Pac and Mike now, so.

He goes to check it out, and it's cheap it's very small but he's lived in worse places. If he feels there's something off about the residents and if the meat they cook tastes just like human flesh that's surely his own imagination right? if his hot new neighbour Roier sometimes has an odd look on his face or says strange things that's probably Cellbit projecting that he somehow knows about his past and is seeing right through him, RIGHT?

[6lostgirl6]

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!

A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.

The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital. 

But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.

You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table. 

You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed. 

As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him. 

It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.

"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.

Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.

You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.

"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.

Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.

Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.

"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."

Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.

"I didn't mean-"

You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.

Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.

The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.

He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.

"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.

When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.

Yet you didn't...and he liked that.

He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.

When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.

He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.

He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.

The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.

During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.

Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.

God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.

Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.

His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.

In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.

"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it. 

He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.

"Michael!"

You.

Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.

A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.

"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.

Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,

Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.

You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.

Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.

"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."

Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.

"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.

In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.

"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.

Red and white.

Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.

Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.

Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.

He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.

"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.

He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.

He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.

After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.

After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.

Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.

Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.

"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.

Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.

Finally, you were his.

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Tagging: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bluecoolr @the-pinstriped-hood @flower-crowned-lady @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @azzy-ozborn @strrvnge @repostingmyfavs

[lis-likes-fics]

Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 Tag yourself here...

[fortheb0ys]

I wanna dress Will Graham up all nice and pretty just to mess him all up again :3

BROOO YOU GOT ME THINKING!! Give me like two sentences and I could go on and on if I'm feeling it. So I offer you my ramblings🤲

Does anyone remember that one Criminal Minds episode where this lady collects human dolls?!?

Well, make that into male reader insert <(´･ω･`<)

CW Sorry, i realized I don't put these often : reader is a serial killer and will is profiling him, reader views people as objects, reader can't tell what's real and will uses that to his advantage, will refers to himself as a 'sex doll', murder (not too descriptive), reader loses his virginity, sex, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior NOT PROOFREAD ENDING IS RUSHED!

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

You watched Will from a distance, become fascinated by Will's beauty. His curly hair, his facial structure, his build, his everything.

He haunted you. You saw him everywhere you went.

Will was different from the rest. A body of pure perfection. The others ones in your collection were unamusing, marred in compaison to him.

Once you've had gotten your hands on him, your collection fell neglected. Left on the shelf to collect dust. Disposed of them when they broke.

Will was your prized doll like one of those vintage Christmas Barbies.

Once you've finally gotten your hands on him you noted he wasn't in perfect condition. It was quite clear under closer eyes, a few nicks and scratches. You'd treat him better than anyone else would. You wanted to keep him from farther damage.

At first, Will was a bit hard to play with. His face model was always in a scowl. Brows knitted in anger.

You thought about redoing his face, scraping off the base and painting a new one. Thoughts about the last time you've done it deterred your decision. Their faces had always came out disfigured, never getting quite right.

His hard shell didn't deter your love for him. You treated him gently, bought things for him, making small conversations at your little tea parties. His anger was met with your kindness.

It took a while till Will's shell chipped away. His scowl disappeared, replaced with a friendly smile. Happiness to see you home from you doll hunting.

Soon he became the best doll you've owned. A pleasure to have company with.

His voice box sounded much different from the others. The other doll yelled crude obscenities. Of course, their angry words didn't last long as taking out their boxes quieted them down.

Will was kinder. He was more willing to carry a conversation. He'd let you play with him without protest. Let you play with him, brush his hair, change his clothes. The others were hard to move, their sticky joints refusing to move.

Of course, the hunt for new dolls didn't stop. Once Will met these new friends, he became cold. Back to the old Will.

Will never liked play to nice. Mean and unpleasant words were barked at the others. They broke quicker than anticipated. You'd find Will covered in red, broken dolls at his feet.

He'd plea that he was special. That you couldn't have any other dolls. He was the only one that's supposed to be in your collection. Red, teary eyes begging to be the only doll in your collection.

You pulled him into close embrace, feeling his pounding heartbeat against your chest. Whispered promises as he cried at your every word.

Your precious Will, beautiful yet so broken. You plege devotion solely to him.

Since than you only cared for Will. Every moment was spent with him.

He seemed to enjoy playtime as well. He'd sit quiet and pretty as you changed him. His hands always posed between his legs. His joints bent seamlessly as he shifted in his sit.

One day while picking his clothes for the day, Will made mention that he had working parts down...there. That they'd the react when played with.

He said he was a 'sex doll', that only he's the only one.

He guided you as you were inexperienced. Spoke you through each step. Your fingers nervously stretching him. Your eyes trained on Will's face, looking for any sort of discomfort.

Fingers still he's face contorts. You weren't sure if it was discomfort or pleasure. You weren't going to risk breaking your precious doll by testing which one.

Your hand begins withdrawaling from between him. Before you could do or say anything farther, Will's hand shoots forward to grasp your wrist.

"Don't fucking stop." Will growls as his grip tightly.

His eyes darken, a glint of something beneath them. Like there was a secret to be shared behind blown out pupils. It seems almost sinister.

Your heart skips a beat and your mouth goes dry and all you could do was give him a small nod. Sex brought out this side of an otherwise gentle Will. One you were not willing to challenge.

Once Will felt like he was fully prepped and ready, he made you withdrawal your soaked fingers. With shaking hands gripping your cock, guiding it to his ready hole. A hiss sounding from Will almost made you stop but you wouldn't dare to do that again.

It felt so fucking good. Stinking in inch by inch. His hole stretching to fit your cock. His insides warm and wet. Pleasure consuming your entire being.

Did all dolls feel like this? Why haven't you tried this before?

Once Will completely bottomed out, he gave you a slight squeeze. You had to hold yourself back, nearly cumming after only just a moment.

Your eyes shut tight as your head falls against Will's chest, trying to focus on breathing. Shaking breaths timed with Will's heartbeat.

A sharp kick to your side, a signal that Will wants you to move. Eyes snap open to look deep into Will's. That look still present, now even darker.

"Take it nice and slow." Will spoke sweetly behind a kind smile. He's gentle once again. Will's changes in mood were slightly off putting.

You began to move at a slow pace, sloppy as you tested the water. Thrusts were shallow and somber. Will's hand grip at your hips and begin guiding your movements.

"Follow my lead." He locked eyes while you felt the need to look away.

His hands push you forward establishing a rythm. Pushing in deep to hit something the made Will gasp and pulling out till your tip was the only thing in him.

You tried focusing on keeping the order as you roll your hips into him but everything felt so good your mind went numb. Will's grunts turned into moans as you kept nailing the spot in him that made him sing.

You push your entire weight onto, trying to reach deeper and deeper. Confidence is now yours when Will clenches around you. The heat is suffocating, sweat pools down your back.

One of his hands leaves your hips, guiding yours onto his weaping cock. Your fingers tightens around it, jerking it in rythm with your thrusts. White drips for his tip on his stomach. He's as close as you.

Your thrusts finally lose pace and your thrusts become shallow once again as you feel like the end is near. Will pulls you in a kiss, swallowing your little sounds, cumming together. White paints your bodies.

You pant as you collapse on top of Will. Your eyes fall heavy as you focus on catching your breath.

"Will you stay with me forever, doll?" You plead once the room had fell silent.

"Till time separates us."

You pull Will close, your head against his neck. In that moment he felt real, almost human. Like his heart beat just as yours. Like flesh and bone.

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[kingkat12]

nightmare (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of blood, kinda spoilers?

summary: you were sure that your murder was a nightmare... all until you had to face the deep, dark truth of why you were waking up from it in the first place

word count: 1,018

I had no idea where I was when I finally awoke. 

It felt as though I had been sleeping for several days. Images from my supposed nightmare flashed before my eyes-- both of us getting choked out in plastic bags on his bedroom floor, Eric's muffled screams of struggle, the sound of my nails clawing against the wooden floors, trying to cling onto any last slivers of life. The memory made me press Eric even closer to my chest as we knelt in a pool of red, muddy water. He held me tighter than ever before, almost as though he had lived through my nightmare as well; because that's what that had been, right?

Just a nightmare. Nothing more.

However, I quickly realized something was wrong. I dared to look up at the sky, seeing the ruins of skyscrapers resembling our hometown of New York towering above us; this place looked like the equivalent of what would happen if humans abandoned the city. It looked like we were at an abandoned train station, with a thick, grey fog surrounding us. Eric's sobs brought me back, and I pressed him harder against me. "I just had the worst nightmare," I mumbled, my fingers digging into the back of his soaking wet coat. "I swear it was almost as though I was in hell just now."

With this, Eric's grip around me only tightened, and I could feel his lower lip quivering against my neck. "It's over now," he whispered, his words coming out with his next shaky breath. "You'll never have to go back there again."

What? I pulled away, taking his tear-stained face into my hands. "Eric, it was just a dream," My thumbs brushed over the ink he had smeared around his eyes and across his cheeks. "Baby, what happened to you? Why are you so..." It took me a few seconds to realize that it wasn't only ink. Suddenly, the strong smell of iron hit me like a wave-- it was blood. 

My heart sunk all the way down into my shoes; "Eric...?" I felt my hands give in to a tremble as I brushed over the blood trickling down from his forehead. It wasn't coming from an injury, and that was a relief... until I realized what that meant. He was practically sprayed in it from top to bottom. "What have you done? Where are we?"

Eric took my hands into his, a certain hollow look about him. "I've made a deal... And I did what I had to do to bring you back," 

My eyes immediately filled with tears, remembering the feeling of my soul getting sucked out of me and watching the same happen to the love of my life. "I'm so confused, Eric, what's happening?--"

The ground beneath us shook, and Eric immediately pulled me into a kiss, pulling me flush against his chest in an act of desperation. "My life for yours," he breathed in between flashes of aching passion, the taste of salty tears and blood mixing in with our kiss. "I did it all for you. Everything."

I grabbed his blood-soaked coat, pulling him away from me as I felt another sob build in my chest. "What did you do?" I cried, shaking him. A chilly breeze passed us, followed by the loud cawing of crows gathering in a circle above our heads. "Eric, please!" I recognized the coat from the time we first went to my apartment-- the flashing memories of our good days made the wait for his answer even worse. 

The coldness of the water around us made me shiver as Eric grabbed my face, tears streaking down his ink-stained cheeks. The beautiful man I loved, the man I wanted to marry, had never looked so broken before, and it was scaring me more than anything ever had. "I killed them all," he whispered against me, his voice lowering with darkness hiding in the depths of his words. "All of them. Every single one of them. And now the balance is restored, and you can get your life back."

It shook me to see a smile forming across Eric's lips, who now seemed to be finding solace in his actions.

My nails dug into the fabric of his coat, the sinking of my heart ensuing as I cried in his arms. Horror struck me as I realized that everything hadn't been a nightmare, after all. "No, Eric, no, you didn't!--"

"I did," he breathed, his words just as hollow as his gaze. Eric's soft smile only made my heart ache more; "I love you more than life itself. Knowing I have avenged you, knowing you will be safe, will allow me to rest."

"Rest?!" My cries grew louder, holding onto him for dear life as the crows above us became many more, the cawing persisting. "Eric, get up, let's just go!" 

Finally mustering the strength to stand up, tugging at the sleeves of his coat, I quickly realized he was stuck to the ground. Panic filled me as Eric didn't try to fight it, making no attempts to save himself from his destiny. "I love you," he breathed, holding onto my wrists as he slowly started sinking into the puddle, the smile remaining on his face. "Remember me."

I fell to my knees once more, wrapping my body around him as I sobbed. "Stop it!" The cry I let out was unlike anything I knew I was capable of, watching the heartbreak streak down Eric's beautiful, green eyes. "Get up, Eric, get up!" 

Eric's body was now halfway sunken into the ground, his grip around me loosening. "I love you," he echoed, pulling me in for one last tear-stained kiss.

After Eric disappeared into the ground, I clawed at the mud for what felt like hours, crying out into the foggy abyss. I didn't know where I would find the strength to leave, how I was supposed to live knowing he had sold his soul for mine, taking my place in whatever hell I had just been in during my few days of death.  "I love you," I sobbed, screaming my throat raw.

"Eric! Eric!"

[ja3yun]

I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | CH.3: Ride or Dye

virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (f.rec), inexperienced heeseung but he is surprisingly good, mentions of struggle with family/trauma, haunted house, there isn't many warnings on this one, it's quite cute...until the end, if i missed any lmk! wc: 16k ch.3 synopsis: the police are hot on your tail and with the news plastering your face on the news, you and heeseung set off up north. however, when you see an old amusement park and change your plans. maybe not your best idea... a/n: hi! if you are reading this just know i love you more than anyone else. i am releasing a day early bc i have some things i want to release later on on the week! this is definitely one of my favourite chapters i have ever written and it's full of fluff and character building so i hope you enjoy it and don't find it boring! thank you for the love on this series and i'll see you back here for the finale <3 reblogs, likes, comments, feedback are all welcome!

chapter 2 | masterlist | finale

“Just do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wait, wait, wait…will it hurt?”

“It’s hair, Heeseung, of course it won’t.”

You roll your eyes at his ridiculous question. Heeseung has clearly had his hair trimmed at various stages of his life, so why on earth does he think this time will be different? Perhaps it’s the fact that you are the one holding the scissors.

Ever since you both discovered that the police are hot on your trail, broadcasting unflattering pictures of you across UK news channels, it has been difficult to keep a low profile. You have tried to stay on the outskirts of the country, weaving through little towns where you hope the residents are too busy tending to their farms or stores to stay inside and watch the news.

So far, your strategy has worked, but too many close calls has instilled fear in both of you. Once, Heeseung wanted to order milkshakes from a small cafe in the Cotswolds and completely missed the massive red flag that your wanted pictures were plastered on the pages of the paper the waitress was reading. Another time, you insisted on staying inside a barn in the middle of Wiltshire, only to be chased out by a rightfully angry farmer brandishing a pitchfork, threatening to call the police.

Hence, here you are in Ayrshire, in a shady hotel that only takes cash, dying and cutting each other's hair. You settled for a jet black and bangs combo, which perfectly masked enough of your face that even you have trouble recognising yourself. Heeseung, on the other hand, insisted on pure white hair, claiming that hiding in plain sight is better than being inconspicuous with a natural shade of chestnut or blonde.

The only problem was that he fought with you for a good three hours, denying the fact that he needed a haircut and insisting that the hair colour transformation was enough. But when he looked into the mirror with his wet mop, he conceded the argument, realising that he looked more like the picture in the paper than ever before.

So here you are with a piece of his long hair sitting stiffly between your fingers as you prepare to make the first cut. Heeseung is staring at himself in the dirty mirror of the room that looks as though it has never seen a spray of glass cleaner in its life and mourns his luscious locks.

As you slice the scissors through his hair, he feels as though it’s his heart that is being snipped apart. The sound of the kitchen scissors rings alarms in his ears and he pouts, shutting his eyes as though you’re torturing him.

“Stop being a baby or I’ll shave it all off,” you warn, your tone resembling that of a mother who has told her child off for the last time and is threatening to send them to bed without dinner.

Heeseung slowly opens his eyes, a glaze of worry and remorse swimming over them. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve been growing my hair out for a while and I really don’t want another bowl cut.” You can see the memories of the horrendous haircuts flash in his eyes, the taunts from his schoolmates as he walked into school multiple times with a cut that was genuinely as awful as it sounded. His mum used to put a Pyrex bowl on his head and cut around it, refusing to pay the barbers when she was ‘perfectly capable of doing it herself.’

You try to picture what he would look like with a lopsided bowl cut and snort, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, momentarily disregarding safety as the scissors sit loosely in your grip. The snicker doesn’t go down well with your client, and you quickly resort to instilling some ease into him, stroking the back of his head gently.

“Trust me, I’ve been cutting my own hair since I was a teen. I know what I’m doing,” you assure him, despite only one of those statements being true, and it was not the latter.

His eyes shift in the mirror to meet yours, a soft look in them. “Your mum never cut it for you?” he asks carefully, not knowing the full extent of your family or your history with them.

“My mum… she isn’t here anymore, she hasn’t been for a long time,” you admit honestly, deciding to use this opportunity of his distraction to cut more of his hair. The length falls just to the top of his neck, and considering Heeseung has a lot of hair, this is already a massive change.

Heeseung’s expression softens further, his eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice sincere.

Shaking your head, you offer him a small smile. “Don’t be, I didn’t really know her since she passed away when I was little.” There are few memories you share with your mum, her presence almost lost in the fog of other moments from your childhood. You think maybe most of them are subconsciously discarded from your mind in the hopes that you miss her less.

However, if you remember one thing about her, it’s the afterschool trips to Woolworths when she would swing you up high over her shoulders and sing ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ by Stevie Wonder, making you feel as though you were a piercing arrow, soaring freely through the crisp summer sky. The memory brings a soft warmth to your chest, a fleeting connection to a time when life was simpler and filled with innocent joy. Maybe that’s why you keep the memory locked in your mind.

Heeseung sits for a minute, imagining what the world would be like without his own mum. She has been the backbone of everything he has ever done, and not having her there just seems unfathomable. He wouldn’t be as kind or generous, that’s for sure - his mum is a beacon of light to those she knows. During the time he has been on the run, he has often wondered what his parents have thought about the articles and radio snippets. But if he knows them well enough, which he does, he knows they’re fighting his corner somehow. This thought gives him a little bit of comfort throughout all of this turmoil.

But do you have anyone at ringside?

“What about your dad?” he pipes up, staring at the scissors in your hand rather than meeting your eyes, as if to make you feel more comfortable with his questions. He wants to subtly express that his queries are out of genuine curiosity and not an interrogation.

You pause for a moment, collecting your thoughts and decide how much you’re ready to tell Heeseung. Then it hits you - you feel so safe with Heeseung that you don’t wish to keep anything from him. The bond you both share is solid enough that divulging your family history and pain seems like the easiest thing in the world.

“My dad…” you begin, your voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. “He did his best after Mum died. But he wasn’t really equipped to handle raising two children on his own. He worked a lot, and when he was home, he was...distant. I think losing Mum broke something in him that he never managed to fix.”

You snip a bit more of Heeseung’s hair, your hands working almost automatically as your mind drifts through the past. “He tried his best but me and my big brother didn’t make it easy for him. My brother is a good person but he just got his soul a little lost, gave his heart to the wrong people and it caused so much fighting in the house that he eventually moved out when he was 16. He didn’t even bother to see me or write me a letter, he just, vanished.”

You have always wondered what happened to your brother, if he found his feet in the big bad world or if it swallowed him whole. There was one time you thought you saw him in Newcastle just by the train station when you were 13 on a school trip but the person was drunk and falling all over the place and you looked away before you could confirm; living in ignorance is easier than imagining your own family struggling.

“Then my dad just…stopped caring. He lost his job and stopped paying the bills,” you wince as you recall how hopeless your father had become. “I tried to help him but there was only so much a little girl can do before she also gives up hope.”

Heeseung knew you were strong, there wasn’t even a millimetre of his mind that thought otherwise, yet, hearing your past somehow brings him a whole new level of respect for you. Essentially, you were on your own your whole teenage years, the most formative and important time of your life and instead of being supported, you were supporting, looking after a man who couldn’t handle the cards that life dealt him.

“Your dad must be worried about you now, though,” Heeseung suggests, trying to find a silver lining amidst the dark clouds hanging over your conversation. But you shake your head, a sad and almost angry expression painting your face as you move to cut the layers into his shaggy hair.

“He cut ties with me once he found out what I was doing,” you scoff, though beneath the scorn, there is a breath of hurt. “He told every family member and friend we had and made sure they shut their doors in my face. He said I was a disgrace and that Mum would be ashamed of me, so I doubt he really gives a fuck.”

The bitterness in your words sends a shiver along Heeseung’s arms. It’s unfathomable to him how a father could turn his back on his daughter when she needed him more than ever. He knows no one turns to selling their body without hitting desperate times. His heart aches for you, and he finds himself wishing he could have been there to shield you from that pain.

It does beg the question that Heeseung has been wishing to ask you for so long. With you being so open and honest with him, this might be the best time to ask—you don’t know if you’ll ever get the chance again to settle his query.

“Why did you start…doing all of this?” he asks gently, his voice filled with genuine curiosity and concern, afraid his question might be imposing.

You pause, taking a deep breath, the scissors momentarily forgotten in your hand. “Money,” you begin to explain, the obvious answer sitting both of you in the face. “Me and Dad needed to make rent, so when I was just turning eighteen, I took any job I could. And let me tell you, there isn’t much out there for a girl with only a high school education.”

Struggling to find a job was something Heeseung had also encountered. However, he was lucky his dad ran a mechanic shop and would give him shifts when he desperately needed the cash between student loan payouts.

“I found this shitty pub near Camden that paid pennies, but it was a job, right? It did us good for the time, and then one day, I was complaining about money - I can’t remember why - and this punter comes up to me and says he knows a guy looking for a girl like me.”

The memory washes over you like a tidal wave, and you can almost smell the stale beer and hear the raucous laughter from the pub. The man was dressed in a suit and tie, clearly just off a busy 9-to-5 shift when he overheard your conversation with one of the other girls behind the bar. He snapped his fingers and called you over, telling you there was an opportunity you couldn’t refuse and promising to triple what you made bartending. What desperate person is going to turn that away?

“It was amazing money, enough to pay rent and the other bills - a little brothel with girls in need of cash like me. The girls were great; we all got along well, probably because we hated the guy who ran the place. I tell you, nothing brings people together more than a common enemy.”

“What did he do?” Heeseung asks gently, his voice a soothing balm to the raw wound you’re exposing.

“He stole our tips and took a cut for ‘room hire,’ which, by the way, was like half of the money,” you bitterly laugh, the sound hollow and filled with frustration. Thinking of all the money that prick owes you and your girls stirs a cauldron of anger inside you.

Heeseung twists his head to look at you, gobsmacked at the idea you were putting your body through god knows what, all to reap no real reward at the end of it. “That’s not fair. He can’t do that.”

“Well, he did. That’s why I left,” you state matter-of-factly, your voice a mixture of defiance and resignation.

The conversation leaves a heavy silence in the room. The snipping of the scissors is the only sound, but the air between you is charged with shared pain and understanding. Heeseung reaches out, his hand trembling slightly and places it over yours, stopping your movements for a moment.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, Y/N,” Heeseung says softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of how deeply you’ve been hurt. He hopes the twinkle of respect and adoration he holds for you shines through. “You deserve to have a good life.”

Taking a deep breath, you feel the weight of your past lift slightly with his words. The encouragement and belief Heeseung has in you, even in these dire circumstances, is all you have ever wanted from someone. If one person could back you up and be there for you, you know you can make it through anything. That’s probably why you’re feeling hopeful throughout this chase.

“You better give me the best life possible then, Lee Heeseung, because I think you’re going to be tagging along for a long time,” you jab, injecting some lightheartedness into the deep conversation. It’s a nice way to punctuate your past, finally letting it all out in the open and getting it off your shoulders.

Heeseung blushes, the scarlet tone washing over his nose and cheeks with shyness. Even the prospect of tomorrow with you makes his heart race, never mind forever.

Almost finished cutting his hair with only the front left to do, you circle around and begin to trim the long bangs. Since he is sitting down on the burst maroon leather seat, you can’t properly see if you’re cutting it evenly or not. If you were in any way a professional, this would be a breeze, but for some reason, you keep cutting one side shorter than the other.

Taking initiative, you move your legs and straddle Heeseung, parking yourself on his thighs to bring you face-to-face with him. It’s the easiest solution to your problem; he’s too tall to stand up because you’ll be reaching, and he’s down too low in the chair. Secretly, it's also because baring your past and being vulnerable has made you a little clingy.

Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat as you settle onto his lap. The proximity makes his heart pound, and he can feel the heat radiating from your body. You focus on your task, carefully trimming the bangs, but you’re acutely aware of how close you are to him. The intimacy of the moment is palpable, charged with unspoken emotions and the lingering tension between you. 

None of you have spoken about the strip club or what unfolded there and considering it’s been practically a week! you think someone would have said something. Instead of communicating about it, you both have lingering stares and steal subtle touches, rather than addressing the feelings you both felt.

Sure, it was lust driven but that’s a feeling that has been sitting at the surface of your chests, bubbling into something maybe just a little bit more.

Clenching his fists and releasing them, Heeseung is physically restraining himself from placing his hands on your hips, his mind screaming that he doesn’t deserve to lay his hands so casually on art as priceless and ethereal as you. Even when you’re in bed and snuggle up to him as you sleep peacefully, he takes a minute to convince himself that it’s okay to hug you into his chest, never feeling like it’s his right to.

It’s how he’s always felt about women, yet with you, it runs deeper than he’s ever experienced. The level of adoration and respect he has for you makes him want to treat you in a way no man has ever done before. You must be so exhausted with men constantly on you that he wants to show you he isn’t going to be like those men, not now, not ever.

Sensing his tensing frame underneath you, you withdraw the scissors from his hair and look at him with concern, afraid you’ve made him uncomfortable. However, as you see his flushed face and trembling eyes, you recognise the same shy boy you met two weeks ago.

“I thought we moved past being nervous with me?” you ask, feigning disapproval to lighten the mood.

Sighing loudly, Heeseung wipes his damp palms on his chest, trying to find a place for them that isn’t your body. “You forget that I’m still a virgin and you’re the prettiest girl on the planet; any man would be nervous in this situation.” His sincerity causes your heart to stop for a moment, the blood that would normally circulate now creeping up to your cheeks, leaving you both blushing messes.

You don’t think you’ll ever get over his compliments or how effortlessly they roll off his tongue. Deep inside, there is a space in your heart reserved for Heeseung, and you don’t know how he got there, but you’re not going to evict him any time soon.

Having him in your heart means you feel more towards him, and that includes emotions of guilt. You’ve never offered to sleep with him, and yes, you know he never expects you to, but part of you wants to. It’s not out of obligation but genuine desire.

However, there is a gnawing anxiety that if you do sleep with him, it will cause the universe to end this wild ride you’re on. You fear you’ll lose him after he pops his cherry, that the only reason he was fated to meet you was for that specific reason. What if, in some cruel joke, the stars drag him away from you? You can’t do any of this without him. He has become your pillar, and as soon as he is taken away, you’ll crumble.

With all these thoughts swirling in your mind, you can only give him a simple hum in acknowledgement, scared that if you open your mouth, you’ll say something silly and scare him. So you continue with your ministrations, cutting his fringe in such a way that it masks his face without completely covering those enchanting, dark eyes of his, the ones that pull you in without needing a second glance.

The room is charged with a subtle tension, but above all else, it’s clouded with serenity. You and Heeseung can sit in the silence of one another and enjoy it. Sharing tiny moments like this almost feels domestic. A large part of you wonders if this is what it feels like to be in a real relationship.

For years, you have longed to be held and loved for more than just your body. In no way do you regret the path you’ve chosen, not even after all of this, but you do wish you could have had the chance to experience just one loving relationship. To hold hands with someone just because you want to be close to them, hugging them in the home you share because your hearts are like two magnets that tremble for one another, and kissing them so tenderly on random Wednesday afternoons as you sit in Hyde Park, reminiscing about how you first met and how nothing in the world matters but the fire between you.

That is all you have ever wanted.

With a longing sigh, you snip the last piece of long hair from Heeseung’s head, inspecting your work for any room for improvement before you’re satisfied, then, you reach for the shitty portable mini hairdryer provided by the motel.

“Alright, let’s dry this off,” you say softly, turning on the hairdryer. The warm air hums gently as you work, ruffling Heeseung’s hair and smoothing it into place. He watches you through the mirror, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but understood.

Heeseung likes to be looked after as much as he likes to make sure those he cherishes are also safeguarded. He knows that is the relationship you both have, one with give and take, although you more so give because that’s all you have ever known. Yet, as he looks at you now, he wants to change that. He wants to give back to you in ways no one ever has.

The room is heavy with unspoken promises and newfound understanding. You and Heeseung are intertwined in ways neither of you can fully comprehend, yet it feels right, like two lost souls finally finding a home in each other.

As you blow dry the last section, you run your fingers through it, hoping to style it a little but it’s proving difficult with the lack of products and how strangely soft Heeseung’s hair is; you wouldn’t think it went through two rounds of peroxide with lemon juice and a Crystal White hair dye. The pieces fall beautifully to the side of his face, the curtain bang vision you had in your head now coming to life before your eyes.

Finishing up, you switch off the hairdryer and place it back where it belongs before giving Heeseung's locks one final fix. You've never found men with white hair attractive, considering most of your old clients had the colour all over their bodies, but Heeseung looks like an angel straight out of the gates. The stark white hair contrasts beautifully with his darker brows and toned skin, complimenting him in a way that feels almost ethereal.

"All done," you announce, a proud smile spreading across your face as you admire your handiwork. You move off him, and both of you feel a sudden, stinging cold with the separation, your body almost instantly longing to be close to him once again.

He stands up and walks to the mirror to get a closer look. He crouches down, analysing his new reflection. He looks incredibly different, the long, flat, shabby hair he was once so proud of now a distant memory. The pure white threads of almost silk on his head transform his appearance completely. It's amazing what you managed to do with so few resources.

"Y/N, this is...really good," he says, his smile widening as he checks himself out, genuinely impressed. For the first time in a long while, he admires his own reflection. Despite the tired circles under his eyes, they remain wide and vibrant, possibly because he has had the opportunity to spend all morning with you, doing normal, young adult things.

No running, no fear, just the two of you together.

Cocking an eyebrow, you cross your arms in mock offence. "Are you surprised?" you ask, trying to mimic a serious tone despite the small smile on your face, a chuckle bubbling at the surface as you watch his eyes light up and his fingers carefully fix his sideburns.

After about a minute of self-ogling, Heeseung twists around to face you, grimacing as he sucks in his breath and tenses his neck in a fake display of apology. "Is it rude to say yes?"

Tutting, you reach over and punch his arm with more force than you intended, expressing your mock annoyance at his insinuation, even though you know he doesn't truly mean it.

"Ow!" he yelps, instinctively going to hold the now aching muscle of his arm. Pouting, he rubs it roughly to dispel the pain, massaging the nerves that are jittering inside. "You've got some punch on you."

"Yeah, well, I'll use it again if you ever doubt me," you threaten, your voice wavering with a slight giggle. He really is so fragile; you wonder how he's managed to survive living 22 years in this world.

Turning your attention to the mess behind you, you take the scissors and put them back in their case, cleaning up the hair around you. You brush his dead ends lazily with your foot; not the most conventional way to tidy up, but you aren't exactly equipped with a portable brush and shovel. 

Heeseung packs the clothes into the bags you got for 50p out of a charity shop, stealing glances at you as he works. Over the weeks you’ve spent together, he’s come to admire how you never complain, no matter the task. Even now, as you brush up his hair, you don’t grumble when it sticks to your socks. Instead, you wipe it away with ease.

Of course, the task isn’t arduous, but it’s a small example of your resilience. When he asked you to dye his hair and cut it, or even when you were at the strip club, you never once expressed annoyance. You simply got on with what needed to be done.

He finds it admirable, this quiet toughness you possess. It’s a strength he wishes he had inside him. Throughout this journey, he’s often complained about how hungry he is, or how hard it is to sleep on cold floors. And every time, you’ve reassured him, telling him it’ll be okay, giving him something to look towards, even though you were feeling the same way.

Heeseung can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You’ve done so much for him and he’s been too wrapped up in his own discomfort to fully appreciate it. He wants to tell you how much he admires you, and how much your strength means to him, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he swallows hard and focuses on the task at hand, determined to help in any way he can.

When you finally finish cleaning up, you look up and catch his eye. Heeseung gives you a small, grateful smile, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift. In that brief exchange, so much is conveyed without words. He wants to be better, to be stronger for you, just as you’ve been for him.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s not just for the haircut, but for everything - for being his rock, his comfort, his guide through the darkness.

You smile back at him, a warmth spreading through your chest. “Anytime,” you reply, and you mean it. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him, nothing you wouldn’t face together. “Now, do you have your stuff? We need to leave for the bus soon,” you swiftly change the subject.

Heeseung scrunches his features before he quickly releases them, understanding what you mean. Rummaging through the bag in front of him, he quickly retrieves a baseball cap which he puts on carefully to avoid ruining your work, and places a pair of silver-rimmed, oval glasses on his face. “All ready!” He turns to you, the palm of his hand under his chin as he showcases the excellent disguise that he has conjured up. 

Taking in his new appearance, you realise two things: one, you finally understand why people find it difficult to identify Superman as Clark Kent, glasses doing more for disguises than any mask could; he was right about hiding in plain sight, but you’ll never admit it. And two, he looks fucking beautiful.

The hat that makes his ears poke out just a little bit more than usual, the glasses that somehow cover yet accentuate his eyes, paired with the oversized AC/DC t-shirt, baggy Denim Co. jeans, and the trainers he has been wearing this entire time, he looks like something straight out of the ‘your next crush’ section in POP! Magazine. 

Biting your lip subconsciously, your eyes trail his body, your pupils shaking in need. Maybe you have enough time to push him onto the bed and jump-

“You good?” Heeseung asks, a half frown working on his face. 

Shaking your head from the lewd thoughts, you smile, taking your bag from the place on the bed beside him. “Let’s go.”

_____

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Heeseung’s eyes dart around the crowded bus with palpable trepidation, fearing someone might recognise you both. It's his first time using his alias, "Evan," and despite your reassurances that his new appearance is enough to deter recognition, he's planned an elaborate backstory complete with trivia about his fabricated life, including bonus rounds. He doesn’t know when someone might ask him in which primary school his fake grandmother attended, but he has the answer locked and loaded.

His hand is gripping yours tightly, the sweat from his nerves now creating a tiny swimming pool in your connected palms. He doesn’t mean to get clammy but the idea of coming so far and having it foiled on a National Express bus on the outskirts of Ayr is putting him on edge.

You don’t seem to notice his sweaty hands or the elderly woman watching you from across the aisle. Instead, your attention is captivated by the breathtaking Scottish countryside passing by outside the window. The rolling hills of Ayr are adorned with lush greenery, dotted with clusters of ancient trees that sway gently in the breeze.

The bus winds through narrow roads flanked by dry stone walls and vibrant patches of wildflowers. Highland cows, with their shaggy coats and long, curved horns, graze lazily in the pastures. Oh, to be a cow in another life, munching grass all day long without a care in the world. The notion amuses you, and you imagine that maybe, if you're reincarnated, you can come back as one of these peaceful creatures.

The scenery outside is so tranquil that you easily lose yourself in the views. The mountains, the serene lochs, and the quaint cottages all work together to quiet your mind, offering a brief respite from the constant anxiety that has followed you for weeks. For a moment, everything feels right.

However, as soon as something unusual catches your eye, your brain shifts back into gear, thoughts twirling with curiosity. You sit up straight, eyes narrowing to focus. Amidst the idyllic landscape, something stands out - a stark contrast to the beauty surrounding it.

An old, rusty, clearly abandoned theme park appears on the horizon. The sign, once vibrant with its yellow and red paint, now faded and peeling, spells out the name ‘Joyland.’ But there is nothing joyous about the place. The park has clearly been deserted for at least 15 years, left to the mercy of time and nature.

Theme parks are something younger you could only dream of, your dad insisting that it was too far away and too expensive. You understand him a little better now that you’re older, however, that doesn’t quench the little girl inside you and her thirst for the excitement of a Maze of Mirrors or Waltzers.

With a twinkle in your eye and a quickening of your heartbeat, you push Heeseung to stand up in the aisle. He protests slightly, letting out a surprised 'whoa' and a grunt, but you ignore him, clasping his hand tightly in yours. Fighting against the slippery sweat that threatens to break your grip, you drag him towards the front of the bus.

Heeseung's heart plummets, his anxiety boiling over as people start to notice your sudden movement. He tries to reason with you, urging you to return to your seats and abandon whatever impulsive idea has sparked this rush. 

But his pleas fall on deaf ears. By the time his voice filters through to you, you're already tapping the bus driver's shoulder with feigned panic. “Sir, can you pull over, please?” you ask, your voice sweet yet tinged with urgency.

“No can do, Hen. The bus doesn’t stop until we get to Troon,” he explains calmly, giving you a glance through the rearview mirror.

“Please, my boyfriend is going to be sick, and I don’t want to disrupt anyone’s journey,” you plead. The excuse is thin, but if there’s one thing a bus driver hates more than being late, it’s dealing with a sick passenger.

The driver’s eyes widen and he flusters slightly. “Well, there are bags under the seat. Take one of them.”

“It’s not going to be enough. He’s had a drink or two, and you know what that’s like,” you say, your lips forming into a pout as you try anything to get the bus to stop. The longer you stand begging, the further the theme park recedes into the distance.

You elbow Heeseung roughly. The unexpected blow makes him hunch over, breath catching in his throat and eyes bulging slightly. It's the perfect reaction to convince the driver, who nods quickly, his concern outweighing his schedule. “Yes, alright, but only for a minute,” he concedes, flicking the indicator to pull to the left-hand side.

Mentally, you praise Heeseung for his overdramatic reactions to pain. His theatrical flair, usually a source of amusement when he overreacts to a bump or a stepped-on foot, has come in handy. No one can ever say that being dramatic gets you nowhere.

As the bus pulled to a stop, a surge of triumph coursed through you. The driver swung open the creaky door, and you stepped off, immediately feeling the brisk Scottish air kiss your face. Heeseung stumbled behind you, trying to navigate the steep steps of the bus as you tugged him along.

“Are you mad?” Heeseung whispered, his grip tightening on your hand, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. He glanced around, searching for any sign of reason in your decision to abandon the bus for an impromptu adventure through the countryside.

“Maybe,” you replied with a grin, the thrill of spontaneity evident in your voice. Glancing over Heeseung’s shoulder to the bus driver, you flashed a polite smile. “You go ahead, we’ll walk. He could use the fresh air,” you shouted, waving off any objections.

Before the driver could protest, you were already sprinting back in the direction the bus had come from, dragging the bewildered Heeseung behind you. He stumbled at first but quickly matched your pace, his curiosity piqued despite his confusion. The bus pulled away, leaving you both standing at the roadside, free from the constraints of scheduled travel.

“Y/N, where are we going?” Heeseung gasped, breathless from the unexpected burst of activity.

“Just come on, we’re almost there!” you called back over your shoulder, excitement shining in your eyes and a wide grin spreading across your face.

Heeseung caught a glimpse of your infectious enthusiasm and decided to trust in your lead, letting go of his worries and focusing instead on keeping up with you.

As you approached the entrance to Joyland, you slowed your pace, causing Heeseung to nearly collide with your back. He stops himself, grasping your arm to steady both of you. The gates before you are weathered and rusted, the once vibrant red paint now faded and peeling. Vines snaked through the gaps in the iron bars, reclaiming the space that had been abandoned to time.

Heeseung looks up and tilts his head, “Y/N what are we doing here?”

Wistfully, you let go of his hand and walk towards the gates, assessing just how easy it would be to get into the park. Luckily, it is held together with a flimsy lock that could easily be broken with a rock and some force. 

Looking around and ignoring Heeseung’s answer for now, you search for something hard enough to break the padlock with, the ground around you is scattered with lots of handy things; Buckfast bottles, old shoes which you don’t even dare ask how they ended up here, scared of the answer it might bring, and then the golden ticket; a brick that had fallen from the wall that surrounded the park.

Grabbing it, you almost skip back to the entrance, happy that in just one swing, you’ll be accomplishing a dream of yours, even if you can’t complete it in its entirety. You lift your arm up, grasping tight on the ash-red brick before hammering it down. The first time doesn’t work, only rattling the metal against the steel, so persistent as ever, you try again and again until finally, the contraption falls to the ground with a tiny thud. 

Heeseung watches you from afar, shoulders tense from the sound of the breaking lock and your grunts. You must really want in there and he will be damned if he tries to stop you. He wants to pose the question again, wondering what could be so exciting about a shitty theme park that hasn’t seen any joy despite its name in a decade, but you answer it for him.

“I’ve never been to one of these before,” you speak in a hushed tone, scared to disrupt the silence that carries through the wind.

“It’s shut down, Y/N,” Heeseung states the obvious, now standing behind you.

Craning your neck, you look up at him and smile. “Just means there are no queues.”

Pushing open the creaking gate and finally stepping inside, the sound echoes through the stillness of the park. The path ahead is overgrown with wildflowers and weeds, the cracked pavement obscured by nature's reclamation. An old carousel stands in the distance, its paint long gone and its horses frozen in time, a melancholy reminder of days gone by.

The entrance to Joyland is eerily inviting, with pretty moss creeping up the dilapidated ticket booth and the once-bright sign now dulled by years of neglect. The Ferris wheel, its gondolas now chipped and weathered, stands motionless against the backdrop of a clear sky. The roller coaster tracks, twisted and overgrown with weeds, snake their way through the park, hinting at the thrills they once offered.

“Look at this place,” you whisper, awe and curiosity mixing in your voice. “It’s like stepping into a forgotten world.”

Heeseung nods, his eyes scanning the beautifully tragic surroundings. “Yeah, it’s kinda sad to see it like this. It would have been nice for you to see it in its glory,” he says softly.

Having visited countless theme parks in his lifetime, Heeseung can vividly imagine what Joyland used to be like: vibrant with colour, the laughter of children echoing as they dashed away from their parents to ride attractions they were barely tall enough for, and the mingling scents of carnival foods creating a unique aroma of nostalgia.

You both wander through the deserted park, taking in the sights, walking side by side in a peaceful silence. However, Heeseung can’t shake off the feeling of being watched, perhaps because the openness of the area leaves nowhere to hide. There are rides and booths, but someone could easily spot you both if they looked hard enough.

“It’s too exposed here, Y/N. Let’s just go,” he warns, his eyes darting to a moving shadow he’s convinced is real and not just a figment of his imagination. The happiness of imagined memories quickly washes away as he sees what the park really is: a derelict site filled with discarded needles and abandoned rides.

You notice his unease, the way his eyes shift nervously, and know he’s seconds away from dragging you back to the bus. But if this is your only chance to experience a theme park, you’re willing to use every bit of charm you have.

Fluttering your eyelashes and jutting out your lip, you gaze up at him with a pleading expression. “Hee, please,” you begin, taking his hand and swinging it gently. “Just for five minutes?” You cringe inwardly at your own performance but are willing to act the part for the chance to stay - it’ll be worth the bruise in your pride.

Heeseung’s fear is chipped away at your pleas. It’s so ridiculous how easy men are to trick in this day and age, particularly a virgin who is in hook, line, and sinker for you.

“Alright, five minutes,” he finally concedes, sighing deeply. You beam up at him, gratitude and excitement flooding your heart. 

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, you place a kiss on his cheek, eliciting a pink blush to form on his him. Unlike the other times he’s gone flushed in the face, this isn’t of embarrassment but rather contentment and glee.

Maybe this is Joyland after all.

“There’s a haunted house over there, let's go!” you exclaim, pointing to the weathered, foreboding structure looming in the distance.

Maybe he was too quick with his thoughts.

Heeseung swallows hard, trying to mask his apprehension with a weak smile. "Sure," he replies, his voice wavering slightly. He squeezes your hand for reassurance, more for his sake than yours, as you both make your way towards the haunted house.

The building looks like it’s been pulled straight out of a horror film. The once grand entrance is now covered in ivy and the wooden doors hang loosely on their hinges. The paint is chipped and faded, the windows are cracked and clouded with grime, and the sign above the door, which once read ‘House of Horrors’ is barely legible. The wind whistles through the gaps, adding an eerie melody to the desolate ambience.

You step inside first, the floorboards creaking under your weight. Heeseung hesitates at the threshold, his eyes darting around nervously. The light from outside filters through the broken windows, casting long shadows that seem to dance and shift. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before following you inside.

The air inside the haunted house is stale and thick with dust. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling, and the smell of dampness and decay lingers, infiltrating your nose and causing you to wince. The first room you enter is a foyer of sorts, with tattered red curtains hanging from the walls and a decrepit chandelier swaying gently above. An old grandfather clock stands in the corner, its hands frozen at midnight.

Heeseung keeps a tight grip on your hand, his eyes scanning every corner for signs of movement. "This place is...something," he mutters, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

You squeeze his hand back, giving him a reassuring smile. "Come on, it's just a bit of fun," you say, leading him further into the house.

The next room is even darker, with the only guidance of your steps being from the room before. You can barely make out the shapes of old furniture covered in white sheets, some stained with what you hope is fake blood. Suddenly, a gust of wind slams a door shut behind you, causing Heeseung to jump, his heart travelling from its rightful place in his chest to his throat.

He lets out a nervous laugh, quickly trying to cover it up. "That was just the wind," he says, more to himself than to you.

You nod, suppressing a giggle. "Of course it was," you agree, though you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine. The atmosphere of the haunted house is getting to you too, despite your brave front. Despite your eagerness to enter the haunted attraction, you hate to admit that you aren’t feeling the best right now, your heart a ticking bomb. 

If you were to go into this house when it was up and running, scare actors and life still instilled within the dark corners then maybe you would feel a little better, but the more you venture into the darkness, the less sturdy your legs are.

In one room, you come across a dusty old mirror, the vision of you and Heeseung echoing back to you, plastering a reassured smile on your face. Both of you look nothing like yourselves yet next to one another, you feel like you’ve found who you’re supposed to be.

As you approach it, a ghostly figure suddenly appears in the reflection, reaching out towards you. You yelp in surprise, instinctively wrapping your arms around Heeseung’s waist and quickly facing away from it, burying your face into his chest. 

He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, wrapping his free arm around you protectively. Although he also got a fright, he feels himself needing to protect you as a way to pay you back for every time you’ve looked after him. Granted, he wishes it could be something a bit more substantial than a trick mirror but it will do for now.

"It's okay, it's just a trick," Heeseung murmurs, trying to comfort you even as his own heart races, squeezing you tighter. He can feel your body trembling against his, and it takes everything in him to project calmness, to be the anchor you need right now.

“I… don’t like this anymore, Heeseung,” you admit, looking up at him. The dim light casts shadows across his face, but you can still make out the worry etched into his features. You seek comfort in his familiarity, trying to steady your racing heart. Something in your gut tells you to get out of this place, and after ignoring your instincts that fateful day two weeks ago, you refuse to disregard them ever again.

Heeseung nods, rubbing your back soothingly. "We'll find a way out," he promises, his eyes scanning the area for any beacon of light to guide you both. But all he stumbles upon is another door. "I think we’ll need to keep going for now."

It's the worst thing he could say, but you understand he's right. The only way out of here is forward, the door behind you stuck firmly shut.

To ease the tension, Heeseung chuckles slightly. “You know, I didn’t think you were scared of anything,” he chats, trying to keep you distracted as he opens the door to a new, unexplored room.

“I’m scared of a lot of things,” you confess. Your guard is up against the house, but down for Heeseung. After opening up about your past, the wall around your heart doesn't feel the need to rebuild itself. The boy currently holding you under his arm has taken your defences down piece by piece, and you don't hate him for it one bit.

With a look of surprise, his eyes settle on your delicate face as he processes your response. “Really? Like what?” He’s not trying to be intrusive; he just genuinely didn’t think you had any.

“I can’t tell you that,” you laugh, the tension in your body melting slightly, even as you face an old life-sized doll trapped in a box. Your fears are personal, and you believe that speaking them into existence might make them come true. There are two fears trapped inside you that you wish never to see the light of day.

Unravelling yourself from Heeseung’s strong embrace, you timidly approach the looming figure in the box. Its lifelike form is so realistic that you might have mistaken it for a real person. The glass is dusty, and the top right corner has been shattered by something small but mighty. You can’t believe your eyes.

“Heeseung, come here,” you beckon him, your hand gesturing for him to step forward and see what you’re seeing. “Doesn’t this doll look like you?” If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Heeseung had a twin. The doll has the same eyes, nose, and pretty pink lips.

Examining the box, Heeseung reads out loud, “Have your wishes granted by the doll that knows your deepest desires.” He whispers softly, scared that it might be some spell to wake the creepy doll. It does look scarily like him, except this doll has cherry-red hair and dead eyes.

He takes off his glasses and stands next to it. “It really is me, huh?”

Clasping a hand over your mouth, you widen your eyes, taking in the side-by-side comparison. “Hee, that is you, down to your long lashes!” Your eyes dart between them both as you view them.

It's scary, but what's more daunting is staying in this creepy house any longer. You rid your thoughts of any ideas that a shapeshifter has stolen Heeseung’s body and placed it in the comically large doll box, gladly walking away from it.

Giving it one last stare, Heeseung sighs. “I hope someone finds you and gives you a good life.” He wishes the doll a farewell and walks behind you, the unease in his chest dissipating slightly as he follows your determined steps.

Taking the lead, Heeseung opens the next door once again, yet, instead of a room, you’re met with a long, pitch-black corridor that seems to stretch on forever with no end in sight. The air is thick, almost suffocating, and the faint echo of his footsteps reverberates through the darkness.

“I say we run through it,” you suggest, your voice echoing off the walls and adding to the eerie atmosphere. It's not your favourite choice, but you know there's a good chance the exit is right ahead.

Heeseung nods, focusing ahead. “We are good at running,” he jokes, causing you both to laugh. The eerie space fills with a haunting joy, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence that has surrounded you.

Holding out your hand, you offer it to Heeseung. “On the count of three?”

“Three.”

Without a chance to comprehend what he says, Heeseung locks his fingers with yours and starts running, the sudden burst leaving you trailing behind him. Despite the darkness and the unknown ahead, you can't help but laugh, letting him lead you to safety. The adrenaline rush and the sound of your combined laughter make the moment surreal and oddly comforting.

Heeseung glances back at you despite only making out the shadow of you, the only light leaking from the room you were previously in. There's a moment where he can see the smile on your face and it causes his heart to pit a pat in his chest. 

The corridor isn't actually that long, or maybe it’s the fun you’re having, but soon enough you’re both crashing through an emergency exit door, chests rising and falling with laughter and excitement. You feel like a kid again, running around without a care in the world, free from any negative thoughts or the wear and tear that adulthood has bestowed upon you.

The cool, fresh air hits your face, a welcome relief from the suffocating darkness inside. You never thought you would be happy to see the British skies before, suddenly admiring the beauty around you, despite the less-than-attractive surroundings. The contrast between the open, airy countryside and the eerie, claustrophobic house is stark, filling you with a newfound appreciation for the simplicity of the outdoors.

Stealing a glance at Heeseung, you notice how his face, although red from the cardio, looks so different. His eyes are lit up like a child at a Christmas market, his face visibly younger, and there is an air to him you haven’t seen before. He has always been beautiful, but now he looks pure and wholesome, his mind no longer bombarded with anxiety, nerves, or whatever else goes on inside that pretty head of his. The relief and exhilaration from escaping the haunted house paired with a moment of child-like freedom has brought out a serene glow in him.

Heeseung’s eyes meet yours as he straightens his back, his muscles relaxed now that he feels safe. "Now I know why people run through horror games," he chuckles, but his words are lost in the sweeping air, and you fail to register them, still caught in your reverie.

Your silence isolates you both, prompting Heeseung to examine you more closely. Maybe you're in shock from the scare the house gave you, or perhaps you're gathering your breath. He finds it unusual for you to be so quiet. You're just looking at him, lost in contemplation, with an inscrutable face that makes his smile fade somewhat.

"What is it? Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with worry, his hand gently squeezing yours.

It takes you a minute to realise you’re staring at him, your brain clouded with so many thoughts and realisations that it shuts down for a moment. The overwhelming affection you feel for him leaves you momentarily speechless. Never in your life has a man rendered you incapable of basic human functions. The way he looks in the summer sun, the ease with which he’s starting to smile, makes your heart flutter in a way you’ve never experienced before.

Finally, you shake your head slightly, breaking free from your trance. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Let’s…go find another ride.” Changing the subject seems to be your only way out, so you use the whiplash as your opportunity to bolt before he asks something else.

“Hey, wait!” he shouts behind you in an attempt to slow you down, but you’re already steadily running towards the middle of the park. The crunch of gravel under your shoes is the only sound accompanying your rapid footsteps, the eerie silence of the abandoned amusement park amplifying every movement.

Your eyes scan over the abundance of left-to-die rides, mourning for them as you think about how they have been forced to remain stagnant. Surely they could have been reused somewhere else? Why is it that these particular machines weren’t good enough? The sight of rusted Ferris wheels and dilapidated roller coasters, their once vibrant colours now faded and peeling, tugs at your heartstrings. 

As you weave through the overgrown pathways, you stumble upon something that catches your eye - a tunnel with a large, heart-shaped archway. The sign above it reads “Tunnel of Love,” but there’s no water in the canal below due to sunshine and abandonment. The boats that once floated gently along the waterway now sit dry and cracked, covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The wooden planks of the dock are warped and splintered, evidence of the neglect they’ve suffered.

Stepping closer, you peer into the tunnel. The walls inside are decorated with faded murals of romantic scenes: lovers in rowboats under a starlit sky, holding hands as they drift through enchanted landscapes. The air is thick with the scent of damp wood and mildew, the remnants of the once-glistening water now a distant memory. The cracked and dry canal floor, once a pathway for swaying boats, now lies abandoned, its purpose long forgotten.

Heeseung finally catches up, panting heavily. “Y/N, please don’t run away like that. Anyone or anything could be out here,” he scolds softly, his voice laced with genuine concern. He gives you a once-over, ensuring you haven't been hurt, scanning your form, checking for any signs of injury or distress. The thought of a rabid animal or some hidden danger lurking in the shadows sends a shiver down his spine. The idea of you being harmed, even by a scratch, is enough to send him into an anxious panic. He doesn’t even want to think about the state he would be in if you suddenly got caught by the police.

You see the worry etched on his face and feel a pang of guilt for making him anxious. “I’m sorry, Heeseung,” you say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just…this place, it’s so fascinating in its own way.” You daren’t tell him it has anything to do with your mixed up feelings.

Heeseung’s expression softens at your words. “I know, it’s just…we have to be careful. This place is falling apart, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” His eyes, full of concern, meet yours, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest at his protectiveness.

“I guess this is the wrong time to ask if we can go through the tunnel?” you sheepishly ask, hoping that he will say yes to your request. You have always wanted to go through a love tunnel, even just once.

Heeseung sets his focus down the dark tunnel and pouts slightly in thought. “Does it even still work?”

That is a question you don’t have even the tiniest speck of an answer for, but you can make the assumption that the correct one would be a hard no. Your face forms into a disappointed frown, your hopes of experiencing the ride now dismal.

Upon seeing your disappointment, Heeseung refuses to watch the excitement die inside of you. His mind races, desperate to find a way to make this moment special for you. Glancing around, his eyes catching sight of an old, weathered booth tucked away to the side.

“Wait here for a second, I’ll see if I can get it working,” he says, determination setting in as he walks over to the booth. The structure is small and dilapidated, with a sign above it that reads ‘Operator’. Heeseung pushes open the creaky door and steps inside, brushing away the cobwebs that cling to his shirt. The air is stale, filled with the scent of dust and decay, but he’s undeterred, thankful he is only scared of women and not spiders.

Inside, a control panel covered in grime greets him. It is a chaotic array of buttons, switches, and levers, each labelled with faded, barely legible text. Heeseung squints, trying to make sense of the worn labels: “Start,” “Stop,” “Lights,” “Music,” “Emergency.” He has no idea how to operate the machinery, but the thought of seeing you happy drives him forward.

Heeseung’s fingers hover over the buttons, hesitant. “Okay, let's see,” he mutters to himself, trying to recall any fragments of knowledge about old amusement park rides. He presses the “Start” button, hoping for some sign of life. A low hum fills the booth, and the old, rusted mechanisms of the tunnel creak in protest as they start to move.

Peering out of the booth, he sees a few of the dim fairy lights flicker to life inside the tunnel. The ancient bulbs struggle but manage to cast a faint, romantic glow along the pathway. Heeseung’s heart races with a mix of excitement and anxiety, hoping this will work.

He looks back at the panel and flips the switch labelled “Music.” A scratchy, old recording of a love song begins to play, the sound wavering but still charming in its vintage way. He can’t help but smile, imagining how you must be feeling right now.

“Oh my god, Hee, it’s on!” Heeseung's heart swells as he hears your delighted squeal echoing through the air. Despite the dusty and bug-infested surroundings of the booth, seeing you so excited makes every moment worthwhile. He steps out, wiping his hands on his shirt to rid them of the grime, and walks over to where you're standing by the entrance to the love tunnel.

Your face lights up as he approaches, your eyes sparkling with joy. The soft glow of the tunnel's lights illuminates your features, casting a warm, romantic aura around you both. Heeseung can't help but smile back at you, his own happiness mirroring yours.

"I told you I would try," Heeseung says playfully, a hint of pride in his voice. His eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he glances towards the tunnel entrance. Inside, the flickering lights cast dancing shadows on the cracked walls, and the faint strains of the love song create an unexpectedly enchanting atmosphere.

"And I’ll never doubt you again," you reply with a bright smile, nudging him gently with your shoulder. "Can we just walk through it?" you ponder, noting the absence of water and the cracked boat that would have carried you through a dreamy water ride.

Heeseung chuckles softly at your playful nudge, feeling a warmth spread through him at your words of trust and appreciation. He meets your gaze, seeing sincerity and excitement shining through, and nods enthusiastically.

"Of course we can. Who’s going to stop us? Security?" he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Taking the leap, Heeseung gracefully jumps down into the tunnel, his lanky limbs giving him an effortless advantage. The worn, pool-like ground beneath him feels sturdy underfoot as he kicks away empty vodka bottles and shattered glass.

"Come on," he beckons with a gentle smile, his fingers curling inward to encourage you to join him in the deep space below.

Trusting in Heeseung’s ability to catch you, you sit on the edge and wait for him to position himself below. Heeseung stands ready with his arms outstretched, prepared to catch you. A wave of excitement and nervousness wells up in your chest. His sweet smile and supportive gesture fortify your resolve as you prepare to plunge. 

“It’s okay, just jump, I’ll catch you,” he assures, his face conveying unwavering confidence in his ability to protect you. His voice, serene and certain, echoes gently in the tranquillity of the abandoned attraction.

His eyes never leave yours, filled with a warmth that melts away any lingering doubts. In that moment, his faith in your safety gives you the courage you need to push off the ledge. You’re not scared of heights, just of falling.

You propel yourself forward, the world momentarily blurring around you as gravity takes hold. The rush of wind fills your ears, a fleeting sensation of weightlessness before you feel Heeseung's strong arms enveloping you. His embrace is secure and comforting, anchoring you safely in his grasp.

As you settle into his arms, a wave of relief washes over you, adrenaline slowly giving way to a sense of accomplishment and gratitude. Heeseung holds you close, his touch gentle yet firm, as if reassuring himself of your safety. His embrace is tighter than necessary, his hands cradling you protectively, and you feel the steady beat of his heart matching the rhythm of yours.

“See? I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a quiet strength and reassurance.

You blush slightly, grateful for his stability as you take a step back, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin, mingling with the surge of emotions coursing through you. Your dynamic shifts significantly in this moment; his confidence and reassurance are new, as is your sudden desire to shy away and twirl your hair.

Standing there, relishing the warmth of the moment, Heeseung softly extends his hand to you as a quiet invitation. His eyes, gentle and comforting, meet yours, softly indicating that he is ready whenever you are. The air around you seems to shimmer with the remnants of the love song echoing softly from the tunnel, adding to the novel ambience.

You peek down at his hand, which looks strong and welcoming. Without hesitation, you reach out, your fingers naturally linking with his. 

Heeseung gives you a pleasant grin, his attention shifting to the tunnel entrance. "Shall we?" he says softly, his tone full of optimism and wonder. His grasp on your hand is firm yet kind, guiding you towards the darker entryway where pink-hued lights flicker and dance against the walls.

Taking a deep breath, you respond with a nod and a broad smile. Together, you enter the tunnel, the ground beneath your feet reverberating softly with each step.

The enchanting atmosphere grows as you and Heeseung venture deeper into the tunnel. The warm lights cast a soft glow on the forgotten walls, illuminating the path ahead with a dreamlike quality. You notice faded murals depicting whimsical scenes of enchanted forests and mythical creatures, their vibrant colours still peeking through despite years of neglect.

The tunnel widens into a larger chamber, revealing remnants of the once-grand attraction. Rusted railings and dilapidated boats lie abandoned, adding to the sense of forgotten magic. You can almost hear the echoes of laughter and the gentle splashes of water that once filled the air.

Heeseung watches you with a delighted smile as you take in your surroundings, your eyes wide with wonder. He enjoys seeing you like this, so full of curiosity and excitement. "It's amazing, isn't it?" he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid to break the spell of the moment for you.

You nod, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. "It's like stepping into another world," you reply, your voice filled with awe. 

There must have been thousands of couples who road down this exact path, hearts filled with love for their partners as they took in the different scenes meant to exhibit different kinds of love; a fairyland garden that depicted an elf picking a daisy for his faerie girlfriend, different forest animals around a campfire, each paired with their own lover.

The two of you explore the different sections of the attraction, each one more fascinating than the last. One passageway leads to a room filled with intricate mechanical contraptions, once part of a grand clockwork display. 

In another area, you discover a garden-themed section, where overgrown vines and flowers have taken over, creating a beautiful, natural tapestry. The scent of blooming flowers lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the dusty corridors you navigated earlier. Heeseung picks a small, wildflower and tucks it behind your ear, his touch gentle and affectionate.

"You're even more beautiful than the flowers," he says softly, causing you to blush and smile shyly. Heeseung can feel his fingers tremble slightly but he keeps his confident manner, pushing away his virgin nerves for a minute to give you the experience you deserve.

He is so sweet and you thank the heavens for allowing you to experience this tunnel with him.

Your journey takes you to the heart of the attraction, where a grand stage still stands. The stage is adorned with tattered curtains and faded decorations, but you can easily imagine the grandeur it once held. Before you stands a scene depicting a king and queen sitting proudly on their thrones, hands raised in a waving gesture, greeting their subjects with glee as they hold hands.

“I wanna get a closer look,” you say, your eyes glued to the regal couple. Heeseung nods and follows you without hesitation. “Can you boost me up?” you ask, glancing at the steep wall separating you from the display.

Nodding with an agreeable smile, Heeseung walks over to the wall and kneels beside it, his hands crossed on his knee to create a platform for you to step on. He thanks himself for playing Tomb Raider one too many times, giving him the knowledge to assist you properly without making it awkward.

Offering him a quick thanks, you place your foot on his hands and he lifts you up effortlessly. Your arms shake slightly as you pull yourself onto the platform, but you manage to steady yourself and take in the intricate details of the royal figures.

From your elevated vantage point, you can see the exquisite craftsmanship of the display, each feature carefully carved to bring the king and queen to life. The sight takes your breath away, and you share your amazement with Heeseung, who watches you with a proud smile.

"It's even more incredible up close," you say, your voice filled with awe. 

Wanting to get in on the action, Heeseung searches around, looking for something to help him up to the platform that you seem so amazed by. There isn’t much but rubbish and some strewn, soggy leaves. He would ask you for a hand up but he’s scared he’ll drag you right back down again.

Pacing the area, he finally comes across a ladder which has obviously fallen from the wall, with sections of the steps missing, the rust from the metal enough to make his skin crawl as he thinks about all the time he refused to get a tetanus shot at the doctor's; oh, how that would come in handy now.

Heeseung chooses to take the risk, picking it up and placing it against the wall before hastily mounting it, fearful that it will slip and he'll end up with more damage than lockjaw. 

Fortunately for him, he gets up relatively easily and can finally join you in the delight. His eyes scan the scene before him, and he realises why you were so determined to make it up here. The slight flush on the queen's cheeks and the king's adoring stare at his wife epitomise love, showcasing their devotion as though they were real people.

Whoever made this park put time and effort into every small detail. It’s a shame entire generations will miss out on it.

Timidly, you walk over to the dolls, a lingering fear that they might come to life still gripping you. The haunted house has left your nerves frayed, making everything seem like a potential threat. However, they sit obediently in place, their eyes unmoving and thankfully unbothered as you begin to move them, eager to sit on the throne they possess.

Gently, you place them on the ground beside one another, ensuring they remain together. You turn to the throne and feel the material, testing its sturdiness to make sure you don’t fall through when you sit.

Heeseung watches you with a mix of amusement and admiration. "I think it's safe," he says, offering a reassuring smile, his hand outstretched to guide you to the seat.

You take a deep breath and carefully lower yourself onto the throne. To your relief, it holds firm, and you find yourself seated in the seat of royalty. The sensation is surreal, almost making you feel powerful, and you realise why the monarchy insists on these comically massive chairs.

“Imagine being the queen,” you muse aloud, rubbing the armrests as you commit every fine detail to memory. The intricate carvings of flowers and vines shine back at you as you unintentionally clean away the buildup of dust.

“I’d vote for you,” Heeseung replies, admiring the sight of you seated on the throne.

You look up at him with confusion. “Heeseung, it’s the Prime Minister we vote for, not the queen,” you say, wondering how on earth he confused the two.

He scratches his arm, a nervous habit of his when he feels even the tiniest bit embarrassed. “Oh, well…I’d still vote for you to rule the world somehow,” he says sheepishly, his eyes falling to the floor. He wishes he could pretend he didn't get them mixed up, but in his mind, they all merge together, perhaps due to years of neglect by both parties.

You giggle and swing your feet, enjoying normalcy for once. It reminds you of the conversations you had with the girls, helping one another to learn even the most obvious things. One of them once asked if Essex was a continent, and you had to gently explain cities and countries.

You took those times for granted.

The music suddenly changes to a softer melody, like one from a jewellery box, pulling you back to the present. The beautiful sound carries an air of love around you, filling the tunnel with a tender, enchanting atmosphere.

Heeseung also notices the change and sees the quiet excitement on your face, the elation evident in your eyes. The corners of your lips turn up in a smile, showing him how much you love the song.

Offering you his hand, he bows slightly. "Would the queen like to dance?" he asks, his embarrassment and nerves dissipating as he watches your reaction.

"The queen would be honoured," you reply with a playful smile, taking his hand and standing up. The two of you move into a waltzing position, or at least as close as two amateurs can manage.

Heeseung's hand rests gently on your waist, and you place yours on his shoulder. Your feet move in tandem with his, following his lead as he sways you softly from side to side. The rhythm is simple, almost instinctual, as you both find a comfortable pace. Heeseung twirls you around, guiding you with a delicate touch. The tunnel fills with laughter as you both realise how terrible you are at dancing, your steps more like a gentle walk back and forth rather than any actual dance move.

The flickering lights cast a warm, romantic glow on your faces, adding to the dreamlike quality of the moment. You can't help but feel a sense of euphoria, the combination of the music, the setting, and Heeseung's presence creates a perfect moment of bliss. Each step, each movement, is filled with unspoken words and shared smiles.

Heeseung's eyes never leave yours, and you feel a profound connection with him, as if the entire world has faded away, leaving just the two of you in this enchanted place. His fingers are warm against your back, his grip secure yet gentle, providing a sense of safety and comfort.

As you continue to sway, you can hear Heeseung's soft breaths, matching the rhythm of the music. You lean in closer, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"You know," you whisper, a hint of teasing in your voice, "your heart doesn't beat as fast as it used to."

Heeseung huffs out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through your body. "I guess I'm getting used to having you close," he replies, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. His tone turns slightly more serious as he speaks again, his grip on you tightening slightly. “And I feel safe with you; I think that’s why.”

His confession causes you to look up at him. The sincerity on his face adds weight to his words. The emotion in his eyes is pure, and you know he means it. You've seen him grow comfortable with you over the weeks, but hearing him say it out loud makes your stomach do cartwheels.

Taking his hand, you place it gently over your heart, his palm resting just on top of your left breast. Your actions startle him at first, but he soon relaxes, feeling your heartbeat which matches his own rhythm.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you beam at him. “I guess mine feels safe with you too.”

The moment stretches, the air between you thickening with an electric charge. Heeseung’s eyes darken slightly as they flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes. His hand remains on your chest, the warmth of his palm seeping through your shirt, creating a connection that feels almost tangible.

You can feel his breath on your skin, the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours. Slowly, he leans in, his lips hovering just a centimeter away from yours. The anticipation makes your heart race even faster, and you close the gap, pressing your lips to his in a tender kiss.

The initial contact is soft and tentative, testing the waters. But as soon as your lips meet, an undeniable heat flares between you. Heeseung’s hand moves from your chest to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

This isn’t your first kiss with him, yet it feels entirely different to the ones you have shared before, although still as intoxicating, this one also ignites your soul in ways you never thought possible, the feeling as though you are opening yourself up to him completely. It could be the romantic atmosphere, or it could be something more.

The kiss deepens, growing more passionate with each passing second. Heeseung’s other hand settles on your waist, drawing you flush against him. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, against your own, creating a rhythm that syncs perfectly with the dance of your lips.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss further. His tongue gently brushes against your lips, seeking entry, and you part them willingly, allowing him to explore. The taste of him is intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine.

The heat between you intensifies, your bodies pressing closer together as if trying to meld into one. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him even nearer. Heeseung responds with a low groan, the sound vibrating through you and igniting a fire in your belly.

His hand slowly begins to massage your tit, causing you to roll your head back and break the kiss, enjoying the feeling of being touched. Moans escape your throat as you relish in his contact. However, as Heeseung makes his way to capture your lips with urgency, you find yourself falling back, losing your footing and stumbling back onto the throne, dragging the man down with you.

Heeseung panics, terrified that his body weight has somehow hurt you upon impact. But as your lips find his again, all worries melt away with each stroke and swirl of your tongue against his. You are so lost in him that you fail to notice how your head hits the backrest of the throne, likely causing you a migraine in the hours to come.

The surroundings seem to fade as your world narrows down to just the two of you. The throne room, once a grand stage, now a silent witness to your burgeoning romance, adds an air of surreal magic to the moment. The tattered curtains sway gently with the breeze, and the faded decorations glint faintly in light, casting a soft glow that bathes you both in a warm, intimate embrace.

Grabbing your hips, Heeseung shifts you to sit more comfortably on the throne. His lips move from yours to your neck, exploring the tender skin there with a mix of reverence and desire. Your natural scent drives him wild, his nose ghosting over your pulse points before licking and sucking them gently.

The action causes you to whimper, legs spreading instinctively as he turns you into a puddle of arousal beneath him. It’s incredible how a man who has never touched a woman is somehow doing more for you than any experienced man ever could. It’s as if he came straight from a dream factory, complete with the sex function already installed, add-ons included. Even the way he holds you, his fingers digging into your hips just right, is enough to have your hips bucking into his.

"Heeseung," you moan, threading your fingers into his hair. With gentle force, you begin to push his head down, guiding him to where you need him most.

Eyes widening, Heeseung retreats slightly. "Y/N, I-"

"Please, Heeseung," you beg, your face a picture of desperation.

Heeseung wants nothing more than to rid you of your clothes and devour you like his life depends on it, but a constant, nagging fear lingers in the back of his mind: what if he does it wrong? This is the first time he'll even see a vagina up close, let alone have the pressure to please the woman he adores.

Of course, he has watched the porn tapes that Jongseong and Jaeyun somehow managed to collect from a shady dealer in Camden Market, and there are the magazines he looks at for some light reading, but never has he seen one in the flesh. His face goes slightly red, and you can see him retreating back to the boy who first stepped into the hotel room, panic and fear springing to life in his eyes as he contemplates the notion of giving you head.

Reaching over, you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly in an attempt to ease his mind. "Hee, just do what feels right. I trust you."

The affirmation in your voice, coupled with the tender touch of your fingers, reassures him. Heeseung takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with newfound resolve. Slowly, he lowers himself between your thighs, his hands sliding up your legs and parting them gently.

With shaky fingers, he unbuttons your jean shorts and pulls them down, taking your panties along with them. His heart skips approximately three beats as he stares at your heat, its slight glisten caught in the faded overhead lights of the platform.

It's even more beautiful than he could ever have imagined, the heat radiating from it as it calls him closer, whispering pleas to be touched that only he can hear.

Gathering his courage, he starts with tentative kisses, his lips brushing against your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your centre. You can feel his breath, warm and teasing, and it makes your heart race even faster. His hands, steady now, grip your hips firmly, holding you in place as he finally reaches his destination.

Heeseung’s first touch is gentle, a soft press of his lips against your most sensitive spot. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching off the throne. Encouraged by your response, he grows bolder, his tongue darting out to taste you. The initial hesitancy fades away, replaced by a focused intensity as he explores, learning what makes you squirm and moan with pleasure.

The taste is foreign but far from unpleasant. He can see himself becoming addicted to you with each long stripe of his tongue up your folds. He closes his eyes, harnessing all his senses to taste you and hear your heaven-sent moans filter through his ears.

Your hands find his head, pushing him further in as you urge him to be a little more dominant, his soft licks now teasing you as you crave more. “Heeseung,” you begin, eyes closed while you practically hump his face, using his sharp nose to stimulate your nub. “Focus on my clit, please.” The instruction is so breathy that it doesn’t sound demanding at all but rather pleading.

Hearing your soft cries, Heeseung darts his tongue around clumsily until he comes across your sensitive nub, its swollen state making it easier to find. That was a worry of his after hearing countless conversations in uni from girls about men never finding it, yet, he had nothing to be anxious about because, despite other men’s incompetence, he latches onto it quickly, sucking and swirling his muscle around it.

The sounds of his slurping mixed with your groans of pleasure echo around the tunnel, truly transforming it into its branded name. He’s hitting all the spots, although sometimes lacking direction and ruining the rhythm, yet he always manages to find his way back to the spots you crave him.

Every stroke of his tongue, every gentle suck, drives you higher, the sensations building into an overwhelming crescendo. Your hands grip his hair tightly, your hips moving of their own accord, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he’s giving you.

“Heeseung,” you moan, the sound of his name a desperate plea on your lips.

He responds with a low hum, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure that’s consuming you. His tongue moves with increasing confidence, drawing out whimpers and cries from you that bounce straight to his semi-hard cock. The feeling of his mouth on you, his hands holding you steady, is almost too much to bear.

Your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him between your legs and signalling your impending climax. The feeling of suffocating at the hands of your pleasure feels like such a heavenly way to die that Heeseung doesn’t mind it one bit.

The tip of his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, the ridgedness of him stimulating you over the edge and causing you to come undone around him, your entire upper body removing itself from the backrest and hunching over him, your fingers gripping his hair painfully as the high rushes through your veins.

“Fuck!” you scream out, your cunt riding his face as it spreads your juices over him, marking the man as your own.

Heeseung smiles as he feels you cum over his tongue, a swelling sense of pride enveloping his body as he makes you wriggle in ecstasy. He made a girl cum, him, the virgin who only 10 minutes ago hadn’t even seen a pussy before, and now here you are, losing yourself in euphoria all because of him and his newly experienced tongue.

He will give himself a pat on the back later.

Just as you begin to relax, your muscles unclenching and your heart settling into a steady rhythm, the lights above suddenly go out. The warm white and pink hues that had bathed the tunnel vanish, plunging you both into complete darkness.

For a moment, there is silence. The absence of light seems to amplify the sounds around you—the faint echo of your breathing, the soft rustle of fabric as Heeseung shifts nervously. The air feels heavier now, thick with uncertainty and a touch of apprehension.

“Fuck, the ride must shut off automatically,” you conclude, only grounded in your panic due to the touch from Heeseung. 

Heeseung lifts his head from between your legs, sitting on his feet as he looks around for a spec of light. Unlike the haunted house, there are no windows to even offer you a glimpse of light, it is pitch black and suddenly very, very cold.

Feeling around him, Heeseung retrieves your shorts from the ground before manoeuvring around in the darkness to help you put them back on. His heart sinks a little at the sudden interruption because although unconventional and spur of the moment, this could have been his opportunity to lose his v-card, finally ridding him of what he found a burden.

If his cock could talk, it would be sobbing as it gets left in his boxers for one more day. It craves to be inside you but for now, he just needs to focus on both of you getting out of the tunnel safely. 

Standing up, Heeseung feels for your hand in the darkness, gently pulling you up from the throne. “Hold onto my hand but let me go first. I’ll get us down,” he says with determination. His face is close to yours, his breath warm on your forehead, your body so near to his that you could almost feel the heat radiating between you.

Interlocking your fingers with his, you feel his confident movements as he tests the ground ahead. He stretches out his foot, tapping lightly to gauge if there’s solid ground beneath him, repeating the process around him. He’s grateful for the random fireman experience he attended in his last year of high school, recalling the lessons on how to navigate in darkness or low-visibility situations.

He repeats the tapping process four times, methodically feeling his way forward until he finally senses the edge of the platform. The drop feels daunting in the darkness, making Heeseung feel the same sense of vulnerability you had felt earlier. Everything seems more intimidating when you’re smaller and engulfed by darkness.

Heeseung’s voice cuts through the darkness, calm yet laced with concern. “I’ve found the edge. I’ll go first and help you down.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly, a reassuring squeeze that conveys both determination and comfort in equal measure.

“Be careful, Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice resonating faintly in the vast, silent tunnel.

Heeseung guides you to sit on the edge, his movements deliberate and careful. He positions himself next to you, his posture steady as he prepares to descend. “Wait there,” he instructs softly, before shifting his weight and gingerly sliding down the rough surface of the wall.

Each movement is cautious and deliberate. Heeseung avoids taking any unnecessary risks, mindful of the darkness that blankets you both. His hands grip the uneven edges of the wall, his feet finding purchase on the slight protrusions of the structure. He gently eases down until he finally finds stability on the ground.

Heeseung's mind races with unwelcome images of scurrying rats, the darkness amplifying his unease. His skin prickles with imagined sensations, the urge to escape the enclosed space growing stronger with each passing moment. He shakes off the disturbing thoughts, reminding himself firmly that he is in Scotland, far from the bustling streets of downtown New York.

Reaching out in the darkness, Heeseung’s hand finds your legs, and he squeezes them reassuringly, a silent gesture to remind you that he is there, a steady presence amidst the unsettling environment. "Okay, Y/N," he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and encouragement, "you can come down now."

You nod, though he cannot see it, your trembling arms inching closer to the edge. Your heart pounds in your chest, the platform feeling less secure than ever before. "Please catch me," you plead, your voice shaky with fear, hesitant to move until you hear his reassuring words.

"Always, Y/N. I’m right here," Heeseung murmurs, his lips pressing a kiss to your leg in a tender gesture of reassurance, letting his protective instincts guide him through the darkness, pushing aside his usual nervous demeanour.

Taking a shaky breath, you curse Heeseung inwardly for rendering your body weak with his earlier ministrations, his tongue that you were blessing now cursed in your mind. Your legs feel like jelly as you begin your descent, every movement wary. The darkness seems to press in around you, adding to your unease.

Heeseung’s hands are steady and sure as he guides you down, his touch gentle yet firm. You feel his support anchoring you, easing your fall despite the lingering fear. His presence beside you is a constant source of reassurance, his voice offering encouragement whenever doubt creeps in. “I got you, Y/N.”

Finally, your feet touch solid ground, the relief palpable as you stand in the blackout. Your hands find Heeseung’s waist, gratitude flooding your heart for his unwavering support through the ordeal as you stand there embracing one another.

"Thank you," you breathe, your voice a whisper of genuine appreciation as you lean into his reassuring touch. His thumbs graze your waist as he nods, “Like I said, always.”

With your hand securely in his, he moves meticulously and slowly through the maze of darkness and debris. You trust him completely and follow his path to safety. The tunnel echoes with the sound of your footsteps, the only audible reassurance in the otherwise eerie silence. Heeseung's grasp tightens encouragingly anytime you come across an invisible obstacle, his presence serving as a continuous anchor in the unnerving gloom.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity in the blackened tunnel, you emerge into the brightness of daytime at the end. The relief washes over you like a wave, the outside world a welcome contrast to the claustrophobic darkness you just escaped. Heeseung turns to you, his expression softened with relief and pride.

"We made it," he says softly, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and triumph. His hand squeezes yours gently. Nodding in agreement, you offer him a small smile back, just relieved to see his face once again.

There, at the edge of the moat, a ladder beckons you both to climb. Its rungs, weathered and rusted, speak of years spent in neglect. Despite its worn appearance, it stands as a symbol of escape and freedom from the underground labyrinth you ventured through.

Heeseung is just glad he doesn’t need to find another rusted tool to help him up this time. With a determined stride, he begins to ascend the ladder, each step bringing him closer to the surface and away from the shadows that had engulfed you moments before. The ladder creaks under his weight, but it holds steady, a testament to its enduring strength despite its aged appearance.

You follow closely behind, feeling the warm sunlight kiss your skin as you emerge from the depths. With each rung you climb, the darkness recedes further into memory, replaced by the promise of open skies and fresh air.

As you reach the top, Heeseung extends a hand to help you over the edge. Together, you stand on solid ground once more, the moat and tunnel behind you now a part of your shared adventure. The world around you seems brighter, more vivid, as if the ordeal has heightened your senses to appreciate the simplest joys of daylight and freedom.

Well, as much freedom as you have considering there is a whole national police force after you.

Looking at your saviour once more, you see your juices still drenched over his face and it elicits a small giggle from you. The sound causes Heeseung’s brows to quirk, questioning your sudden change in mood.

“You have a little something on your face,” you answer his silent question, reaching up to wipe him clean, your thumb brushes over his chin and cheeks, feeling the faint hint of stubble under your thumbprint. 

The moment is so tender despite the lewd action that resulted in this. His eyes fall shut as you continue to clean him, never missing a drop, leaving his mouth last. You lean up and kiss him ever so gently, his lips that are swollen from their labour meld with yours so beautifully, like they are made for you and only you.

As you kiss him, the tension of the moment begins to dissolve, replaced by a sense of intimacy and connection. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if to ensure you won't slip away. The stubble on his face grazes your skin gently, a contrast to the softness of his lips as they move against yours.

There's a lingering taste, a mix of sweetness and saltiness, that stays on his lips from moments before. It's a reminder of the passion shared, now tempered by this gentle act of cleaning up. 

When you finally break the kiss, your eyes meet his, and there's an unspoken understanding passing between you. It's not just about what happened, but about this moment of tenderness and care that followed. 

His fingers trace a delicate line from your waist to your jaw, his touch light yet firm, something u spoken lingering in the air. You lean into his touch, a small smile curving your lips, feeling the warmth of his hand as it cradles your face. The world around you seems to blur and fade, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment of fragile yet profound intimacy.

Heeseung's heart pounds fiercely in his chest, each beat a testament to the whirlwind of emotions surging through him. Affection and reverence blend together, overwhelming his mind and filling him with a dizzying sense of attachment. Every fibre of his being is drawn to you, the intensity of his feelings almost nauseating in its potency.

He exhales slowly, his breath trembling as he gazes deeply into your eyes. His thumb strokes the apples of your cheeks, his touch gentle. He wants to tell you everything, to lay bare the depth of his emotions he feels for you.

"Y/N," he begins, his voice thick with emotion. "I think I-"

His words are abruptly cut off, his body tensing as he feels the cold, unforgiving pressure of a metallic object against the back of his head. The sudden intrusion of another presence is palpable, the heat radiating from the person standing dangerously close behind him.

"Don't fucking move."

taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan

[satorusugurugurl]

may i request camping with kento plsss

The Wingman!

Summary: Marie’s Summer Fest prompt: Camping

Pairing: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: language, threats, confessions, fluff, dry humping

Word Count: 1,982

A/N: Thanks for the request, Nonnie! This was a fun super cute prompt! Ugh I love Nanami so much so precious!! 😩💚

You were going to kill the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Despite his six eyes and limitless technique, you would find a way to kill Gojo. The cocky bastard found out you had liked none of me after walking by Shoko’s office and overhearing you, gushing about the glorious blonde that has stolen your heart.

He made it a point to help you get together with the seven-to-three ratio sorcerer. Gojo often asked you to meet him at the vending machines, only to find Nanami waiting instead. He would have Ijichi pick you up after the mission while Nanami was in the back of the car; he even went as far as locking you in the teacher's lounge together

Gojo had dubbed himself your wingman, and his first attempts to help you had been very innocent. This time he had gone too far.

The bastard had somehow talked Yaga into setting up a camping weekend for students. His reasoning was to let the kids be kids, which could help with their survival skills and team-building—all of which your boss fell for. At first, you were excited. You loved teaching the next generation of sorcerers, and your students always had a way of brightening your day. You sadly realized another reason for this trip, the second not standing in the woods waiting for everyone.

You were seconds away from bolting back to Campus when Gojo grabbed you by the back of your shirt, dragging you back to the group. “Alright, so we’re gonna go over sleeping arrangements.” Gojo went through the list of students before pointing towards himself.

“And our talisman teacher will be bunking with office-worker-dropout sorcerer Nanami Kento. While I’ll be chilling with Suguru!”

“I’m going to kill you.” You harshly whisper while the students begin setting up their tents.

“How could you say that after all the effort I put into giving you some alone time with Nanami?”

“Sleep with one eye open, you stupid cocky, arrogant—”

“Ooh~ keep talking, I'm getting close.”

You embedded your fist with cursed energy and slammed it against Gojo’s infinity, drawing out of the bark of laughter from the blindfolded asshole. Since punching him was out of the question, you stormed off to set up your tent with Nanami close behind you. Like always, he was courteous, insisting that he could put the tent up, but you declined, telling him that you needed to do something with your hands because murdering Gojo was impossible. To which he did something you’ve never heard; he laughed out loud.

Nanami’s laugh was warm and rich, leaving your stomach swarming with butterflies. You found yourself blankly, staring at him. Unaware of your staring, he grinned, shaking his head, as he leaned against a tree near him. That smile had all murderous intentions, floating down the river as his laughter fueled your drive for the night. Did the kids need firewood? You were off skipping through the woods to collect it. Suguru forgot to get the marshmallows out of the car for s’mores? No worries! Thinking of Nanami’s little headshake, you zoomed back to campus alone!

Thinking about his smile had you in a daze all evening. Even when you lay in the tent, staring off into space, you fought the urge to kick your feet as you thought about Nanami earlier. Your thoughts allowed a silence to grow between, but not awkward in an awkward way. It was almost smooth and comforting until he cleared his throat, drawing your focus towards him. Nanami had propped himself up on his elbow, still in his sleeping bag. His gaze was glued to the side of the tent as the soft flush dusted the tips of his ears

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“What?”

“I just wanted to apologize.” You sat up, watching as the Nanami Kento flushed his eyes, avoiding yours. “You’ve been distant today; you went to get firewood by yourself and went back to Campus alone.” he ran a hand down his face. “Gojo had told me you wouldn’t mind staying in a tent with me, but that man was wrong.”

“No—god, Kento, I’m sorry.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck. “I’m not uncomfortable at all! I’ve been so giddy all day because of you, so I guess I just seemed distant because I was in my world.”

Nanami shifts in his sleeping bag, focusing his attention on you. “You’re giddy because of me?” There is no going back now; it is now or never.

“Yes, because of your laugh and your smile.”

Nanami just blinked momentarily before the same smile from earlier graced his lips as he lay down, shaking his head. “Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” Your cheeks flushed down next to him. “So my smile, huh?” he cocked an eyebrow with a smirk.

“What can I say? I’m a simple woman.” Nanami chuckled softly, watching you closely. “You were really that worried I was uncomfortable?”

“Of course, you're the last person I’d ever want to make uncomfortable.”

“Oh, and why is that Kento?”

Honey brown eyes met yours as he inched closer. “Just like you, I get—“ he scoffed, “giddy around you.”

It felt hotter in the tent, so hot that you were kicking your sleeping bags down your legs, allowing you to inch yourself ever so closer to Nanami, freeing yourself from the confining blankets and, in a sense, the ropes that had metaphorically been holding you back. You moved closer. And you moved with the soft grind as you cut some of your hair behind your ear.

“Does the Nanami Kento like me?”

“If I said yes, what would you do?”

“Well, tell me, and you’ll find out.”

The sound of Nanami’s sleeping bag being unzipped and his smell invaded your space. “I like you.” You felt like the tension snapped in your shoulders as you jerked forward, cupping his face.

“I like you too.” Your lips pressed against his with a soft kiss. Ken didn’t flinch at the sudden intimate contact. Instead, he melted into it with his eyes shut. His hands slowly trailed up your arms, pulling you closer to him with a happy hum.

That small peck became more heated; Nanami’s teeth gently tugged at your bottom lip as he pulled you into his lap with a groan. You shifted your legs to straddle his hips, allowing you to grind against his. The taste of mint flooded the inside of your mouth, leaving you like putty in his arms while you ran your fingers through his soft, blonde hair, gently tugging at it by its roots.

“Haah~ shit.” Hearing a curse being breathed against your lips, you pulled away with a breathless laugh, leaving Nanami slightly frustrated at the sudden absence of your lips.

“Did you just curse?”

The man below you didn’t answer, and instead, he pushed you back against the sleeping bags, causing breath in your lungs to leave as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, allowing him to press himself directly against your crotch. “Yeah—“ he caught your lips with his and another heated kiss, “You’re going to be learning a lot more about me tonight, darling.” Almost all of Nanami’s weight presses down against you, and he begins rocking his hips against yours.

His erection pressed perfectly against your thin shorts; the seam in the middle of them hit your clit perfectly. Soft whimpers escaped your mouth and slipped into his as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down tighter against your body as you dry-humped each other like a couple of teenagers. The was flooded with soft grunts and moans along with the shuffling of clothes as you both pushed past the barrier of colleagues and friends into something more.

He couldn’t get over how good you smelled and how sweet you tasted against his lips, making him run faster, his hands gripping your hips and holding them down as he thrusts faster against your pussy. He wanted you, God, and he had wanted you for years! To finally have you underneath him was a dream come true. One that was, unfortunately, most likely going to end like the wet dreams he had had countless times before. Nanami couldn't help it, though, the feel of your body against his, the sweet sounds you were allowing to spill from your mouth into his, already him on the edge. He pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

“I’m sorry to admit this, but I’m not going to last very long.” He muttered, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a grunt.

“Me neither,” you whispered into his ear as your leg started to shake, “faster~ faster!”

Nanami obliged with a moan, rutting his hips faster against your teeth, clenched together, while you gasped, tilting your head back as the slow, steady grinding turned into a more feral, less synchronized pattern. It was turning into something that was more focused on the sweet relief of the building pressure that was going to burst. Sweat beaded on both you and Nanami’s forehead as his lips sucked and nipped at your sensitive neck, making you cry out softly.

Hearing your moans and feeling the way your clothed core twitched against his aching cock encouraged Nanami to grind his lips, moving harder, his fist digging into the blankets underneath as he threw his head back. The head of his cock rubbed frantically over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. It was when your legs were wrapped around him that Nanami let his whole body hunched over yours as he moaned out loud.

“Cum, oh fuck I’m gonna—!!”

The way his hips rolled expertly against your clit, r your back arching off the ground as your eyes went wide. Both of you came at the same time, his hips stilling against yours for just a second before he thrusts frantically against you, drawing out both of your orgasms until you both that he finally stopped. You kissed each other lazily as your hands fisted the fabric of his shirt. As you closed, separating your bodies from each other, fingers running through your hair until you both broke apart and panting heavily.

“Ooh, shit—” Nanami said, planting several kisses against your cheek. “I feel like a teenager again.”

“Me too—” you giggled as Kento pulled away to smile down at you, fingers gently caressing your cheek. “You wanna do something else like a couple of teenagers?”

“Oh, and what do you have in mind??”

You sit up, grinning mischievous as you toss him his shoes. “Let’s blow this camping trip and head to an amazing twenty-four-hour bakery I know.”

The following morning, when Gojo crawls out of the tent with his blindfold in disarray, he notices you and Nanami are absent while the students are rebuilding a fire. Out of curiosity, he checked his messages on his phone and saw an unopened text. On his screen is a picture of you and Nanami grinning with food in front of you. The message underneath it read. ‘Thanks Wingman.’ Leaving Gojo hooting as he smacks Suguru with his pillow. When the dark-haired man sat up with a groan, Gojo showed him the message.

“Get up! We’ll ditch the tents and take the kids to celebrate with pancakes!”

Suguru narrowed his eyes at Gojo, a vein in his forehead twitching as he shook his head. “It’s too early for your shit Satoru.” He purred before kicking his sleeping bag off.

“I wonder if they’ll name their firstborn after me!”

“I doubt it.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

Summer Fest Tag List:

@typicalife-101

[exhaslo]

Ghostface!Miguel x Reader PT.1

A little drabble until the poll is done~

Warning: Minors DNI, murder, drugs

It had been a long day and you were ready for some R & R. At least, you wanted to. It was Halloween and you would have loved nothing more than to go home, shower, and watch Halloween specials while munching on some candy and popcorn. That would have been your dream night after a long day of work, but those plans had derailed. One of your dear friends had invited you to a Halloween party. And what's better?

Apparently, your long time crush, Miguel O'Hara, was going to be there.

Now, Miguel was your friend. Had been for years since college. He was as fine as fine could be. You went from good friends to touching yourself to wet dreams of him every night. You had wanted to confess to the man, but he had girls all around him. Miguel was smart and stern. It was like he never took a day off to relax. You wanted to be his stress reliever.

"I can't imagine him at a party. Let alone a Halloween one," You mutter under your breathe as you put your costume on, "I hope this isn't too slutty."

You arrived at the location of the party, growing more worried by the second. This place seemed like those frat parties back in college. Miguel avoided those like the plague. You hesitantly grabbed your phone and noticed an unknown number calling you,

"Um, hello?"

"Hello, (Y/N)" The voice on the other line whispers. You tense slightly,

"Sorry, do I know you?"

"You tell me."

"Look, it's really loud and I'm super nervous right now. I can't even remember if I locked my own door, so I can't say who this is." You admitted, still hesitating on entering the party.

"Why are you so nervous?"

You gulped, "I was told the guy I like would be at a party and, well, it isn't somewhere he would be at...normally. That, and I feel so self cautious with my costume," You admitted.

What harm was there to let your heart out? It did make you feel better.

"Then call him and find out." The voice said in a demanding tone. You sighed softly,

"I was going too, but then you called. Anyway, you are you?"

"Someone willing to spare you."

The call dropped. You stared at the number in confusion, trying to think of who would call you like that. As you finally entered the building, you suddenly recalled the recent murders on the news. The only connection that was made was a random phone call from an unknown number. You heart rate spiked as you immediately called Miguel.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel answered. You bit down on your nail,

"H-Heeeey, so, super random. I was told that you were coming to this party uptown and well....I'm like freaking out because I got this strange call and you know how my brain leads from one thing to another and-"

"(Y/N), I need you to breathe. I'll be there soon."

-----------

You felt relieved when Miguel told you that he was coming. That was about twenty minutes ago. Time was going by slowly and your anxiety was rising. You were on your phone, googling everything about the Ghostface murders. He wouldn't attack you in a public place like this. Right? You were so focused on the news articles that you failed to notice some guys spike your drink.

You tried to calm down by drinking the thoughts away. You had a few shots, plus your tainted drink. Another ten minutes had passed and you were starting to feel woozy. You couldn't focus and decided to head to the bathroom in case you needed to throw up. As you stumbled, your phone rang again with the unknown number.

"Miguel?" You slurred, leaning against the wall.

"..." The voice was quiet at first, "You sound different from earlier."

"I don't feel too good. Migueeeeel," You groaned lowly. The voice grunted on their end,

"Don't hang up on me."

"Hey there, miss. Why don't we take you home?"

Your vision was blurred, but you could see two figures hovering over you. You tried to push them away, gripping onto your phone for dear life. The two men took it upon themselves to take you outside through the back alley door. The phone was taken out of your hands and tossed towards the concrete ground. You tried to complain, but they had covered your mouth.

"Don't think we can wait for the car-"

Before they could even finish their sentence, Ghostface appeared and started to stab them repeatedly. You slumped to the floor, unable to register what was happening. All you saw was red. You tried to come to your senses, barely registering that Ghostface was killing the two men before you. He didn't match the reports. Ghostface was supposed to be a calm and silent killer, not a stabbing maniac.

"(Y/N)! Are you alright?"

All you could do was whimper as you faded to black.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

PT.2 Will be in a bit!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Gonna hold you

Gonna kiss you in my arms

Gonna take you away from harm

a/n: So first and foremost, this is an early birthday present to my one and only true mate @brekkershadowsinger. You're an absolute love of my life and I'll never get tired of telling you that! Second of all, be gentle with me I haven't written for Az in a hot minute. 🤍

request: Since your requests are open could I ask for a Azriel x reader scenario? One where they are pinning for each other but someone obssesed with reader seduces/controls her with a enchantment or a spell and suceeds at some point, but our batboy realizes and comes to save her and that's when the bond snaps.

warnings: capture, kidnapping, murder... yeah

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"You're so smitten", Cassian says, trying to catch up with Azriel, who strides past the streets of Velaris. "No, I am not", the male grumbles back, picking up his pace. The two batboys were making their way to the little bakery that had opened not long ago. Well, it wasn't the bakery itself that was the reason for the trip, even if the baked goods there were to die for. It was you and you alone who had Azriel go there every free moment that he had.

"No, but you so are", Cassian said once again, since Azriel slowed down slightly while his thought lingered. "I swear if you don't shut up…", "You will stab me, burry me where no one could find me…", Cassian bent finger after finger as he named all the threats Azriel had made in the past two weeks since you had walked into his life. "But, dear friend, I'm mated to Nesta, so be wary of that", Azriel rolled his eyes at that threat. "As if she doesn't want to leave you in the ditch herself most of the time". To that, Cassian let out a loud gasp, "You take that back", but Azriel didn't even bother as he stepped into the little building, bending slightly since the doors were rather low for his tall frame.

This place used to be an ancient supply store before the war, but the owner never returned. Rhys had worked night and day trying to provide for families, hold their broken lives in his hands, and help them build them right back up. But the town shifted. There were many more new faces. Quite a handful of refugees from different courts have traveled here, full of hope and dreams, and Rhys has welcomed them all. Among that mass was you.

And mother struck Azriel dead, but he had never seen anyone else that was even close to what you were. He doubted that you had any magical powers. But in his eyes, you were the goddess of beauty herself. Someone who felt like a home at first glance. Someone who made it feel right. Who finally made Azriel slow down. Who got him so lost in his own mind that Azriel forgot about the steps in training.

The spymaster caught you refilling some couple's cups with a bright smile, and it was as if the room was glowing alongside you. You lifted your head, probably weary of the eyes watching you, and your face lit up once more. With the last goodbyes, you moved to walk closer to Azriel. Who looked way too big for this tiny place with his broad shoulders.

"Amazing, you're here. I thought I'd have to sit next to this sulking ass all morning", Cassian said, beating you to your first hello and leaving you quietly taken back by his words. Azriel threw him a deathly glare before yanking his man bun backward, causing the soldier to stagger back. "Don't pay him any attention; hit his head during training", Azriel's grip didn't loosen, and you couldn't help but frown slightly. "Ice?", the shadow singer hummed. "If it's not too much trouble, and two cups of tea while you're at it". You nod quickly before rushing towards the back room. "If you'll open your mouth one more time", Azriel glared at Cassian, who looked more like a toddler who just got a proper scolding from his mother than a scary Illyrian, "I'll sit still and look pretty, soldiers promise".

Azriel wasn't sure why he took Cassian with him in the first place, but he just had to. A part of him was scared. He got nervous around you. It was like all of his systems would overheat, and he would start ranting the most stupid nonsense, looking like an absolute loser. And well, no one besides Cassian knew about the feelings blossoming in the spymaster's heart. He was the one to point out that Azriel had fallen for you. The one who encouraged his brother to go offer you help with getting the bakery ready. The one who told him how to compliment you from time to time, even if it came out slightly weird at times. Azriel had never truly taken a liking to someone to this extent. So he needed backup, and well, Cassian was the best he got.

"You sure you don't need to see a healer?", Azriel snapped his gaze up, watching as you carefully pressed the pack of ice to Cassian's head. "I'm a worrier, lady; I've seen worse", Cassian's fingers brushed yours as he took the pack from your delicate fingers. A part of Azriel grew jealous. He wouldn't call himself territorial, and well, you weren't his, but still, it just didn't sit well with him. "And I made you tea how you like it", Pushing the cup towards the shadow singer, you smiled lightly. "Dash of milk and some honey", "Thank you, Y/N.", Azriel gave you a tight smile. Cassian nudged him under the table slightly, but it didn't seem to change much.

Your eyes scanned the bakery; considering that it was still pretty early, you didn't have too many customers to tend to, so you pulled the chair for yourself, wanting nothing more but to stay in the Illyrian presence for as long as possible. "The paint for the walls came", you muttered quietly, "I didn't open all the cans but had to peek to see the color", a light giggle escaped your lips, and Azriel wished he could hear that sound forever. "Do you have someone to help you?", Azriel never really liked that his voice sounded so harsh compared to yours, but he just didn't know how to make it sound more gentle. You shook your head. "Brian still can't move his arm; the healer said it has to stay wrapped for at least a couple more weeks". Brian was an older male who came along with you. You had told Azriel that he was the closest thing to family you had ever had, and so Azriel grew to respect the man who had given up a lot just so he could provide for you.

"I can come by and help; the next couple of evenings are free for me", Azriel said, but you shook your head, "I can't ask the spymaster of the night court to help me paint the walls". It was nice for him to offer, but this was too much. They had all done way too much already. "Don't worry, Azriel over here is capable of many things", Cassian said, clapping his brother on the shoulder, "Getting dirty just happens to be one of them", and Cassian was surprised that his head didn't meet the tabletop after those words.

Azriel did return to the bakery that same evening. The place was much more lively. All the tables were occupied, and you were twirling around them like a little bee, buzzing away with a never-ending smile on your face. Your light was the first thing that made you way out of his league. Everything you were, Azriel wasn't, and all he could think of was how he would stain you with his darkness.

"We don't have free tables, but I can make you a spot by the counter if you want?", Azriel jumped slightly at the sound of your voice. Mother, he needed to stop daydreaming around you so much. It was not good for his image, yet he just can't seem to keep his head in check. If beforehand all he could think about was work and the past, now it was all occupied by you.

"I can always just stay here", Azriel blurted out, gesturing to the side of the street, making your eyes grow big. "And eat on the ground, no way". Your much smaller hand grabbed his palm. And Azriel wanted to pull away, not wanting you to feel the scars that covered his skin, but your soft skin only presses against his palm firmly as you dragged him through the filled room.

Only when you two stepped into the little side room did Azriel speak up again, "I came to help with the paint". Another bland response; he generally needed to start working on that, but then you didn't seem to mind it. But what if you did? What if that ended up being the reason why you would potentially reject him? Not that you would ever want to do anything with him anyway.

"Az no..", his name rolling from your lips sounded sweeter than honey, and Azriel had to hold himself back from asking you to say it once again. "I'll work on some paperwork till you close, then we'll start painting", The spymaster shrugged his shoulders, summoning one of his shadows and pointing to the pile of papers the little dark creature barely managed to hold up. You gave him a look. One of those looks that Azriel hadn't yet learned to read.

"You know you won't reach the top of the wall anyway", the spymaster tried to reason, but you only crossed your arms over your chest. "I can get a ladder", you shrugged, "And fall over potentially, no", Azriel's voice sounded way higher. And now all he could see was you laying there unconscious. You said nothing for a bit, then leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Azriel's cheek. Some of his shadows started to twirl around him, causing the crimson blush on your cheeks to darken even more. You two lingered in silence tomorrow until you ran your hands over your apron and quietly slipped through the door back to the main part of the bakery. Azriel lifted his hand to his cheek, rubbing his fingers over the spot where your lips had been a moment ago.

"Can we paint shapes and then paint over them?", you giggled to yourself softly, a brush in your hand as you looked back at Azriel, who stood not far away from you, the sleeves of his shirt rolling up his arms, making his mucky arms seem even thicker. "Sure, do it if you feel like it", Azriel had watched you almost all night, and how could he not when you came to drag him out of the side room. Everyone was gone. You had pushed a couple of tables together, lit some candles, and had a warm meal steaming in the middle of the table. To say that Azriel's heart had nearly burst would have been an understatement. You had refused to tell him where the paint cans were until he had a proper meal because you had a feeling that he hadn't eaten much today.

"Do you paint?", you asked suddenly, finishing the outline of the flower that you had chosen to paint on the wall. "No, Fayre is the painter in the family", but that was only partly true. Feyre was the one who everyone knew for a fact painted in the family. So did Azriel; he just chose to do it in the comfort of his room. And for a while now, all he could draw and sketch was you. Was it in some way creepy? Yes, and that was the reason why no one would ever see it. But a part of Azriel feared that with time the memories of you might fade, so he wanted to capture and keep at least a couple of them.

"I heard that the high lady is a true beauty as well", you said with a dreamy sigh. Not even half as beautiful as you, Azriel wanted to say, yet he didn't. "Is it strange now that the city has been fed with newcomers?", You had dropped the brush back into the can by then, turning to watch Azriel's face. "More work on the safety part, but other than that, I don't care for it much", The hurt that suddenly shimmered in your eyes made Azriel want to add that you and Brian were by no means a part of the trouble. Or that he did care because that wave of refugees had brought you into his life, but those words seemed too big. Too close to the shadow singer's heart, so he choked them out.

"I guess everyone adapts differently", your eyes fell on the big bakery window, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Azriel found himself asking, "What do you mean?", when a stranger sensation started to twist his guts. "Oh, nothing too serious", you waved your head carelessly, "There's just this male. He comes by, stares through the window, and murmurs stuff ". Azriel's eyebrows knitted together in an instant. The worrier inside him woke up immediately. Red flags and warning signals rang in his ears. You must have sensed the tension and the shift in soft energy.

"Brian ushered him away a couple of times", you tried to reassure the spymaster. Brushing your fingers over one of the shadows that had started to swirl around the room. "I'll look into him", Azriel said firmly. "That is unnecessary", you followed suit straight away, but it seemed as if Azriel didn't hear you. "Maybe get one of the males I trust to stay nearby". You pulled at his hand softly. Letting your fingers tangle with him as you squeezed his hand, you said, "That is even more unnecessary".

Azrie wanted to argue, but then you were so close to him. He could feel your heartbeat. He could feel your body's warmth. He could smell you. He could touch you. And he did softly brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I'm sure the man just suffered a serious trauma during the war. We all deserve to have some peace, and if watching through the bakery window gives him that, let it be", you broke the silence once more before leaning in to press a kiss to Azriel's chest.

Just Azriel couldn't let it be. Especially when Rhys and the work on his hands kept him away from the bakery for the next couple of days. He felt restless. Even on the first night after not seeing you, Azriel was ready to just fly to you. Even if it was just so he could listen to your heartbeat for a moment.

And his concerns only grow when he and Cassian eventually made their way to the bakery. Brian was pacing in front of the building, the cane he uses to get around wobbling in his hands. "Sir", Azriel called out carefully, not wanting to startle the old man even more. And the way Brian's face both lit up at the sight of the spymaster and fell at the same time made Azriel think of the worst possible scenarios. "She's gone", Brian reached the bandaged hand towards Azriel, shaking as a leaf in the midnight air. "What do you mean gone?", Azriel tried to stay professional, to not let the words spoken affect him—not yet, not now; he needed a clear mind. "She.. she just", Brian's legs bucked, but Azriel quickly steadied him, throwing a glance at his brother who stood nearby, "Cassian, grab a glass of water".

Walking the male to the nearest chair to sit down, Azriel allowed him a moment to breathe. But he can see the need in Brian's eyes as he spoke up again< "She wasn't like herself. Her eyes… they looked dead". At this point, Azriel felt the fear start to choke him slowly. Let its nails dig into his throat and squeeze as hard as possible.

"Then that man came, and she just walked out with him", Brian gestured to the window, and Azriel instantly knew that he had made the biggest mistake when he agreed to drop this. Everyone deals with their trauma differently. How does this man do, then? By stealing young, innocent females?

"What man?", Cassian asked, and the question was needed. In place. And required when they dealt with trouble in the city. Just Azriel didn't count this as yet another mission in the city. His mind was working so fast that he gently started to feel like he was seeing sounds and hearing colors. "Azriel…", Brian called out for the spymaster, and he instantly drew his eyes back to the man, who had reached out to him once again. "She's been so happy with you the past couple of weeks, and it looked like she had no recollection of that when she left". Azriel didn't let the words set it. Happier. Happier because of you. Happier because she found something in you. Happier for the first time in a long while. Happier, just like you deserved to be, but where are you now? Where was he supposed to find you?

"We're going to the house of wind", Azriel said firmly as he stood up. "Rhys will look into your mind. I need to see the man's face. I need to know what to look for. Need to…", Cassian clasped Azriel's shoulder and said, "Start by taking a breath in", The general of bloodshed could practically feel Azriel's heart trying to beat out of his chest, "We'll find her; we won't stop until she's back home".

They are not wrong when they say that the unknown is what you fear most in life. You can handle things going bad; you can even prepare for and predict some of them, but it's when the situation is laced with uncertainty that it hits you, crippling you to your core. Azriel felt like he had lost a part of himself. As if one of his limbs had been cut off and he just now realized the necessity of it. Walking aimlessly, thinking thoughts that lead nowhere. He had everything. Everything that he didn't even know he had was gone. He hadn't even stopped to acknowledge it. Azriel's shadows had been twirling all over Velaris, but in a couple of hours, they had led him nowhere near you.

That was until such a strong sensation hit him. Like banging from behind closed doors. Something was reaching and clawing to get his attention. Azriel gripped his chest abruptly. The voices in the room died down. Turning into unidentified muffles. Where are you, Azriel ran that question through his mind once more. Where are you, my little light? The pain ripped through him once more, and the spymaster let out a quiet growl.

"I say we move the search out of the city", Rhys said, pointing to the areas he would suggest checking first on the map. "The mountains", Cassian also added. But Azriel shook his head, "No", the two bat boys exchanged glances, "Azriel", "I said no". Cassian wanted to speak, but Rhys shook his head quickly before saying, "We just want to…", "I can fucking feel her. I feel her here. She's here", Azriel roared as he quickly stood up.

Rhys read the situation fast, a knowing gleam flickering in his eyes. He too had been in a situation where the world was working against him and the love of his life, and now, with Azriel standing in front of him panting like a hurt animal, Rhys knew the truth and knew where this was leading, "Say a word, and we will go where you feel that she is kept".

The place was nothing more than a cave, a cave covered and drenched in dark magic enchantments. Tucked away on the north side of Velaris. Easy to miss because nothing hid you away more than the darkness itself. In the darkness, you could easily blend into absolute nothingness. You were there with your dress ripped to bits, twirling like a spring flower; just your face looked dead. No emotions. Eyes unseeing. The male motioned for you to step forward. And you did—no fighting, no pleading. Fully in control. The necklace gleamed in the firelight. The voices inside Azriel's head roared. That must be the main source of this insanity, then.

It took all of Azriel's self-control not to just march in there right then and there. He didn't want to wait for everyone to get into their position. This meant that he had to watch you being toyed with for one more minute, and it was already one minute too long. His hands gripped both of the daggers that he was holding. He thought of all the ways he knew how to end a life. All the ways he could drag out a death. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way. Your voice echoed in Azriel's mind once more. Well, this was how Azriel dealt with his.

When they finally struck, they quickly realized that the place was filled with at least a handful of other girls, all drained to the point of barely standing. Whatever had been happening here had been overseen, and for that, Azriel was ready to take the blame because this should have never been a thing in the first place. It was Azriel who pierced the male straight through the heart, letting Rhys devour the rest with his dark magic, crushing whatever remained of it around the cave. The moment the enchantments vanished, the place was filled with females gasping and crying. Please, confusion. Azriel noticed Cassian softly talking to some of the women. We're here to help, not to harm. Even if it seemed far too late.

Azriel's eyes fell on your shaky frame. The tugging in his chest continued with every step that he took closer to you. Your body flinched right as the spymaster kneeled in front of you, but the moment your eyes met his, you leaped forward, burying yourself in his strong chest. Azriel wrapped his arms around your middle without a second thought.

"I got you; you're safe; you're all okay", he whispered over and over, fingers brushing through your hair gently. "Az", you muttered almost in disbelief still, holding onto the spymaster as if your life depended on it, and in a way it did. "Yeah, my love, it's me", pulling away slightly, Azriel cupped your face, wanting nothing more than to bring back that happy gleam to your eyes once more.

"Az", you murmured once more, now watching him, memorizing him, and remembering him. "No one will ever harm you", Azriel stated firmly. He wouldn't allow it. Never again. You were his to look after now. You shook your head in disbelief, your delicate fingers brushing over the spymaster's sharp jaw. "It's you", your voice was nothing but a whisper, and Azriel couldn't help but smile as he turned his head to the side to kiss your palm, "It's me", he said.

"My…", but your breathing hitched as your head lulled back. Azriel was quick to steady your neck, but it didn't stop the panic from spiraling. You can't die. You couldn't have just died. His eyes darted to Rhys, who slowly approached you two and said, "Let's bring her back home, hun?".

Watching you sleep—at least that's what Madje said—was torture. Azriel was glad that your body was doing everything in its power to wear off the stress as quickly as possible, but he had to hear you tell him that you were okay. That you weren't hurt. That nothing happened there because he would bring back that fucker once again just so he could skin him again.

Your body stirred slightly, and Azriel held his breath. The flicker of the bond between you grew brighter. It fully snapped into place for Azriel when he stepped out of the cave with your unconscious body in his arms. He couldn't help but wonder what the last thing you wanted to say was. My what? Love? Savor? Mate? He would take any of those; he just needed to see your eyes once more.

With a couple of slow blinks, your eyes shot open, your breath picking up as the unfamiliar room filled your senses. He did not bring you back home, he wanted to be with you until you woke up, so his room felt like the most comfortable place at the time. "It's okay; you're in my room; you're safe now", he said softly, reaching out for your hand. Your gaze fell onto him once more, eyes filling up with tears.

"Come here", Azriel muttered. Sitting closer to you, he brought you into his arms, mindful of the weight of his wings pressing against your legs. Your arms sneaked around his neck as you held him close. Azriel sent nothing but love and light through the bond in hopes of soothing you even more, and he was more than surprised when he felt the same love coming back from your side.

The shadow singer pulled away slightly; he hated seeing your tear-stained eyes. "You…", he started, and you nodded your head. Knowing without words what he was about to say. Mates. As odd and unexpected as it was, you two were chosen for each other. A light smile painted your lips as you pressed your forehead against his. Azriel breathed you in. Finally allowing himself to let go of the tension. Finally letting himself believe that you were safe.

"Could I", you started, crimson tinting your still pale cheeks, "Could I kiss you?" The question was nothing but innocent. Yet carried by nothing but a desire to feel whole. To find that extra strength in having someone you could fully lean onto. Azriel brushed some of your hair from your face, his fingers caressing your cheek, "You don't have to ask because I would love nothing more".

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All acotar writing taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideings @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan

[gor3-hound]

i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in

a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name

word count: 1.8k words

Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.

You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.

You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.

But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.

He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.

He wasn't going to lose you, too.

You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.

You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.

You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.

Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.

Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.

“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”

“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.

His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.

“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.

“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”

"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

"I'll show you crazy."

Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.

“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”

“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”

He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.

“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.

“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.

You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.

Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.

His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.

“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.

“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”

His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.

He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”

You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.

He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.

He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…

You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…

[divaofmads]

MOB WIFE | JOEL MILLER

☠️It is inspired by an Italian mafia who turns into a mafia boss when a woman enters his life while he was a physics teacher.☠️

I'm not someone who has a mafia fetish, but I definitely have a fetish for imagining Joel Miller as a mafia or a teacher. ^^

☠️WARNINGS: ‼️18+ only‼️, Age Gap (early 20s/ late 30s), oral for male and female, bdsm, punishment, No Y/N, Betraying, Daddy Kink, Some Getting Harm, female reader, Joel turns very Creepy and Dark, Rough Sex, lovers to enimies, Sexual Violence, Crime, Blood, Murder, No Orgasm for you, Slang!, Language!!!

Note: I am an amateur for all these and apologize for any mistakes I made as English is not my native language.

Word: 15k+

~ Don't get inspired, just read and enjoy ~

Before becoming a mafia member, Joel was an academic in the thermodynamic department. He had a peaceful life. The only problem was the difficulty of the course he taught. Most of the time he would write questions on the board and no one would understand them. And those who thought they understood topics could not perform well in the exams. Luckily, you were there. You had an insatiable interest in chemistry and physics since high school. It was only natural that you would shine in this course, which was a mixture of the two subjects. For the past forty minutes, you would discuss topics one-on-one as if it were just the two of you in the class. You would go to his office after class and even though he had a lot of work to do, he would always make time for you. Sometimes, while discussing the effect of entropy on life, you learned details from your own lives, which brought you closer. Joel looked into your eyes like no one else had ever looked in. His eyes contained love, compassion, and happiness. As you realized his interest in you, regret, sadness and love appeared in your eyes. Because you hid your family. Everyone thought your last name was completely coincidental. You were a big liar and the consequences for that lie would be disaster for both of you.

After class ended, if your departure times were the same, you went to the front of the building where his office was located and waited for him. Although he was surprised to see you at first, after he got used to it, he would walk out the door with a smile. He had his laptop bag in one hand, his jacket draped over the finger of his other hand and placed it over his shoulder, your engineering books between your body and your arms, you were walking slowly down the tree-lined path. Even though you were brave, you were too shy to talk. He would say the first word to start a conversation. Sometimes, you got nervous when it came to your family. You had to lie. Your mother was a housewife, your father was a taxi driver. Since your financial situation was below average, you worked a part-time job. You couldn't leave your family. Despite everything, you had a happy family. While all these lies were coming out of your lips, the fact that your father killed your mother was harassing you. You felt trapped between all these lies and truths. Your face was down, emotions showing on your face. Joel, misunderstanding the reason for your discomfort, wrapped his arm around your shoulder and made suggestions to you.

But now you've changed a lot. You were not interested in the lesson anymore. Even though you seemed to be watching the board with your elbows on the table and your head supported by your hand, you were startled when Joel asked you a question.

It was another day when you weren't paying attention to class. Because there was a boy on your mind. He was obsessed with you and he knew who you were. He knew who you were in love with. If you didn't go out with him, he would tell everyone who you really were. All your lies would come out and Joel would hate you. Your friends would stop seeing you or anyone who wanted to take advantage of your power would become your friend. In fact, the boy's father was using him. They were rich and wanted to strengthen their company by taking support of you which is the member of respectable mafia family.

You frowned as you looked at the second law of thermodynamics written on the board, thinking about what the boy had told you. Entropy is the thermal energy term that best describes life and death. While this topic should interest you, your gaze is actually proof that you are not in class, and your flinching and stuttering whenever he asks you a question was really getting on Joel's nerves. He was aware that your capacity was not ordinary like others. He was also aware that if he worked on you at this young age, you could be one of the good scientists of the future. What happened to you? He had to find out.

"I want you to leave the classroom." Joel said while writing a question on the board. At first, no one understood. Everyone was looking at him with blank stares. The chatty student in the class asked him who he was talking about. Pedro turned his body towards the students and looked at you. The others followed the lecturer's eyes. You were ashamed. You didn't deserve what Joel did to you. You could have defended yourself, but you didn't. Besides, you had more important things on your mind than thinking about these things. You were angry with him, you were hurt. You unzipped your bag and stuffed everything on the table inside. Your movements were loud. You were stepping on your heels hard as you left the classroom.

Joel called you. “Come to my office after class!”

Everyone was surprised at how the topic had come to be and how it had trapped you in its center.

You wanted to get out of the building and run as far as you could. There were plenty of places on campus where you could hide. You had gotten tired of crying over time. You were wiping your eyes with the backs of your fingers when you saw a beautiful cat watching you. You sniffed and looked at the cat. Had the goddess Bastet come? This nobility inspired you. You picked up your bag and took out your little sketchbook. You hadn’t picked up a pen in a long time to express your art. Your creative spirit had finally come out of the cell it had been locked up in for a stupid young man. The cat had long gone from you, but who cared? You had seen that cat with your mind, not with your eyes. The cat with black and cinnamon fur looking at you haughtily, was dancing in your notebook, searching for happiness in the thorny arms of gloom.

"Painting is another way of keeping a journal." He said. You knew who the voice belonged to.

So you responded without looking up. "Pablo Picasso."

When you saw him sit next to you, you compromised your comfortable position and show respect to your lecturer, despite what he did to you.

He asked without looking at your face. "Why didn't you come to me after class?"

"If I had go to office of someone who wronged me early, I might have said things I would regret later." you replied.

Joel was amazed by your sincere response. You had brought up the subject that bothered you without breaking the barrier of respect. It was a sensible, intelligent response for a twenty-one year old girl.

"Is it unfair that I am angry because you no longer pay attention to class, ignore the lessons, and lower your grades?"

You replied with a sad look. "I'm not special to you anymore, am I? I'm not different."

Joel looked at you. “Do you think I feel that way about you?”

He took the sketchbook from your hand and waved it in the air. "Who else could do this besides you?And I haven't seen that notebook on your desk in months."

He didn't answer your question. He really kept an eye on you all the time. While you were chatting with your friends in the cafeteria, while you were doing research in the library.

You pressed your lips together shyly and looked down. “I haven’t felt this cared for in a long time. Thank you, Mr. Miller.” It was your first smile after class.

"You don't have to date a guy like Bill in order to love yourself. Don't be fooled by his popularity. He's nothing. And neither are those who follow him."

You were very surprised. He had misunderstood your closeness with Bill, but he knew about you.

"I wish I could make you aware of yourself," he said with meaningful looks. "Then you would understand who you really belong to." You didn't know why, but you felt strange.

You stammered, "Thank you for this nice conversation, Mr. Miller," and stood up. "See you on Wednesday."

You felt his eyes still on you as you walked away. You couldn't see, but you knew. It was exciting. Maybe it was just the typical young woman erotomania you had in mind.

He gave you strength and you no longer cared about what Bill told you. Joel cared about you. Of course, as a mature man, he would see through the lies you told and support you.

You were as active as ever in Mr. Miller's classes. You asked questions and talked about the subject you had researched the day before. While you usually avoided classes, you now listened to the lesson alone, ignoring Bill.

By the time Joel put a question mark at the end of the equation he wrote on the board, you had already solved it and were shouting the answer with excitement. He turned to you and smiled with satisfaction,

"Not bad at all, well done," he said, making you proud among the other students.

But your disregard for him was starting to get on Bill's nerves. He wanted to have fun with you and make love. To satisfy his sexual desires. You were the most attractive girl in school and he had already made you his own. You were the chosen one for him. You should have been grateful to him and done everything he said as if you wanted to please your king.

One day Joel was sitting in his office checking the exams. He wasn't happy with any of them. The highest grade was DD and when he saw that he was about to cry with happiness(!) Of course your paper was at the top of the list. Although he was hoping for an A+, he was also very happy that you got a B+. It really gave him hope that you were starting to get back to your old self. But not everyone thought like him. He heard shouting from the window. A girl and a boy were getting into a verbal fight. And the girl's voice was familiar. He got up from his chair and went to the window. How upset he was to see you fighting with Bill! That young dude was in a relationship she didn't deserve.

The more you tried to fix things with Bill, the more he scolded you, thinking he was the worst. He was practically forcing you to do something. You were begging him, but he wasn't listening. If you didn't do what he said, it would be bad for you. The other students around were looking at you with question marks and astonishment. Joel couldn't stand the injustice you were doing to yourself, so he clenched his teeth and fists. He could go downstairs and make him regret the day he was born after taking him away from you. He should have spent the day in the hospital corridors because he upset you. If you were together, he would have a nice meal with you after school to celebrate your success. However, you were ignorant because of your age. A mature man knows how to treat a woman in front of him, and would satisfy a woman's desire for a relationship to the fullest. He wanted to make you experience this, but he also respected that he wouldn't want to spend his life with an old man.

Joel wanted to put all this 'blind love' nonsense aside. It was time for the woman he loved to open her eyes. He looked at you again from the window of his office and called out, his tone hardening.

"Come to my office right now!"

The students around you were also watching you curiously.

You looked up reluctantly and turned your head from side to side to show that you didn't want this. It would be best to surrender yourself to loneliness and get depressed. But Joel's angry gaze was more than enough to break your stubbornness.

You puffed out your cheeks and whined like a little girl.

Joel was pacing back and forth while waiting in the office. He was too anxious and nervous to wait. The moment the door opened and he saw you in front of him, he released his anger.

"What are you doing! Do you realize you're ruining your youth for someone like him!"

You were sobbing. "No matter what I do I can't stop him, I've done everything he wants but he wants more!"

Joel got angry. You heard how his tone got harsher. "I told you! I warned you! Why are you with that son of a bitch and not someone who loves you!"

The curse you heard from your teacher had stopped your crying, turning your sadness into confusion. Since it was lunch break, there was no one on the office floor, thank God.

No matter how much you were aware of the hatred in the man's eyes, the pain he was hiding inside had settled in your heart. You didn't know what to say. Should you tell him everything?

"Why does my life concern you!" You tried to ask for an explanation, but it was more of curiosity. You wanted to know the reason. If you knew, if he had told you the truth while looking into your eyes... Were you ready for a single word that came out of his lips?

Your question frustrated Joel. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall behind you, thinking. He muttered to himself.

"You're right. It's my fault," he said and motioned you to the door. You turned back to Joel, looking guilty and slowly walking towards the door. Before you walked out the door, you looked at him again and whispered.

"We don't have the relationship you think. There's a lot you don't know about me."

He frowned, finding it strange. “What do you mean?”

You were about to leave the office without answering when Joel grabbed your arm and pulled you to him, hugging you tightly. He was kissing your hair. “What’s wrong with you?” then he took your face in his hands. His gaze was stern. “I’m here for you, do you hear me? Tell me everything, no matter what.”

"I am that person," you said. Joel looked into your eyes as he stroked your hair, urging you to continue. "My last name is. I am the daughter of a famous mobster. Bill. Bill knows that, and his family is using me to get close to my family. He's threatening me with you. He's threatening to ruin your life and complain to my father. He knows how much I love you."

Joel pulled away from you in shock. “This can’t be happening, you…”

You were crying.

Joel grabbed your arm and pulled you back into his office, closing the door behind him. “Those stories you told, were they all lies?”

You wrapped your arms around your chest. You couldn’t look at him; your eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor. The corners of your eyes were red and swollen from crying. “Yes, but I wanted to hide from the sins of my family for once. I wanted people to look at me normally, Joel. I wanted them to meet me and spend time with me with neutral feelings. It wasn’t my choice to be born into this family. I’m so sorry.” Tears flowed down your cheeks, creating an image resembling roads.

Joel didn’t know what to do or say. All he knew was that he didn’t want you to cry in front of him. He wanted you to be strong. You shouldn’t have to answer to anyone. His fingers gripped your chin roughly and tilted your head up. He wanted to change the fear in your eyes. He suddenly brought his face closer to yours and brought his lips to yours. His tongue was exploring the inside of your mouth. His fingers on your jaw were now caressing your cheeks.

He pulled his head back and hugged you tightly. “Maybe you should have sought heaven in the arms of a man who desires you. Not by hiding behind lies.”

It was hard to talk while crying. "I couldn't drag you into the dark pit of my life, but I can't take it anymore. I had to tell everything to someone I trusted."

You were the woman Mr. Miller called 'my weakness'. Of course, it was impossible for him to resist you when you were talking to him like that. He looked at her with displeasure. His attitude was strict. "Don't worry about anything that bothers you. Just know that I am here for you and will always be here for you."

Without waiting for you to respond, Joel moved towards your lips, wanting all that waiting to end. He was kissing you so hard that he held you tightly by the waist, feeling that you couldn’t keep your balance. His fingers touched your cheek and squeezed your lips between them, making them part. This way, his tongue could easily find its place in your mouth. You felt ticklish as the papillaes rubbed against yours. His saliva was flowing from the tip of his tongue to yours; it was warm. Almost equal to his body temperature. Then he took his tongue out and tasted the outside of your lips. In the meantime, one of his hands was in your hair, pressing you against him. Your hair was under his fingers. He suddenly grabbed them and tilted your head back.

"Am I really the one you want to have your first with? Are you sure about that?" he asked with his passionate gaze.

"I've never been so sure," you responded. You liked his tough attitude.

He released your hair and took a step back, ordering you to take off your shirt. You started to undress at the same time. After throwing your clothes aside, Joel quickly moved towards your lips. This time he didn't intend to hold you back. You shivered when you felt his weight and strength all over your body. You stumbled back and your body fell into the soft fabric of the couch. Joel fell right on top of you. A small groan came out of your mouth in surprise. Then you both started laughing. But you couldn't help but make love. This man knew how to touch you. Joel buried his head in your neck and sniffed.

"Why can't I get enough of your scent?"

The scent of your skin made him hungry; its color decorated your skin like a maraschino cherry on top of a dessert. "If you only knew how hard I tried to smell that every time you passed me." His tongue traveled from where your pulse beat to her throat and then down to your collarbones. His hardening penis between your legs was slowly starting to put pressure on your outer lips. Your eyes widened in surprise. You didn't think he could be this hard. You moaned raggedly.

He put his elbow on the seat and supported it. He wanted to watch your surprise before he was about to go down to your breasts. His face was right above you now. He was looking down with pleasure.

"How do you feel? Do you like it? Don't you want more?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. You bit your lower lip, showing how much pleasure you were getting.

Joel straightened up, pulled the waistband of your shorts and pulled them off along with your panties. He looked at the hairs that had just started to grow on your outer lips. Even though you apologized shyly, Joel really liked it. He leaned over you again. Your head was between his arms, supported by his elbows. His face got even closer to yours. He hugged you. You felt like you were in prison. Orgasm prison! His lips were on your cheek, his hot breath hitting your skin as he rubbed his penis against your inner lips. He released one hand and unbuttoned his pants, trying not to get off of you.

He placed his penis between your inner lips and began to rub it from your clitoris to the entrance of vagina. Joel's lips parted. His eyes squeezed shut. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How can you be so hot and wet? We've only just begun. Did you desire me that much?"

You moaned every time Joel’s penis tip slid over your clit. “Oh, you moan so well. Perfect!” he said.

You heard the office door suddenly open and close. Shit! Someone had seen you. Joel got up quickly, fixed his clothes, and ran to the door and out. A few students in the hallway looked at him but didn’t understand what had happened. When he looked back at you in the office, you were startled by what he had said. “It was Bill.”

From that day on, Bill didn't use what he saw against you. It was as if he had forgotten what he saw. Even though Bill's family and your family were getting closer day by day, there were still things that weren't right. Still, the relationship between you and Joel was getting better day by day. You were bonding. You would meet secretly in his office during meal times, lock the door and have sex.

***

If there was one thing that was bad about hot summer days, it was the rain for Joel. The raindrops increased the humidity, making the air even more oppressive.

Her linen blouse was soaked and uncomfortable. He put the book down next to him, took off his T-shirt in one move, and threw it on the chair across from him. His now wheat-colored skin, shiny with sweat, looked quite inviting.

While looking at the heat transfer questions in the book in his hand, he was shaking the ash from the end of her cigarette into the beer residue in the glass on the coffee table next to him, and at the same time trying to solve a question about the heat exchanger unit of the tubular evaporator in his mind. As if his eyes were swearing loyalty to the page, he took the cigarette between his two fingers and squeezed it between his lips when he heard a notification on his phone. The light on the screen distracted him and made him look in that direction. It was on the coffee table. At first, he thought it was one of his friends who had written it and ignored it. He found the answer and turned the next page. But his eyes were on the phone. Perhaps the department head had announced that there would be a meeting early tomorrow. He liked to choose such inconvenient hours. After school, when you feel free, work doesn't leave you alone.

He took another sip from his cigarette. Then he threw it in the glass. It made sizzling sounds with appetite, as if the beer was waiting for it to do the same.

Joel used his index finger as a bookmark, placing it between the pages he was on, and leaned over to unlock his phone.

The message was from you. Since he didn't have such habits, he got excited and sped up his movements. He put the book where it was before and stood up. His eyebrows were furrowed with curiosity.

- Help

When Joel saw your message, he called you in a panic. You didn’t answer. He called again. The phone rang for a long time but you didn’t answer. Joel was about to go crazy. He was walking in the living room with harsh steps. He was muttering and cursing to himself. “What the fuck is going on!” While he was thinking about what to do, his phone rang. Anger, fear and curiosity made his hands shake. When he saw your name on the screen, he hurriedly answered it, afraid that you would hang up.

“What’s going on honey, talk to me!”

Although you answered him, Joel could only hear you sobbing, then screaming. Joel shouted insults at you to get you to come to.

“Tell me where you are now, I’ll come!”

You said, your voice trembling, that you were at Bill’s house. “I did something terrible, Joel. Please help me!” You shouted.

Joel muttered to himself, "My God, what did you do?" Then he tried to calm you down. He was telling you that everything would be okay. Everything would be okay. They would overcome all their problems together.

"Now calm down honey so I can figure everything out. Okay? If you calm down everything will be perfect."

"Do you believe everything will be okay?" you asked emotionlessly.

There was hope in Joel’s voice. He acted as if he was happy despite everything, but his expression was the opposite.

“Of course, honey. You should believe too. Send me your location now."

The house you were in was in the suburbs.

When he arrived home by car, an hour had passed. He was now in front of the door. He looked around first, then checked if there was any noise coming from inside. He knocked on the door. After waiting for a while, the door slowly started to open. You were standing in front of him like a dead woman. Your skin was pale, your under eyes were dark. Your eyes were red from crying. When Joel looked at your condition, he pushed you away in fear and entered. He saw blood stains on the floor from the door that opened into the living room. When he entered there, Bill's lifeless body was lying on the floor.

He whispered, "Jesus fuckin' Christ! What have you done!"

You were sobbing while trying to explain the incident. "He made a plan, he made me come here. He said he saw us and he would kill you. He would do worse things to me than killing. His father betrayed us and he worked with the enemy family to appear as my father's friend. He attacked me to possess me. After torturing me tonight, he was going to kill me. I had no other choice." It didn't seem like you were explaining the events to Joel, it was like you were begging God for forgiveness.

It was his first night of crime. You had killed someone and Joel witnessed everything that happened to you that night. He gathered you and your things, pulled you by the arm and you got in the car and drove away. You were not well. You were in no condition to talk. All you felt was nausea. Things were going to get messy between the two families. It was unclear where Joel would fit into this story. He got involved in this without meaning to. He took you to a motel, took your clothes off, took a shower, then laid you on the bed and thought about what to do.

He sat down for a while and closed his eyes, trying to calm down with your phone in his hand. And now, the move that changed everything was finally made. After Joel calmed down, he called your father on his phone. He needed to tell him everything, so they had to meet.

Your father was talking to Joel in his office in your mansion. He was a manipulative man with high psychoanalysis skills. A beautiful talent for defeating his enemies. He understood Joel's character from his first sentences. He was too proud to betray the person he promised to. Moreover, he was madly in love with his daughter. He was ready to do anything for you. Maybe he could test Joel to decide whether or not to take him in.

In the end of the night, Joel sacrificed himself for your love and wanted to take the blame. Of course, the person who guided him was secretly your father.

Joel went to prison. Of course, Bill's father was in cahoots with the enemy family and their men were there too. They gave Joel hell in prison by order. Psychological violence, beatings, starvation, cuts on his face and body and tortures that I don't want to say. Joel went through personal mutations for every bad day he spent in prison. But no matter what, Joel didn't give you away.

On the day you were supposed to meet him, he was in such bad shape that he couldn't even appear before you. Although the guard had initially told you that he didn't want to meet you because he didn't want to, a small amount of money had been enough to make him tell the truth. Now you wanted to see him even more. Two officers had taken his arm to get him to come into the room. His face was bruised and one of his legs was broken.

You cried as soon as you saw him. Even though you said it was all your fault, Joel didn't think so. It was a price to pay for love. You kissed him on the lips.

"Oh Joel, things are so bad out there. I spend every day in fear and worry. My father said it would be better if you stayed here for a while longer. He promised to help you."

Joel understood everything. What he had experienced during his time in prison and what your father had told him made him look at life differently. He realized how much of a spoilsport and hypocrite he was.

Your father didn't help Joel. It seemed that way at first. But his only goal was to get Joel on his side and make him his assistant. He did everything for this purpose. He made your father experience situations that would prove his loyalty from prison. When the time came, Joel also told big lies, slandered people. He smuggled banned substances and equipment into prison. Your father and Joel were talking with secret messages, giving your father strategic ideas in the face of the events.

Joel eventually learned to survive in this rat hole, and there was no trace of his academic identity left.

Eventually the situation with Bill's family came to an end, but the feud with the Fontana family remained. Joel was released from prison after four years thanks to a corrupt prosecutor's decision.

Joel wasn't the only one who changed during those four years. After Bill's death, you too became closer to your father and his business. While your family life felt foreign to you, you began to manage your father's business step by step, while hiding your wealth and how it came to be. No one called you by your name anymore. You were Mrs. Castello. Even though you were a feared woman, you still felt the old you deep down. It was calling out to you from the black well you had imprisoned. But you had long since passed the point of no return. Whenever you visited Joel, you both saw the changes in you, but you didn’t talk about it. Otherwise, you were as afraid of feeling guilty as Joel was of hating you.

After Joel got out of prison, his only home was your mansion. That was his life. He wanted to be a promising professor but he had to be a slave to the mafia boss, however he had a plan.

You were in your father’s office, wearing a black jacket with a sable collar. A pencil skirt that was just above the knees and black stockings. You were sitting on the arm of your father’s chair, examining the documents in his hand. The red soles of your Louboutins were shining because you had your legs crossed.

Your maid excused herself and came in to announce that Mr. Miller had arrived. While your father had a pleased expression on his face, you swallowed nervously.

Joel made eye contact with you when he walked in. It was so long that your father looked at you and started talking.

“We’ve been waiting so long for this day to come.” he stood up and walked over to Joel, hugging him tightly. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Don Castello.” he said, but his eyes were still on you, a look you couldn’t understand.

You got married in a lavish wedding. Joel was now the son-in-law of the respected mafia boss, his right-hand man. He was the key to their fight against the Fontana family. Don Castello never left him. His decisions were never wrong. In fact, he had convinced them that he had infiltrated the Fontana family and betrayed you. He would leak information that they thought would be useful to them. In return, he would receive a large amount of money, property and men. Of course, he would never tell you what he had obtained. But there was one detail your father missed. Joel was never loyal to you. He was learning the secret files of two enemy families and using them for himself, and no one understood.

One day, you noticed the secret room of the house you lived in with Joel. It was a day when Joel went out of town. You were alone at home and unknown enemies opened fire on your house. You were caught in the middle of the conflict while they attacked your house with powerful weapons. While you were trying to escape, a rococo painting from the ceiling to the floor was shattered by bullets. After that bad night, you discovered the door leading to the secret room. You had to be good at software to solve the code, but luckily, you were an engineer. You knew software work well anyway. You worked until Joel got the news of what you had experienced and returned home, and finally you unlocked the door. The interior surprised you. At first, you couldn't even understand why there was such a room. There were many photos of people from the community hanging on the walls, notes, and maps drawn with pencils. There were many files and documents on the table and in the cabinets in the room. It was prepared to use even the smallest information about the mafia families. And you were taking the leading role. As you looked through the notes and documents, you saw that Joel had been aiming to cause a rebellion by manipulating everyone who worked under your father's command all this time. He had plans not only for you, but also for the Fontana family, and he was succeeding step by step.

Your breathing quickened. You had no idea your husband could be so dangerous. You should have been afraid of him, Joel was no longer the lecturer you met at university. He was a menace and he was betraying you to become a Godfather!

You heard his voice as you looked at the plan paper in your hand.

"So you finally learned everything, my dear."

"You...I don't understand why. Joel, you betrayed us. You betrayed me, the woman you loved!"

"A small price to pay for what was stolen from me, my love."

You frowned in disappointment. You waved the paper in your hand. "Was all of this more important than our love?"

Joel approached you. He grabbed your shoulders and caressed them. Although his expression said he was in love, the arrogance and ambition in his eyes scared you.

"No one can harm you, my love. I'll put an end to all this family nonsense. I'll take over and you'll be my queen. Not the Castell family, not the Fontana family... We'll rule the city together."

You looked calmly into Joel's eyes. You placed your hand on his cheek. "The man I love, where is he?"

“I’m still the man you love. It’s just that all this has shown me the dark side of life.” Your lips were trembling. “You were never that man, Joel. You just waited for the right time after you found out I was Castello, right?”

Joel gritted his teeth. "This isn't true."

Your face was expressionless as tears rolled down your cheeks. "When I started college, the reason I wanted to hide who I am was to protect myself from bastards who thought they could use me to gain power. Like Bill. But I see that I had already given that person my own hand."

Joel felt conflicting emotions at their most intense. Hate and love, sadness and anger, regret and satisfaction. "You know all that stuff isn't true."

You took two steps closer. Your bodies were a few centimeters away from each other. With a stern look, you said, "Everyone has chosen their side. I am now one of your worst enemies, watch your step, love of my life," and left the place.

You left the house without even taking your phone. You were able to cry after getting into the car your father had given you for the wedding and setting off. You were sobbing. Even if you tried to escape the curse of your last name, you would get caught sooner or later.

Your father was waiting for you in his office. When he saw you crying, he hadn't thought of Joel. After you told him everything, he started shouting with saliva coming out of his mouth and vowing revenge. You were your father's right-hand man now. Even though Don Castello was a powerful man, you knew Joel's weaknesses and weak points just as Joel knew you. It was time to trust your own intelligence and take control of the game. Who else could be more hostile than two people in love?

The battle between you was getting more and more personal. Just like chess, as you made moves, one side lost pieces, but neither side gave up.

Not only you but also your friends supported Don Castello. There were still a few families that remained your friends. They would help you at the cost of their lives.

The news was busy with the aftermath of the war between you and Joel. Every day, people were dying because of you. Bombs were going off, hostages were being taken, and there were clashes. The police should have intervened, but justice didn't work in this city, force did. The strange thing was that the more you fought, the more you fell in love with each other. The more aggressive you became as your love and passion intensified. Joel wanted you by his side more than ever. He wanted to touch you, smell your skin again. But now you were sins to each other. He couldn't stomach this. He wanted revenge on everything. Every second he was separated from you, forced to fight you, the seeds of revenge were growing in his heart.

One day he realized that all this had to end. It was a never-ending fight. Every moment he thought he was going to win, you were making a counter-move and ruining his plans. The best thing was to confront him.

He sent a message to the mansion. He would arrive there with his men on Friday. Everything would end and someone would win. You would sit in Don Castello’s office and make your decision instead of him. You turned to your father, who was sitting in the chair in front of the desk. “Father, I know you understand the decision I am going to make,” you said. Don Castello nodded and you continued. “Have them take you to our secret base outside the city. And don’t leave until this fight is over."

Don Castello looked at his daughter with a firm expression. "No, I did not become Don Castello by running away."

"I can handle him, but Joel won't stop until he kills you! You have to run!"

The man reached out to his hand on the table and shook it. "I'd like to say I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, but I'm a man whose emotions were taken away from him when he was a child. All I can say is that I have complete confidence in you. You'll be just as good as me in this community."

The real war would soon be fought in front of your house. That's why preparations were made, all possibilities were considered. Until that day came...

You and your father stood on the steps of the mansion. Your men surrounded you to protect you. Joel came with his men. You saw the men you used to work for. Your father had helped them, given them work when they were about to starve. But now they were with Joel.

Before they could begin, Joel stepped forward and glared at the woman he loved.

"Do you really want this, my love? Do you want our love to end in such an epic way? You still have a choice. Come to me and everything will be over."

You shouted. "The man I loved died years ago. I have no choice to make anymore!" then your voice got lower. "It will all end tonight."

Joel looked at you without answering. Every moment from the first day you met until today flashed before his eyes. He really didn't want this. He had such beautiful dreams with you. He swallowed. Then he looked at your father. He knew that everything was his fault. His eyes were as dark as before now. He gave the order to start. Neither Joel nor you were holding back. You both had weapons. You were fighting each other to death in the fight. You took cover behind one of the Greek columns at the entrance of the mansion and targeted Joel, who was hiding behind his car, and continued shooting. When you hid, Joel started shooting and running towards you. In the meantime, his men were protecting him.

You called out to your most trusted man to take care of Joel so that he would be distracted and you could shoot him easily.

You tried to get close to Joel by coming out from behind the pillar, by protecting yourself from the bullets and shooting at the others.

Joel was struggling with two people at the same time. You were caught in the middle of the fight, unafraid of death. Then there was an explosion. Immediately afterwards, the maid screamed loudly. "Don Castello!"

You turned around and looked. One of Joel's men had shot your father. His body was lying there on the ground. The man who betrayed you had killed your father had once trusted the most. You ran towards your father, screaming, but that man wanted to kill you too. This time he pointed the gun at you and fired. But Joel jumped on you, preventing the bullet from hitting. He shouted at his men to retreat.

You were in Joel's arms, screaming that you hated him. "Let me go! I wish I never met you!"

You hit his head with your gun to escape. You did it. As you ran towards your father's lifeless body, Joel called out.

"I'll let you mourn your father. We're leaving."

Joel got what he wanted, your father was dead. It made a big splash in the entire criminal community. The news that your father was dead. The city's police department was in shock. While everyone was arguing about who would be the new owner of the city, Joel had already declared himself the new The Boss of all Bosses . Even though you were separated, he remained married to you, a loyal and loving husband.

Of course, this was different for you. Yes, Joel was treating you like the man you fell in love with; you still loved him as before. However, you also wanted to avenge your father. That's why you made a deal with the famous detective of the police department. In the end, you managed to put him in jail. And for a very small matter. Tax evasion. With the pride of this, you lived happily ever after in your mansion. For a while, you were the queen of the mafia world all by yourself.

I imagined and designed Y/N as a godmother.

You were in the courtroom among the audience. Of course, you were sitting in the front row because you were Joel Miller's wife. But you were worried. Joel kept his eyes on you while his lawyer spoke and gave his defense. He knew very well that he went to prison because of you and today was the day of his acquittal. When you looked into his eyes, it was obvious that he was thinking about what he was going to do to you. You were so close to being together(!) So, were these your last moments of peace? Yes. The woman he loved had betrayed him. Moreover, he had a reputation as the most brutal mafia boss in your community. Who knows what kind of monster the betrayal of the woman he loved would turn him into!

You looked away from him, but you didn’t change your upright posture as if you were trying to convince him that you weren’t afraid of him. But you were praying inwardly that the judge would find an excuse to put him back inside. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out the way you wanted. The jury and the evidence were in his favor. You were beginning to wonder how much the judge had been sold for. When the verdict was given and Joel was released, there was a loud applause in the courtroom. You turned around in shock. The public, who knew him from the news channels and interviews, hadn’t neglected to come to the hearing. He had a lot of fans. It was scary. From the outside, most of them looked like the children of good families.

When the court was finally over and they started to go out, you were the first to stand up and walk quickly. Joel was smiling meaningfully at you as you got up from the chair. He knew you couldn’t escape him. No matter what you did, go underground; he would still find you. Knowing this, you started walking down the hallway with shaking legs and a sullen expression in your eyes. Your father's friend and assistant Mr. Montana was waiting for you outside, by the car. Both doors of the car were open. You got in without wasting any time and started walking. Two big guys were standing behind the car. When you got to the main road, another car appeared to protect you. Everyone knew very well that Joel was looking forward to this day. He had to be faster. You were yelling for him to be faster! They were probably after you right now. When you lost your track and entered a deserted road, you would change cars, easily lose your track and get out of town. When you arrived target, you could breathe for passport procedures.

When you got to the suburbs, you looked around. There were no cars in front of you or behind you on the road. You leaned back in your seat, thanking God. With a heavy heart, you said,

"This is great! I won't see him forever!"

A pained expression was on his face. When you met him years ago, you thought he was the love of your life. Now he was your enemy. Your enemy whom you still loved like crazy!

"Finally," Mr. Montana said. "My queen, we finally saw the vehicle that was going to pick you up!"

A black van was waiting for you. Mr. Montana had chosen to stay while you got out of the car. Miller's men could have come in the meantime and opened fire on you. But you wanted to get in the car as soon as possible and leave without attracting attention. You turned to Montana as you greeted the driver of the van and drove off.

"You'd better go now. We shouldn't attract attention. It's safe from now on."

Mr. Montana asked with a worried look. "Are you sure, m'am?"

You looked at him firmly. "Of course. Go ahead!"

If you wanted to change vehicles, it wouldn't make sense to have a bunch of guys following you, stopping and waiting. So you wanted them all to leave. The driver and the two guys in the car would be on the alert in case there was trouble.

You got in the car as soon as possible. Contrary to what you thought, the car was empty. Only the driver in front greeted you from the rearview mirror.

"Welcome m'am. If you wish, we can set off immediately."

Although the man's gaze bothered you, being accustomed to your father's men did not leave any room for doubt.

"Yes, please."

The driver started the car and you set off. You were still looking around paranoidly. There was no one in the back that would make you think they were Joel's men.

You caught the driver's eye from the rearview mirror. He smiled.

"If you wish, I can close the screen. You will have a comfortable journey."

You pressed your lips together and gave your answer with a shy look. "That would be great, thank you."

After the automatic door closed, you relaxed your formal sitting position. You were looking outside. The sense of anxiety that had emerged inside you was clouding your mind. It was impossible for you to escape from Joel so easily.

You took the wrong turn. The man had missed the road. You leaned forward, frowning. You tapped the screen.

"You took the wrong turn! Hey!" He didn't seem to hear you. You raised your voice. You started tapping the screen harder. "I'm telling you! Stop the car right now, right now! Or you'll pay dearly!"

This wasn't the person you agreed with. You took the wrong car. It was one of Joel's men. They had killed the original driver who was supposed to take you to the airport, cut him up into pieces and put him in the back of the trunk. The car waiting was the right one; except for the driver.

You started screaming and banging on the windows. You lifted your legs up and started banging your heels against the window. You took deep breaths and gathered your strength, using your legs hard. But what could you do against the unbreakable glass?

Your screams echoed throughout the car. "You'll pay dearly for this, you son of a bitch!"

Soon, a hissing sound was heard and the room began to fill with knockout gas. Even if you tried to cover your face with your shirt and held your breath, it was impossible not to be exposed to the gas. You could neither open a window nor was the density of the gas decreasing. Finally, you let yourself go. Your body was relaxing, convincing you to let sleep take over.

When you opened your eyes, you could swear that the world had turned upside down. Maybe the world wasn't the problem. You were hanging upside down from the ceiling. You were completely naked, your arms were tied to your waist with a burgundy rope. Your lower leg was tied to your upper leg, the rope was stretched and tied to the other rope that tied your arm.

The light of the candles burning in the room with tiled walls was reflecting on the surface of the tiles. The musty smell of the pipes passing through the ceiling, covered in mud and filth and covered in moss, filled your lungs and made you feel nauseous. Even though it was uncertain what would happen to you, you were aware of the pain you would soon suffer. You were struggling as if you could break free from the ropes. Your hair follicles swelled as the coldness of the environment penetrated your cells, but the adrenaline spread by the fear surrounding your body prevented you from realizing the coldness of the environment.

Even though your voice was muffled by the gag, you continued to cry, and finally the moment had come. When the heavy door began to creak open, the sound echoed off the walls in a piercing way. You stopped crying and focused on the door. Although you couldn’t see it clearly because it was so dark, you could see enough to understand that Joel had come in. The way he was dressed, his anatomy, the way he was walking down the stairs…

Your muscles were tense. Your hands and feet were shaking. You were trying to say something. If you hadn't had the gag in your mouth, you wouldn't have been able to apologize to him. No matter how scared you were, no matter how much you regretted what you had done because of the pain you would go through, you wouldn't let him use your weakness as ammunition.

Joel began to descend the stairs, looking at your naked body in front of you. The candlelight, just like the tiles, was reflecting on your sweat-soaked skin. The orange color of the candle flame mixed into the palette that made up his skin tone. The damp look was so seductive that it brought to mind eroticism, a wet vulva, and how writhed as he caressed you.But you betrayed him. You betrayed him as the woman he loved and trusted, you wanted to get rid of him. That's why he could have killed you - by making you writhe in pain. But you were the only thing he valued in this life. He should have punished, but his love set his limits.

The thud of the shoe heel was starting to threaten you more deeply as it got closer.

Joel spoke his first words with a half-mocking, half-angry tone.

"So you thought you could escape me, my love? You thought you could get away from this man who is so head over heels in love with you." He was standing right in front of you now. His lips were right in front of your eyes. Every word he said was passionate as it came out. "What a shame, what a shame, my dear." He put his hand on your forehead. After wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead with his fingertips, his hand went to your hair that was tied into a ponytail this time and gently pulled your head closer to his, pressing his lips to your forehead; he smelled your skin and kissed you passionately.

" Oh, it's been a long time since I did that!"

Then he placed both hands on your cheeks. You were used to his roughness. Even during his academic days, he liked to treat you rough in bed. He squeezed your cheeks and reached for your lips. You thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn't. He stuck out his tongue and licked your lips as if he wanted to grasp their shape. His tongue covered your lips many times and slid up and down. He must have been unable to slow down, so he left your lips and started to adorn your chin with bites. Of course, his tongue was not restless. He continued to lick from your chin to your cheekbones and then to your eyes. Your face was filled with his saliva, your skin came alive with his moist touches. You groaned as your body spasmed with the unexpected slap. It hurt.

He shouted as hatred gushed from his eyes. "Why! Tell me why you did it! You knew what would happen to you!" When he grabbed your hair hard and lifted your head up, your head was spinning from being upside down. "Did you think you could escape me, huh? Do you think I'd leave you alone?" Suddenly calming down, he answered his own questions in a whisper. The mocking attitude on his face was frightening. "No, my beauty, there's no way you can escape me. Not possible while my soul, which has drifted away from God, is bathed in your holiness." After kissing her cheek awkwardly, he whispered in her ear as if he had something to hide. "You're the reason I'm alive. Even if you go seven floors below hell, I'll find you and bring you out, do you understand me?"

Your breath was shaking with fear. But when he looked into your eyes, there was no trace of fear.

Joel suddenly shouted, knowing that this was a challenge. "I said, do you understand!" Your eyebrows were furrowed in fear, and you blinked. Joel laughed with pride at revealing the role you had played. He breathed deeply and caressed your bare breasts in a harassing manner. He sighed at the sharpness of the tips and the pink color.

"You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to see you afraid of me, my dear! It's more erotic than the nights I spent fucking you for hours; I'm sure of it."

He released you. He took a step back and opened the corner of his jacket, taking out his knife from a hidden pocket. High carbon stainless steel. Its sharp tip and razor-sharp edges and brilliance.

All kinds of torture came to your mind. The one you feared the most was that he could rip your eyes out. Your father had tried this on an assassin who was trying to kill him. You started to struggle and struggle as if you could escape the ropes. You were trying to shout, to scream. Your eyebrows were furrowed in fear. You were crying. Joel approached you again, showing you the knife, and held the sharp end in front of you, making eye contact.

"Shh... My love, don't worry, I won't hurt you. I just need to take the gag out of your mouth. I think we should solve our problems by talking as husband and wife," he said. He looked very calm and cute, but his expressions were never sincere. When you didn't stop crying, he suddenly pressed the sharp end of the knife against your throat. Although it hurt, it didn't even leave a mark on your skin. His angry gaze was back again. "First, stop crying! The helpless behavior of a strong woman like you gets on my nerves." he stopped and thought. Then he kissed your cheek. Insincere innocence appeared on your face again. "At least for now." Joel dragged the edge of the knife along your skin without pulling it out... From your neck to your jawbone, from there to your cheek and the binding part of the gag; it stopped there. He inserted it between your skin and the binding and started cutting the fabric. At the same time, he held you respobsible, as if he was muttering to himself. While one hand was holding the knife, the other hand was holding your waist with a force that hurt.

You began to cry and beg Joel to release you. But the words Joel used while demanding an explanation were enough to make you angry. He slapped you again. He shouted as if his throat was tearing. His skin turned bright red. "Tell me, was it worth it! Did you think you would avenge your father when you told that son of a bitch commissioner everything!"

"Enough, stop! I'm sorry."

He had calmed down. He took a step back, looked you up and down and started to walk around you with heavy steps. He was thinking about how and to what extent he would apply the evil ideas in his mind to you. Not being able to see what he was doing when he was standing behind you fed your fear. You heard his footsteps again. He was walking away from you. It must have been the loyalty he felt to his love if you died painlessly with a single bullet. You started to hear rattling. The sound of metal hitting the tiles, a banging sound resembling a cupboard door. You couldn't catch your breath.

Joel took the black leather whip in his hand and hit it in the palm of his hand, wanting the sound to bother you. If it was this hard even when he hit his own palm, the pain you would feel on your skin would be unbearable.

Joel approached you. A shiver ran through your entire body as he placed the tip of the whip on your spine and rubbed it all over. "Don't worry, my beauty, I won't treat you like I treat the other informants, but that doesn't mean I won't punish you." As soon as he finished his words, he hit the tip of the whip against your hip with all his might. The muscles in your body tensed, a weak "ah" sound escaped your lips.

"Did it hurt, huh?"

You stuttered. "Yes!"

"Good, I'll hurt you more."

This wasn't a whip used for fantasy. It was a leather whip used in horse riding to provoke animals. And it hurt more with each stroke. Your screams grew louder, eventually turning into pleas. Your skin was bright red, spreading to other areas that were white. The places he hit were slowly starting to go numb. Joel understood this from the calmness of your screams. A moment ago, you were screaming and struggling to get free of the ropes. Now it had been replaced by moans and small screams. It was time to stop. He threw the whip down and stood in front of you. He pulled your hair hard and hurt you. He looked into your eyes with greed.

"You'll be mine again, do you hear me! You'll fall in love with me all over again, whether you want it or not! Because you have no other choice!" He kissed your lips. His tongue had pushed your lips as if it was crushing them, meeting the inside of your mouth. The moisture on his tongue was intense. Your thirsty lips were wet with his saliva. It was disgusting, but it was as seductive as it sounded. You felt like you were one with the man you desired. He was sucking and biting your tongue on one hand. His hands were not idle, however. He was lifting it up, reaching your belly and caressing it down to your breasts. You wanted to scream when he suddenly squeezed your tips while stimulating them, but his merciless kiss prevented you.

Joel moved away from you again. He moved behind you, where he had just gone, and started turning the handle mounted on the wall. You could hear the sound of two metals rubbing together and you were slowly starting to lower. When Joel thought it was enough, he stopped. When he came back to you and stood in front of you, he saw how the inner lips of your vulva were glistening with your juices.

"Oh no, look at you," he pressed his fingers to your clitoris and moved all the way to the entrance of your vagina. "You're soaked, darling. Wasn't today supposed to be your punishment?" he said mockingly. Then, he brought his fingers together and raised his hand into the air and slapped your vulva. You flinched at the scream that escaped your lips.

"Joel, you don't know what you're doing! Please stop!" you said in a tearful tone.

He only responded to this with mockery. "Honey, I don't know whether to listen to your words or act on what I see." He slapped your vulva over and over again. Even though it hurt, the shocking flicks you felt on your clit were making your pupils dilate in pleasure. Your moans of pleasure were mixed with your cries of pain.

Joel couldn't take it anymore. He buried his head in your vulva. It was a betrayal! It was already your biggest betrayal when you left home. He was willing to go to jail again for you, but right now he just wanted to fuck you like an animal. To get inside you, to feel you from the inside! To fuck your vagina hard and take all his revenge on your burning pussy! The liquid flowing from your vagina was the honeydew in the hive for him. He was licking all the liquid greedily, smearing it on his lips. Your vulva was now burning. His slapping had turned the pinkness on the skin into redness, and this was whet Joel's appetite even more.

He moved one hand to the fabric of his pants as he continued. He clumsily tried to undo his belt buckle. Even that was hard to do when he was focused on your sweet peach. He undid the buckle without removing the leather belt from its slots and his fingers met the zipper. You thought the bulge that appeared in front of your eyes as you pulled it down would hit your face in a moment. His hardened penis was straining the fabric.

After his penis was out of his pants, Joel took it in his hand and pulled his mouth away from your pussy lips to look at where he would place his cock. You didn’t want to perform oral on him in this position. There had been many times when he wanted you to hang your head off the bed. He would use your mouth as a vagina. But you were gagging and gasping for breath. That was why you never adjusted the position that way. But right now, he didn’t care about that at all. You had to take your punishment.

Joel was in ecstasy with the pleasure you were giving him. He continued to suck your vulva while moaning, but after a while he couldn't resist and lifted his head from your buried womanhood. He put his hand on the inside of your thigh, spanked it and squeezed it with almost all his strength. You were sucking it so well that your groin cramped up until you couldn't orgasm.

His voice was shaking, "You know how to drive me crazy," he said and laughed with pleasure. He reached down to your breasts and slapped them every time he made them cum, caressing them painfully.

Moans interspersed with each sentence. "Yes, my love! Make your husband happy! It'll be a bargaining chip for the punishments I'll give you in the coming days, huh? What do you say, my beauty?" He squeezed your nipples so hard that you stopped sucking his cock and tried to scream in pain. Joel laughed. "I can only come when I watch you moan in agony," he said and crushed your nipples between his fingers once more.

Even though your body was shaken by the pain, the interruption of your vaginal pleasure was more annoying than the action itself. You put the oral sex aside and gently brushed your teeth against Joel’s flesh, trying to get him to take his cock out of your mouth. In response, he winced and took his big cock out of his mouth.

He got down on one knee and brought his face level with yours. He grabbed your hair and pulled. "What do you think you're doing!"

You grinned cheekily, calmly and confidently. "What about me? I'm dying to squirt all over your face."

"First you'll fill me up. Then it'll be your turn." he said and suddenly he let go of your hair and stood up, putting his cock back in your mouth and thinking that he was fucking your glistening vagina in front of him, he continued to fuck your mouth with back and forth movements. At this time, he put his index and middle fingers together and pushed them into your vagina. His cock was fucking your mouth, his fingers were fucking your womanhood. As your pleasure increased, your oral performance also increased and finally Joel slapped your vulva repeatedly and ejaculated. His sperm overflowed from your lips and the salty taste spread all over your mouth. The hot, slippery and thick fluid would have long since slipped down your throat if you hadn't been upside down. When Joel pulled his cock out of your mouth, he felt exhausted. He was tired. Breathlessly, he kissed her inner thighs with calm touches. "You must be a sex goddess. You have a divine talent and I worship it."

He took a few steps back and moved away from you, adjusting his fabric pants. In the meantime, you were watching him, while at the same time, you were grazing the semen flowing from his lips with your tongue. Even though your stomach was queasy as you stood upside down, you had already lost your way in the hot deserts of lust. Your expectations were high. You wanted to find an oasis in the middle of the hot desert.

You asked Joel while he was fastening his belt. "When will it be my turn?"

When he was ready, he stood in front of you again and leaned down, leaving a passionate kiss on your forehead. "You will come whenever I want, and that's not right now, my dear wife!"

You were surprised. Your groin ached, your vulva was on fire, your clitoris was pulsing. You shouted with the anger of being left unfinished. "You can't do this! I hate you, do you hear me!"

It was such a pleasure to disappoint you that he stood up, grinning evilly. "Honey, these are better days. Enjoy them," he said, and stood up and turned around. While you were hurling insults at him, he was walking towards the door. The evil man smile we are used to from movies covered his face. Without compromising his indifferent attitude, he acted as if you were not there, opened the door and left you there alone. Until his servants came and untied you.

[mokulule]

The Number You have Called Cannot Be Reached - part 8

Part 1 | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence So I promised this like months ago, and then got overwhelmed by having to manage the taglist resulting in me not updating this fic despite actually having written the next part. So that said this is the last time I'm tagging people, please subscribe to the masterlist - I'm gonna link it both here at the top and at the bottom. Anyways enjoy the next part:

Jason could handle this. He had handled this for years. The Pits were a known enemy. It shouldn’t effect him to this degree. But he could handle this. He could go about his day without putting heads in duffel bags, that had got to count as a win. The fact that he was avoiding his family, was just a precaution. Jason had everything under control.

Not like when he’d fled the Cave after assaulting Bruce in his stupid sweater.

That had not been his proudest moment. But the thing that really got to him was how he didn’t remember doing it. He didn’t even remember going to the Cave. When he tried to think it was all a green haze. The last moment of real clarity was opening Ghost’s bag and seeing nothing but dry protein bars. Knowing in his gut this was all he ate and that he stood with his food, and no way to give it back to him.

When he had fled the Cave, he’d gone home shaking like a leaf, and sunk to the floor trying to get his head back on straight. He didn’t know how long he sat there with his back against the door, just trying to breathe and search his memory. Eventually, though he didn’t know after how long, he found his phone and looked up the news. It had been a great relief to find that Red Hood had not been sighted, so he likely hadn’t been out on a murder spree he couldn’t remember.

But now it was days later. There had been no more green hazes. Things were under control.

Maybe he hit a bit harder, and a bit longer, when he went out. But it was the normal amount? Wasn’t it? Definitely not much more than normal, if it was more. That he was sure of… like 80% sure of. Jason rubbed the front of his helmet in lieu of his brow - It didn’t really help. What had Bruce even said that set him off? He barely remembered, something that felt demeaning, but the words escaped him no matter how many times he turned them over in his head. Normally he wouldn’t question himself that like, of course Bruce would have said something demeaning, he always did. He didn’t trust Jason, never would again. There would always be suspicion and doubt. But now…

Jason’s hand clenched into fists. Now having been without the Pits’ influence, having seen Bruce trying to reach out to him, as awkward and resigned as it had been, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure he could trust himself.

Maybe this was all Bruce’s plan? Another of his famous gambits - this one to fold Jason back under his control, with the pretense of love and family. Because surely he had been right all along and Jason needed to be watched, couldn’t be trusted on his own.

Jason ripped the helmet off his head, only barely stopped himself from throwing it. He gasped and breathed in deep, like a man drowning. He was the one in control, he reminded himself firmly. Not the pits. Not Bruce.

There was sound in his comms and he hastily pulled the helmet back on. Ghost had been sighted. He had to go. If he could just talk with Ghost, figure out what this was.

Ghost ran away. Immediately, as if he could sense Jason.

It was okay, Jason could handle this.

Oo o oO

Barbara tapped the space bar absently without actually pressing it. Keeping half an eye on her leftmost monitor which showed the program she used for the surveillance in Gotham, no persons of interest were pinging tonight so far, no alarms had tripped for about an hour. She had time to ponder the conundrum that was their reoccurring thief.

If the thief was building something the other night was proof the loss of the spectral calibrator, hadn’t put a stop to the progress. The thief never ran in the same direction so they still didn’t even have that to go by to narrow down where he stayed, when he wasn’t giving them the run around.

The odd reaction to Jason hadn’t made a reappearance. In fact the moment Jason joined them the thief disappeared immediately: density shifting into the ground. Jason was not happy about it to say the least.After the backpack full of barely edible off-brand protein bars had been delivered to the cave by Jason, Barbara would agree with Jason that whatever situation the thief was in, it was worrying if this was all that he ate. She still held by her assessment that the photographic evidence was of too low quality early in their run-ins because of the strange electromagnetic interference he gave off to actually judge if he’d lost weight - but he did look very gaunt now.

She leaned back in her chair. A cup of coffee was warm between her hands, she breathed in the familiar scent as she considered the known facts.

Name assumed to be Danny Fenton, potentially legally Daniel Fenton, though they’d been unable to find a match to his physical appearance and rough age in their databases. He hadn’t actually spoken to any of them, it was a very real possibility he was a foreigner, but they’d checked and he wasn’t wanted by any foreign intelligence services.

The phone was baffling.

It was a brick, and it looked like something from the early 00s, from around the time when handheld phones really started to be something everyone had.

Tim had asked for Barbara’s help after he hadn’t been able to recover the erased text messages for some days. Tim had filled her in on his discovery that while all the numbers coded into the phone led to a “the number you have called cannot be reached” message when called from the phone - some of the numbers were actually active when looked up; the Jazz one led to a pizza place and the Dad number led to an elderly woman with Chinese heritage who had no relation to anyone named Danny or Fenton. The rest of the numbers weren’t currently in use.

It was odd however that despite those two numbers being in use, they still got the cannot be reached message. Tim had suggested the program which made the phone able to piggyback on the mobile network without a sim was faulty, but it had been easy enough for Barbara to disprove by calling a local number which connected with no problem. Tim was brilliant but sometimes he got too caught up in his complicated theories that he forgot the simple things.

Her recovery program for the text messages had just finished running (this was her third attempt). She took a sip of coffee, leaned forward and promptly nearly spat it out when she saw the result. It went down the wrong pipe when she tried to recover and she coughed and sputtered. Carefully she put her cup on her desk before she spilled it.

Finally her airways were clear and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Somehow this was Dick’s fault.

She had recovered the messages. They were there - time stamps and all. The last message received was over a decade ago in 2009 and wasn’t that ominous? But that was a side note to be pondered later, because the contents of the messages, oh this was malicious.

Somehow, before deletion every single message had been changed to “Ghost”.

Not just a single ghost, no, entire messages teasing at their original length, but just changed into ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost. A whole litany of ghosts.

And it was definitely Dick’s fault.

Next

So that was it, hopefully I will be able to get back in the swing of things now. Commentary and tags are a great motivator and I read them all. As stated this is last time I tag people, so in the future you can subscribe to the masterlist or on Ao3 where the edited and hopefully better version eventually goes up.

Tag list of doom part 1:

@thewondersoflebanon | @gin2212 | @busterkeel | @apointlessbox | @spoopyspoony | @charlietheepic7 | @proper-idiocy | @serasvictoria02 | @zgirlly | @emeraldcorpral | @mushroom-jack | @v-inari | @8-29pm | @quirky-gardener | @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff | @mars-the-witch | @elthepickle | @thegatorsgoose | @impulsiveasshole |

@tired-yet-awaken | @luagi-the-bestest | @britcision | @autumnwulf | @little-pondhead | @asphyxia778 | @sarina-elais | @may-rbi | @onlyhereforthechaos | @somuchyikes | @yjfk | @rosiea184 | @screamingtofillthevoid | @ailithnight | @writer-extraodinaire | @samgirl98 | @hanahaki-disease | @riverdancingwerewolves |

[hobicakess]

PLAYING DANGEROUS — (teaser)

summary: It's been almost three years since Jack in the box was caught, and no one could make him talk. No one knew his story, and what drove him to become the monster he was today. That is until you're assigned your first story. What makes you so lucky?

rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)

pairings: Journalist!Reader x Criminal!JungHoseok x CEO!Kim Namjoon x Detective!MinYoongi.

warnings: smut murder, blood and gore, Jack In The Box Hobi, corruption, workplace abuse, yandere characters, possessive/obsessive behavior, dubcon, short hair namjoon (yes that's a warning), black/plus sized coded reader, violence from every single aspect, police brutality, mircoagression towards woc, lawyer kim seokjin, maknae helping cause chaos, manipulation, drugs and addiction, unhinged serial killer hobi (joker vibes tbh) , yoongi hates his job, namjoon loves his job (he gets to piss you off everyday)

authors note: howdy hotties! this fic was heavily inspired by this post, i don't think it'll be 30 chapters but something about it just spoke to me and itched my writer brain. even though the mc is black coded anyone can read ofc!! I can't wait to write for this series. if you'd like a tag pls comment below. Reblogs are appreciated and check out my other works (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)

part one

There was a manic laughter that echoed through the new station. The giggles caused shivers and goosebumps to pass through everybody in the building simply because that laughter was familiar. The sounds were admitting from the little black box that sat on your desk. In horror you and your peers that happened to be close by watch the little black clown that popped from graffiti painted the box swing animatedly back and forth. Everyone in Korea knew this clown and what it meant.

“Mr.Kim is not seeing anyone right-” you push the secretary out your way causing her to stumble on her kitten heels and she watches you stomp your way into her bosses and yours office. The door opens wide slamming against the wall causing the booksvon the shelves to tremble, some even tumbling to the floor.

There he sat Kim Namjoon. He stared at you with his eyebrow raised. Some of the buttons of his black dress shirt were unbuttoned, the glass at his side was filled with brown liquid and even more books and papers laid out messily on his desk. .

With as much force as you could you throw the giggling box at him. The impact smacking him hard on the chest but with his build you were sure that it didn't do a thing. He held it in his hands flipping it over clicking an unknown button, shutting the gut wrenching sound shut off.

“ You told me if I took this story I'd be safe,*

Namjoon sighs as if you were speaking nonsense and not about life or death. “Let's be clear here you agreed to take this story when I only simply suggested it. Besides what makes you think Jack sent this?” He was right.

Maybe your coworkers thought I'd be funny to freak you out a little more since taking on the Clown killer case, still it was a sick joke that you didn't really find funny.

“Jack is locked in a maximum security prison surrounded by guards, and guns. He's not getting out anytime soon.”

The door swung open again and there stood his assistant. “Mr.Kim turned the news on!”

Grabbing the remote he clicks on the TV that was mounted on the wall of his office. The screen lights up showing a familiar smoking building. Your heart began to speed up in rhythm as you stare at the headline

Serial killer Jack In The Box escapes from Hangsang Maximum security prison

The screen flicks again to the dark red writings on the wall that used to be his cell.

‘See you soOn honey bunches 🃏’

And that was the last thing you saw before you tumble to the ground.

©hobicakesss , please don't repost or steal my work. don't be a loser

[beannary]

OK so I dont really like this but this 2012 tmnt mermaid au has been driving me INSANE so here are some mermaid designs for the boys (which I might change if I draw more stuff for this au) and some lore for the au under the cut!

also Donnie is ftm and Leo is mtf and those are the facts! (Donnie did do top surgery on himself, do NOT ask me how he did that underwater safely)

(just a quick note: I am using some japanese mythos for the mermaid part but I'm also being loosey goosey with it alskjdfh)

ALSO slight tw for cannibalism? or like cannibalism adjacent behavior

There is a yokai described in Japanese literature called the ningyo, a creature that is half human and half fish. Legend says that if you capture a ningyo and eat its flesh, that you will be granted eternal life. Hamato Yoshi and Oroku Saki were familiar with these legends, though Saki always believed in them more than Yoshi. Saki believed in the legends so much that he became obsessed with finding the legendary ningyo and becoming immortal after consuming its flesh. Yoshi accompanied his brother on these ventures, more out of a sense of familiar duty and a need to watch out for his younger brother than an actual belief in the ningyo.

And of course, it just so happens that the brother who does not at all believe in the existence of yokai would be the one to find one. Yoshi encounters Tang Shen, a ningyo who has been living throughout the local freshwater river system. And suddenly Yoshi realizes that Saki's quest for murder might actually come true since apparently these ningyo are very much real. So now whenever he accompanies Saki on his hunting quests, he does everything in his ability to try to dissuade Saki from his plan, and when he realizes that isn't going to work, he starts to sabotage Saki's efforts. And Yoshi does this because well he kept in contact with Tang Shen, and the two became close friends, and son fell in love, bridging the gap between yokai and human.

They can't get married, obviously, Tang Shen is fully a yokai, but they build their lives together and eventually Tang Shen falls pregnant with their daughter Miwa. The two weren't entirely sure what to expect of their child, but Miwa turns out to be a completely normal human child.

Over the years as Yoshi and Tang Shen's love and family grew, Yoshi started pulling away from his birth family, and more noticeably, from Saki, who was you know pretty angry with Yoshi who seemingly disappeared on him with no explanation. Saki channels his anger into his search for the ningyo, and it takes three years but eventually he does finally find one.

Around three years after Miwa was born, Tang Shen and Yoshi welcome in four new kids! Quadruplets! Three boys and a girl. And these four, unlike Miwa, seem to all be fully ningyo, which very much surprised Yoshi and Tang Shen (both the fact that there were four kids and those four kids are all mermaids) but hey, they knew their genetic situation would be weird and they were fully ready to hop into raising these four.

It's only a few days after the birth of their quadruplets, so soon after that they haven't even given them names, that Saki stumbles upon the home of Yoshi and Tang Shen. And He Is Pissed. Not only did his BROTHER ABANDON him but he abandon him to start a family with this yokai? The yokai that he's been hunting all this time? And Saki, like in canon, kills Tang Shen and Miwa. (Or well you know, he kidnaps Miwa and renames her Karai but Yoshi thinks Miwa is dead)

Yoshi manages to get away with the quadruplets in the chaos, and he tries so hard to establish a new life for himself in Japan, but no matter where he goes, Saki manages to find him. Eventually Yoshi gets desperate enough to flee the country, and he finds himself in New York City!

But meanwhile back in Japan, Saki did in fact end up eating Tang Shen but idk how he realizes it but he figures out that he didnt get immortality, and so he concludes that oh, Tang Shen must have been tainted somehow by her relationship with Yoshi, which sucks because now he has to find a whole other ningyo to get immortality. Luckily he happens to know of four ningyo that he would be more than happy to kill, which is basically Saki's drive to finding and killing the Hamatos.

Anyways that's all I have so far!!!! I'm trying to think about how they would live in NYC, if they can somehow become human (in maybe like an H2O just add water situation) or if they are stuck in the water all the time.

I'm leaning towards them being able to shed their fish tails if even only for a small amount of time, just so they can still be ninjas and train on land, since I think Yoshi would still want to train them to defend themselves. I think that if they can be human for a bit, they still get dried out really easily so they can't stay out of the water for very long, probably not long enough for them to go to school full time, so they still live super isolated lives. Or maybe Yoshi figures out a way to train them to fight in the water? Idk suggestions are appreciated!

They do eventually meet April and Casey, I think April is gonna be on the swim team and so she's a fairly strong swimmer (for a human) and so she spends a lot of time in the water with the hamatos which they appreciate a lot! I think maybe Yoshi isn't a super strong swimmer so as much as he tries to spend time with his kids he can't really.

Casey is still on the hockey team and he can't swim, the hamatos try to teach him but they fully dont know how to swim with legs and so they are Bad tm swimming teachers salkdjfh.