#I should have sleep instead of making this

[hekspiration]

Ehhh. *waggles hand*

At the end of the day, all disorders are part of natural variation. Which is not to say that natural=good. But neither is something statistically abnormal inherently bad or pathological. "It's only a disorder because of capitalism" is an extremely reductive, oversimplified way of making a much more nuanced point: that some forms of natural variation are unreasonably disruptive because of how rigidly our society is structured, and in many cases, there is an over-emphasis on pathologising and trying to "cure" forms of natural variation at the individual level instead of making our lifestyle less rigid. To put it bluntly: when lifestyle demands are so rigid that only a very narrow category of person can truly and consistently thrive in it on every level, and anyone who fails to thrive in even one aspect of it is labelled as having one disorder or another, then that's a sign of a problem with the lifestyle, not the individual traits of the people trying to live it.

My ADHD is disruptive on a number of levels and has severe effects on my quality of life, but this is a problem that can and should be solved at the level of addressing individual and systemic bias against neurodivergent behaviours, not (just) medicating me into some semblance of a neurotypical.

When a disorder would be far less disruptive if the majority of the population had it, because then society would be adapted to function around the limitations of the disorder (take something like red/green colour blindness, for example), it's a good sign that there's a lot of room for accommodation and adaptation on a societal level that's only missing because people can't be bothered or they're always clinging to the most efficient (read: cheapest) solution, even if it's one that throws a substantial chunk of the population under the bus. (And when you consider every possible trait on which "disorder" levels of natural variation exist - everything from sleep to mobility to food allergies - that's a LOT of people being doomed to function at suboptimal levels ostensibly for the sake of the "normal majority"!)

I reckon a lot of problems with sleep "disorders" could be solved by better housing, better housing quality (seriously: soundproofing tech. we have it), and more use of staggered schedules on every level, with more people hired to keep up the overall necessary level of activity. Stop and imagine for a moment how much better life could be if every street and apartment block was built to last instead of using cheap materials that need repairs every few years, if walls were actually as soundproof as walls can be, if trees lined every street to provide shade and natural protection against street noise and improve the air quality, oh, and if every apartment came with built-in blackout screens, because the need for quality sleep is universal, and excessive nighttime illumination has been shown to be a persistent cause of poor sleep quality - in everyone, not just night owls!

My own sleep quality took a severe dip precisely three months ago when the landlords of this house had all the windows replaced, and apparently the new windows are cheaper and worse, because I'm awoken by sounds from the street that never bothered me before (like car doors slamming shut on the parking spots outside). Naturally, as a tenant who has to put up or seek housing elsewhere, I have no recourse of any kind as long as the landlords are still technically within the letter of the law, and even complaining might get me evicted.

And yes, sorry, that's a capitalism problem....

one of the most enlightening realizations ive had was finding out that non-24 hour circadian rhythm people were a pretty large group and most of us have oddly similar cycles of usually around 28hr internal "days" and this masquerades as "insomnia" but if allowed to sleep and wake naturally we will just advance forward through time an extra 2-4 hours a day at a relatively stable pace. we can't go to school or jobs or even run errands on normal schedules without massive pharmacological and behavioral intervention. most of the people who have been diagnosed or figured it out themselves will report horrific, life-ruining disruption in their professional lives and terrible health from accrued lack of sleep. this disorder is most common in vision-impaired people which seems to suggest it's related to light cues. anyway just thinking about this as extremely loud yard work woke me up at 8am for the second day in a row

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 4 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains some OOC-ness—personal interpretations of characters; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

That night, no matter how you curled beneath the thick blanket or how many times you tried to count sheeps, sleep would not come.

Your body was tired.

But your soul…

Something gnawed at it.

You shifted onto your side.

Then your back.

Then sat up entirely.

No use.

There was a prickle at the nape of your neck. Without thinking, you slipped out of bed.

Your bare feet moved soundlessly across the wooden floor, muscle memory guiding you through the darkened house.

You reached Granny’s door.

You pressed your palm gently to the wood, and your eyes softened.

There she was.

Granny, fast asleep on her side, soft snores rising and falling like tide, a blue branch from a cup of tea long gone cold beside her looming over—

Wait a fucking damn minute.

Golden eyes bulging like a startled fish. Blue skin, lanky form. Purple, jagged markings curling around the whole body. Webbed hands held still mid-air.

And tusks.

Two large, curved ones framing its gaping mouth.

In any other context, its face might have looked… funny.

Startled.

Like someone walked in on them stealing a cookie.

But this was no joke.

You recognized it instantly from the sketches in the demonology texts.

A water demon.

An it was leaning over Granny. Inches from her.

No.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY GRANNY!”

Your body shot forward in a blur. Your fingers—claws—circled its throat before it even blinked, its surprised expression hadn’t even changed by the time your grip tightened.

The momentum would’ve made the demon slam into the wall if not for—

Poof!

Granny stirred, rubbing her eyes slowly.

She yawned into her sleeve.

“Mm...? Hm?”

She tilted her head toward the window, blinking at the moonlight.

Then laid back down.

“…must’ve been the wind.”

——oOo——

The moment you reappeared parting the white smoke—deep in the woods just beyond the reach of the village lantern light—you slammed the water demon into the earth.

Grassy dirt kicked up around you as your claws dug into his throat, pinning him hard.

White mist curled and snaked around his wrists and ankles, dragging them down, holding them tight to the earth—mist made manifest, a power you barely understood yet, but somehow, it obeyed you now.

The demon struggled, webbed fingers twitching in vain.

If you weren’t furious, you might’ve marveled at your strength.

Instead, your fingers squeezed.

“̴S̷t̵a̸y̷ ̴a̴w̷a̷y̵ ̷f̶r̸o̶m̴ ̷m̴y̵ ̸G̵r̴a̸n̶n̵y̸.̸”̶

Your voice rippled out of you—lower, distorted, almost echoing over itself. Your claws, sharper than bone and cold as the season, dug into his skin.

You felt it—the flesh giving way. Something warm and thick began to seep through your grip.

Blood.

The water demon whimpered.

A soft, high-pitched noise like a kicked puppy.

You blinked.

Wait—

Your eyes darted to its face again.

Big watery gold eyes.

Lips trembling slightly.

Why does it look… cute?

No, NO, NOT THE TIME, ME—

Poof!

The demon burst into a puff of red smoke with a pitiful pop.

Gone.

You stared at the space where he once was.

Still on your knees. Still breathing hard as your claws grasped at nothing.

You stared at your hands, the tips dyed in—

“Huh.”

Dark and thick like warm syrup.

“So demons bleed red.”

Without thinking, you dragged your tongue along one claw, and your eyes widened.

“It tastes…”

Rich?

Sweet?

You licked your lips.

“Delicious.”

——oOo——

Granny stirred for the second time that night.

Her eyes scrunched, trying to make out the figure looking over her.

“Mm… sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and groggy. “You alright?”

She saw you opened your mouth, then closed it.

“…A nightmare,” you said in a whisper.

“Oh, my poor thing. Want me to brew you some moonflower tea?”

Your head shook quickly. “No—no, it’s fine. You should rest. I didn’t mean to wake you, Granny, I just…”

You rubbed your arm, glancing away.

She tilted her head, then patted the space beside her on the bedding.

“…Want to sleep here tonight?”

You stiffened.

Then, a little embarrassed, you nodded.

She smiled, her eyes softened.

“Tch. Come here, you silly girl. Get under the blanket, quickly, before the night air bites you.”

You slid in gently beside her, careful not to press too close with your still sweaty body.

But Granny curled an arm around you anyway, warm, gentle, and steady.

“…It’s good to have you back,” she murmured, already drifting.

You laid there, wide-eyed, staring into the dark.

And you clutched her hand tight.

——oOo——

You were tending the garden when it happened.

The sun was bright, the soil warm beneath your nails. The herbs were growing strong—almost time to harvest the chrysanthemum. You hummed a little under your breath, patting the earth down—

"How fascinating..."

You froze.

The voice was deep. Husky. Smooth. With a strange, trailing echo that seemed to bend at the end of each syllable.

You turned your head so fast your neck might’ve popped.

“Granny?” you called out.

She glanced up from the porch, where she was stringing herbs. “Yes?”

“Did you… did you just hear someone talking?”

She blinked at you. “No, child. Why?”

“…No reason,” you lied, and turned back.

"Be not afraid—"

“Would.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

A long, awkward silence.

You cleared your throat, returning to the garden bed and trying to pretend none of that happened.

“So what is this, am I just—hearing voices now? Great. That’s new. Maybe I’m finally losing it.”

"Not quite."

Your hands paused over a patch of mint.

You waited for more context.

You received none.

"If you're not gonna talk, then don't talk.” you snapped, rubbing at your temple.

"You are... quite impatient."

"And you sound like a rejected Shakespeare understudy.”

There was a gasp in your mind.

You could practically hear the indignation.

But also… confusion?

"While I do not know of this ‘Shakespeare’ you speak off…"

His voice dipped into a soft mutter.

"I feel like that is an insult."

“No shit, Sherlock.”

More droning followed—something about mortals and respect and your “undignified tongue”—but you tuned it out.

“Dear, I’m opening the shop!” Granny’s voice floated from the doorway. “Come help when you’re ready!”

“Be right there!” you chirped, cheerfully.

As if you didn’t have a mysteriously sexy, possibly eldritch entity screaming in your brain like a cranky stage actor.

And apparently, you spoke that out loud in the form of muttering:

“If Mister Big Voice in my skull doesn’t get me smited before lunch.”

"I heard that."

“Then stop lecturing me, you’ll get nowhere with me in that tone, Mister.”

“…Mister?” he repeated.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a name, do I?” You smirked. “Unless you want me to keep calling you Dramatic-Old-Man-Who-Might-Be-a-Cult-Leader.”

A beat of silence.

But somehow, you felt him simmering.

Like a teeny, furious little fireball. Brimming with evil and indignation. The image made you laugh.

“…You are treating this far too casually.” the voice sulked—can you believe that?

“Says the one who just popped into my head and started lecturing me about etiquettes.”

“Very well,” he said finally, regaining his regal edge. “Then allow me to properly introduce myself.”

You rolled your eyes.

"I am Gwi-ma."

Well, there’s your daily dose of headaches. Should you even be surprised?

“The—"

"Let me stop you right there.” You turned to the herb basket and recited flatly, “Gwi-ma. The King of Demons, Demon King. Sealed by the Honmoon. Said to lead the hordes of demons if ever unsealed. Also rumored to grant mortals’ wishes in exchange for something, yada yada.”

"In the flesh, my dear."

Of course he said it like that. With such smug pride.

You sighed, dragging your hand down your face.

A migraine was coming on. You could feel it.

“Seriously. I just want to live a peaceful life with my Granny. Is that too much to ask for?”

Gwi-ma chuckled, as if this was some inside joke between you.

“Oh, we both know why that is, don’t we?”

You froze.

This time, you didn’t need to speak the question out loud for him to give you the answer.

“Gwak Seol-jun. The name ring some bells, no?”

Shit.

“You, my dear, took a soul belonging to me.”

“…”

"Do you truly not understand what you are?" His tone shifted—deepened. “You are far more than you believe,” Attempting something…

You took a guess, “You want something.”

“Sharp indeed.” he said, silken. “You are… unique.”

“You mean I’m a freak.”

"I mean," he said, slow and velvet-slick, "I want you to work with me."

You paused.

Work with him? Why does he not just—forcibly control me like the rumors suggested?

“…Why?”

Another chuckle, “You will understand with time. But I know that you are anything but a humble girl—”

“You’re refusing to elaborate, huh?”

He said nothing.

“Yeah, well, no thanks,” you said flatly.

“Rejecting my offer already?”

“Yup.”

“Then, what is your greatest desire—"

“Wow, how original.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Nope.” You cut him off flatly, uprooting another herb. “Not playing the monkey’s paw game.”

"You don’t even know what I was going to offer—what is this ‘monkey’s paw’ you spoke off?"

“I know the drill,” you dusted your hands. “Wish granted, tragic twist, ‘oh no it’s cursed,’ cry in dramatic rain.”

You started ticking them off.

“Immortality? Great. Except no eternal youth—so you end up a thousand-year-old prune shuffling through centuries like a raisin with regrets.”

“…Wait—”

“Wish for gold? Oh, everything you touch turns into it—congrats, now you can’t eat, sleep, or hug anyone without liquefying their spine into bullion. Love that for you.”

“That’s not—”

“Craving knowledge? Fantastic. Enjoy knowing everyone’s dirty secrets, exactly when they’ll die, and every horrifying cosmic truth your mind is not remotely equipped to handle. Hello, lifelong existential dread.”

You held up another finger.

“Want to cheat death? Sure—say hello to eternal labor, pushing boulders up hills or ferrying souls across rivers till the end of time while screaming internally. Or cursed to watch everyone you love die over and over again, this can work with the immortality one as well.”

You weren’t done. You were just getting warmed up.

“—Those are just some from the myths abroad. But even I could come up with more of these.”

You kept going, launched into it like you’d been waiting your whole life for this rant.

“If not immortality, then wish for youth? Sure. You stay sixteen forever while the world decays around you. Everyone thinks you're possessed. Or worse, keeps trying to marry you.”

“Protection from all harm? Ooooh, nice. Except now nothing can touch you. No hugs, no high-fives, no sense of temperature—go ahead and try sipping hot tea, you walking ceramic plate.”

“Want to protect the people you love? Hope you’re ready to feel every single injury they take. Knife wounds, fevers, childbirth, emotionally distant dads—yep, all yours now.”

“…I—what—”

“Fame forever? You got it. As a mass-murdering villain history twisted you into. Every bard sings about your crimes while your ghost listens in mild outrage.”

“Wish for freedom? Boom. You’re untethered from fate, law, reality—can’t die, can’t connect to anyone, forgotten the second they look away. Enjoy eternal ghosting.”

“No heartbreak? Sounds peaceful. But now you’re numb to everything. Can’t feel joy, can’t fall in love. Just blank-eyed staring into sunsets while puppies make you feel nothing.”

“Eternal happiness? You’re locked in your happiest memory forever, drooling in a corner while people feed you rice porridge. It’s a trap and a nap.”

At this point you were pacing in a small circle.

“Unlimited power? The world collapses under you, now you’re alone. Ruler of nothing. Congrats, emperor of the void.”

“And the ‘fix everything’ dream? Every touch heals the world—but chips away at you. Your life, your soul, your memory, until you’re just an empty meat puppet who forgot how to spell your own name.”

You glared into the middle distance, muttering now.

“Oh—and the crowd-pleaser—‘Be loved by all.’ Congrats, you’re now the protagonist of a yandere horror story. Everyone wants to date you, kill for you, kill you, pick one. Or, now you’ve got a cult. Wide-eyed weirdos singing your name in harmony while you scream inside because none of it’s real. You’re a god with no friends.”

“Don’t even get me started on strength—"

You trailed off, hand still mid-gesture.

Only now did it fully registered—Gwi-ma had gone silent. Complete radio silence. In the unsettlingly thoughtful way.

“You’re quiet. Why are you quiet?”

A beat.

Then:

"Those are… actually quite inspired."

You stared at the horizon.

“Oh no you didn’t.”

"I could adapt several of these into very compelling contracts..."

“If you’re gonna use my paranoia as deal templates, at least give me credit!” you snapped, jabbing a finger into the air. “I want my name in fine print at the bottom of your next doomed soul contract, with a little floral border. Oh! And I demand royalties, thank you very much.”

“…You’re absurd.”

“Thanks. It’s a defense mechanism.”

——oOo——

It had been a long day.

Not physically, no. You were already used to pulling weeds, running errands, and haggling with customers who still tried to short-change an old lady’s tea.

It was your head that felt bruised.

And it was all because he wouldn’t shut up.

"A soul like yours, lingering among human bones, really is a waste of potential."

“You call Granny a waste one more time and I swear I wouldn’t even consider that offer.

There was a pause.

Then a slow, syrupy drawl.

"So you are considering right now~"

You groaned, and by the time the moon rose above your rooftop, you'd endured several hours of Gwi-ma’s long-winded commentary.

Correction: Gwi-ma’s whining.

You’d tried ignoring him.

Really, that’s the only thing you could do since he’s in your head and not whispering in your ears, even though he sometimes made it feel like he was. Thus, stuffing your ears with cotton would prove ineffective.

You really hope he couldn’t follow you into your dreams.

“Have you ever been told you’re so insufferable?”

“Who would dare?”

So, only you then.

Collapsing back-first onto your sleeping mat like a punctured rice sack, you buried your face into the blanket, muffling a scream.

A beat of silence passed. You turned your head slightly.

Your eyes shifted toward the demonology scrolls near your pillow.

They were there, spread out, aged, and fragile, their edges curled like dried leaves, seemingly glowing faintly in the lanternlight.

You’d meant to train tonight. More. To explore your abilities now that your last feast kept the hunger at bay.

Sharpen your skills and perhaps you would gain more control over that side of you.

But...

“…”

“…”

You squinted toward the ceiling like it personally offended you. “Well? Aren’t you gonna say something?”

"Hm." A thoughtful hum echoed through your mind. "Would you like me to teach you the ropes?"

You sat up warily. “What’s the catch?”

“None." he replied, almost too smoothly. "I simply… want to observe you. Your potential intrigues me."

“…You mean you want to watch me fumble around like a glorified test subject.”

"Semantics."

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not agreeing to anything unless I know exactly what I’m getting into. So answer me these first,” Though you wouldn’t put it past him to lie or twist the truth. “What happens if I follow your instructions? Do I really not owe you anything? Does it bind me to some deal? Will I owe you a favor in some vague future? If I go along with this, will I be cursed, hunted, warped, accidentally married, or doomed to carry your demonic spawn?”

"…That’s oddly specific."

“Answer the questions.”

"None of the above. You’re not making a wish, you’re asking for guidance. No contracts, no soul-deals, no blood price—unless you'd like that aesthetic. I do miss the old rituals."

You narrowed your eyes. “So this isn’t another Monkey’s Paw situation?”

A long sigh came from him. “Must you assume the worst of me?”

“Yes,” you said flatly.

"You wound me."

“Like I care.”

You rolled over to the side, fingers trailing along the worn edge of a scroll. You opened it with a quiet rustle, ran your fingers along the edges, tracing the faded ink drawings of grotesque demons and chaotic beasts, all with his jagged marks in purple.

Then—at the center—something abstract. Swirling mess of violet and hot pink? fire with a barely discernible face. You had trouble making out the eyes from the shapes alone most if not all the time. Though, you supposed the lightest part of the flame was the mouth.

“…This you?”

"My better side, if I do say so."

You snorted softly, still dragging your fingers along the curled edges. Your other hand reached toward the binding, loosening the last corner.

“So... where do I start?”

And for once, his tone changed.

Quieter. No lazy purr. More… serious.

"Your true form."

You blinked.

“…I thought the glowing white markings, fangs, claws, and red eyes were my demon form.”

"No. That’s a transitional state. An echo. A fragment. An instinctive mask. I can feel it,” he said. “Something deeper. You’re… different. You carry light like it’s bone-deep. But it’s twisted, refracted. What lies underneath… even I can't see. Not yet."

“You keep saying ambiguous shit like that.”

You stared at your hand. Was he referring to something more connected to that hunger?

You made a face. “...Well, how am I supposed to turn into it if I don’t know what it even looks like?”

"Instinct. Memory. Desire. All three. I’ll guide you."

He paused, and you sensed his attention narrow, like a whisper brushing the inside of your mind.

"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Now breathe in through your mouth, not your nose. Let the cold fill your chest."

You did.

"Now think—not of shape, not of skin or face—but of feeling. The first instinct. What felt most right when the world first made sense."

Your breath slowed.

The cold seeped in.

"Beyond what you think is you. Where the first light touched your bones...”

Your fingers twitched.

Your markings flickered.

“Let go of the memory of being human."

A beat.

Your pulse thrummed. The mist in your veins surged.

"Open the door you keep sealed."

Your heart slowed.

Your breath stilled.

Then—

You stepped through.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [26/06/2025]

[callsign-rogueone]

gentle giant

garrick tavis x reader (angel!)

words: 2.1k

🏷️: smut, first time in the relationship, mentions of penetration being painful, but they stop and do alternate activities, because how are these fantasy heroines always taking pipe the size of their forearm with no lube or anything, thigh riding, gare gets a handy and loses his mind a little, mentions of size difference between you, but I tried to just emphasize him being big instead of saying you are tiny because not all of us are violet sized, especially not myself, you wear his shirt and it’s implied to be big on you, his hands are bigger, he’s taller… I think it’s easy enough for everyone to relate. this is kinda rushed but when I saw the prompt for today I knew I had to finish this draft that literally had the same title already! posting with 1h20m to spare 🥳

“Are you sure you want to— oh, fuck,” Garrick breathes, his grip on your waist tightening as you lower yourself down.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Your words are cut with a soft whimper as you sink lower, stretching around him. You’re trying to keep your cool, but he can feel your thighs shaking, feel you squeezing him so fucking tightly, your breaths coming out in pathetic little pants as you try to adjust to the thickness.

“Angel,” he says softly, moving his hands to your waist. “If it’s too much, we can—”

“I can take it,” you interrupt. “Just give me a second.”

Maybe if you shift your hips a little, you can get a better angle, and it’ll stop feeling like you’re being torn apart.

Nope. That’s even worse.

Hold your breath, then, so he can’t tell how much it hurts, and you don’t kill the mood. This is the first time you’ve done anything more than kiss, after all. It should stop hurting after a few minutes, right? Just power through, and…

It’s too easy for him to lift you up off of him and sit you on his thigh, wrapping his arms around you and stroking your back. “I don’t want you to be in pain, Angel. We should stop.”

“M’ sorry,” you say in a small voice, working your head into the side of his neck.

“Don’t apologize, Angel. It’s okay.” He continues smoothing his palms up and down your back in slow, grounding movements. “What do you want to do? We can go to sleep, or just cuddle for a while… or we could have some fun in a different way.”

You pull back to look at him. “I didn’t completely kill the moment?”

He’s grinning ear to ear. “Are you kidding? I have the most beautiful woman on the continent sitting in my lap with no pants on, and it turns out that my dick is actually too big.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course he’d find a way to joke about this, and make it feed his ego. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You sit up straighter and guide him back into another kiss with a hand on his jaw, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone.

His hands find your waist again, slipping underneath your — his — shirt, and smoothing up your ribs to rest just below your breasts. He’s always been touchy with you, but even after being the two of you a couple for a few months now, he’s still a little hesitant to touch you anywhere intimate, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. It’s cute, really.

You reach down, settling your hands on his wrists and guiding his hands up to where he really wants them to be. He’s gentle, massaging the soft skin and brushing his thumbs over your nipples. It’s a new sensation, a soft, buzzy pleasure that adds to the desire growing within you.

The kisses had started off gentle, slow and loving, meant to reassure you that he still wanted you despite your difficulties, but now it’s more than that — you’re back to the same eager, frenzied makeout that had started this whole thing off.

He pulls back for air, and you whine softly, scooting closer.

He gives you a sly smile. “Someone’s needy. You enjoying yourself there?”

Your cheeks warm as you realize what he’s talking about — you’ve been rocking your hips against his thigh for the past few minutes, in search of any kind of stimulation.

“If you want to get yourself off like that, that is more than fine with me.”

There’s no denying that it felt really nice, but could you really make yourself cum that way?

It wouldn’t hurt to try, you suppose.

You nod shyly, giving another exploratory rock of your hips against his thigh. It’s perfect for this; wide, firm, but pliant enough to be comfortable. Just like the rest of him — thick muscle, with just the right amount of softness covering it, good for sparring and cuddling and several other things, including this. And there’s just something about the size of him, the way he towers over you, and how much bigger he is than you, that makes your heart race.

Is it a little superficial? Maybe. But he feels the same way about you.

The first time he’d seen you wear one of his shirts, that draped down to your thighs, just long enough to cover your ass, he’d forgotten how to speak. Even before you’d admitted your feelings to each other, he’d loved comparing the size of your hands, making jokes about being able to see over the top of your head, and being able to move you around effortlessly, guiding you through crowds or sitting you in his lap like this…

And he’s always loved your softness — both the feel of your skin, your hands smooth and soft compared to the roughened skin of his palms from all his training and exercise, and the plush of your body, so easy to relax into, to cuddle up with and rest his head on, to knead in those giant hands of his while you do things like this…

He pulls back, his nose brushing against your cheek. “You mind if I help myself out a little?”

You shake your head no; of course you don’t mind. If anything, watching him is going to help you get there.

He wasn’t lying about you not having killed the mood — he’s still hard, aching with need. And even held in his own hand, he still looks giant.

You take mental note of the way he’s doing it, the lazy pace and the way he twists his hand when he reaches the top before sliding back down, soft little sighs leaving his lips every now and then.

He probably does this quite often, to know what he likes. He might have even done it while thinking of you — you’ve certainly spent more nights with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips than you’d ever admit.

As good as this feels, it’s tiring. Your legs were already aching from the day’s training, and this isn’t helping you at all. You sigh in frustration, your hips slowing, but you continue to rock back and forth, sitting up a little straighter to reach his lips.

He’s always known exactly what you want, and what you need — you gasp into his mouth as he takes over, sliding you back and forth over his thigh with minimal effort. This is much better, enabling you to concentrate on the feeling of the muscle rubbing against your clit instead of the ache in your hips and thighs.

And it’s godsdamned sexy how strong he is, how he can handle you any way he pleases.

He leans forward, his other hand sliding up your neck to tilt your head back, allowing him access to the side of your neck.

Despite this being the farthest you’ve ever gone together, Garrick has clearly established that no inch of your skin will go un-kissed, or otherwise unloved. He’s an excellent multitasker — his lips are still on your neck, one hand helping guide you back and forth against his thigh, the other hand having returned to your chest, just playing with you, groping and stroking and pinching, just seeing what you like.

It’s soft little circles of his thumb that seem to have you the most vocal, arching forward into his touch. He’ll keep doing that, then.

“Gare,” you breathe, your hand finding the one that rests on your hip, your fingers curling around his.

He pulls back from your neck with a soft, wet sound — there’s definitely going to be some bruises there tomorrow, that Xaden will tease you both for relentlessly — and even with your eyes closed in concentration, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Aww, are you close, angel? You wanna cum for me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, pushing your hips forward to help him, and help yourself. “Yes, please, keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“All of it.”

He’s a perfect soldier, excellent at following orders. And he’d do anything you asked without hesitation, especially if it pleased you like this. His lips return to the side of your neck, sucking at your pulse point, continuing those little strokes of his thumb…

You nearly sob as it washes over you, your inner muscles clamping around thin air, and your hand clutching his. He rocks you back and forth a few more times to help you ride it out, still mouthing at your neck, but after a moment it becomes too much — you start to squirm, squeezing your thighs together around his, which he takes as a sign to stop.

You slump forward against his chest, dazed and a little bit in awe of the fact that he just made you cum without laying a finger on you. Your tummy feels fuzzy, your whole body relaxed… and your pain appears to have ceased, which is an added bonus.

You’re vaguely aware of his hand rubbing your back. He's talking to you, cooing praises into your ear. “Did so good, angel. N’ I’ll never get tired of seeing you in my clothes.”

You stifle a yawn, lifting your head up enough to give him a kiss. Your lips land more toward his jaw than his mouth, but that’ll have to do for now. “Thank you,” you add. “Felt really good.”

He reciprocates your kiss, a soft peck to your temple. “Anything for my perfect girl. S’ late, you wanna go to bed?”

“In a bit,” you murmur, smearing another kiss against his jaw as you reach down again, wrapping your hand around him. He gasps in surprise, his thigh tensing underneath you. “Is this okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he breathes, his eyes still locked with yours, subconsciously pushing his hips into your hand, rutting forward into your touch.

You hum happily, boldened by how quickly he’s falling apart beneath you. “Felt so good grinding on your thigh like that. All that strong muscle, and the way you could move me so easily…”

You punctuate each sentence with a slip of your thumb over his tip, watching the way his abs clench as he squirms underneath you.

“Oh, just like that, Angel,” he breathes, “Fuck, your hands are so — soft, feels so good… so much better than — fuck — better than mine. Not gonna last.”

You hum against the side of his neck, kissing and sucking at the skin just above his collarbone, where his relic ends.

He whines, his hips pushing against your hand faster now, his desperation increasing. “Please,” he gasps. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” you murmur. “I’m not going to stop. Especially not when you asked so nicely.”

He buries his face in the side of your neck, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips.

If you thought his needy little whines were pretty, then the sound he makes when he cums is absolutely gorgeous — it’s a shame that it’s muffled by your skin. You’ll have to do this again soon, so you can hear it properly.

His thighs are shaking, and your hand is covered in his spend, but just like he did for you, you don’t stop right away, just slow down and let him ride it out. “Holy shit,” he pants, catching his breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that fast before. That’s actually a little embarrassing.”

You can’t help but giggle, pleased with yourself. “You’ll just have to show me how long you can last, then.”

He groans. “Don’t say shit like that right now. You’ll get me hard again.”

“Oh nooo, we can’t have that.”

“Not tonight, at least. We need to get some sleep.”

“Fair enough,” you agree through a yawn.

You’ve both already showered, and used all your energy for the day, so a quick wipe-down is enough until morning, and then it’s back to your normal routine of getting tucked into bed together. You’ve only used your own bed twice since getting your own room a month ago, now. You might as well just share his room, at this point, but there’s only one desk and one closet, which would cramp things up.

“Angel?” he asks softly, before turning the light out.

You hum in reply, eyes already closed.

“I really enjoyed tonight, even if it wasn’t what we planned.”

“I did too. Was fun.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “I just don’t want you to feel bad, or anything. Really.”

“And that right there is why I love you so much,” you murmur, scooting over to rest your head on his chest. “You’re big and scary, but you’re really just a gentle giant. With me, at least.”

“Only with you,” he agrees, stroking a hand over your hair. “I have a reputation to maintain, y’know.”

“Mm. Can’t have people finding out that you’re a big softie.”

“They’ll put it together eventually. But not today.”

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

Relationship: Shadow Elemental Jungkook x Water Elemental Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence (someone you love is gonna die I'm so sorry)

Tags: Dystopia, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Character Death, Murder, Human Experimentation, War, Jungkook is a precious baby boy but he’ll also kill you, Elemental Magic, Shadow Elemental Jungkook, Fire Elemental Yoongi, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Outdoor Sex

Word Count: 25,983

A/N: Fun fact, Taehyung’s character is based off of Jeff Goldblum. Part of a spring offering collab.

Soundtrack: cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared. 

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.  

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt. 

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief. 

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers. 

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city’s outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land. 

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down. 

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.  

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.” 

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.” 

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug. 

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face. 

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole. 

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in. 

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful. 

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees. 

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would. 

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.  

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field. 

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.” 

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth. 

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart. 

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours. 

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone. 

“I don’t know.” 

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything. 

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag. 

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?” 

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property’s edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors. 

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour. 

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest. 

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass. 

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field. 

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles. 

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises. 

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population. 

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for. 

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.” 

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame. 

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.” 

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat. 

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent. 

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words. 

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins. 

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.” 

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess. 

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill. 

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon. 

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement. 

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled. 

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped. 

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed. 

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term. 

You probably would have done the same. 

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort. 

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them. 

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles. 

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.” 

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon. 

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once. 

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.” 

Your group’s sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work. 

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there. 

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care. 

“Not working?” 

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.” 

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway. 

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months. 

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.” 

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away. 

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?” 

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street. 

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor. 

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.” 

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run. 

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder. 

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.” 

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method. 

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?” 

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest. 

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms. 

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined. 

“How?” 

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.” 

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface. 

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you. 

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group’s elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal. 

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?” 

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach. 

“No.”  

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars. 

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.” 

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak. 

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.” 

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead. 

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head. 

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown. 

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to. 

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.” 

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology. 

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing. 

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you. 

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway. 

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training. 

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him. 

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong. 

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress. 

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans. 

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest. 

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?” 

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy. 

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.” 

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further. 

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.” 

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either. 

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders. 

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable. 

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair. 

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future. 

“What would you like me to do?” 

��Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly. 

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles. 

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?” 

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks. 

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.” 

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.” 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!” 

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself. 

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own. 

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone. 

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it. 

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far. 

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him. 

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends. 

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him. 

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way. 

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you. 

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly. 

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around. 

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It’s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group. 

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do. 

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact. 

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over. 

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold. 

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body. 

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says. 

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them. 

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist. 

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you. 

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s. 

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared. 

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you. 

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established. 

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case. 

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.” 

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.” 

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.” 

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins. 

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.” 

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head. 

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.  

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.” 

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers. 

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-” 

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move. 

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible. 

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either. 

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole. 

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow. 

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone? 

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body. 

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive. 

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead. 

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens. 

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing. 

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you’re in as though he can’t see you. 

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. 

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.” 

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing… 

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out. 

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route. 

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.” 

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet. 

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally. 

“He’s okay.” 

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor. 

“He’s bleeding.” 

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.” 

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.” 

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying. 

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world. 

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly. 

“But you didn’t?” 

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear. 

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then… 

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms. 

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him. 

“You never showed me before.” 

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm. 

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.” 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness. 

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing. 

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do. 

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you. 

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head. 

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?” 

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.” 

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?” 

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.” 

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason. 

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless. 

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from. 

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate. 

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung. 

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers. 

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune. 

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.” 

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man. 

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states. 

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you. 

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door. 

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.” 

5 MONTHS

Later, when you look back on this time in your life, you’ll see that everything that transpired during those precious months at the warehouse led up to this. 

At the moment, though, you don’t see anything but the beginnings of spring attempting to sprout from the hard winter earth. 

You sit on the roof atop the old milkcrate with your elbows on your knees. Your eyes follow a small butterfly floating through the light breeze. It’s quiet, just like any other day. 

Yoongi, Jessi, and Namjoon are inside, preparing for the trip you all will make through the woods to the Commune. Hoseok and Jungkook are somewhere at the perimeter of the woods, gathering whatever they can as food for the trip. 

You’ve learned that there is a runaway at the Commune whose Gift allows them to disguise the Commune, similar to Jungkook’s Gift of optical illusion through shadows. Except this Gifted can alter reality, bend the shape of time and space to make the Commune simply…. disappear to anyone they don’t want to find it. 

It sounds otherworldly, something you can hardly wrap your head around, but you must remind yourself that before your Gift had revealed itself to you, you had never believed in the supernatural or fantasy. Now you were everything a younger version of you couldn’t have begun to believe. 

A tiny part of you had been worried that you would get nervous, but you find you can’t sit still from the enthusiasm building up energy in your body to the point you might explode. It’s exciting, the knowledge that in a few short days, you won’t have to sit on top of this roof with your bow and fear that has seemed to make its home deep inside your chest. 

Soon you’ll be safe. 

You hold your breath as the butterfly gently flutters toward you. With a slight dip in its flight, the beautiful insect descends until it rests on your shoe. You’re pretty sure you learned somewhere that butterflies shouldn’t be touched, but you want to run your finger along its wings so badly. 

Just before you can touch it, a scream rings out, echoing against the warehouse and reverberating across the industrial park’s empty fields and parking lots. Crows take off into the sky, their cawing harmonizing with the shouts coming from behind you. 

With your heart beating in your throat, you stand and run to the other side of the roof toward the woods. 

“RUN! Y/N, FUCKING RUN!” 

You just barely catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s face as he sprints out of the woods before suddenly disappearing. Your blood becomes ice, piercing your veins as it glides through your body. Jungkook is a shadow now, you tell yourself. He didn’t really disappear.  

Hoseok stumbles out of the woods behind Jungkook, the wind at his feet enabling him to run across the field faster than an average human. 

At first, you think they’re just playing some silly game. Jungkook and Hoseok always mess around, pranking each other and playfighting. This seems like some elaborate joke until you watch Hoseok use his Gift to lift a giant chunk of concrete from the ground near the warehouse and throw it toward the woods. 

You watch with wide eyes as multiple masked men, wearing all black except for the blood-red insignia of the Republic on their chests, crash through the woods like a spring flood. 

Red Pin agents. 

They’re armed with guns, some still on their hips while others are holding them out in front of them as they swarm the warehouse’s perimeter. 

One of the men tilts his head up, his dark eyes locking with yours before you drop to your knees to hide behind the protective barrier around the roof. 

You throw your bow over your arm and head so it rests across your chest and back and crawl as quickly as you can toward the trapdoor. 

Your limbs tremble so terribly that you miss the last few rungs of the ladder and fall flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you. With a gasp, you touch the back of your head and try to blink away the stars swarming your eyes. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are coated red. 

“Shit! Get up, Y/N. Get the fuck up!” 

A pair of strong hands squeeze your biceps, and once your vision clears, you see that it’s Jessi hauling you to your feet. There are grease streaks on her face. You wonder if they’re from…

“The radio,” you croak, your lungs still struggling to work properly. 

“It was fucking rigged,” she spits, “I don’t know how I couldn’t sense it. But it was.”

And now they are here to collect you - or kill you, you aren’t sure. 

Maybe they would spare Jungkook. He has a Rare Gift; they would be stupid to harm him. The rest of you, though? Common Gifts - although Jessi’s is Uncommon, but certainly not Rare.

You feel lightheaded, likely from the fall and blood loss as it trickles down the back of your neck. It’s thick and wet. The smell of iron floods your nostrils and makes your stomach curl inward. It doesn’t matter, though. Jessi throws your arm around her shoulders and practically drags you through the warehouse. 

Inside is a tornado. Namjoon and Hoseok are scrambling to gather as many supplies as they can. Luckily, many of the essential items are already packed, though Jessi quickly tosses out the radio from the duffle bag she flings over her shoulder. 

“Stupid piece of fucking military bullshit,” she grumbles, giving the item a harsh kick with her steel-toed boots. “Gonna get us all fucking killed.” 

Hoseok lets out a whine. “Please don’t say that.” 

His face is bright pink, and his hands shake while he shoves clothes, random notes, and anything else he can find into his duffle bag. 

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jessi growls in response. Her tone has Namjoon and Hoseok picking up the pace. 

Somewhere below you, likely on the first floor, you hear the sound of glass breaking. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before, and in any other situation, you would have giggled. But right now, he looks so grim it makes all the hairs on your arms stand. “They’re inside.” 

The sound of shouting and boots slapping against the concrete floors gets louder the longer the four of you stare at each other. Even Jessi, with her commanding presence, seems to stand frozen in place. The shouting becomes easier to understand as death threats if your group refuses to cooperate and willingly turn yourselves in to the government. 

As if any of you would actually go back to the Labs. At least, not without a fight. 

“If we stand here, we are going to die.” Your voice trembles just barely above a whisper. It’s enough, though. 

Namjoon gives a curt nod and looks around the room you’re in - the room that was once your bedroom. Your little nest of blankets is in the corner, along with Jungkook’s and Jessi’s. The beds have been rifled through, likely by Namjoon and Hoseok collecting the warmest blankest to bring on the trip. 

“The window,” Hoseok finally says with a quiet hiss. The warehouse is relatively large, so it will take some time for the Red Pin agents to figure out which room you’re in. 

The four of you rush to the window and peer out of it. From what you can tell, there aren’t any Red Pin agents below. Even if there are, it would be a smaller number than is currently bulldozing through the warehouse. 

It’s a long drop, though. You’re on the third floor. 

“I’ll ease you down,” Hoseok insists. He props open the window and rests his hip against the wall. “Sit on the edge, with your feet out like that.” His fingers are delicate but firm as he positions Namjoon the way he needs him to be. Sweet Namjoon, willing to put his life in Hoseok’s hands and go first in case something terrible happens. 

Hoseok’s hands shake as he uses his Gift to slow Namjoon’s fall when the other man finally jumps from the window. 

Tears burn the corners of your eyes as you watch Jessi do the same as Namjoon. The two land on the ground roughly but without injury. Hoseok looks exhausted, likely from the pressure of not fucking up and less because of the exertion. 

“Come on,” he urges you as the Red Pin agents’ shouting gets louder. “They’re close.” 

You climb into the window, letting your legs dangle out the other side. Before Hoseok conjures a gentle breeze between his hands, you grab onto his wrist. Something is tugging at your chest; it has been since the moment you saw Hoseok and Jungkook escape from the woods. 

“Hobi,” you hope he hears the plead in your voice. “Where is Yoongi?” 

The way he grimaces shoots anxiety through you so severely that you feel your entire body jolt. 

“He and Jungkook are down there.”

“Down there…”

“Figh-”

Hoseok cuts himself off by letting out a shrill shriek when Jungkook suddenly materializes beside you. He has a deep gash on his cheek, blood pouring from the wound, coating his chin and neck deep red. His hair is matted and stands up on end, and there’s more blood all over his clothes, enough that you can’t tell if the blood is from him or someone else. 

“Get out,” he wheezes. When he grabs Hoseok’s arm, he leaves blotches of blood on his skin. “Hyung’s gonna blow it up.”

“Blow it up?” You hiss, twisting around to stare at Jungkook. 

It’s a mistake. 

His irises are dark and wide, so vast that his eyes are almost entirely black. It gives him a crazed look, like a wild animal backed into a corner with its teeth bared. 

What’s worse, it’s not just his eyes that are black. The veins in his neck are black like dark spiderwebs climbing up his throat and spreading down so far that it reaches the raised veins in the backs of his hands. He looks like he’s possessed, like the darkness of his Gift is consuming him whole. 

“Get out.” 

Before you can argue further, you feel Jungkook’s palm press between your shoulder blades, and suddenly you’re falling out of the window. 

When you open your eyes, you’re on the ground. Your upper body is propped up by Namjoon. His arms are wrapped around your torso, your back pulled against his chest to stabilize you. His chest rapidly raises and falls against you, but you hardly notice this. All you can focus on are the eyes staring back at you. 

“You okay, kid?”

Yoongi looks much like Jungkook. Blood is splattered across his face and staining his clothes. His faded pink hair is plastered to his sweat-drenched skin. He crouches beside you and Namjoon, one hand pressed into the grass to keep himself steady. 

From behind Yoongi, you can hear gunshots and screaming echoing through the warehouse. If Hell had a sound, you were sure it would be this. 

You try to turn to look at the building you’d just jumped from, but Yoongi grabs your chin. 

“Hey,” he lightly squeezes your cheeks. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything. You remember that?” 

You nod once Yoongi drops his hand from your face. You try not to shiver when the air blows against your now wet skin; try not to think about how your skin is now stained with someone else’s blood. 

“Hyung!” 

Yoongi turns toward the warehouse. Now that he’s distracted, he can’t stop you from peering around him to get a look at the building that you’ve made your home for the past five months. 

What looks like black smoke furls around the building. From how the tendrils move like snakes through busted-out windows, you know it isn’t smoke but shadows. Through an open window, you watch one of the shadows slip around a Red Pin agent’s throat like a noose. It tightens and tightens, squeezing the man so hard his face turns purple and his eyes water. 

Before you can witness more, your view is again obscured by Yoongi. 

“Hyung!” 

Jungkook’s shout sounds more desperate than the first, and you feel your heart constrict at the pained edge of his tone. 

Yoongi must notice the desperation, as well, because he quickly grabs your hand. Fire swirls between his fingers as he presses his palm against yours. 

“Yoongi, please-”

“You need to listen to me.” 

He presses his hand against yours even harder, only letting up when you give in and summon little streams of water to intertwine with his fire. You don’t like how rushed your secret handshake feels.

“I need you to look after Jungkook. The kid’s stubborn as fuck, worse than you.”

“Why are you saying this?” 

Yoongi’s gives you a small smile, lifting his hand to swipe his thumb against your cheek. The blood there mixes with the tears you hadn’t realized you’re shedding. 

“Because it’s what I need you to do.” 

Taking your face in his hands, Yoongi pulls you close to kiss your forehead. You feel Namjoon lift you to your feet when Yoongi lets go. Hoseok had cushioned your fall from the window, but you’re weak from blood loss and the exhaustion that fear can instill in the bones. 

Before you can say anything more, Yoongi sprints toward the warehouse, disappearing through the backdoor and into the darkness that surrounds the building. 

“Namjoon, let me go!” You scream as your friend squeezes his arms around your waist to haul you toward the woods. Jessi and Hoseok wait for you there, hidden within the trees, as the sounds of fighting and death from the warehouse get louder. 

Your friend lets out a low grunt when you dig your heels into the ground, but he’s stronger than you, and the action only deters him for a moment. He lifts you a bit, practically carrying you. 

Namjoon only stops when a flash of bright red light turns the entire industrial park dark for a split second before a deafening crash rings through the air. Even though your feet aren’t on the ground, you can feel the ground shake with the explosion that busts all the windows out of the warehouse. The entire building bursts into flames, turning the walls black. Balls of fire fly out of the broken windows, igniting the grass below. 

You crumble to the ground once Namjoon reaches the woods.

“We have to go,” Hoseok pleads. When you look up at him, his cheeks are streaked with tear tracks, too. 

Turning back to the fiery scene across the field, you watch a dark spot slither from shadow to shadow in the grass until it merges with your own shadow beside you on the ground. You tremble when Jungkook wraps his arms around your shoulders. His body is still crawling with dark veins, and the whites of his eyes are now entirely black. 

“Where is he?”

You glare into Jungkook’s eyes and swallow down the fear they strike in your heart. Like black holes, ready to absorb anything unlucky enough to fall in their path. 

The frown Jungkook wears intensifies. 

“Jungkook. Where. Is. He.” 

Jungkook closes his eyes and shakes his head, jaw clamped shut so tightly you can see the muscles ripple under his skin. When he opens them again, black tears pour from his empty eyes.

It’s like all the air is sucked out of your lungs, like a punch to the throat. You’re breathing in as hard as you can, as fast as you can, but nothing’s staying. Everything is too cold. You can feel the blood crusting on your skin, the throb in the back of your head. Black ash falls from the sky, further obstructing your ability to breathe.

Everything is too much. 

“Get off of me.” 

You try wiggling out from Jungkook’s grasp, but he doesn’t let go. 

“We have to keep moving.” 

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

Jungkook lets you push him away. He leans back on his heels and watches you. Or, you think he is. It’s hard to tell where those black eyes look, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Yoongi,” you moan, sagging forward to dig your fingers into the ground. You rip tufts of grass until all that’s left is dirt. 

With closed fists, you beat into the now bare ground, over and over, until your knuckles split open, and Jungkook has to scoop you into his arms to stop you. Your fingers are raw and bloody, and you don’t feel any of it. Nothing at all. Just numb. Numbness spreads through your body like Jungkook’s black veins spread through his. 

None of this is real. 

“Jungkook,” you sob into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around his shoulders. He holds you bridal style with one arm wrapped around your torso and the other under your legs. 

“I know.” 

“He’s coming back, right? How will he find us if we keep going?”

Jungkook tightens his hold on you, cradling you against his chest. You assume he’s following the group deeper into the woods, but your eyes are closed, and your face is buried in his neck. He smells like smoke and blood, but you all do now. 

“Jungkook, he’s coming back, right?”

A wet sob cuts through the otherwise quiet woods somewhere in front of you. You think it’s Hoseok, but you can’t tell. 

“This way,” Jessi whispers. 

There’s shuffling, then only the sound of feet crunching dead leaves and snapping twigs. Jungkook jostles you slightly to adjust his grip on you, murmuring gentle apologies every time he does. 

“How are you holding up?” This time it’s Namjoon. He sounds close, like he’s walking in line with Jungkook. 

“I can keep us hidden until we’re deeper in, but then I’ll have to stop,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, as though he doesn’t want to admit what he must say next. “I’m exhausted.”

“Want me to carry-”

“No.”

Jungkook barks his response with an aggression you’ve never heard from him. He squeezes you, almost protectively close to his chest, as Namjoon assures him everything is fine. It’s hard to focus on the men’s hushed voices when you waver in and out of consciousness. 

Eventually, all you can see when your close your eyes is a flash of bright light, like fire engulfing your brain. 

And then everything goes black.

SHELTER #2

Hoseok’s hands shake as he holds the flint rock in one and the steel knife in the other. Twigs snap beneath his boots as he adjusts his squat. Each fidget draws your attention despite your desire to keep your eyes off the sight of Hoseok struggling. 

After three failed attempts at creating a spark, Jessi quickly snatches the items from Hoseok’s grasp and kneels beside the fire pit. 

“You’re gonna fucking stab yourself,” she grumbles, though she, too, struggles the first few tries. Eventually, the little pile of tinder ignites, filling the circle of rocks you’d gathered with a hot fire whose heat licks at your ankles. 

Namjoon fists your jacket sleeve and drags you backward, nearly toppling you over and making the wet grass stain the butt of your pants a dark green. 

It rained today. You can’t help but wonder if it washed away the blood and soot from the warehouse or if more Red Pin agents will show up and find evidence of what happened there.  

“You’re sitting too close.” 

“I’m cold.” 

“You’re too close, Y/N.” 

You glare at Namjoon, opening your mouth to retort that you’re an adult who can take care of yourself when a sob cuts through the tension between you. 

Hoseok shudders with each heave of his shoulders, nearly folding in on himself, with his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed against his eyes. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon calls out; his voice barely registers over Hoseok’s crying. 

“It makes me think of him.” It’s all Hoseok says, all he needs to say. 

Namjoon and Jessi’s expressions crumple like Hoseok’s body in the dirt. You watch them lock eyes with each other, something silent and private passing between them. You don’t know why, but it pisses you off. It shouldn’t, though. 

Something dark and sick is growing inside you, this angry mass doubling in size every time someone cries for Yoongi. He was your best friend. He found you, saved you, and helped you see that there was more to life. The rest of them don’t get it. Yoongi didn’t mean to them what he meant to you. 

Attempting to hoard grief all to yourself isn’t fair to you or the rest of your group, but you want to do it anyway. You want to be selfish because you feel you deserve the right to hurt the most. The rest of them don’t get it. 

Rather than voice your frustration, you bite your bottom lip and dig your fingers into the dirt, winding up your whole body into a tight fist that’s not quite ready to spring but prepared all the same. If you let yourself loose, you know you’ll say something you shouldn’t – something you know you don’t actually mean and that you’ll regret, if not tomorrow, then ten years from now. Assuming you survive that long. 

For now, survival should be the only thing on your mind. 

The fire sputters slightly. A section of the tinder is wet from the morning’s rain. You hold out your hand, palm facing the sky, and wait. 

Hoseok’s sobs have subsided by the time you’ve drawn the moisture out of the wet wood. It sits in a small pool of water in your palm. A reckless part of you wants to plunge your hand into the fire, but you spread your fingers apart instead. The water falls through your fingers and soaks into the grass. 

The fire’s crackling overpowers the silence that blankets the four of you. Each of you stares deep into its flames, streaks of orange burning in your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook’s invisibility shield (“Optical illusion, guys.”) is strong enough to hide the fire. You’d never thought to ask if he can maintain the shield when he’s not even around. 

Twigs snapping in the distance make you reach for the knife sticking out of the ground beside you. Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned by the sound, but his sense of smell as the air carries it to him may be compromised from all the crying. His nose has been running since your group left the warehouse. 

You haven’t cried since you woke up inside the first abandoned shelter Taehyung mentioned would be on your path to the Commune. Even if you wanted to cry, you wouldn’t be able to. The part of your chest where the sobs should come from just feels empty. 

The rustling in the woods increases until you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Jungkook emerges from the darkness with a satchel – Yoongi’s satchel – thrown across his chest and a stone bowl in his arms.  

“Rabbit. I skinned them already. I thought you guys might not wanna see…” Jungkook trails off when his bright eyes fall on Hoseok’s tear-stained face. With a quiet sigh, he crouches beside the fire and slides the satchel off, handing it to Namjoon. 

“Fruits,” he mumbles, not looking in Namjoon’s direction once the older man takes the bag from him. Instead, and unsurprisingly, Jungkook’s eyes are on you. 

You look away. There’s too much in those eyes, full of constellations of stories you’re too weak to learn. Bending your knees, you draw your legs against your chest and hug them, returning your gaze to the fire while Jungkook prepares to cook the meat and Namjoon handles the other food. 

Yoongi asked you to look after Jungkook, but it’s he who has taken care of the group. Namjoon seems too busy fussing over Hoseok, and you know you aren’t any help. Jessi is the leader by default now that Yoongi isn’t here to take charge. She’s strong and has kept the group on a tight schedule. You know it’s her way of coping. There’s no time to lose herself in mourning if she charges ahead. Having an end goal gives her purpose. 

If only you knew what yours was. 

SHELTER #3

Your feet sink into the ground with each step you take. The sand feels soft between your toes as you wiggle them, watching the little black grains roll across your skin and make your toes disappear. Your steps halt just before you reach the water’s edge, where bright orange waves lap at the black shore. The shore stretches in both directions, a black stripe for as far as you can see. A ghost of a memory tickles your brain. Jack-o’-lanterns lit by tealight candles, and the smell of cinnamon. 

Suddenly, the orange waves kick up in speed, crashing against the shore more violently. The force causes black sand to spray into the air. You can taste it in your mouth, feel it gritty against your teeth and harsh on your tongue. 

You try to lift your hands to cover your face, but you find that you can’t. They’re trapped to your sides by long vines that wrap around your wrists and dive deep into the sand, rooting you in place. You try to pull out of the vines’ grasp. Thorns dig into your skin so deeply that black blood oozes from the jagged puncture wounds the thorns leave behind. 

“Don’t struggle.” 

The voice brings stillness to the whirlwind of sand and the crash of waves. 

You already know who it is, but your body still feels surprised when Yoongi takes slow steps toward you from the other end of the shore. He’s dressed in a flowy white shirt and loose white pants. When you look down, you realize you’re matching. 

“What do I do?” 

Yoongi ignores your question. His fingers run along your forearm, his index finger dipping into one of the holes in your wrist, still dripping black blood. It doesn’t hurt, even though you know it should. 

Dark cat eyes examine the black that stains his fingers. After another silent minute, Yoongi wipes your blood on the front of his shirt. You don’t know why you’re worried that he’ll ruin it. 

“Jungkookie is here.” 

“What?” 

Yoongi walks toward the orange ocean. You scramble to keep up, but the sand grabs your ankles and pulls you back every time you step forward. 

“Yoongi! Wait for me!” 

“You don’t need me anymore. This is a good thing.” 

Your friend nods his head before stepping into the water. The moment his foot touches the orange waves, the entire ocean bursts into flames. 

“Yoongi!” You shriek, running as fast as possible, but the sand won’t let you go. It sucks you down until you’re up to your knees in the soft grains trapped in the hold of the shore. Your brain knows it’s hopeless, but your body keeps struggling even though Yoongi told you not to. 

Suddenly, you feel rough hands grab your arms, and you’re being pulled into the sand, the grains filling your mouth and nose until your lungs are full and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay.” 

Fingers trail along your hairline, dragging down the length of your face and tracing your jaw. Rather than cold sand, you feel something solid and warm wrap around your body. 

“Breathe. In and out, okay? Inhale… exhale… I got you. It’s okay. I got you.” 

As your body returns to you, you realize your face is pressed against smooth skin. You can taste salt on your lips, but no sand. When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy and wet. 

You’re crying. Sobbing, actually. 

“I miss him, too. So fucking much.” 

Jungkook is crying, too. His voice remains steady, though. He’s always so steady now. The shy, fumbling boy of the warehouse is no more. In the time since the Red Pin attack, Jungkook changed. You all did, but he seems to have changed the most. His eyes still hold the stars, but the darkness seems… deeper now. His aura has lost its boyishness. 

The abandoned building where your group has taken refuge is dark, only lit by the moonlight filtering through the slotted windows. You think it may have once been a cabin for a couple or small family. 

Jungkook cradles you in his lap. The two of you are wrapped in thick blankets, cocooned away from the world. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Jessi is asleep in the corner of the room, while Namjoon and Hoseok have made their beds in the room across the hall. You’re all accustomed to loud noises at night. Nearly all of you have suffered from night terrors at some point. 

“It’s okay. You’ve had to listen to me cry in my sleep, too,” Jungkook points out with a small smile. 

It’s a breathtaking smile. Jungkook’s cheeks shine with fresh tears, but his bunny teeth poke out, and his eyes crease with the sincerity in that smile. It warms the empty parts of your chest – like hot tea poured into a cool mug. Perhaps the odd feeling in your stomach is similar to the bubble of water boiling. 

“You’re cute when you cry. I’m an ugly crier,” you sniff. It’s stupid to say, but you don’t want to think about how sad you all are. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. All the boogers and the dumb faces I make.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. His hair is getting long again. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Don’t lie,” you try to joke, but your voice comes out small and unsure rather than teasing. 

“I would never lie to you.” 

As if to seal the promise, Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead in a kiss. Your fingers ache from how tightly you squeeze the fabric of his shirt into your fists. 

Every day you trudge through the woods in search of the Commune, and every day you live in fear of the Red Pins finding you once again. But being in Jungkook’s lap, face nuzzling the crook of his neck, his strong arms holding you against his chest… It’s the only time you genuinely feel safe. 

SHELTER #4

“When was the last time,” Jungkook pauses to pull his shirt over his head, “you took a bath?” 

Your eyes roam the expanse of his broad chest, the dips and valleys of his abdomen, and the sparse dark hairs disappearing into the waistband of his pants. You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before. It’s a treat every time, although you feel a twinge of guilt from looking now. Running along his ribcage is an extended cut, red with scabs. Jessi did her best to stitch Jungkook up with whatever she had in the supplies Namjoon and Hoseok snatched before you fled the warehouse. It’s a pretty nasty wound, but it seems to be healing well. Part of you wonders if exposing it to lake water is a good idea, but you keep the thought to yourself. Jungkook is tired of everyone babying him. He hasn’t told you as much, but you can tell.    

“I’m too ashamed to answer that question.” 

“You and me both,” Jungkook snorts. 

He removes the harness strapped around his thigh, taking the large knife off along with it. After the Red Pin attack, you now know how pointless it is to carry any weapon other than a gun. However, none of you have guns, though you still believe your Gifts are better than any human-made weaponry. 

“Too bad we don’t have, like, soap and shit,” you grumble, stomping a cluster of wild mushrooms growing along the bank of the lake you’d found. 

Jungkook’s tattooed fingers play with his belt buckle while his big, brown eyes flit up to meet yours. 

“Sorry!” You rush to apologize and turn your back to him. Heat creeps up your neck, spreading across your cheeks and biting at your ears’ tips. 

Your discomfort worsens when you hear a quiet chuckle rumble from Jungkook. There’s the rustle of clothes and, soon after, a light splash that tells you he has eased himself into the lake. 

“You’re good.” 

When you turn around, Jungkook isn’t facing you. He dips his head back to wet his hair, running his fingers through it a few times before righting himself again, still facing away from you. The water reaches his lower back when he’s standing, but you can tell he is crouching slightly because the gentle waves lap higher up on his back. It’s not dirty water since the lake has a fresh stream feeding it, which ensures that the water isn’t stagnant, but it’s murky enough from the plants growing at the bottom that you can’t make out the rest of Jungkook’s body. Not that you want to, considering he’s naked. 

Thankful for the privacy, you quickly strip out of your clothes and step into the water. You keep a respectful distance between you, choosing not to drift too far into deeper water. You much prefer to at least touch the sandy bottom with your tiptoes. 

Slipping deep enough that only your head remains above water, you watch Jungkook as he uses an old rag to scrub his arms. You’re both disgustingly grimy. 

“Lucky we found this place,” you think aloud as you begin to work on scrubbing down yourself, as well. 

“We are.” 

“Jungkook. You can look now.” 

His head snaps up, gaze locking with yours for a split second before he averts his eyes again. You’re close enough to see pink bloom across his face. 

You clear your throat to fill the silence when he says nothing. Part of you thought it might spur him to talk, but the tension between you remains. 

You’re not sure when it first developed. Part of you knows it has always been there, perhaps dormant or less noticeable. Much of it falls back on Jungkook’s behavior, you think as you watch him slide the rag down his chest. The tension has always lived in the dark expanse of his eyes and how he searches for you, always you, maybe without even realizing it himself. It’s gotten worse since you’ve started waking up every morning wrapped in his arms and nuzzling his neck. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we get to the Commune?” Jungkook finally speaks. When he does, you force yourself to drop your gaze, focusing intently on continuing to wash yourself to the best of your ability with the lack of soap.

“Eat food that isn’t rabbit, hopefully.” 

“Hey!” 

A giant splash of water hits you in the face. You gasp, rushing to wipe away the droplets clinging to your eyelashes. 

“F–fuck you!” You sputter. 

“It’s not my fault rabbits are the easiest things to catch around here. I’m doing my best!” 

Another splash slaps into you. It isn’t hard enough to sting, but it’s a splash all the same. 

“You’re real dumb if you think you can start a splashing war with someone who has a water Gift,” you challenge. 

“I’m not scared of you,” Jungkook sticks out his tongue after he challenges you. 

All it takes is a flick of your wrist and a wave higher than most nearby trees descend on Jungkook. It doesn’t ever reach him, though. The sheer panic that contorts his face is enough to warm your body with evil satisfaction. You gently let the wave descend into the lake, barely kicking up enough to splash Jungkook against the chest. 

“I showed you mercy. You’re welcome, young man.” 

Jungkook lets out a loud snort, eyes rolling into the back of his head in defiance. “You’re insane.” 

“You provoke me.” 

You don’t like how high his eyebrows arch, unable to decipher what an expression like that is supposed to mean. 

“I provoke you? In what way?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You literally did it just now.” 

Jungkook straightens up a little. The action makes more of his torso rise from the water. You can’t help but drop your eyes to the water level that has fallen so dangerously low on his hips. 

When your gaze finally returns to his face, Jungkook is wearing an exaggerated pout. 

“I’m innocent.” 

“Pfft,” you scoff. 

By this point, your fingers are starting to get wrinkly, and the position you’re standing in to ensure your whole body is covered in the water is becoming uncomfortable. You’re just about to tell Jungkook that you’re done playing games – that the two of you need to hurry up before the rest of your group gets worried about you being gone for too long – when the man disappears. 

“Oh my god, Jungkook-ah, why?” 

Your eyes dart around the lake, eyeing each shadow suspiciously. You don’t think you see Jungkook’s actual body underwater, so all you can guess is that he’s doing his creepy crawly shadow-walking just to bother you. 

“This is doing the exact opposite of proving that you’re innoce–” You interrupt yourself with a loud gasp when you feel fingers squeeze your bare hips. 

“Boo,” Jungkook deadpans, but his face quickly cracks into a smile. 

You want to laugh at yourself for being so easily startled, to match Jungkook’s joyfulness, but all you can focus on is the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your skin. 

“Jungkook…” 

“Hm?” 

He’s absentminded as his gaze drops down to stare at your lips. You automatically lick them, almost on instinct, unable to stop yourself. Jungkook follows your lead, though he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth instead of settling his face. If that action didn’t already make your stomach twist into a knot, the darkness of Jungkook’s gaze does. 

“I…” Jungkook rubs slow circles into your hips with his thumbs, following the curve of your hip bone and effectively interrupting your thoughts. 

You don’t know who leans in first, but it doesn’t really matter. The moment Jungkook’s lips connect with yours, it’s as though your brain completely empties. 

It’s a hesitant kiss, just a light press of Jungkook’s closed mouth against yours. He grows bolder when you don’t pull away, parting his lips slightly. He nibbles at your bottom lip, prompting you to part yours as well, allowing him to slot your lips together. 

You bring your hands up to squeeze Jungkook’s biceps, coaxing a slight whine from him when your nails lightly dig into his skin. The sound is gentle but needy, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. You’ve never heard Jungkook sound like that, never heard anyone sound like that. 

You’ve never even kissed anyone before. 

It’s not what you expected, though you haven’t spent much time thinking about physical intimacy. Being trapped in the Labs, it never seemed like something you’d have the privilege of exploring. Once you escaped, there was only one person you ever thought about being intimate with – and even then, it was far more wholesome than this, you now realize. This… is different. 

Jungkook trembles, and you feel his hands flex against your hips as he tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. 

A few times, the two of you fumble, noses bumping into each other and teeth nipping a bit too hard. It makes you wonder if this is Jungkook’s first kiss, too. You decide it doesn’t matter if it is. It’s warm and soft, and Jungkook tastes sweet, like the berries Hoseok picked earlier today. You’re dizzy; Jungkook stealing the air from your lungs. Your body screams for you to pull away, but you cling to him tighter.  

Something firm brushing against your inner thigh brings you back to reality. You nearly jump out of Jungkook’s grasp, chest heaving and fingers trembling beneath the water. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hurries to speak before you do. 

Before you can say anything in return – though you’re not sure what you want to say – Jungkook is gone. All that’s left are his clothes still neatly folded on the grass beside the lake and a thrum of excitement beating through your body to the tune of guilt and shame. 

Kissing Jungkook felt good. And that is why it can never happen again.  

SHELTER #5

If you ever told Jessi that you see her as a mother figure, she would probably kill you. You consider this as she wields a machete, hacking away at the brush that blocks your path as you continue toward the Commune. The muscles in her bicep and shoulders flex with each swing. It’s sexy and terrifying, and you can only admire her strength when the rest of your group is floundering. 

The guys trail behind, practically dragging their feet. It’s Jungkook’s fault (and maybe yours, but you won’t think about that). 

Ever since the kiss, Jungkook has avoided you. You haven’t interacted with each other in days, aside from the cuddles you share at night when nightmares overtake you. 

Hoseok and Namjoon have also noticed the shift in his behavior, though they believe it’s grief causing him to distance himself from the group. They hang back, letting you and Jessi march forward, so they can talk and do whatever boys do to cheer each other up when the world is falling apart. 

You try not to think about it too much, but Jessi and her motherly instincts don’t let you know peace. 

“Yoongi wouldn’t want us to be so fucking sad all the time.” Jessi lets out a grunt as she hacks at a particularly thick tree branch blocking your path. “If he was here right now, he’d kick all of our asses with a quickness.” 

She’s right; it goes without saying. 

Letting her arm fall to her side, Jessi uses her free hand to wipe away the sweat that collects on her forehead and drips down the side of her face. She looks at you like she’s waiting for you to do something. The expression makes you feel uneasy. 

“What?”

“Did you even hear the shit I was saying?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “About what?” 

Jessi lets out a frustrated huff and again brings the machete down on the tree branch. It splinters and breaks, providing enough weakness for Jessi to stomp down on it with a steel-toed boot. 

“Did you and Jungkook fuck?” 

“What?!” 

When you gasp, you’re sure you inhale a bug, sucking it right down your throat and probably into your fucking lungs for all you know. It sparks a terrible coughing fit that makes Jessi pause to slap you between the shoulder blades a few times. 

“Why–” you heave, tears in your eyes, “why would you think that?” 

Jessi pushes forward through the forest brush with a roll of her eyes. 

“It’s obvious there’s something going on. The poor boy’s moping around after you like a lovesick puppy. Even worse than usual.” 

If you weren’t already sweating your ass off, you would be heating up from Jessi’s astute observations. 

“I don’t know what you're–” 

“Aish, fucking save it, babe,” Jessi interrupts you with a wave of the hand that isn’t holding the machete. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to feel good. Life is fucked as it is. Stop ruining good things for yourself and live as best as you can in the circumstances we got, alright?” 

She gives you a stern look from the side, a look that you quickly try to avoid by ducking your head down. Suddenly, the ground is fascinating. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right, and I don’t have a fat ass.” 

“Really!” You insist. The desperation in your voice is pathetic and telling. 

“Yoongi would want you to live, hun. I know he would. And you wanna know how I know?”

There isn’t a need to say anything; once Jessi has her mind set on something, she sees it through until the end. 

“There wasn’t a fox in the woods. It was a Red Pin scout.” She gives you a pointed look. “But ignorance is bliss, and he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to live without more fear, so he didn’t tell you. So do whatever you need to do to fix things with Jungkook and be fucking happy.” 

You fall behind as Jessi speeds up, the path much clearer now than it had been just a few feet before. The guys are still meandering further back, so you fall somewhere in the middle, close enough to see everyone at either end but far enough that you can be alone with your thoughts without interruption. 

Jessi is right, but it feels wrong to let yourself feel good. How can you be happy when Yoongi isn’t here? There is a bit of survivor’s guilt clutching at your heart, but most of your struggle is from the pain of simply not having Yoongi around. Being happy feels like it would be a betrayal of some kind. 

Yoongi would disagree. He would give you that gummy smile and poke you in the ribs until you cry, and then he would tell you that you’re being an idiot. 

With a sigh, you break into a light jog to catch up with Jessi, Yoongi’s voice echoing for the millionth time in your head. 

You and Jungkook.

COMFORT

You are ashamed to admit that you take longer to apologize to Jungkook than Yoongi took to apologize you to. 

In fact, you never apologize to Jungkook before your group makes it to the Commune. It never seemed like the right opportunity came. There was always someone else around, or Jungkook looked exceptionally sad, or you told yourself you would say something once he woke up but got caught up watching how beautiful he looks when he sleeps cuddled against you every night. 

It’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. The thing about tomorrow is that it always comes until it doesn’t. 

And then suddenly, you’re all stumbling into a clearing in the woods that leads to what looks like a hole in the trees, and there is magic dancing in your bones that pulls your thoughts away from anything but the man who stands to greet you.

Kim Taehyung is not what you expected from the leader of a notorious Gifted runaway commune that has evaded the authorities for years. Admittedly, you had few expectations – too busy worrying about surviving the trek to think about what the man would look like when he finally greeted you. Still, it’s a lot to process. 

“Welcome, my little Gifts!” 

The lithe man stretches his long arms out as wide as his wingspan will let him. Your group exchanges looks when Taehyung doesn’t move, his eyebrows arched as he waits. 

The six of you stand at the Commune entrance, marked by two trees manipulated into forming a magical-looking arch. Large flower bushes and more trees flank the arch, hiding whatever may lie within the Commune. Try as you might, as you peer over Jessi’s shoulder, you can’t see through the thicket. 

Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh, but his arms don’t seem to tire. He wiggles his fingers as though he’s beckoning you into his arms. The movements, although small, make the numerous gold bracelets that line his wrists clink together like wind chimes. He wears loose slacks and an oversized white silk shirt. A knitted shawl with intricate patterns stitched into it in earth tones hangs over his broad shoulders. The tassels sway in the wind. You don’t know how, but he smells like summer. 

“Do you not seek comfort?”

A loud whimper erupts from the middle of your huddle, and suddenly Jungkook pushes past Jessi and Namjoon. He stumbles the few steps it takes to reach Taehyung. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Jessi whisper-yells, but it’s too late. Jungkook has his face buried in Taehyung’s chest, a sob tearing through his body. 

“Shhh, my little Gift, you are home.” 

Taehyung keeps his eyebrows arched, giving the rest of your group a pointed look. It takes hardly a second before Hoseok follows Jungkook, launching himself into Taehyung’s embrace with such power you’re shocked the Commune leader manages to stay upright. Hoseok’s cries harmonize with Jungkook’s until Namjoon eventually joins. 

Never one to open up about sadness, Jessi stares down the Commune leader with a challenging look that would make the bravest soldiers shit themselves – and yet Taehyung merely smiles the strangest, most charming smile you’ve ever seen. 

Before you know it, you’re standing alone because Jessi has a singular tear sliding down her round cheek, and Taehyung has one arm curling her against his chest, too. 

Comfort. 

It’s funny, isn’t it? Funny that we want it, crave it, even from a complete stranger. Comfort provides no solution to our problems and is even sometimes used to avoid problems altogether. You have known little comfort since Jungkook carried you away from the warehouse.  

Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?

You meet Jessi’s gaze, and the realization hits you that this is the first time you’ve seen her cry. 

“Be happy, Y/N.” If Jessi speaks out loud, you can’t hear her but can read her mouth clearly. 

It’s like something shatters in your chest. It’s shocking; you were convinced nothing was left inside to break. But when Taehyung finally lowers both arms to wrap them around your group – yourself included – no pain or sadness plagues your heart. You feel strangely at peace. Taehyung’s summer scent envelopes you. It’s freshly-cut grass, sea salt, and cherry blossoms. Warmth spreads from the man, what you imagine it feels like to be a plant absorbing nutrients from the sun. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Taehyung speaks softly. “This is my Gift, and it makes my heart happy to share it with you today.” 

You remember that Taehyung is a healer Gifted when he gently extricates himself from what became a group hug that lasted for eternity. 

“Are we feeling better now?” 

You all find yourselves nodding. Taehyung beams at that. He claps his hands together, startling Hoseok into a small giggle. 

“Wonderful!” Taehyung turns on his heel, his shawl billowing out behind him as he swiftly crosses the archway. “Now, come with me. We have many things to take care of!” 

Your group hurries to keep up with the man who’s all legs. Beyond the arch, the Commune is more like a small village than whatever tent city you’d expected. Little houses similar to the abandoned ones your group found refuge in on the way here line the dirt paths – except these are full of life. Odd markings are painted on the brick and concrete buildings, all in the bright colors of summer: sunny yellows, healthy greens, and vibrant pinks. 

You notice that in the doorway of every building is a small basket, sometimes more than one, resting on the ground. Some are full of items you can’t quite make out because Taehyung is walking so quickly that you don’t have time to peek into any of them. 

“I can’t quite remember how many there are of us,” Taehyung says over his shoulder as he leads you down a road lined with shops. There’s clothing, produce, and other wares for sale. You feel embarrassed by how your mouth waters simply from seeing an apple. “I would say at least three hundred, but Seokjin hyung would know better. He’s the brains of all this. I’m merely the handsome face of the operation.” 

“Yah, I heard that, Kim Taehyung!” 

“Oh, so you heard me singing your praises, hyung?” 

Taehyung leads you to what you guess is the center of the Commune by the way the buildings form a half circle around a grassy quad. In the middle of the quad, there is a large pile of tinder – tree branches, dead grass and hay, planks of wood, and other items stacked on top of each other to build what will most likely be a giant bonfire from the looks of it. 

The man known as Seokjin approaches your group just to shove Taehyung’s shoulder with his own. “I am both the brains and the beauty, thank you very much. You can be second-best.” 

“You’re demoting me? In front of our new friends?” Taehyung pouts. 

Seokjin twists his broad torso to get a good look at your ragtag team of misfits. Facing this new man’s beauty head-on, you are quickly reminded of how disgusting you all probably look and smell, having fought through the woods for weeks without even a proper bath. 

Even though you all look like hell, Seokjin beams just as Taehyung had. 

“Oh good, you didn’t run away!” 

You feel Jessi tense beside you. “Why the fuck would we run away?” 

“Taehyung is insufferable, that’s why.” 

“Hey!” The leader shoves his friend much harder than his friend had shoved him. “You’re so grumpy. Do you need a hug?” 

Seokjin swats at Taehyung. “Don’t you have things to do? Summer is here soon. Go make daisy chains or something. Jimin and I will take care of our new friends.”

“Daisy chains?” You blurt out in question as Taehyung wiggles his fingers at your group in a goodbye. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowds of people going about their day in the Commune. You’ve never seen so many Gifteds, free and all together, in your life.  

Seokjin hums, beckoning your group to follow him deeper into the Commune. 

“In a few days, it will be the First of Summer. I assume you all have never celebrated Summer?” 

You find it odd that Seokjin speaks of the season as though it’s a holiday. When no one responds, he lets out a long sigh. 

“You’ve missed out on so much, trapped like lab rats.” He spits the end of his sentence. It’s in anger at the research facilities rather than a judgment of you, but it makes your heart sting just the same. You wish Taehyung was here. 

Leading you to a three-story building that looks similar to a warehouse or an office building, with plain concrete walls decorated with more colorful markings, Seokjin pauses to let your group enter the front door first. 

“This is my home,” Seokjin welcomes your group. “My husband and I sleep on the first floor, but there are a few empty guest rooms on the second and third. Newcomers tend to stay with us until we’ve built them their own homes.” 

“That’s so generous of you, Seokjin,” Hoseok speaks up for the first time. The crackle in his voice tells you he’s still on the verge of tears, but he smiles when you turn to look at him. 

“Please, call me hyung if you’d like.” Seokjin smiles. 

Taehyung and Seokjin’s use of honorifics warms your heart, even though you don’t have the same emotional attachment to the custom as the others. When you look out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook smile at the honorific, too. 

“We’ll get your rooms situated, but first, are you hungry?” 

“Fuck yes,” Jessi groans.

The group and Seokjin laugh when you ask, “Do you have anything besides rabbit?” 

In the kitchen, your group meets Seokjin’s husband, Jimin, a fire Gifted. When Jimin pulls you into a tight hug, tears prickle in the corners of your eyes because his body burns, and he smells faintly of smoke, just like Yoongi. 

While chomping away at fresh vegetables and meat that isn’t rabbit, you learn that Seokjin is the legendary cosmic Gifted you only half-heartedly believed to be real. His ability to bend time and space wipes the Commune off the radar, ensuring the Red Pins never find it. Despite his large personality, he seems too shy to demonstrate his Gift, even as Jimin pesters him. 

They’re cute, Seokjin and Jimin. They fuss over your group as though they are your parents, making sure that you each get a turn taking a shower and that you have enough blankets and pillows in your bedrooms. Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook share one, while you and Jessi share another. Jimin apologizes profusely about not being able to provide you with your own bedrooms, which you all dismiss. 

“We anticipate a few additional newcomers soon; I’m so sorry we don’t have enough room to spread out,” Jimin bemoans as he plays with his fingers. 

“Are you kidding?” Namjoon teases with a smile that crinkles his eyes. “We’ve been living in an abandoned warehouse for months.” 

“Sleeping on the floor gave me fucking arthritis, and I’m barely thirty,” Jessi chimes in.

“That’s not how that works.” 

“Fuck off, Jungkook-ah. Tell that to my broken back.” 

Jimin looks appalled by your previous living situation, making your group joke around more. Laugh through the pain, right? It’s a coping mechanism you’ve all done a decent job of perfecting. Sometimes being alive is enough to laugh about because, well, at least you’re alive. 

After a whirlwind of a day getting settled into Seokjin and Jimin’s home, you can finally ease your bones into a real bed with a thick, fluffy mattress and clean sheets. Your tummy is full of delicious food, your body clean and well-moisturized thanks to Jimin’s homemade skincare products, and you finally allow yourself to sink into the one thing you’ve been scared to find: comfort. 

Just before sleep overtakes you, you hear a quiet, almost timid, knock at the door. You wrack your brain, thinking about who it could be and why they need you. It feels like too much effort to get out of bed when you’ve only just been able to relax, so you call out to the person on the other side of the door. 

“Hi.” 

Jungkook’s wide eyes peer at you through the dark, a sliver of moonlight peeking through the window blinds highlighting parts of his face. 

“Hi,” you say, pausing to quietly clear your throat. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Your heart feels like it will fly out of your chest when Jungkook hesitantly steps into your bedroom. You watch him eye Jessi’s sleeping form in the bed on the opposite side of the room, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of being in the room if she wakes up. 

Apparently accepting the risk, Jungkook scurries over to stand beside your bed. 

“Can I sleep with you?” 

It’s the most Jungkook has spoken to you since he fled the lake. His request shouldn’t make your stomach flip with nerves; you’ve cuddled together every night since your first nightmare about Yoongi. So it should be easy when you respond, 

“Of course.” 

You quickly scoot over to give Jungkook room when he slips beneath the sheets. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the dark. 

Holding out your arms, you encourage Jungkook to curl against your side, a position you usually take, but something tells you that Jungkook needs this more than you do. Part of your assumption is due to the timid, gentle boy who entered your bedroom – a different person than the one you watched murder multiple Red Pins at the warehouse with frightening ease. 

He’s still the same, though, deep down, a lonely boy with nothing to his name, just like the rest of you. 

Jungkook stays quiet while you run your fingers through his hair. You’re reminded of the promise you were supposed to make to Yoongi, the one about taking care of Jungkook. It’s time for you to finally fulfill that promise, and you already know what the first step should be. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize softly. “I don’t like not talking to you.” 

And it hurts more than you realize. Saying it out loud makes it real, this scary uncertainty in your relationship that you’ve never experienced before. Jungkook has always been there – a steady comfort to fall back on, soft eyes to search for in moments tainted with fear and grief. Not having Jungkook in your life… It’s unfathomable. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook whispers into the crook of your neck.

You’re not sure what he’s sorry for, though you remind yourself that a relationship is a two-way street. The two of you should have talked rather than dance around each other. Even now, you’re not really talking. You want to bring it up – the kiss. What it means for him. What it means for you. Why it happened in the first place. If it’s… okay, okay to like how soft Jungkook’s lips had felt on yours and how sweet he’d tasted. Okay to feel an unfamiliar heat spread throughout your body, starting at his fingers gripping your waist. 

“I’m sorry I did it without asking first,” Jungkook elaborates after a few minutes of silence. 

Even though he doesn’t say what it is, you don’t need him to spell it out before you reply, “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not, though.” 

You shiver when Jungkook’s lips brush against your neck as he talks. His breath is cold, even though his body is warm. You wonder if it’s the darkness inside of him seeping out when he breathes. 

“I swear, it is. I forgive you. We both kinda went for it, right?” You say with an awkward laugh. 

“I’m not sorry about doing it.” Jungkook squeezes you tighter, but you’re already holding your breath. “I’d do it again.” 

His confession is whispered so quietly you likely wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that his lips brush your neck just below your ear. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Jungkook’s lips travel higher. You close your eyes and let out a shuddered breath when his lips brush against your earlobe. 

It’s getting harder to relax, your body completely rigid and your breathing on the verge of frantic as Jungkook drags his nose down the length of your neck. The touch sends tingling sensations across your body. A strange feeling, like your stomach is flipping around inside of you, consumes you. His nose on your skin tickles, but it’s somehow more than just a tickle. It feels… good. Makes your stomach tense and heat spread, chasing after the goosebumps. 

“Goodnight,” Jungkook finally whispers into the crook of your neck. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

THE EVE 

Apparently, the First of Summer is something to celebrate at the Commune. It seems as though everyone has a task to complete on the Eve of the holiday to get all the preparations in order, even you and your misfit crew. 

“Our Gifts are at their strongest during the Summer; haven’t you noticed?” 

Jimin flutters around like a hummingbird, gracefully darting between about a dozen small baskets lined up in the grass beside his home. The fire Gifted places a variety of items in the baskets: flower bouquets, fruits and vegetables wrapped in protective cloths, and other little trinkets and handmade presents. 

“Is that so?” Namjoon perks up from where he’d been watching a line of ants march into a small anthill. He sits in the grass next to you and Jessi while Jungkook and Hoseok stand closer to where Jimin flits around. 

“Mhm. We are more in tune with the Seasons compared to humans.” 

Jessi scoffs, “We are humans.” 

Cradling a bouquet of tiger lilies in one hand, Jimin puts his other hand on his hip. It’s supposed to be sassy and, perhaps, stern, but he just comes off as adorable in your eyes. 

“We are not humans.” 

“Then what are we?” 

With a huff, Jimin gently places the flowers in a basket that’s nearly full. 

“We are Gifts from Nature. Don’t you feel it? The Earth flows through our veins, Jessi. She broke pieces off herself to gift to us; pieces of the Universe exist inside of us. Humans don’t have that.”

There mustn’t be a good comeback for such lofty talk because Jessi remains quiet after Jimin finishes speaking. You don’t blame her; the perspective Jimin offers isn’t one you’ve ever heard of before. Everyone talks about Gifteds as mutants, genetic abominations. It’s scientific and clinical, although no scientist has figured out how or why Gifteds exist. 

Jimin’s perspective sounds like… magic. You decide that you quite like the idea that some omnipresent entity chose to give up parts of herself to make you special, a lot more than believing you’re an unnatural freak. 

“What are these for?” Hoseok asks, bending at the waist to peer into one of the baskets. 

“They’re gifts,” Jimin says with a little giggle, likely at the tease around the word he uses. “It’s customary to give gifts on the First of Summer. You’re supposed to leave them on your neighbors’ doorsteps, though you could directly gift them during the Bonfire.” 

Brushing his hands onto his pants, Jimin straightens up and looks around at your group. In the few days you’ve known Jimin, you’ve noticed that his lips poke out when he’s thinking. It reminds you of a little beak on a baby bird. You’ve told Jungkook as much, and he agrees. 

Your eyes fall on Jungkook, hoping he’ll look your way. It doesn’t take long for him to tilt his head to the side and meet your gaze. Sometimes you wonder if Jungkook can sense you somehow. You don’t understand how his Gift works, but it seems mysterious enough to be capable of anything at this point. How else would he somehow know when you’re looking in his direction every time? 

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you subtly pucker your lips. 

Jungkook catches on quickly. His eyebrows shoot up, and a small smirk etches itself into his features. He pinches his lips into a pucker, too, and wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You have to press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Jungkook?” 

The younger man quickly straightens his posture and schools his face when Jimin calls out to him. 

“Yes, hyung?” 

“Want to help me finish up with some decorations? Jessi, too?” 

Jungkook nods hard enough that you worry he might give himself a headache. 

As Jessi pushes herself off the ground, Jimin turns to you, Namjoon, and Hoseok. 

“How about you all help Seokjin down at the quad with the Bonfire? He’s working on setting up the tables and food stalls for the Morning of Summer. We gather to have a breakfast feast and celebrate the first Morning together.” 

Hoseok beams at the idea, turning to you with his hands held out. You squeeze them and let him help haul you onto your feet. 

“It sounds so nice,” Hoseok chirps with excitement as the three of you make your way through the winding dirt road toward the quad, past rows of unique homes and community gardens scattered across what is essentially a makeshift neighborhood. 

“Having a community… I feel like I don’t know how to enjoy it,” Namjoon says softly. 

“What do you mean?” It seems odd to you; haven’t they all wanted something like this?

“I don’t remember how to be social. I was, I think, at some point. Before the Labs. And, of course, I feel comfortable with you all. But…” 

“Being around strangers is hard,” you offer. 

Namjoon nods in agreement. He isn’t sad, though, like you’d assumed he’d be. Namjoon wears a smile as Hoseok wraps his arms around his waist. 

“The good thing is we have all the time in the world to figure ourselves out, now. We get to be whatever we want to be, and exist however we want to exist. No more running, no more hiding, no more fighting,” Hoseok says with a grin, and it’s impossible to not believe him. 

The air Gifted nuzzles his face into Namjoon’s neck, and you swear there is light pink that mixes with the honey of Namjoon’s cheeks. 

Hoseok’s display of affection reminds you of your nights with Jungkook. They’ve become more frequent; nearly every night, he slips into your bed to cuddle with his lips dragging along your neck, just lightly enough to seem innocent but still present enough to make your body burn with an unfamiliar heat.  

You haven’t done anything more than cuddle, and you’re having a hard time telling yourself that you’re okay with that. 

Seokjin doesn’t give you time to ponder what you think is your budding love life. He gives you, Hoseok, and Namjoon a variety of tasks to complete throughout the day, from painting what you learn are ancient runes on the sides of buildings to helping the farmers harvest their produce to bring to the food stalls. Manual labor doesn’t bother the three of you; for months, you’ve all lived in a world where you work hard to survive, hunting and building your shelters. This work is easy in comparison and much more entertaining. 

At some point, Taehyung strolls through the busy quad to check on the outdoor dining space coming to fruition a safe distance from the large bonfire. He plops down on the bench at one of the tables, elbow on the table and chin resting in his hand as he watches you, Hoseok, and Namjoon take a break to munch on some snacks one of the farmers had given you. 

“Having fun, little Gifts?” 

Taehyung’s eyes sparkle in the late afternoon sun, and you can’t help but melt into the comfort that radiates from him. 

“I could stay here forever,” Hoseok mumbles around a large bite of an apple. 

“Oh?” The twinkling of Taehyung’s eyes morphs from adoration to teasing amusement. “I thought that was already the plan.” 

Hoseok nods, giving the leader a sheepish look. 

“That would be dope, yeah.”

“Then it is done.” 

The exchange makes you and Namjoon giggle, though the sweet sounds quickly die out when familiar figures jog down the dirt path toward where you sit. 

Jimin is beaming, his entire aura nearly glowing, though you know part of that is due to his Gift. Your gut twists from the memory of Yoongi, but the pain doesn’t cut as deeply as it used to. At first, you thought the lessening of the pain meant you were forgetting him or no longer caring about him, and you felt even more grief from that. But a late-night heart-to-heart with Hoseok taught you that this isn’t apathy; it’s healing. 

So you acknowledge the little prick of pain that sits in your chest but choose to use the memory of Yoongi to fuel your new love for Jimin, who you know Yoongi would have loved, too. 

“Jiminie!” Taehyung calls from his seat at the table. He holds his arms open, eagerly pulling the other man into a spine-crushing hug. 

The call of your own name draws your attention away from the men. You turn to see Jessi flashing you an uncharacteristically large grin. It makes you extremely suspicious. 

“What do you want?” You question her with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, nothing. Jungkook wants something, though,” she says in a sing-songy voice before skipping - literally skipping - away to talk to Hoseok and Namjoon. 

Jungkook stands at the opposite end of the long wooden table. In his hands is a small wicker basket and he shuffles from foot to foot, staring at nothing in particular. 

“Jungkook-ah?”

He looks up at you with large, startled eyes. In a split second, he’s gone. The only evidence that the young man had even been there is the wicker basket now rocking from side to side in front of you on the table. 

You can’t help but giggle as dark shadows slither from table to table. 

“Do you think he can still hear me when he’s in his shadow form?” Jessi slides onto the bench beside you. She looks around at all the shadows, likely wondering which one is Jungkook. 

“I have no idea.” 

“Hey, Jungkook-ah!” Jessi looks over her shoulder to survey more of the quad. “You’re a fucking wimp!” 

Ignoring Jessi’s comment, you turn your attention to the basket. Inside is a small bouquet of white mugunghwa, a modern-looking pale pink jeogori, and a brand-new hard copy of Fahrenheit 451. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lift each item from the basket and gently place them on the table in front of you, inspecting them with soft eyes and careful fingers. 

“Where…?” 

“He picked the flowers himself and did odd jobs around the Commune and hunted some meat to trade for the jeogori and the book,” Jessi answers your unfinished question. 

You feel your eyes tingle at the corners, with tears threatening to burn your cheeks if you blink too hard. From what it sounds like, the Summer gifts are extremely meaningful - something you share with those you care about to wish them a fruitful year and good health. To think that Jungkook has spent the few days you’ve been here preparing such a gift for you warms your heart, so much so that you feel like you’re catching fire from the inside out. 

“This is very special,” Taehyung speaks as he caresses one of the flower’s petals. 

You’d almost forgotten about Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin, and the rest of your group. 

“It is,” you agree. You carefully return the items to the basket to keep them safe. “I don’t have a gift for him, though. Is it fair to show up to the Bonfire empty-handed?” 

Jimin rests his chin on Taehyung’s head and hums as he thinks.

“Typically, we don’t give gifts to each other during the Bonfire. The gifts you bring to the Bonfire are offerings to Nature to ask for health and prosperity in the upcoming year. You’ll toss them into the fire and recite the offering prayer - but you don’t have to since you don’t know it yet.” 

You’re not sure you have anything to offer the Bonfire, either, but it seems Taehyung reads your mind. 

“There are other ways to give an offering to Nature, if not through the Bonfire,” Taehyung supplies with a small smirk. He looks mischievous and sneaky; the expression makes your skin tickle with goosebumps. 

“Yeah, you can fuck,” Seokjin adds with a smirk of his own. He looks too proud of himself when you choke on your next inhale of air. 

“You can what?” Hoseok nearly trips over his feet in his attempt to get closer to hear what Seokjin has to say. 

“It’s not an official part of the Summer celebration,” Jimin interjects with a roll of his eyes at his husband. 

“It’s a part my sweet Jiminie doesn’t mind partaking in.” 

“Seokjin!” 

Taehyung throws his head back in a loud cackle as Jimin’s face turns bright pink. The poor fire Gifted sputters as he tries to defend himself. 

“N-no! No! It’s, no!” 

Seokjin shrugs and stretches his arms over his head, leaning on each side long enough to make his joints pop. 

“Sex is part of Nature, is it not? It represents vitality, fertility, birth, new beginnings,” Seokjin points out. “Nature takes all that we give her with equal value.” 

If Jimin is uncomfortable, you’re downright mortified. You can’t help but look around at the quad as Jessi had, every shadow lurking around the corner more suspicious than the next. What does it mean that they mention sex, and your thought immediately turns to Jungkook? Shame burns at your cheeks, but you can’t get the image out of your mind. You know pretty much nothing about sex and can barely even imagine what it would be like, yet you latch onto the idea that Jungkook might be… 

Well…

You can’t say it. You can’t bring yourself to think about it. Shaking your head, you quickly stand and scoop the wicker basket into your arms. 

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you announce to no one and everyone. 

The group shouts teasing comments about your shy behavior as you do your best to walk calmly in the direction of Seokjin and Jimin’s house, avoiding everyone’s gaze and especially the shadows.

FIRE

You expected the Bonfire to hurt. Not physically, since there are plenty of fire Gifteds around to ensure the celebrations stay safe and under control. No, you expected the pain of the Bonfire to be internal, an emotional pain like the pain you’ve been failing to run from in the months since Yoongi left you. 

It has taken you a long time to let go of the anger you’ve let fester inside of you. Your anger verges on hatred, and hatred helps no one. Who is there to hate? Yoongi, for sacrificing himself to save his friends? The rest of your group for mourning your best friend just as profoundly as you have? The Red Pins for taking everything away from you? 

The Bonfire crackles and hums like it’s trying to speak to you, but its voice is drowned out by the singing and shouting of the Gifteds dancing in a circle around its flames. The flames reach nearly as high as the buildings surrounding it. Jimin and the other fire Gifteds occasionally pull out stray flames, letting them lick around their arms and bodies to entertain the children fascinated by Gifts they have yet to master within themselves. 

The performance is beautiful just as much as it hurts your heart to watch. You’re mesmerized by the dancing flames and swaddled by the heat of the Bonfire, so you don’t notice another Gifted approaching you until you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Have you given your offering yet?” 

The fire reflects in Jungkook’s eyes like an orange light show, hues swirling and dancing to the tune of whatever ancient language the Gifteds sing in.

“Not yet,” you respond, turning to look at him. 

Jungkook’s gaze drops to take in the jeogori you’re wearing – the one he gifted you the day before. It fits you well, loose enough that you don’t feel restricted, but still cut in a way that compliments your body. You’re glad it’s short-sleeved, or you’d be sweating in the summer night air. 

“Me either.” 

“What did you bring?” 

Jungkook pats his thigh. When you look down, you see that he has his knife strapped to his leg. 

“The fire probably isn’t hot enough to melt it, but… I think it’s the thought that counts.” 

It’s a serious matter, what the two of you are discussing, but you can’t help but giggle as you crouch down to retrieve your offering from where it sits at your feet. 

“Your bow?” Jungkook whispers as though he’s scandalized. 

“And my arrows.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? You always–” 

You shake your head. “We’re giving our weapons up for the same reasons, aren’t we?”

Jungkook nibbles at his bottom lip for a few moments. He turns away from you, those big doe eyes focused again on the fire. 

“Yoongi gave them to us.” When Jungkook speaks, his voice quivers, but his cheeks remain dry. “And we’re done fighting.” 

“We’re done fighting…” 

You mull over the thought, let it roll around in your head, test out its taste on your tongue and see how it weighs in your heart. No more fighting, just like Hoseok said. In the place of fighting, you have a community, like Namjoon wanted. Like you all wanted, no matter how afraid you are to embrace it or admit that you aren’t sure how to join it. 

Yoongi never wanted any of you to have to fight.

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s shoulders sag. “I don’t think I could keep it up even if I had to. I’m… ready to be happy. Like the hyungs. They are so bright.” 

Your heart cracks with every word, nearly spilling out onto the floor when you watch Jimin sprint across the quad to launch himself into Seokjin’s arms. He wraps his legs around Seokjin’s waist as the two kiss, the fire illuminating their faces like angels’ halos. 

Reaching over, you squeeze Jungkook’s hand, lacing your fingers with his. You don’t need to speak; gently tugging his arm has him following you through the crowd toward the base of the Bonfire. The rest of your friends are somewhere around the Bonfire, but you aren’t interested in looking for them. 

“1… 2… 3.” 

When Jungkook stops counting, the two of you toss your weapons into the fire. Your hands are still intertwined, even if the heat makes your skin sweaty and stick together. You’re both willing to stand at the Bonfire for as long as you can, letting the flames burn your retinas as you try to follow the path the fire takes to eat away at the weapons you’ve surrendered to it. 

Letting go feels good, even if you’re letting go of something Yoongi gave you. In a way, he has given you far more than just a bow and some deadly arrows – or a knife and thigh harness. He gave you love, hope, and a second chance. He showed you what it means to love and be loved selflessly and unconditionally and taught you what it means to be a leader in the face of unbelievable hardship. 

You don’t think you could have been even half of the person Yoongi was. 

The press of fingers at the tip of your chin pulls you out of your melancholic thoughts. Jungkook cradles your face, swiping the pad of his thumb along your cheek once a few tears slip from your lash line. 

“Sorry, this is ridiculous,” you croak out. “This is supposed to be a happy celebration.” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow as a pout turns the corners of his lips downward. You think he’s about to scold you over apologizing for your feelings – which you know you shouldn’t do – but Jungkook is always full of surprises.  

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

Forests will likely always scare you. Too many unspeakable things have happened within the woods, too many sad souls wrapped around tree roots and branches. You’re unsure what the woods around the Commune have seen - or if they’re even real; Seokjin’s Gift confuses you. Are the woods here the same ones you traveled through to get here? Are they imaginary, crafted by Seokjin’s mind? Does any of this exist? 

The woods certainly feel different here than at the warehouse. Jungkook leads you by the hand down a winding path through trees decorated with brightly-colored garlands draped across their luscious green branches. You recognize the decorations as ones Jungkook, Jessi, and Jimin helped the children make while the rest of your group worked with Seokjin on the Bonfire. 

“I found this spot when I was looking for your gifts,” Jungkook murmurs. 

“With Jimin?” 

“Mhm. He said, I know a place. It was funny.” 

The sound of the Bonfire festivities is far in the distance, muted by the quiet rustling of life in the woods. Jungkook stops to brush a few vines away that hang from the trees. When he steps to the side to let you walk through the opening he created, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. 

Before you is a circular clearing littered with white and pink mugunghwa shrubs. The flowers nearly glow in the dark, and their sweet scent permeates the air. But what really tugs at your heart is the smattering of tiny fireflies that meander above your head, exploring the peaceful little world away from the chaos of the Commune. 

“Jimin hyung said he doesn’t think anyone else knows this place. He comes here to be alone. Or… with Seokjin,” Jungkook whispers, giving you a sheepish look with pink cheeks. “I think it’s supposed to be, umm, you know, for what the hyungs were talking about, but, I, uh, I’m not…” 

You suddenly feel hot, warmth prickling at your skin and making moisture collect along your hairline despite being far from the fire. What is Jungkook going on about? You have an idea but are too nervous to respond to his rambling. 

Jungkook nudges you with his shoulder before carefully weaving through the shrubs until he finds a more open spot to sit in the grass. 

You follow him, the two of you sitting face-to-face, your knees bumping into each other as you cross them. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you whisper. “And for the gifts. I didn’t get to talk to you about them…” 

There’s no need to speak so quietly, but something about this place makes you worry being too loud would disrupt the magic of it. 

“Of course,” Jungkook responds just as softly. “I wanted to show you something special because you are special to me.” 

Your stomach flips at the memory of Jungkook’s similar confession when you last cut his hair at the warehouse. His gentleness has been a saving grace for you in a world so dark, even when the darkness sometimes consumes him, too. 

“You’re special to me, too.” It’s easy to admit; it flows from your mouth as easily as water flows from your soul. 

“Thank you… I think we deserve something soft. Does that make sense?” 

You tell him that it does because even if you aren’t entirely sure what that means to him, you know that you desire softness in a life that has been so hard. 

Jungkook gives you a small smile. A shake of his head flips his bangs out of his eyes so he can look at you properly. It feels different, the way he looks at you. Darker, more intense, but not scary like you’ve seen him look at you before. There is the same power in his gaze, but it’s gentler. 

You don’t know what to make of it, so you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach up to brush Jungkook’s bangs out of his eyes. 

“I need to cut your hair,” you muse, a small smirk pulling up the corner of your mouth. 

Your fingers linger on his face, migrating from his forehead to drag down the bridge of his nose. When you get to the tip, you mean to bop it lightly, but Jungkook tilts his head back. The adjustment makes your finger slip, and you end up pressing against his lips instead. 

Jungkook watches you with curious eyes as he puckers his lips slightly to kiss your finger. It’s a closed-mouth kiss, nothing scandalous, but you feel electricity shoot up your arm and spread through your body. 

“Oh,” you quietly gasp when Jungkook takes hold of your wrist. He kisses each of your other fingers, ending with a lingering one on your palm. 

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, bringing your hand down to hold in his lap. 

You silently nod because you’re afraid of what you might say or sound like if you open your mouth. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and his grip on your hand tightens slightly. Whatever it is he’s going to say seems like it’s taking a lot for him to sort through in his head from the way his breathing picks up and his eyebrows furrow. 

“Jungkook-ah, you don’t have to…” 

Jungkook shakes his head and takes your other hand, too. 

“No, I have to do this. It’s… we’re just, ahh.” He tilts his head back to stare at the starry sky. After a moment, he exhales loudly out of his nostrils and drops his gaze to yours again. “I’m in love with you. And for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t tell you that ‘cause it seems selfish to dump this on you ‘cause everything is so… fucked up. It’s so fucked. I don’t know why I feel like I’m not allowed to… to be like this, to feel like this. But Jimin hyung said love is in our Nature and is never bad. And, yeah. I guess, yeah. I’m in love with you, and I think you need to know ‘cause I can’t keep pretending I’m not.” 

Out of breath from expelling his words as fast as he can, Jungkook clamps his mouth shut and waits silently. Waits. Waits for you to do something, to say something. 

He’s right. Everything is fucked up enough that you can relate to the guilt Jungkook feels for wanting to love, to be happy. He didn’t call it guilt, but you’ve felt it, so you know. It’s precisely what Jessi scolded you about – on numerous occasions. It’s what Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin and Jimin have shown you that you can overcome. 

Are you in love with Jungkook?

As you watch him bat his pretty eyelashes at you, those large eyes bearing his entire soul and the love and hurt inside, you think that maybe you aren’t in love with him, not right now. But you do love him. And you think, maybe one day, when your heart no longer hurts, you could be in love, too. 

So it feels right when you scoot closer to Jungkook and slide your hand against the side of his face to bring your lips to his. 

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, like the fireflies above your head, when Jungkook’s lips move with yours. There’s a push and pull to your movements, a hesitant dance that reminds you of how Jungkook spars. His touches are light yet calculated, showing strength when he holds himself back. 

“It’s okay to be happy,” you whisper against Jungkook’s lips when you finally pull away – just barely because you want to cocoon yourself in the warmth of his body. 

“You make me happy,” he whispers back. 

It takes more kissing, the exchange of air and spit that would normally gross you out but somehow feels good before your brain finally lets go of the negativity you’ve been holding. 

Jungkook kisses away your shame and guilt as he squeezes your hips and pulls you into his lap. You settle on his thighs with your legs wrapped around his tiny waist and let him kiss you until you can’t breathe. And just when you feel like you’ll suffocate in the most pleasant way, he begins planting kisses along your jaw. 

Your hands find the hair at the back of Jungkook’s head, and you run your fingers through his hair to distract yourself from how your hands are trembling. Your entire body vibrates with a desperate feeling you’ve never had before as Jungkook sucks on the sensitive skin of your throat. The sensation makes you squirm.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans into the crook of your neck. He sounds pained to you, which makes you panic. 

“What? What’s wrong?” You feel like you’re blinking sleep out of your eyes from how dazed you are. Embarrassment creeps along your burning skin; how can you be so out of your mind that you start behaving like this? 

Jungkook presses his hands flat against your back, the pads of his fingers massaging your muscles while he lowers his touch, slowly and gently, until his hands find the curve of your ass. 

“Jungkook-ah,” you nearly scold him when he squeezes you. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, encouraging you to grind against his crotch. 

It’s only then that you feel his erection in his pants. The knowledge that he’s reacting this way because of you makes the electricity in your veins spike through you even stronger. 

“Me either.” 

Jungkook finally lifts his head to look at you, and it’s a wonder how he manages to wear innocent doe eyes yet bite his kissed-pink bottom lip in an air of seduction that makes your body tingle. 

“I want to be good for you.” 

His words do something to you that you’re too scared to address, so you opt for humor when you reply, “Well, I don’t have anything to compare you to.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook brings trembling hands to the side of your jeogori where the strings are tied into a bow to keep the clothing in place. 

“Can I take this off?” 

“Please.” 

Getting naked in front of Jungkook is a lot less terrifying than you thought it would be – not that you’d ever thought of it before! Not like this, at least. The two of you have bathed together, but that’s different. It’s easier to hide in the water, and both of you are respectful enough not to take peeks. So it’s most likely the calming presence Jungkook holds that keeps you relaxed once you kneel naked in front of each other. In the moonlight, you both let your eyes wander each other’s figures, drinking in each other like you want to savor it. 

You let Jungkook’s hands wander, experimentally pinching your nipples to draw a moan out of you and tickling your stomach as his touches make their way down your body. He whispers gentle words of encouragement and proclamations of your beauty when you fall back in the grass and open your thighs for him. 

“I want to touch you,” Jungkook says into your chest. Your skin glistens from how his tongue explores where his hands just had, but you’re more focused on his fingers ghosting over your hips. “Please?” 

“Yes,” you whimper. 

You’re both shaking when Jungkook slips his fingers through your folds, his thumb lightly pressing against your clit while his fingers reach your entrance. It’s an odd sensation, but you’re quickly a moaning mess beneath him. Even if the rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of you isn’t consistent, and he’s touching you almost too lightly as though he’s afraid of hurting you, it still feels good.

“Am I doing okay?” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

When he gives you a pout, you throw your arm around his shoulders and pull him down to kiss him. He hovers over you, spreading you open further because your thighs press against the outsides of his hips. You both notice when his cock – which you’d nervously ignored until now – brushes against the crease of your thigh. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans, and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. “I want… I wanna, ah, fuck.” If you’d thought Jungkook’s usual flustered state was cute, this is downright deadly. 

“Me, too.” You guess what he’s trying to say – are confirmed when he lightly bites your shoulder and ruts against you.

“Are you sure?” 

It’s a valid question, and you surprise yourself when you say “yes” without hesitation. But you’ve wanted this for much longer than you can admit. Your desire for Jungkook has grown with every soft late-night cuddle and almost kiss. 

Jungkook rolls his hips, gliding his cock between your thighs, the motion wet and slippery. It takes some fumbling before he manages to line himself with your entrance and slowly sink inside you. 

Gentle, careful, he whispers that he’ll take care of you even though he has no experience. With each thrust, you promise him that it doesn’t hurt, speak praise into his ear that makes his entire body shiver. 

Your legs ache from your unusual position, and your sweat mixes with Jungkook’s in a way that’s honestly disgusting if you think about it. Still, you can’t deny how good the building pressure feels as it seems to start between your thighs and at your clit, slowly spreading like wildfire up your stomach and into somewhere deep inside of you. 

The only time you’ve heard anyone talk about sex is Jessi, and it was typically in a negative light. Something about men not knowing where the clit is or how to use their dicks. Jungkook seems like a natural; he’s the golden maknae for a reason. Maybe it’s not mind-blowing, but you’re both starting with nothing to guide you. 

Rather than a life-changing orgasm, you’re more interested in how Jungkook looks like he’d give his heart to you, no questions asked. Like he already has. 

You’re more interested in how softly he kisses you and holds your leg against his hip and caresses it like you’re something worth treating with care. 

You’re more interested in how he moans, “I love you, fuck, I love you so much,” and lets you bite his bottom lip because he knows you aren’t ready to say it back, and he’s okay with that. Because he’ll wait for you for as long as you need him to. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook moans against your throat, where he’s sucked blossoms nearly as pretty as the mugunghwa. “But I’m gonna come, like, ahh, fuck, like right, fuck, shit, like right now.” 

From Jessi’s complaints, sex is supposed to end with this: Jungkook finding his release against your inner thighs because he has enough sense to pull out, and you’re left on your back, discarded and unsatisfied. 

So when Jungkook slides down until your thighs are propped open by his shoulders, you watch in confusion because you thought it was over. 

The flick of his tongue against your clit has you lifting off the ground from how sharply you arch your back. You frantically exhale a raspy chant of Jungkook’s name in time with each pump of his fingers he’s managed to slip inside you while you struggle to lie still. 

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs with shiny lips, and you see stars just from that image alone. 

Later, when you’re both sweaty and exhausted, you curl together under the protective barrier of Jungkook’s shadows. He hides you from the world and keeps you safe until morning when you’ll return to the Commune to bring in the First of Summer with a breakfast feast. 

But until then, you hold each other with promises of never letting go, forgiveness, and understanding. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Jungkook whispers against your hair. 

“You just have to stick with me, right?” 

When he laughs, you feel it rumble through his chest. “By your side is the only place I wanna be.” 

You fall asleep among the mugunghwa shrubs and fireflies to the sound of Jungkook’s heartbeat. 

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

@iadelicacy @likecrazy22 @jaemayy @annyeongbitch7

[diamantdog]

”Don’t make Gi-hun sacrifice for the baby he just met.”

But… But… That’s the point… That you don’t have to know someone to be kind to them. That’s why Myunggi and the other male finalists accuse Gi-hun of being the baby’s father or insinuate that he’s sleeping with Jun-hee. Because they cannot fathom the idea of someone being kind to strangers. See the scientists or everyone else actively trying to reduce global warming or whatever. They’re doing it for every single one that will come after them, not just those they personally know?

I think instead of asking “Why would Gi-hun do that?” or “Why did HDH write Gi-hun like this?”, one should ask oneself, “Am I acting like a VIP or one of those middle-aged male finalists for thinking so and so?”

Don’t be like them. Be a Gi-hun.

[midnightquillz]

I wanted to try this again, So i think I got it down this time. :) Honestly i know this poster { @thewriteadviceforwriters was giving advice and i love it but this mentally gave me a prompt. So intentional or not i hope you see this! Thank you :)

MidnightQuillz version of: ✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨

Content Warnings:

Murder and premeditated killing

Financial fraud/embezzlement

Psychological manipulation and deception

Undercover surveillance/stalking

Exploitation of grief support groups

Domestic violence (verbal arguments)

Death of a loved one

Fake grief/emotional manipulation

Police investigation themes

Betrayal of trust

Note: This story involves someone using grief counseling as a cover for criminal activity and an undercover investigation within a mental health support setting.

The Support Group

Jasmine had been going to the grief support group for three months when Alex first showed up.

The community center meeting room always smelled like burnt coffee and industrial disinfectant, but Jasmine had grown oddly fond of it. It was the only place where she didn't have to pretend she was "doing better" or "moving on" or any of the other phrases people used when they were uncomfortable with her pain.

"We have someone new joining us today," Linda, the group facilitator, announced with her usual gentle smile. "Alex, would you like to introduce yourself?"

Alex was younger than most of the group—maybe late twenties, with tired eyes and the kind of nervous energy that came from drinking too much coffee and sleeping too little. They fidgeted with the sleeves of their oversized sweater as they spoke.

"Hi, I'm Alex. I... my partner died six months ago. Car accident." Their voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm not really good at this talking thing, but my therapist said I should try."

"Thank you for sharing," Linda said. "What would you like us to know about your partner?"

Alex's face softened. "Their name was Jordan. They were... they were everything good about the world, you know? Always making everyone laugh, always trying to help people. They worked at the animal shelter downtown because they said someone had to speak for the ones who couldn't speak for themselves."

Jasmine felt the familiar ache in her chest. It had been eight months since Marcus died—also a car accident, though his had been at night, in the rain, on his way home from working late at the youth center. She'd heard Alex's story a hundred times in different versions from different people, but it never got easier.

After the meeting, Jasmine found herself walking out with Alex. It wasn't intentional—they just happened to be heading in the same direction.

"How do you do it?" Alex asked suddenly. "Linda said you've been coming for months. Does it get easier?"

Jasmine considered lying, giving the answer people wanted to hear. Instead, she said, "Some days are better than others. Some days I still wake up and forget he's gone."

"Jordan used to leave me little notes," Alex said. "Stupid things, like reminders to eat lunch or jokes they found online. I keep finding them in random places—jacket pockets, between book pages. It's like they're still trying to take care of me."

"Marcus did that too," Jasmine said, surprised. "He'd put Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror with terrible puns. I couldn't bring myself to take them down for months."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Then Alex said, "Would you maybe want to get coffee sometime? Not like a date or anything, just... it might be nice to talk to someone who gets it."

Jasmine hesitated. She hadn't really talked to anyone outside the group since Marcus died. Her friends and family meant well, but they all seemed to think grief had an expiration date.

"I know a place," she said finally. "The café on Pine Street. They have terrible coffee but good pastries."

Alex smiled—the first genuine smile Jasmine had seen from them. "Perfect. I love terrible coffee."

Over the next few weeks, Jasmine and Alex fell into an easy friendship. They met for coffee after group meetings, texted each other on bad days, and slowly began to share the weight of their grief.

Alex was funny in a dark, self-deprecating way that made Jasmine laugh despite herself. They had strong opinions about movies, knew an alarming amount about obscure true crime cases, and always ordered the same thing at the café—black coffee and a blueberry muffin they never finished.

"Jordan would have loved you," Alex said one afternoon, stirring sugar into their coffee. "They collected people like you."

"People like me?"

"Good people. Genuine people. They had this theory that the world was full of people pretending to be okay, and the only way to survive was to find the ones who admitted they weren't."

Jasmine thought about Marcus, about how he'd had a similar philosophy. "What did Jordan do at the animal shelter?"

"They were a veterinary technician. Worked mostly with the dogs nobody wanted—the old ones, the sick ones, the ones with behavioral issues. Jordan said they just needed someone to be patient with them."

"That sounds like Marcus. He worked with teenagers everyone else had given up on."

Alex nodded. "Do you think they would have been friends? Jordan and Marcus?"

"Definitely," Jasmine said. "Marcus would have loved Jordan's Post-it note thing. He was always trying to make people smile."

"What's the worst thing about it?" Alex asked suddenly. "The grief, I mean."

Jasmine considered. "People expect you to be grateful for the time you had. Like the pain is worth it because you got to love someone. But some days I think I'd rather have never met him than feel like this."

"Yeah," Alex said quietly. "And then you feel guilty for thinking that."

"Exactly."

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the rain streak down the café windows. Outside, people hurried past with umbrellas and determined expressions, everyone rushing somewhere important. Jasmine wondered if any of them were carrying the kind of weight she and Alex carried.

"Can I ask you something?" Alex said. "Do you ever feel like... like you're betraying them by moving forward? Like enjoying anything is proof you didn't love them enough?"

"All the time," Jasmine admitted. "I laughed at something on TV last week and immediately felt sick about it. Like I was supposed to be sad forever to prove he mattered."

"Jordan would hate that," Alex said. "They'd probably leave me a note telling me to stop being an idiot and go live my life."

"Marcus would say the same thing. He was always pushing people to be better than they thought they could be."

Alex smiled, but it didn't reach their eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been in the car with them that night."

"Alex..."

"Not in a suicidal way," Alex said quickly. "I mean, maybe sometimes. But mostly I just wonder if I could have changed something. If I'd been there, maybe I could have grabbed the wheel, or told them to slow down, or..."

"Or you'd both be dead," Jasmine said gently. "I've had the same thoughts about Marcus. What if I'd convinced him to stay home that night? What if I'd picked him up instead of letting him drive? But you can't live in the what-ifs."

"I know. Jordan's mom tells me the same thing. She says Jordan wouldn't want me to blame myself."

"You're close with Jordan's family?"

"They're all I have left of Jordan, you know? Jordan's mom still texts me every week to check in. Their dad sends me pictures of their dog. It's like... they're keeping me connected to the person I was when Jordan was alive."

Jasmine felt a pang of envy. Marcus's family had been kind but distant after the funeral. They'd never really approved of their relationship, and his death had only made things more awkward.

"That's beautiful," she said. "I'm glad you have that."

"What about you? Do you have anyone who knew Marcus well?"

"A few friends from work, but they don't really know what to say anymore. Everyone's moved on except me."

Alex reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I'm not moving on either. We can not move on together."

The following week, Alex didn't show up to group. Jasmine waited until the last minute, thinking maybe they were just running late, but Linda started the session without them.

"Is Alex okay?" Jasmine asked Linda after the meeting.

"I'm sure they're fine," Linda said. "People sometimes need breaks from group. The work we do here can be overwhelming."

Jasmine texted Alex that night: Missed you at group today. Everything okay?

No response.

She tried again the next day, and the day after that. By the weekend, she was genuinely worried. It wasn't like Alex to disappear without saying anything.

On Monday, she decided to stop by the animal shelter where Jordan had worked. Maybe someone there would know how to reach Alex, or at least confirm that they were okay.

The shelter was a small, cheerful building with murals of dogs and cats painted on the outside walls. Inside, the smell of disinfectant couldn't quite mask the underlying scent of animals and hope.

"Excuse me," Jasmine said to the young woman at the front desk. "I'm looking for information about someone who used to work here. Jordan?"

The woman looked confused. "Jordan? I'm sorry, what's their last name?"

"I... I don't actually know. They worked here as a vet tech. They died about six months ago in a car accident?"

The woman's expression grew more puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I don't think anyone named Jordan has worked here. I've been here for two years, and before that my supervisor would have mentioned anyone who... who died. Can you describe them?"

Jasmine realized she couldn't. Alex had talked about Jordan constantly but had never shown her a picture, never described what they looked like beyond vague terms like "beautiful" and "kind."

"Maybe I have the wrong shelter," she said weakly.

"Maybe. You could try the city shelter on Broadway, or the one in Queen Anne."

Jasmine thanked her and left, but she didn't go to the other shelters. Instead, she sat in her car in the parking lot, trying to make sense of what she'd just learned.

That evening, she googled "car accident Jordan Seattle six months ago" and found nothing. She tried different variations—Jordan, car accident, vet tech, animal shelter—but came up empty.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Alex: Sorry I missed group. Been having a rough week. Coffee tomorrow?

Jasmine stared at the message for a long time before responding: Sure. Pine Street café at 2?

Perfect. See you then.

Alex looked terrible when they showed up to the café the next day. Their eyes were red-rimmed, and they kept glancing around nervously.

"Are you okay?" Jasmine asked. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I haven't been sleeping well," Alex admitted. "Bad dreams."

"About Jordan?"

Alex's face went very still. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because... because that's what we talk about. Our partners. Our grief."

"Right. Yes. About Jordan."

They ordered their usual—black coffee and a blueberry muffin—but Alex's hands were shaking slightly as they stirred sugar into their cup.

"Alex, I need to ask you something," Jasmine said carefully. "I went to the animal shelter yesterday. The one where Jordan worked."

Alex went very pale. "Why?"

"Because I was worried about you. You disappeared without saying anything, and I thought maybe someone there could help me figure out if you were okay."

"And?"

"They said no one named Jordan had ever worked there."

Alex was quiet for a long moment. Then they said, "Maybe I got the name wrong. Maybe it was a different shelter."

"Alex."

"Or maybe they just didn't know. Big staff turnover, you know?"

"Alex, stop."

Alex looked up at her, and Jasmine saw something in their eyes that made her stomach drop. Fear. Guilt. And something else—something that looked almost like relief.

"There is no Jordan, is there?" Jasmine said quietly.

Alex's face crumpled. "I can explain."

"I don't understand. Why would you lie about something like that?"

"Because I needed to," Alex said, tears starting to fall. "Because I needed to understand."

"Understand what?"

Alex wiped their eyes with their sleeve. "How you did it. How you got away with it."

"Got away with what?"

"Killing Marcus."

The words hit Jasmine like a physical blow. "What?"

"I know it was you," Alex said, their voice suddenly steady. "I know you killed him, and I know you've been lying about it for eight months."

Jasmine felt the world tilt around her. "Alex, what are you talking about? Marcus died in a car accident. You know that. Everyone knows that."

"Marcus Chen died in a single-car accident on Highway 99 at 11:47 PM on a rainy Tuesday night," Alex said, and their voice was different now—clinical, precise. "He was driving home from work when his car hydroplaned and hit a tree. No other vehicles involved. No witnesses."

"How do you know his last name?" Jasmine whispered.

"Because I've been investigating his death for eight months. Because Marcus Chen was my brother."

The café suddenly felt very small and very quiet. Jasmine could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

"Your brother," she repeated.

"My older brother. Marcus Alexander Chen. He called me Alex when we were kids because he said my real name was too long. Alexandra." Alex's eyes were hard now, all pretense of grief gone. "He was driving home from the youth center where he volunteered, just like he did every Tuesday night. Except that Tuesday, he'd been fighting with his girlfriend. You."

"We didn't fight—"

"You did. The neighbors heard you screaming at each other. Something about money, about him finding out what you'd been doing." Alex leaned forward. "Want to know what I think happened?"

Jasmine wanted to run, to scream, to deny everything, but she was frozen in place.

"I think you'd been stealing from the youth center's fundraising account. Marcus was treasurer, so he would have noticed eventually. I think he confronted you, and you fought, and you knew your comfortable little life was about to fall apart." Alex's voice was getting louder. "So you followed him when he left. You waited until he was on that dark stretch of highway, and you ran him off the road."

"That's insane. You're insane."

"Am I? Because I've been watching you for months, Jasmine. I've been to your apartment, I've followed you to work, I've sat in group therapy sessions listening to you perform grief for a man you murdered." Alex pulled out their phone. "I've been recording everything."

Jasmine's blood turned to ice. "Recording what?"

"Every conversation. Every coffee date. Every time you slipped up and said something that didn't match the story you told the police." Alex scrolled through their phone. "Like how you said Marcus left you Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror, but you told the investigating officer you'd removed all his things from the apartment the week after he died. Or how you said he was working late that night, but the youth center's records show he left at his normal time."

"You're twisting things—"

"Or how you knew exactly how much money was missing from the fundraising account even though that information was never made public."

Jasmine felt like she was drowning. "I never said anything about money."

"Two weeks ago. You said Marcus was always worried about money, that he'd been stressed about some accounting discrepancy at work. But the only people who knew about the missing money were Marcus, the center's director, and the police."

Alex leaned back in their chair, and for the first time since Jasmine had known them, they looked genuinely calm.

"I've been building a case against you for eight months," Alex said. "The fake grief support group attendance, the manufactured friendship, the recorded conversations—it's all evidence. And tomorrow morning, I'm taking it all to the police."

Jasmine's hands were shaking now. "You can't prove anything."

"Actually, I can. See, while I was playing your grieving friend, I was also tracking your financial records. Turns out you made some interesting deposits right after Marcus died. Insurance money, sure, but also payments from some offshore accounts that are very hard to trace."

"You're crazy."

"And you're a murderer who's been using a grief support group as cover for your guilt." Alex stood up. "The really sick part is that you actually seemed to enjoy it. Playing the grieving girlfriend, getting sympathy, making friends with other people who were actually in pain."

Jasmine thought about all their conversations, all the times she'd felt genuinely connected to Alex, all the moments when sharing her "grief" had felt almost real.

"I did love him," she said quietly.

"No, you didn't. You loved what he could give you. And when he threatened to take that away, you killed him."

Alex gathered their things. "Oh, and Jasmine? That story about Jordan? I got it from you. Every detail about the Post-it notes, the animal shelter, the caring nature—that was all Marcus. I just changed the name and made up a car accident. Funny how easy it was to get you to tell me exactly how to fake grief when you'd been doing it for months."

They paused at the door. "The police will be in touch soon. I'd suggest you get a lawyer."

And then Alex was gone, leaving Jasmine alone with her cold coffee and the terrible understanding that everything she thought she knew about the last three months had been a lie.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Thanks for the confession. - Detective Chen

Detective Chen. Marcus's sister. Alexandra Chen, who'd been patient and kind and understanding while she built an airtight case against the woman who'd killed her brother.

Jasmine looked around the café, at the other customers drinking their coffee and living their normal lives, and realized she was probably looking at it for the last time as a free woman.

Outside, it started to rain.

🔪 3 Plot Twists That Slap (and 1 that should be arrested) 🔪

hello and welcome back to me yelling on main about storytelling crimes. today we are talking about plot twists. specifically: the good, the god-tier, and the why-would-you-do-this-i-trusted-you tier.

let’s go.

✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ a.k.a. the “wait. WAIT.” twist. This is when you drop a twist that doesn’t just add drama - it recontextualizes the entire story. It makes the reader go back and reread earlier scenes like “was this character ALWAYS sketchy or am I just stupid??” It retroactively changes the emotional weight of everything that’s happened. Suddenly that offhanded comment in chapter three hits like a brick. The romance subplot becomes 500% more tragic. The villain’s motive makes SENSE now. Delicious.

✅ Best used when: the breadcrumbs are subtle but real. The twist shouldn’t come out of nowhere - it should feel inevitable in hindsight. Like Sixth Sense, Knives Out, that one betrayal in your favorite anime you still haven’t recovered from.

2.🧨 The Emotional Betrayal It’s giving: “i would’ve died for you” energy. This is the kind of twist that hurts. You thought they were loyal. You thought they cared. They did care - and still did it anyway. Or they never cared, and now you’re spiraling. This twist slaps because it’s not just about plot, it’s about trust. It stabs the characters AND the reader in the same motion. Bonus points if it’s a slow burn betrayal. Bonus bonus points if the betrayer feels genuinely torn up about it.

✅ Best used when: the reader is emotionally attached. Don’t waste this one on a side character we barely know. Save it for the love interest. The best friend. The mentor figure with dad energy. Make it personal. Make it RUIN lives.

3. 🧊 The “They Were Dead the Whole Time” but Make It Interesting Listen. This one’s risky. It’s a classic for a reason but also easy to flop. But when done well? Haunting. Creepy. Unhinged in a gorgeous way. It doesn’t have to be death either - maybe the character’s been possessed. Or they’re not real. Or the narrator’s memory is lying. The KEY is to not lean too hard on the shock. Lean on the vibes. Give it eeriness. Make it a slow unraveling. Give us dread. Give us melancholy. Give us psychological decay with a side of unreliable narrator.

✅ Best used when: you’re writing something surreal, gothic, speculative, or emotionally weird. This twist isn’t about plot logic, it’s about atmosphere and emotional rot.

🚨 The Twist That Should Be Arrested: “It Was All a Dream” 🚨 I’m sorry but. no. if I read 80k words of someone’s descent into madness just to find out it was their stress dream and now they’re normal again?? I will throw the entire book into a lake. This twist erases tension instead of escalating it. It invalidates everything the reader emotionally invested in. It’s the narrative equivalent of gaslighting. don’t do it. UNLESS - and this is a big unless - you’re doing it with INTENT. Meta intent. Dream-within-a-dream psychological horror intent. If you’re gonna do it, it better haunt me. It better RUIN me. Otherwise? Into the lake.

okay that’s all. go forth and commit plot crimes responsibly. bonus points if you use all three Good Twists in the same story and then look me in the eye like “oh was that too much?”

it wasn’t.

tag me when you emotionally destroy someone with it.

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[if-loves]

everything but nothing

// Phainon

word count: 1089

warnings: none i think? written prior to phainon release

a/n: last offering to phainon & good luck to everyone pulling him! sorry for any mistakes lmao it's way too late

Light pools through the window in waves, its warmth a gentle embrace. Phainon awakens blearily, his sight a blur as his eyes take its sweet time adjusting to his surroundings.

The bed is a mess of the duvet, the room an otherwise familiar composition. An empty space lies by his side, and something in him tells him that he is missing a fundamental part of himself.

He stumbles out of bed, mind still in a haze, driven solely by instinct, searching for the missing part of him. Guided by his heart, he finds himself in the kitchen before he even realises it. Only by a soft humming does his mind start to clear, and you fill his sight and his soul like the missing piece of a puzzle.

You pay him little mind apart from a smile and a good morning, too busy making breakfast. Phainon thinks his natural reaction would be to whine at your lack of attention, but something in him says he shouldn't. Instead, he takes a seat at the dining table just outside of the kitchen, his eyes never once leaving your busy figure.

He wants to say your name, to call out to you, but his mouth feels sewn shut, his tongue dry, throat closed. He wants to reach out to you, to pull you into him and hug you so tight you have no choice but to become one with him, but his limbs feel heavy, like he's suffering from an illness.

But there's nothing he can do, so he waits for you to come to him.

“Did you have a good sleep, Phai?” Your voice lightens the heaviness in his bones instantaneously, your attention water for his dry tongue. Everything that felt so difficult before suddenly feels easy, like there was nothing ever really hard about it before.

“Yes,” the word leaves his lips automatically, and although he knows his voice is his own, he can't help but feel like it isn't his either.

You hum in response as you set the hot plate of freshly made fluffy pancakes in front of him, honey and butter and powdered sugar laid out on the table. You don't waste a second and pour honey on both yours and his stacks, just the perfect amount without him having to say anything at all. A slice of butter sits atop the honey almost instantly, but you act like you haven't done anything at all.

Phainon loves the domesticity of this. When he's with you, he can forget all his duties and responsibilities as a Chrysos Heir, a weight taken off his shoulders without him having to ask. You're always so in-tune with him, always one step ahead, always knowing what he's thinking or going to say next as if you could read his mind. With you, he is simply Phainon, someone who was forced to grow up too young, with too many responsibilities resting on his tired shoulders.

But past the quietness of entry hour, past your soft smiles and gentle love, and far past his true desires, he knows something is wrong.

It's just a feeling that lies deep in his stomach, something he can never quite explain, an uncomfortable coldness that resists the warmth of the eternal day, that creeps up his entire body and spreads like a silent disease.

Phainon knows he should be trying to understand the source of this feeling, and he does want to, but he doesn't want to understand it more than he wants to be with you. There's a different feeling, this one in his heart, that tells him that if he tries to understand, it'll be at the cost of you. And you mean far more to him than figuring out an uncomfortable feeling.

But even though you mean more than the world to him, why is it that he can't remember your name?

“What's wrong, Phai?” You ask him sweetly, genuine concern in your voice and your eyes. “Did you want something else? We still have some bread, would you prefer that?”

He wants to open his mouth and say pancakes are just fine, that he'll eat anything you make, but his lips stay closed, his tongue stays still, and his vocal cords make no effort to make a sound.

“Are you still sleepy? Maybe you should go back to bed.” You suggest, your hand reaching over to caress his cheek. The action for some reason unknown to him feels so tender and sweet that tears spill down his cheeks in an instant, and he leans into you, afraid of the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Phainon? Why are you crying?” You immediately stand, rushing over to his side as if he had just collapsed. Still, he doesn't say a word.

You help him stand and bring him back to the bedroom, the sheets still messy and there's a horrible, heavy, feeling in his heart as he stares at the spot you would be in.

You tuck him back in, bring the duvet up to his shoulders just how he likes it, wipe his tears with the kind of gentleness only afforded to someone who is truly loved, something he's unsure if he's ever felt, and kiss his lips like you're saying goodbye.

“Go back to sleep Phai, I'll be here when you wake up.”

His eyes close just as he thinks he doesn't believe you at all.

The first thing Phainon notices when he awakens is the overwhelming loneliness that floods his existence. The next is the dry tear streaks on his face. The last thing is the lack of you.

The uncomfortable feeling is gone and his limbs no longer feel as heavy. His mouth opens and his tongue moves just fine, but he's too afraid to try his voice. However, in exchange, his heart is still just as heavy and he feels even worse than before.

A bitter laugh escapes his throat before he even realises it happens. A dream, you are. His dream. His unattainable love and life, only existing in his deepest fantasies.

Phainon wants to cry, scream, release all the grief he has been holding, but nothing happens. Instead, he gets out of bed, and doesn't take a second look at the bed. He has to get ready for the day. He has to be there for the people of Amphoreus. He has to fulfil his duty as a Chrysos Heir.

He stares into the mirror in his bathroom, his eyes dull.

Ah. Now he remembers your name.

[loser-mobile]

Future Lover - Chapter 4 - Jason Todd x Reader

Synopsis: Situations.... develop. Jason 1 and Jason 2 are distinctly different around you and the Batfam are.. an adjustment.

Author’s Note: Sorry for taking so long. I fell out of it a bit but I'm still obsessed with ya boy JT. Personal shit, y'know.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a bit rushed, but please lmk what you think, and if you find any errors, if if you have any questions.

Content: Mild mention of injuries. Swearing. MDNI

Word Count: 4.2k

The bed you woke up in is huge. Like, truly, it’s egregious. The room you’re in has a darkly academic vibe to it, like a Pinterest profile just gave you a stiff hug and a warm handshake. You can smell the faint scent of vanilla and sandalwood, and it’s like waking up in a luxurious hotel, one that you could certainly never afford. It should be nice, but instead your body is entirely consumed by anxiety, and it feels like a hot ball of lead rests in your stomach. 

Despite the opulence of your accommodations, you did not sleep well, at all. Your body aches from the stress and injuries of yesterday. And to make matters worse, you can hear a loud argument from downstairs. And then the sound of ceramic breaking.

Gently walking out into the broad corridor, you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively, digging your nails into the silky fabric of your pyjama sleeves. Damn, these are nice. Why am I surprised, of course they are. Why wouldn't Bruce Wayne have the best guest concessions?

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Tim!” The deeply bitter voice of Jason Todd cuts through the brief silence, followed by the raucous laughter of Tim. Just as quick comes a deeply offended and scolding remark from Alfred.

“Master Jason!”

You bite back a snicker as you quietly descend the dark staircase to observe the scene. You can see the broad shoulders of Jason, clad in an unfortunately scant white undershirt, and watch as he glares daggers at Tim from across the room, who’s getting a stern talking-to by Dick.

Alfred stands in front of Jason, one hand on his shoulder, trying to ease his temper. The many shards of a once-elegant porcelain vase litter the floor between the four men. Alfred opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes flicker up to look at you, and Jason turns, wide-eyed, to face you as you reach the bottom of the staircase. Your eyes meet. Wow, those eyes.

Your mind flickers back to the previous night. The family had invited you downstairs to join them for a warm meal prepared by Alfred. At their long oak dining table, you found your seat between a smiley Duke and Dick. And, as luck had it, you were seated across from Jason. 

The Jason from the future had stayed downstairs in the BatCave with Batman. The two claimed to be coordinating tomorrow’s moves, but you suspected that Bruce was trying to avoid a conflict from occuring between the two Jasons. If the glares that were shot between the two of them were any indication, Jason and Jason would be beating the pulp out of each other at any given opportunity. Exactly why was yet to be known by you.

Uncomfortable silence fell over the dining room. Uncomfortable, at least, to you. In a room full of trained killers, you assumed they were well accustomed to the quiet. You tried not to breathe too loud, and finished your meal quickly and awkwardly, with minimal eye-contact with Jason.

The mansion that the family, and now you, reside in, feels less like a home and more like a well-decorated workplace. The rooms are all well known by battle, that much you can tell by the various nicks and chips along the dark wooden trim, and various scrapes and slices in the floor. However, it’s clear the building is loved, and cared for.

Although, perhaps not by everyone.

“I shall fetch the duster and pan.” Alfred announces, looking down and frowning at the shattered white vase on the floor, looking much like he judges it for being a vase in the first place.

Jason’s gaze breaks from yours, somewhat reluctantly. “What? Oh, no. No, Alfie, I’ll get it. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.”.

Alfred simply responds “Very well, Master Jason. Join us for breakfast when you are done.”

He leaves the room, followed quickly by Dick and Tim.

You look at Jason, then the shards of porcelain on the ground.Your hands fiddle with the hem on your shirt.

“Uhm.. hey.” You manage to mutter. You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s quiet for a few beats, before he responds.

“Hey.” He breathes back, staring at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher. He has his arms by his side, but you can see the tension in his shoulders. It’s like he’s preparing himself for a screaming match.

You steady yourself with a breath, and try to tense and then relax your body.

“I-”

“We-”

“Oh, sorry-”

“No, no, you go.”

You both chuckle sheepishly, and he gestures with a hand for you to speak first, with a embarrassed smirk on his face.

“I was just gonna say… uhm, I was wondering if… if you had a good sleep, that's all.” You peep out. Liar. That’s not what you were gonna say.

He looks at you, slightly bewildered, before responding softly. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah. I did. And how about you?”

“Good! Yeah, good. Really good.” Liarrrrrr.

“Are, uh.. Are you guys alright? What happened?” You cast a glance at the floor, and the broken pieces of vase. 

“Oh, that.. That’s nothing! Tim was just being an asshole, that's all.” He dismisses, a small scowl shadowing his face.

“Oh, okay. I thought I heard an argument.

“You don’t have shoes on.”

“What?”

“The shards. You don’t have shoes on. Shit. Wait here.”

He turns and quickly leaves, his boots crunching on the broken pieces as he leaves for some unknown room. You call after him but he’s gone. Sigh.

You look down at the floor, and try to map a path between where you stand and the entrance that you know leads to the dining room. Standing on your tippy toes, you gather all the grace you can, and begin slowly and carefully tip-toeing through the mess. That is, until you hear Jason’s voice again.

“Don’t-”

It startles you. You misplace a foot and step right into a thin slice of ceramic. The shard slips right into the pad of your foot, and you cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck!”

“Goddammit! I told you-”

Boots crunch behind you, and suddenly he’s scooped up like a meddlesome cat and hoisted you into a bridal carry, tucked against his warm chest. He takes three short steps and places you in a chair in some sort of alternate sitting area. One of many in this mansion, no doubt.

“-To stay put.” He concludes, gently setting you down on the cushioned seat like you’re made out of glass.

You let out a small hiss through your teeth. Your foot stings. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t respond, but kneels on the floor beside you and lifts your foot to inspect it. His face is taught with tension and he doesn’t meet your gaze, however you’re not quite sure you want him to anyway. It seems whenever you look at him you’re pulled into some invisible whirlpool. Probably best to avoid looking like some sort of weirdo. He already thinks you are one.

“It’s not that bad. Won’t need stitches. You just need to avoid putting weight on it for a bit.” He informs you, turning his head to look up at your stupefied face. You nod. It’s all you can do, really.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” He responds curtly. “I can patch this up now, if you’d like.” He says, looking at you.

“Well, yeah, that would be good. Don’t wanna bleed all over the nice carpet.” You chuckle, half-heartedly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” He says, standing up. You hear his joints crack. “This house has had its fair share of people bleeding out on the floor.” Your eyes follow him as he stands up, as he practically towers over you.

“Stay here, okay? I mean it, this time.” He instructs, smiling.

You nod, and flash a polite smile back, watching him leave, then look down at your foot to inspect the wound. The shard pulsates with pain, lodged snugly in the front of your foot, near your big toe. You can’t help but wince again at the sight, and you cup it in your hand, trying to avoid getting more blood on the carpet below you. 

In the silence, you feel the weight of your situation once again. This can’t be real, you said to yourself, over and over again, last night, like a mantra. Your body feels uncomfortable, and it’s hard to feel like you belong here. You feel too awkward, too civilian. That’s because you don’t belong here. 

“Is it hurting?” Jason’s concern interrupts the doubts swirling in your head and stomach.

Your head shoots up, and he’s walking back towards you, a large red first aid kit in his grip.

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine.”

He snorts. “Right. Sure. You know, I fight crime for a living, I know pain when I see it.”

“I’m not in pain, just… worried, that’s all.” You shoot back, ending the sentence with a wobble in your voice.

“About what?” He tilts his head, kneeling beside the chair once again, and moving your foot so your ankle rests on his knee. 

“Iris.”

“Iris. Right. The girl.” He softly confirms.

You huff. “Not the girl. Our- our girl.” 

He looks up at you, wide eyed. There's that same unreadable expression, a cross between concern and fascination. You stare back at him, eyes equally wide. His eyes are like magnets. You can’t look away.

“Our daughter.” You barely mumble. The words sound heavy coming off your tongue, like speaking a prophecy into existence. 

“Our daughter.” He echoes.

You blink at him softly, holding his gaze. He holds yours equally as stubborn. 

He finally breaks the silence. “I have to pull the piece out now. Are you ready?”

You steel yourself with a shuddering breath. “Yes. Yeah. Do it.”

“Okay. 1…. 2..”

He yanks the shard out deftly before he reaches three and you let out a pained hiss, and curse loudly.

“Fuck! Shit, fucking-”

“You swear a lot.” He notes humorously, beginning to clean and dress the wound with practiced ease.

“You do too.”

“You gonna talk like that around our kid?” He jokes, with that same boyish grin.

That comment makes you pause for a moment, and Jason looks up at you, with a remorseful look on his face. He opens his mouth, looking ready to apologise, before you interrupt him.

“Of course not. I know how to act around children. I’ve worked with them.”

He relaxes. “Oh, really. What is it that you do, again?”

“Social services.” You answer. “Used to work in a school though.”

“You were on the bus yesterday, weren’t you?” He asks, focusing on wrapping your foot in a soft white bandage.

You blink. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I was. You were too, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Why’d you sit next to me?” He asks, a half smile, flashing white teeth, ghosting across his handsome face.

Your brows furrow, and your lips pout ever so slightly. “What?” 

“Everyone else on that bus was terrified of me. A few people actually chose to stand instead of sitting next to me.” He continues.

“I guess.. I just wasn’t really thinking about any of that. I saw a seat and took it.”

He tilts his head a little again, still kneeling in front of you. “Wasn’t paying attention? To the scary dude on the bus? You live in Gotham.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” You wave your hands dismissively, and pout slightly and glance to the side, like a chided child. 

He grins, and prods further. “So, you just didn’t see me.”

“No, I saw you, I just.. I guess I just wasn’t really thinking about that. About what you looked like.”

Jason lets out a soft “Huh.”, then taps your shin twice with his hand. You gingerly lift your foot off his knee and hover it above the ground. He stands, grunting softly, and holds out a hand for you to take. You do, and stand on one leg, wobbling awkwardly. The injured foot is too tender to put weight on. You resign yourself to hop around for the next few days, when Jason sighs heavily.

“Oh, god. I’m an idiot.” Jason chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Do you want me to.. I mean I guess I could.. carry you?”

“Oh- oh! Okay.” You squeak out, and meet his intense gaze with your own wide eyes.

“Is that- I mean, is it okay?” He stutters out, composing himself.

“Yeah, yeah, I mean, maybe I should just… maybe I’ll get some crutches..?” You respond timidly.

“Oh, right. Yeah. I think we have some, somewhere. Let me go get them.” He says, leaving in a bit of a hurry. 

You stand alone in the room, wobbling on one leg, and bracing yourself with one hand on the back of the chair. When Jason returns, he holds out two silver crutches. He awkwardly helps you adjust them, then helps you test them out. Then he runs a hand through his white-streaked hair again. You recognise it as a self-soothing action, and have to bite back a charmed smile.

“Well, uh, you can go through that door there, and it’ll spit you out near the dining room. I gotta clean this up still.” He gestures to the broken pieces of vase on the floor behind the two of you.

“Right, yeah. Okay.” You nod, and turn to leave, moving slowly and carefully on the crutches. You reach the end of the room, and turn to face Jason. But when you turn, he is gone.

God. This is so fucking weird.

-

Breakfast was hosted in the dining room, again. An enticing smell of various greasy and freshly cooked foods fills the room to the brim. A silver platter of bacon, sausages, and fried eggs sits in the middle of the table, and its contents have clearly been appreciated by the family.

Duke and Damian sit beside each other close to the entrance, and from what you can manage to hear, and for that matter comprehend, engaged in a heated debate about the various improvements that can be made to their respective field suits. Dick and Tim sit beside each other on the far end of the table, and from Dick’s glower you glean that the two have just finished a heated discussion of their own.

Nearer to the other end of the table, sit a blonde girl and a girl with short and dark hair, both in cute pyjamas and hoodies. They both look up as you enter, and the blonde in the grey hoodie immediately looks concerned.

“What happened?” She exclaims, causing the conversation in the whole room to fall silent.

You open your mouth, and smile sheepishly. 

“I accidentally stepped on a bit of broken vase.” You inform the room, uncomfortable under all the attention. “It’s not a big deal, Jason helped patch me up.”

The blonde has gotten out of her seat and walked over to you, and immediately brings you to the closest seat to where she was sitting. Meanwhile, the other girl has gotten up and silently begun to prepare a plate of food for you. You smile at the blonde, gratefully.

Tim pipes up. “Jason help? Like, our Jason? Or the Jason from the future?”

You nod. “Yeah. Current Jason. The Jason… from this time.. Now Jason?” You say, unsure, and then pause. “I don’t know what to call him. Either of.. Him.”

Tim opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the blonde girl.

“Yeah, we don’t either. I mean, we were trying out some nicknames last night. How do you feel about Jason 25 and Jason 45? For their respective times?”

“That’s so wordy though, Steph!” Tim quips back.

“I still like Red Hood and Blue Hood.” Duke muses, flashing you a charming smile. You smile back, snorting softly.

“It’s not gonna be Red Hood, Blue Hood, Duke.” Steph dismisses, but Duke just smiles.

“So sorry, but uh.” You pause, looking at Steph. “It’s Steph, right?”

She blinks, then straightens up. “Oh, yeah, we haven’t met. Shit, sorry. I’m Steph, yeah. And this is Cass. Do you know everyone else, right?”

“Yeah, yeah I do. And you’re… the Spoiler, right?”

“Yup, and Cass is the Orphan.”

“The Orphan? I don’t think… I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her.”

“That’s a good thing.” Cass speaks up. Her voice is hushed and raspy, still warming up in the early morning. She places the plate of food in front of you.

“Oh, thank you so much. I’m so hungry.” You take a bite of food, then continue. “And yeah, I’ve literally never heard of ‘The Orphan’. Guess that’s probably the point, right?” You reason.

Cass simply nods, smiling and blinking at you, and taking her seat once again. 

The rest of breakfast passes with a lot of conversation that you feel you cannot, or shouldn’t weigh in on. A lot concerns this ‘Sergio’ character, and his goons that you met before. It’s strange to think about the situation at hand. You feel a strange sort of anxiety, a pull, to the city of Gotham. To find the young girl you are all curious about. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, a restlessness in your chest that thrums through your whole body. And the questions that you have never cease, as they ping around the inside of your skull. What will her birth be like? Her childhood? What is she like? Does she look like me?

Is she scared? 

“Hey, are you still with us?” Steph’s voice interrupts your mental spiral.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” You look over at her, to where she sits across from you. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just tired.”

“And anxious.” Cass interjects, softly. She looks at you too, soft concern and care in her eyes.

“I, uh… yeah. I’m worried. About.. Her. Iris.” You confess, leaning back in the chair, and staring down at the barely-touched food in front of you.

Steph and Cass exchange a knowing look, and look back at you. 

“We’re gonna get her back. You know that, right?” Steph reaches a hand over the table, and you look down at it briefly, before placing your hand in hers and smiling reassuringly back at her. She gives your hand a quick squeeze.

“We have a lead.” Jason’s voice comes from behind you. You turn. 

But it’s the older Jason. He stands, clad in the same, battle-worn outfit from yesterday, with his arms crossed, staring straight at you. Those same heterochromatic eyes that held your gaze in a vice grip not even 10 minutes ago, looking at you now like you’re not just worthy of love, but of worship.

You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. You just stare. 

Bruce walks in behind him, cowl off. 

“We leave in 15. Everyone needs to suit up.” He says, before promptly leaving to prepare. Cass, Damian and Duke all stand and exit the room, marching with purpose.

 Steph gives your hand one final squeeze, and smiles at you as she leaves, weaving herself around the Future Jason to the exit. Dick and Tim, the last to leave, cast an unsure glance at you, and then Jason, before leaving last.

So it’s just you two. Alone again. Well, again for you.

You flash him an awkward smile, then turn back to the table, and he comes around to take Steph’s seat, the wooden chair creaking slightly under his weight. He leans back in the chair and watches as you timidly try to feed yourself.

“Goodmorning.” You softly say to him.

“‘Morning, doll. How’d you sleep?” He rumbles back, with the cadence of someone who’s much more familiar with you than you’d like him to be.

You answer as you had to his predecessor. “Good. Yeah, really good.”

He scoffs. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” You growl, like a warning. Please, do not fuck with me today, I’m in so much pain.

“Doll, we’ve been together 20 years, I can tell when you’re lying.”

It’s too early for this, you decide. “We haven't been together at all! You’ve been with someone else!”

“No, I’ve been with you.” He gently corrects, like a teacher with a snarky student.

“I’m not her!” You snap, loudly, and glare at him.

His jaw tenses, and his eyes flicker softly. 

You decide not to let up. You’ve never been one to back down. “Where is she, anyway. The future me. Isn’t she worried? About her daughter? She should be here with you, looking for Iris!” 

“She should be.” He confirms, looking down. A mournful look comes across his face.

“Well, where is she then?” You probe, annoyed.

“She’s.. She’s dead.”

Oh. Shit.

“You.. you died.” He clarifies. “She.. you… they killed my wife before I could stop them. Then they took Iris.”

“Fuck.” You breathe out. Your head feels like it’s spinning, and the taste of the food in your mouth is sour now. You feel a gurgle deep in your throat. You feel sick.

“I’m gonna get her.. You, back. I have a plan. I just need to get Iris first.” He says, almost like he’s trying to reassure both you and him at the same time. 

“Our daughter.” You breathe out, gripping the sides of the table.

“Our daughter.” He concludes, nodding, and sighing deeply.

You level your gaze with him once more, inhale slowly, and try not to get too distracted by the various scars and shapes across his face. The stubble that adorns his chin, the crows feet that crease his outer eye. The cluster of freckles and lightly sun-flushed skin, and his eyes that seem to glow when they look at you. You chew your lip, and look down, then back up again. 

“You’re gonna get her back, right? Iris?” You ask him.

“I won’t stop until she’s safe. I’ll crawl through hell for our girl.” Comes his reply, resounding resolve. 

You smile warmly, satisfied. The first genuine smile you’ve given him.

His eyelids flicker down, entirely enraptured in your gaze. He lets out a quick "Huh", and rakes a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Don’t look at me like that, doll. I love it too much.” He grins, lopsided and wolfish.

You glance back down, hiding the flush, and the flustered smile that has pinned itself to your face, then decide to get up and begin putting your plate away. You move slowly and carefully and use the chairs to stabilise, not bearing any weight on your injured foot.

“Hey, where do you think you’re goin’, huh?” He stands up, and walks around the table to be by your side, and waits like a loyal dog, as you place the dish in the middle of the table.

“Going to have a bath, I think. Can you pass the crutches please?”

“Sure. What happened, by the way? Was that from yesterday?” He tilts his head as he dutifully fetches the crutches.

“Nope, this morning. Somehow managed to hurt myself in the safety of this huge house.” You tell him, getting the crutches in place before walking towards the exit and the staircase.

He snorts softly. “Yeah, that sounds about right. You’ve always been a bit of an airhead.”

“Hey!” You shoot back. “Rude! That’s no way to speak to your wife, is it?”

“Oh believe me, doll, it’s about the only way we communicate. We bicker like crazy.”

You smile, but feel concerned. “We do?”

“Yeah, it’s always fun though. I’m never bored with you around.” He smiles at you, and you force yourself to avoid his knowing gaze, under the guise of focusing on climbing up the stairs with your crutches.

“Here, let me help you.” He offers, holding out his arms in an offer to carry you.

“No, no, it’s fine.” You dismiss him. “I got this. Besides, you have to go and get ready.” 

“I am ready, love. I have my suit on already. Let me carry you.” he insists softly, from a few steps behind you.

“You turn to face him. Despite the fact he's about two steps behind, and below you on the staircase, he’s so tall he actually still reaches your shoulders. He looks up at you, smiling kindly like a devotee. 

Your eyes flicker down, for just a moment, then to the side. 

“I’m fine, really. I can do this. Just slowly.” You reassure him. There’s more things left unsaid, and you both know it.

He pauses. “Okay then, if you insist. Could I at least walk with you, so you don’t fall?”

You sigh loudly, but smile. “Yes, fine. You can babysit me from here to the top of the stairs.”

He chuckles softly, and walks with you the rest of the way, hushly reminding you every so often to ‘slow down!’ or ‘be careful!’. 

As you reach the top of the stairs, you turn to face him. On level ground once again, you have to turn your head upwards to see him. You flash him a friendly smile.

“Thanks, I uh.. I guess.”

“It’s okay.”

“You should go now.”

“Yeah.” He moves to descend the staircase, but about three steps in turns to face you

“I’m gonna get her back, you know.” He promises.

You just nod, smiling. “I know.”

“Both of you. I’m gonna get both of you back.”

“I know you will.”

He flashes a toothy grin, then practically hurls himself down the staircase again, as you watch him disappear.

Go get ‘em, Tiger.

HOOOOO BOY. hope thats good. If it isn't, i'll die.

Gif above is what I imagine the Wayne Property to look like. Do not correct me if I am wrong lol

My Lovely Taglist:

@c4xcocoa, @coffeemin, @theendofthematerialgworl, @daffy-the-duck, @phoenix666stuff, @coralineyouareinterribledanger, @sinnamon-bunn, @ohgodimgoungtodie, @4rachn3, @ye-olde-trash-panda, @truthdaze, @arkham-hoods, @salvatt1, @krys0210, @mercuryathens, @roseinbloom02, @myassisasolarsystem

Thank you for your support my lovessssss :)

[100905]

i need to see everyones kpdh oc (that are managers!) because i imagine our ocs taking turns/having selected members we manage and then at the end of the day when we have a briefing about what the next group concept should be we jst start ranting about the guys instead....

────────୨ৎ────────

Manager 1: ──so yeah that's why I think they should do a pop-rock concept.. it would be a nice change than having the same old pop songs over and over again.

Manager 2: I can definitely see the vision,,, Hey I dont wanna steer off-topic but isnt Baby acting more clingier than usual? Or is it just me..

Manager 3: Oh, dont get me STARTED. I literally found him sleeping in MY bed??? They literally live in a mansion, and yet he still wants to sleep in my bed? Be for real.

Manager 1: Oh thats crazy.. but nothing as crazy as the amount of times Abby and Romance keep fighting for my attention on stupid shit. They literally fought over who should keep their signature pink hair and then turned to me when neither of them wanted to back down.

Manager 2: ..Did you make them compromise?

Manager 1: Well I said if they keep fighting id dye both of their hair neon green.

────────୨ৎ────────

SMTHNG LIKE THAT ENJOY THE LITTLE DRABBLE

[kellykadesperate]

Please can you do ‘I told you, I love you what’s the big deal. Maybe Aaron to Robert?

“I told you I love you. What’s the big deal?” 

They’re in bed when it happens. Aaron is on top of him, laughing into a kiss and he just says it and it makes Robert tense for the briefest of seconds. He ignores it, they roll around and make each other feel good for the next hour and then they’re lying next to each other. 

Aaron has his head right in the crook of Robert’s neck and a hand running up and down Robert’s back the way Robert used to like. It’s weird this, the way they’ve just slipped back into roles and routines like nothing at all has changed. 

Aaron’s stopped staring at scars on Robert’s body, detailing them and committing them to memory. He’s stopped looking sad whenever Robert’s knee goes a little and he says ‘old injury’ instead of the way he was jumped and beaten with a metal pole right over his right knee for some twisted reason.

“You OK?” Aaron always seems to say it after sex now. He’s really asking if he’s hurt Robert, if there’s something he didn’t like, anything that was too rough.

Robert hates that. He hates the uncertainty between them now. It’s going to take a while until this all doesn’t feel like living in an alternative universe or something.

Robert nods his head. “Hmm.” He mumbles, he can feel himself being dragged into a nice sleep but then Aaron shifts a little on his elbows and places a hand over Robert’s heart.

“Why’d you tense earlier?” Aaron asks.

The years have led to many changes between them but Aaron’s directness is the most interesting one. He’s straight to the point. He doesn’t hide and let things fester. Robert’s certain that it has something to do with John, and all the times Aaron wished he said something and didn’t. 

Robert gulps hard against the question and takes Aaron’s hand in his, watches how they’re connected. His mind makes Aaron’s golden wedding band appear and he hates himself a little for it. 

“I did?”

“You know you did.” Aaron whispers. “Did I hurt you?” He asks.

Robert can’t have that. “No.” He kisses Aaron’s hand tenderly and it makes Aaron smile a little. Robert watches the blush grow all over his beautiful face. 

“Then what was it?” Aaron asks as Robert lets go of his hand. “What I said?” 

Robert looks away for a millisecond but Aaron picks up on. He looks so confused. Then he looks hurt and upset and Robert isn’t sure what he’s meant to do because it’s too late to say no.

“I told you I love you. What’s the big deal?” Aaron sits up a little straighter. 

Robert stares at his naked chest, up to his neck. There’s a small mark on the right side where Robert wouldn’t stop kissing him. There should be one right below his right ear too. Aaron buckled and moaned at that.

“Robert?” Aaron places a hand on Robert’s arm, and tries to get him back in the room.

Robert breathes in. “There’s no big deal.” He whispers.

“Should I not say that?” Aaron bites his lip and he looks so terrified. “Robert.” He whispers his name like a prayer, like he’s begging Robert to say something.

Robert breathes in. “You said. You said you’re so in love with me.” He looks down and feels so stupid it’s ridiculously. 

Aaron says absolutely nothing and there’s silence between them for a second until he opens his mouth to speak.

“Yeah. I am.” Aaron says. “Is that OK with you?” He crosses his arms over and looks genuinely cross.

Robert has to look down to stop from laughing. It makes Aaron slap his arm playfully. 

“Robert, you’re scaring me here.”

That’s new too. Aaron just says exactly how he’s feeling, all the time. Last week, they were eating lunch in the pub and Aaron just kissed Robert, licked right into his mouth like half his family weren’t also in the beer garden with them. Then he leant back and smiled, said he was happy and that was that.

“I’m not trying to. I’m sorry.” Robert holds Aaron’s face in his left hand and shudders. “You just haven’t said that, you know, in love, since we got back together.”

Aaron’s shoulders collapse just a little in relief or sadness. Robert can’t tell. 

“I just didn’t expect it.” Robert stammers the words out. “Of course I know you love me but – I don’t know, it’s just – it sounds like more when you say in love doesn’t it?” He knows because he made sure to say it when he first saw Aaron again, when he stormed his farce of a wedding. 

Aaron’s crying. Robert wipes the tears that fall from Aaron’s face and then he’s being kissed. Robert feels himself fall back against the pillows on their bed and then Aaron’s face is right in front of him as he opens his eyes.

“I have been in love with you since I was twenty two.” Aaron says, like he’s reading out facts of the world. “I’m sorry I made you think that wasn’t still true.”

Robert smiles. “You love me now? Who I am … now?”

That’s the thing, this is the real sticking point to all of this. He’s certain Aaron loved him once, and still loves him in general but this person he is now is different. He helps out on the farm, and he’s still not quite there with his own business and there’s still nights he hits out thinking he’s back inside. 

There’s not much to be in love with.

Robert doesn’t know how to communicate any of that but apparently Aaron understands completely. 

Aaron pulls a hand through Robert’s hair. “I am in love with you, now.” He says quietly, like he only wants Robert to hear, to know, to remember. “We’re both different.”

“You’re perfect.”

Aaron’s face lights up. “So are you.” Robert looks down and Aaron forces him to look back up, finger hooked on his chin as he pulls his face up. “I’m in love with everything about you, now. I promise.” 

Robert nods his head a little and then Aaron wraps his arms around him like he wants to shelter Robert from any other horrible thoughts.

They stay like that, Aaron’s face in the crook of Robert’s neck and Robert now running a finger over Aaron’s arm, for what feels like hours. Robert closes his eyes and falls into a gentle sleep only Aaron could have made possible.

[rickybobbydan]

4. Monaco Mistakes

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!driver OC

Summary: Things reach a tipping point in Monaco, but what will come of it?

Warning(s): Slowburn

Words: 1.5K+

Previous Part || Next Part

Monte Carlo, Monaco – May 2014

From the balcony of the Ferrari team hotel, Monte Carlo looks less like a city and more like a jewel box cracked open under moonlight.

Yachts glitter in the harbor like polished teeth, each more ostentatious than the last. The cliffside roads shimmer under amber streetlamps, glinting off designer storefronts and marble balconies blooming with orchids. There’s laughter drifting across the marina, music rising from some rooftop party hosted by a sponsor, a team, or someone with a last name that opens doors.

And Solana Villarosa? She doesn’t want to be part of any of it.

She should be. Technically, she was invited—expected, even—to mingle with sponsors and charm them into extending contracts and marketing dollars. Smile beside Fernando Alonso in her tailored team suit and Louboutins. Let the investors swoon over her statistics and the story of a Mexican-American girl from Riverside making it big in Ferrari red.

Instead, she’s on the balcony in a hoodie two sizes too big, her hair still damp from the shower, barefoot on cool stone. A damp towel lies crumpled near her feet. She leans against the railing, fingers curled around the ironwork, eyes trained on the city glowing below like it doesn’t know how to sleep.

Practice had gone well. P4 on the timesheets. Ahead of Kimi. Ahead of Ricciardo.

Her lap through the swimming pool chicane had been so sharp it made Sky Sports double-take.

Enough to spark whispers. Enough to rattle names once carved in marble.

But her mind isn’t on lap times.

It’s on him.

Daniel Ricciardo hasn’t said more than five words to her since Sepang. Nothing beyond neutral nods in press conferences or the occasional glance across the paddock like he’s keeping tabs but doesn’t want her to notice. Except she always notices.

She feels him in a room before she sees him. Her pulse jumps every time he walks by. It’s maddening.

The balcony door clicks open behind her.

She doesn’t move. But her body tenses, shoulders drawn tight.

A familiar voice breaks the quiet.

“Didn’t think you’d be up here,” Daniel says.

She turns her head slowly, and there he is—hoodie up, curls damp from the sea air, a six-pack barely visible in one hand and two sweating bottles in the other.

Solana arches a brow. “Didn’t think you would be.”

He offers one of the beers. She takes it without a word. The glass is cold against her palm, grounding.

“Everyone’s at the Red Bull yacht,” he says, leaning against the railing beside her. “Wasn’t in the mood for champagne and fake smiles.”

“Same.”

They stand in silence. Elbows almost brushing. Monte Carlo glows below them like a dream half-remembered. From this high up, the circuit is invisible—just the echo of rubber and speed lodged deep in the walls of the city.

Daniel exhales. “It’s mad, right? This whole place. Like someone dropped a Bond set into a tax haven.”

Solana cracks a tired smile. “We’re driving million-dollar cars through billionaires’ backyards.”

He chuckles—low, real. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Not yet. It’s the kind that waits. That listens. That wonders if one of them will finally say the thing neither of them has been able to voice.

She doesn’t know how to ask the questions that have haunted her since Malaysia.

Why did you look at me like that in Sepang? Why do you pretend I’m nothing in public and then steal glances like you’re drowning?

So instead, she says, “You were right.”

Daniel’s brows knit. “About what?”

“The spotlight. One good race and I’m a headline. One mistake and I’m just a PR stunt with cheekbones.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t brush it off. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It does that.”

She looks at him. “You humiliated me in Malaysia.”

“I know.”

He meets her eyes fully now—no dodging, no performance. “I didn’t mean to. I was pissed. At the setup. At myself. And… yeah. That you were faster.”

She doesn’t blink. “I don’t make it look effortless.”

“You do,” he says, voice rough. “And that’s the problem.”

Her jaw tightens. “So you resent me.”

“No,” he says—too fast. “Maybe.”

The word hangs there, fragile and ugly.

Solana turns, leaning her weight away from the railing. The beer rests untouched in her hand. “Because I don’t play nice? Because I don’t flirt with the press? Because I didn’t walk in with your blessing?”

His mouth tightens. “That’s not what I—”

“Then what?” she cuts in. “Since Melbourne, every time I show up, you act like I’ve taken something from you.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I just… I don’t know how to talk to you.”

She stares at him, stunned by the honesty.

Daniel breathes out hard. “You’ve been in my head since the second you walked into the paddock. And every time I try to say something that isn’t dumb or defensive or loaded, it just… doesn’t come out right.”

She’s still watching him, lips parted, expression unreadable.

Daniel’s voice softens. “When you smiled at me in the press line at Sepang… I didn’t know whether to kiss you or push you away. And I panicked. So I said something shitty instead.”

He takes a small step closer.

Her breath hitches.

“Solana…”

His gaze drops to her mouth. His voice turns quiet—nearly reverent. “You scare the hell out of me.”

And she doesn’t know who moves first—but they’re close. Too close. The world narrows down to shared breath and humming silence and the sea air tangled in her hair.

And then—he stops.

Pulls back a fraction, eyes tortured.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “Not yet.”

Her heart freezes mid-beat.

She backs away. “Right.”

She walks past him, jaw locked tight, hoodie sleeves pulled low over her wrists.

Daniel doesn’t follow.

For the first time in months, he doesn’t say anything at all.

The Next Day – Qualifying

Solana is stone-steady behind the wheel.

The SF14-T vibrates beneath her like a live thing, barely contained. The cockpit is a sauna—hot, narrow, claustrophobic—but her breathing is calm. Focused. The noise of the outside world—interviews, politics, Ricciardo—melts away the moment she flicks the engine mode to Quali and guns it out of the garage.

Monte Carlo doesn’t forgive mistakes.

Every apex here is a coin toss between brilliance and disaster. She threads the car through Sainte Devote with inches to spare, kisses the inside wall at Mirabeau like it owes her something, and absolutely sends it into the tunnel—flat-out in seventh gear, sparks flying from the floor as the car scrapes the incline.

Through the Swimming Pool chicane, the tires barely kiss the kerbs before she corrects with delicate precision.

She’s in the zone. That zone.

The car dances. She’s no longer steering—she’s translating instinct into motion. She's flying.

The radio crackles in her ear. “Box now, Solana. That’s P4. Second row.”

Static. And then Marco, her engineer, practically yelling over the roar of the pit wall: “That was magnificent!”

She exhales only once she crosses the finish line.

When she pulls into the Ferrari garage, the mechanics are on their feet. Cheers and claps echo under the awning. Someone offers her a cold water bottle the second she unclips. Her hands are shaking now, but it’s the adrenaline—pure and clean. Her helmet comes off in one smooth motion, curls sticking to her temple, neck slick with sweat.

Fernando Alonso is waiting at the back of the garage, arms folded, smirking with pride. He claps her shoulder, firm and approving.

“Strong lap,” he says. “Track position will matter tomorrow. Don’t let them take the inside at Loews.”

“I won’t,” she says. Her voice is steady. Grounded.

Marco is grinning like a maniac. “You’re getting faster every weekend. That last sector? Chef’s kiss.”

“Gracias, Marco,” she mutters, half-smiling. “Let’s make it count.”

She steps out into the pit lane, still buzzing, heartbeat ticking behind her ribs like a metronome.

The media are already swarming the barricades—Sky Sports, Canal+, ESPN Latin America. Flashes pop. Voices rise.

But her eyes sweep right—toward the Red Bull garage.

And there he is.

Daniel Ricciardo.

Helmet in hand, race suit unzipped halfway, fireproofs damp with sweat. His curls are matted to his forehead, his posture casual—but there’s something restrained in the way he leans against the wall.

His time was good. But not good enough.

P5.

Behind her. Again.

She watches him watching her. Not with smugness. Not with disdain. But with something else entirely—complicated, unreadable, suspended between guilt, respect, and something deeper he doesn’t know how to show yet.

No jokes this time. No raised brows. No sly comments.

Just quiet, simmering acknowledgment.

And he doesn’t look away.

She meets his eyes.

And for a moment, it’s like the noise around them disappears—the reporters, the fans, the radio static, the ocean beyond the pit lane. There’s just the two of them, locked in this strange, combustible orbit.

He doesn’t look away. But he doesn’t approach either.

And for now…for today…that’s enough. 

Previous Part || Next Part

[schrijverr]

The Great Non-Proposal Proposal Disaster

A drunk and tired Eddie at a 118 party, who is sprawled over the couch suddenly tells Chimney: “I’m going to ask him to marry me,” while giving Buck the biggest hearteyes.

Importantly, they are not together at this point, but Chimney assumes the secret that he's been let in on is that they secretly have been for a long while now and this is an actual serious plan Eddie has. Eddie forgets ever saying any of this, Chimney does not. This causes many problems, but maybe solves them too.

On ao3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: none

~~~

The barbecue at the Grant-Nash house should be winding down. Most of the kids have passed out around the room and the speech of adults is slurred with alcohol. The only people that are still animated are Bobby and Buck, Bobby because he doesn’t drink and Buck because he’s Buck.

As far as Chimney is aware, Maddie is on the porch with Athena, Karen and Hen. She had Jee-Yun the last time he checked, so he can just sink into the couch and watch Bobby and Buck talk through half lidded eyes.

He is distracted by Eddie falling next to him on the couch. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes glazed with the haze of alcohol. Chimney rarely sees Eddie loose-limbed like this, but it’s nice to see him relaxed for a change.

When he feels Chimney looking, he lolls his head to look back, sliding down the couch a bit more as he does. “Chris is sleeping. Him, Denny and Harry all still have controllers in their hands,” Eddie informs him, clarifying where he’d been off to.

The mental image makes Chimney snort lazily, before turning back to the scene before him. It is miraculous that either of them still feel up to digging through the pantry as they talk about ingredients, he thinks to himself.

Eddie groans and slides down further, shamelessly putting his head in Chimney’s lap as he also watches Buck and Bobby talk about some sort of spicy herb powder Bobby got at the market.

“Comfy?” Chimney asks, amused brow rising.

“Very,” Eddie sticks his tongue out. Then goes back to watching Bobby and Buck, mostly Buck, though, eyes tracking every excited gesture from the other fondly.

There is a moment of silence and Chimney is half falling asleep, since as much as he loves Buck and Bobby, they are also not that interesting and he’s old and tired. However, he gets snapped back to wakefulness by Eddie suddenly sighing: “I’m gonna ask him to marry me.”

Wide eyed and suddenly very much not half-conscious, Chimney stares at a seemingly oblivious Eddie, who has graduated from watching Buck fondly to full on heart eyes. What the fuck?

“Y-Yeah?” he manages to get out, needing to check if he heard what he just heard.

“Yeah,” Eddie says dreamily, not even looking Chimney’s way.

Chimney looks around. He needs someone to share this with, someone to also know this is happening, to help explain what is even happening. But there is no one. Only Chimney has heard and now he has to live with that.

Now that the shock is wearing off, it is starting to make a lot of sense. Since Ana and Taylor neither of them have seemed interested in dating and instead Buck has only gotten more and more involved with Chris and Eddie’s life. They have a plethora of inside jokes and hang out constantly. Honestly, now that he thinks about it, the only surprise is that Buck managed to keep it secret that him and Eddie have been dating for god knows how long.

It must have been a good while already, since Eddie is planning to propose to Buck. Chimney doesn’t know if he should feel hurt that it’s this serious and they didn’t share it with anyone, or that he should just be glad they’re together. I mean, everyone with eyes can see how in love they are, they just all assumed both were too dumb to see it themselves.

However, they did figure it out themselves! Yay. Now Eddie just has to propose and if they want a wedding they have to tell everyone and then they can all be put out of their misery and no longer have to watch the pining, because they’ll instead be sappy… which might not necessarily be better now that he thinks about it.

Fuck. It suddenly hits him that he can’t say anything until Eddie finally pops the question. If he says something before, everyone is going to interrogate them about how and when. And then Buck and Eddie will want to know how they know and Chimney definitely won’t be able to keep it a secret if that happens.

Dammit, Eddie needs to ask Buck soon, because Chimney sucks at this. He is about to inform Eddie of this fact, but when he goes to do that, he sees that Eddie has fallen asleep.

Well, fuck Eddie, he can have his beauty sleep later. Chimney is not making this mistake again. Sadly, before he can prod Eddie, Buck suddenly says: “Chim, don’t move!”

Of course, Chimney freezes, giving Buck startles eyes that quickly turn annoyed when he sees Buck has his phone out. “Really, Buck?”

“Oh shut up, you don’t know the material this asshole has on me. Him and Chris are menaces,” Buck rolls his eyes as he takes the picture.

Chimney has to make an effort to not let his face show anything. Now that he knows that Buck and Eddie are together, he is seeing it everywhere. Like of course Eddie has embarrassing sleep pictures of Buck and of course Chris is in on it. How did they all miss it?

Thankfully, Buck is distracted by taking his picture, which gives Chimney enough time to lean into the annoyance instead of the revelation. “You’re so immature.”

“How is Buck immature now?” They get interrupted by Hen, who is entering along with the others, breaking the moment and further robbing Chimney of any chance to talk to Eddie about what he has just confessed to him.

Eddie blinks awake at the interruption and Buck pouts: “Come on, I almost had a good angle.”

Chimney watches as Eddie blinks into wakefulness as he rubs his eyes, before processing the words and grinning: “You’ll never get me, Buckley,” in the most unsubtle flirting manner known to man.

All Chimney wants to do is groan ‘get a room’ but he has to last longer than that, so instead he wrestles his lips into saying: “Let’s go home,” instead, only belatedly turning to Maddie so he doesn’t look like he’s telling Eddie that.

He’s sure he is weird during the goodbyes, but how can he not be when Buck is driving home with Eddie and comes walking in with Chris asleep in his arms while Eddie does all the doors, a lovesick smile on his face. Fuck, this wedding cannot come soon enough.

Maddie even asks if he’s okay when they’re driving home. Chimney almost breaks then, but he can’t. It isn’t fair to Buck to ruin a proposal he doesn’t even know is coming by sending his sister his way, incensed at not being let in on this life change. So he just grimace-smiles and says he’s fine, before rushing off to put Jee-Yun to bed.

The next day, he gets no panicked texts or calls from Eddie about it, which is weird and when he goes into work the next day and Eddie is normal, a dread pools in his stomach. Eddie doesn’t remember telling Chimney this. The one person he could have talked to about it, doesn’t know. Shit.

It’s fine.

It is fine.

It is totally fine.

Chimney can so totally and completely do this. Now that his eyes have been opened, he can see how intertwined the two are. They’re practically married already when you objectively look at them, so the proposal can happen any minute now. Chimney can last until then.

…He will just be unable to be normal around either on of them until then, but that is just a sacrifice he’ll have to make. It’ll be fine. Eddie will propose, Buck will come in excited, everyone will know and Chimney will be able to breathe again.

Then three days of pass and nothing happens. Granted, three days is not long, but it is if you are Chimney caught in this rough situation. There are only so many times you can walk away and Hen is about to demand to check his dick to see if there is anything wrong with him, since his excuse of the bathroom is wearing thin to the point of being worrying instead.

So, Chimney starts dropping hints. It’s out of the goodness of his own heart really. Eddie should be thanking him for pushing so nothing gets ruined. And he’s subtle about it too! He just pointedly asks Eddie if there are any plans on his days off, nudges him knowingly when he catches him looking at Buck, and wiggles his brows behind Buck’s back when the two of them talk about hanging out together. Like he said, subtle.

Eddie is giving him looks whenever he does it, likely catching on to the fact that Chimney knows, but that’s okay. As long as it gets him to move, then it is worth it. Soon they’ll all know anyway and this problem will be solved.

But now a week has passed and there is still no Buck coming into work with a ring. He is starting to drag his weirdness home to Maddie, which is unacceptable. He does not want to rush Eddie in his proposal, but something has to change. For fucks sake, Buck is making cookies for Chris’s bake sale, how is Eddie not on one knee already?

Meanwhile Eddie does indeed not remember telling Chimney any of that and is only slightly panicking because it seems that Chimney has caught on to his feelings for Buck. This would be less than ideal, since Eddie is planning to take these feelings with him to the grave.

Buck is so important to him, he cannot imagine his life without him. He craves for them to be something other than they are now, but he is scared to change it. Chimney’s nudging has made hin aware of how obvious he’s being, but he can’t seem to change it, looking away from Buck is just impossible.

However, it is not just all bad. Chimney’s nudging is knowing, too knowing. It’s almost as if he truly does know something, something other than Eddie’s crush. They’re all nosy and meddlers, but he feels like Chimney wouldn’t do all this just to fuck with Eddie when he knew how anxious Eddie is about it all. Which means he must know something. Maybe even something about Buck’s feelings.

If there is a person Buck would tell he likes Eddie, it is Maddie. And if there is a person she would tell, it’s Chimney. And if there is a person who can’t keep a secret, then it’s Chimney. Therefore, there is a chance that Buck likes him back, but also isn’t willing to risk it.

Of course, this is not set in stone, but the idea makes him feel better about the whole thing. Which means that Eddie is prepped when Chimney finally cracks.

Chimney cracks exactly eight days after the party where Eddie confessed to his and Buck’s secret relationship and to his proposal plans, a personal record for keeping a secret.

Today’s shift has been terrible. They are not subtle in the slightest and if Chimney has to go another day of watching a blushing Buck as Eddie gets something out of his hair, or them practically on top of each on the couch, or them flirting in the middle of a high stakes rescue, without the ability to say something about it? He is going to scream and tear all his hair out.

They’re off for 48 hours after this, which means that Chimney has decided Eddie has more than enough time to pull together a proper proposal. On top of that, sinceBuck has his stupid sperm donation, they’re not leaving together for a change. So, Chimney can yank Eddie to the side when shift is done.

“You have to ask Buck.”

“What?”

“You have to ask Buck,” Chimney repeats. “I know, okay. I know and I can’t keep my mouth shut, so if you want to do it, before I explode and do it for you, then please, do so. Quickly.”

Eddie blinks for a few seconds, then blushes as he bashfully rubs his neck and asks: “You think he will go for it?”

Oh my god, really? He’s insecure about it? All he needed was a fucking pep talk? Chimney has been suffering for this? He levels a look at Eddie and says: “Eddie, that man is so gone for you, it is almost nauseating with how sweet it is. Please, put all of us out of our misery and ask.”

“It’s a big change. What if it goes wrong? What if he says no?” Eddie says, nervous now. Chimney has never seen Eddie nervous like this.

Instantly, he softens a little, remembering that Eddie is nearly a decade younger and very much burned by a marriage before. “Buck’s not going to say no, I promise. What you two have is solid. It can only get better. You just got to ask.”

“Thank you, Chim,” Eddie smiles, straightening his spine a little and giving him a nod, before marching out of the firehouse with a pep in his step, hopefully to finally put a fucking ring on Buck’s finger.

“Just doing my duty,” Chimney says, mostly to himself now. Just 48 more hours, then he’ll be released of this hell and they can all be happy for the engaged couple. He almost made it. Thank fuck.

To not go insane during those 48 hours, he drops Jee-Yun off at the Lee’s and whisks Maddie away to a no phones spa. He cannot deal with the suspense of waiting for a text that he did it from Eddie. If Buck wanted to immediately tell his sister he got engaged, then he shouldn’t have had a secret relationship behind her back. Chimney is totally writing this up to plausible deniability if confronted.

Still, despite his maybe harsh attitude, he is buzzing with excitement in the kitchen next shift, waiting for Buck and Eddie to come in. After all he has gone through for them, he thinks he is entitled to feeling smug about knowing first and keeping it a secret.

When they come in, he instantly knows it happens, because Buck is practically beaming, looking as if he’s about to burst with happiness, while Eddie’s shoulders are relaxed and he’s staring at Buck with open adoration.

He sees Hen and Bobby exchange looks, them also catching onto the couple. However, Chimney struggled for them, so he gets first dibs on commenting. So he grins and calls out: “Okay, you two, show us the ring.”

Instead of an even bigger grin like Chimney has expected, Buck frowns in confusion at him, while everyone else turns to look at him, a ‘what the fuck’ written all over their faces. Eddie is just staring at him as if he can’t believe this is happening. “Ring?” he finally squeaks.

“Yeah. Ring,” Chimney says slowly, not sure what isn’t clicking. “You were going to ask Buck to marry you. You told me. Since you two have been dating in secret for god knows how long without telling us. Which is rude, by the way.”

Buck now turns to look at Eddie, smile back, though shier as he says: “You said that?”

“I- I don’t remember that,” Eddie stammers now bright red. “And I never said that. I- You told me to ask Buck out, not propose to him!”

“What? No!” Chimney responds. “You’re already together, why would you need to ask him out?”

“Since when have we been together?” Buck says, now registering the rest. “We had one date. Did I miss us dating?”

“No, you didn’t. I only just asked,” Eddie panics.

“Okay, what is happening?” Chimney mutters, unsure how they went from A to B.

Bobby and Hen both watch the chaos unfold for a moment, before Hen steps in: “Okay. Shut it. Eddie, just tell us what happened.”

“Hey, no fair! Why does he get to tell his side?” Chimney protests.

“As one of the people actually involved in the relationship or engagement, or whatever, I feel like he knows better,” Hen says, condescendingly sympathetic.

“Rude,” Chimney mutters, but he shuts up.

“Eddie,” Hen prompts, gesture for Eddie to explain. Next to her, Chimney crosses his arms expectingly, curious how Eddie will get himself out of this one.

Meanwhile Eddie is flustered a bright red and explains: “Chimney started acting weird like a week and a half ago. I thought he caught onto my feelings for Buck or knew something, then he pulls me aside and tells me to just ask Buck. I thought he meant ask him out. And I did. We went on one date, just one. No secret relationship. We were going to tell all of you immediately.”

“Yeah, I can confirm, only one date. I would have not been able to keep that secret,” Buck interjects, holding his hand up like he’s in a classroom wanting to get a turn to speak.

“We know, Buck,” Bobby says gently, which is so rude. Chimney knows what he heard, he can’t believe he’s getting betrayed like this. He knew Eddie kind of forgot, but he remembered when Chimney reminded him. How else would he know what Chimney was talking about?

“Chimney,” Hen asks, which is why she is his favorite, because Chimney deserves to have his story heard.

“Eddie told me he was going to ask Buck to marry him,” Chimney explodes. “He did. I heard it with my own ears. He said it and then he didn’t ask and I have been suffering in silence trying to not ruin his proposal for Buck and now he’s pretending like he doesn’t know anything!”

“When did he say that?” Bobby asks, trying to soothe the situation.

“At the barbecue!” Chimney exclaims. “He was watching you and Buck putter around and straight up said, and I quote, ‘I am gonna ask him to marry me.’ How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

“You said that?” Buck asks Eddie, voice quiet and awed.

“Uhm, I- I don’t remember doing that,” Eddie flushes, not meeting Buck’s eyes.

Cautious and fragile, Buck asks: “Did you- did you mean it?”

Eddie’s eyes snap up and he looks caught for a moment. Impossibly, he becomes more red as he swallows thickly, then softly admits: “Uhm, may- maybe. Would that- would that be… okay?”

A smile blooms on Buck’s face as he nods: “Yeah, that- that would very much be okay.”

“Oh, that’s- that’s good, so uhm-” Eddie searches for his words, clearly wanting to do something, but unsure how or if he should.

Watching them now, it begins to dawn on Chimney that maybe Eddie had not been lying about them not being together and there not being a proposal plan. That these idiots truly had not figured their shit out together before these past two days and Eddie just said that because he is a fucking asshole, who likes to make Chimney suffer with his lovesick foolishness.

“No,” he interrupts them, breaking the moment as they both snap their eyes to him. “After all I have been through, you are not proposing to Buck like this after one date. You are getting a ring and doing it right and keeping me the fuck out of it when you do it.”

“Hey, no fair, he can do whatever he wants. If my boyfriend wants to ask me to marry me, he can,” Buck argues, having Eddie’s back, because of course he does. He always has.

“Boyfriend?” Eddie repeats, bashfully happy.

“I mean, if that’s okay,” Buck offers.

“Oh my god, you can’t jump straight into being fiances,” Hen exclaims, realizing at the same time as Chimney does that they haven’t even had the boyfriend talk yet, but are jumping head first into the fucking marriage talk.

“We can do whatever we want,” Buck sticks out his tongue.

“Yeah, what he said,” Eddie says, because he also will always have Buck’s back.

“You don’t rush these things,” Hen argues.

“Everyone calm down,” Bobby also inserts himself into the explosion of noise as voices overlap while they all argue.

Chimney is pretty sure neither Buck nor Eddie care about what any of them say and are walking out of this shift engaged. He went through all this trouble to not ruin Buck’s proposal and all he did was rob Buck of a proposal.

As he listens to them talk he can only think one thing; Maddie is going to kill me for keeping her out of the loop on this. He should have really learned his lesson about not involving himself in Buckley secrets.

~~

A/N:

A moment of silence for Chimney here lmao. Like he did not deserve any of this and it is not his fault Buck and Eddie are like this xp

I have been writing so many secretly married fics that it was nice to change it up for a fic, even if you got to keep them the idiot4idiot that they are (affectionate)

[queenofmorningstar]

hmmm 🧐 How about when the Vee’s are having a bad day what do WE (as the reader)🫡 do to spoil/comfort them to make them feel better when being in a piss baby mood? Or just a having bad day in studio/office?

The Vees x Reader

Part 1| Part 2

Notes: Thank you for such a unique ask! I really enjoyed doing this one ❤️✨I hope u like it (❁´◡`❁)

Vox

When Vox starts to bitch about Alastor again, there are only few ways you can comfort him. You'll have to practically drag him away from his screens if you want him to calm down any soon.

While he rants on and on, you quickly change him into his fav shark hoodie and pull him to rest his face/screen in your lap while he bitches about Alastor. Your gentle, soothing touch eventually evaporates his anger.

You convince him to watch trash rom-coms with you for the rest of the night. He'll complain how dramatic and unrealistic it is, but still watch all of it with you.

“He’s a smug, old-timey prick!”

You stroked his chest soothingly. “Mhm.”

Vox crossed his arms. “Always grinning. Like he invented entertainment. Ugh!” “He absolutely did not, sweetheart.”

Velvette

Vel would be in a bad mood if in her studio her employees are being incompetent or Valentino was in one of his moods again and decided to wreak her other models. She will fire people on random and get really irritated.

When you come to comfort her, her employees are relieved because at least they will live to see another day. You'd have to call for a break so you can have some alone time.

You bring out her fav drink - Rosé Sparkling Wine, to calm her down, while you show her some the best sketches you both worked on during late nights. To make her forget her stress completely, arrange for a spy day to go to together! You just turned her day into one of the best.

Velvette sinks deeper into the tub. “…You’re lucky I love you. I was about to stab the next person who told me what to do.”

You smiled, reaching over to refill her glass. “Which is why I told you to exfoliate instead.”

Vel snorted. “Smart girl.”

You clink your glasses gently and sit back as soft music plays in the background.

Valentino

Oh, you can tell Val is having a bad day very soon. Broken stuff all over the place. Has shot a couple of sinners.

You'll have to guide him to the bed or couch and sit on his lap, not letting him go anywhere. You talk to him about other stuff, like gossip going on between Overlords, anything that takes his mind off stuff that makes him angry.

He likes it even more when you light his cigarette, and when you fill his glass with whiskey.

You sat casually, like you didn’t just stop a murder. “So get this—Vel’s makeup artist? Totally sleeping with Vox’s lighting tech. I saw them sneaking out of wardrobe.”

Val raised his brows. “No shit? Maybe I should get them for the next movie...”

You nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass before handing it back. “Of course baby, but listen to this...”

[itertarot]

One ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Would you survive?

Yes for sure you would survive girl, not only because of Leon but because you are smart asf.

What would Leon think of you?

Leon would find you hard to deal with, he would think you are smart and you can help him because of it but you both would enter in disagreement a lot, leading to unnecessary fights when you have no time to waste. He would believe that you both could come out alive as long as you both use your minds together, it seems that you both would have great ideas. But he would also think that sometimes you can be too pessimistic, thinking that you lost without even trying. Let us say you could have a breakdown in the middle of that place, it would make him worried about you losing it mentally.

Who would you face?

You will have to face the Bella Sisters, it would be a fast battle, but the trauma from it would be long lasting. You would have to rely on Leon to do it, because you are not strong enough to face them.

Additional information:

Ada would have some kind of sympathy for you, but she would think you need urgently to rest and get safe before you break, she knows for sure that you are not going to be able to have a good night of sleep after all of it. She might also think you are going insane and fear may paralyze you soon.

Luis would like your dynamic with Leon, but he would think that you are going to die, he sees you as smart, but he does not have a strong opinion already, all he would think is “let us see where it goes but I guess she will die here.”

How will you escape?

Jetski

Two ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Would you survive?

Yes you would a 100% survive, actually your path there seems to be cleaner and easier than pile 1 🤭 also you would feel a great sense of victory getting out of there instead of staying with a lot of traumas.

What would Leon think of you?

OKAY SO THERE’S SOME CHEMISTRY HERE 🤭🤭🤭 not trying to make you delulu but yeah he would be quite attracted to you, definitely develop a crush on you, like you were meant to meet, align so well, because you make his heart soft he would feel the need to protect you and be the man he is: stable, reliable and rough. That man would not let anything get to you😭 But he would also feel very uneasy and doubtful if he should make a move or not, in the end he would feel that he missed a chance because nothing will happen between you, even though he wants, and yes he would think of you.

Who would you face?

You would face Ramon Salazar or Bitores Mendez, the fight would be honestly an easy win, they would not be a big problem and as they would be alone, they will not have a bigger advantage over Leon. Leon would be the one fighting them, you would be hurt by the time of the fight so he would go alone, but you would be SO SURE that he would win the fight.

Additional info:

Ada would notice that something is going on between you two, she would be heavy on her mind thinking if she is not going crazy believing there is something romantic in your connection. I do not see any jealousy though, more curiosity.

Luis would also notice it, he would see Leon wanting so bad to protect you and for sure he would think you are a woman who is worth dying for, he would for sure be friends with you.

How would you escape?

You would be rescued, they (Leon's work) would find a way to get you both.

Three ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Would you survive?

In your case, I believe you would survive, but Leon may not make it, and it is not even canon in Resident Evil 4, but yes girl, you are getting out alive alone 😭

Who would you face?

The enemy you would have to face is Saddler, and the whether would be so cold and honestly terrifying, but even while being so exhausted you would still have a spark of hope that maybe you could come out alive if you win this battle. Okay, so I pulled more cards to see about it, and you would not be fighting him yourself, of course you are not strong enough, Leon would be the one! And being honest, it would be so hard for him that he would not have any other choice but to buy you time to get away, so yes, you are going to get out alive, but now we know why he did not make it. He did not have time to escape, he would die there with Saddler ☹️

What would Leon think of you?

Leon would think you are clever, but also naive in a sense, he cannot quite figure you out, so he notices you are smart, but in this situation you seem so helpless, so weak in almost a cute way, so fragile. He would think he needs to protect you out of duty, and he for sure would know that only one of you will come out alive, and he would choose to let you live.

Additional information:

Ada would think you are a burden for Leon, someone who slows him down and makes his work more difficult. She would not be your biggest fan honestly, and she would also think you are too guarded in a way that you do not let them help you properly.

Luis would like you, he may even feel an attraction towards you, but nothing would come out of it and he would think you are so not interested in any of them, like you just do not want to cooperate and deal with anyone.

How would you escape?

Someone would rescue you, probably Ada Wong, not because she wants to, but because she would give her word that she would do it. She would not help you get home though, only get you out of immediate danger.

[lieran03]

Sudden Sickness

Love and Deepspace Fanfic

When you suddenly get sick, how would he take care of you?

Genre: Fluff/slice of life Pairing: Zayne x fem!reader (usage of Snowflake as nickname) Words: 2.152 Warning: none! A/N: got stuck in a rough month, and suddenly getting sick, this fic came to accompany me if I got sick in the future

Writing commission || Ko-fi || AO3 acc

MASTERLIST

Rafayel's || Xavier's || Sylus' || Caleb's

A frown and a look of displeased was seen on Zayne’s face. With his work attire, wearing his doctor coat, the girl shrank in her seat. It should be a regular check-up, like an everyday thing she does, especially after she finishes a hard mission that goes on for days. Yet, this time, the person in front of her wasn’t only Zayne, her childhood friend and partner.

The person in front of her was Doctor Zayne Li, her primary physician.

“I think I told you to eat properly. Did the Hunter Association didn’t provide real food to their agents? It was a long mission, and a tough one. Taking care of oneself is just a basic human instinct. But I guess, right now, you didn’t have that.”

“Zayne,” a whine was heard as a call.

“It was Doctor Zayne for you. You’re still inside my room.” Hearing the way Zayne responded, a pout could be seen, the girl shrank back to the seat she was currently in. “Your condition has been strange since yesterday, and for tonight, you will go straight to rest.”

“Why are you acting like this now, Doctor Zayne?” The girl’s question made Zayne lift his glasses, which slid down from the bridge of his nose. One look from the man told her everything. “Sorry, I should have taken care of myself better. But it’s not my fault! The mission was important, I barely had time to eat ….”

The more she tried to defend herself, the more she sounded weak, looking down and avoiding Zayne’s gaze as if he would be able to eat her alive. Noticing her act, both of her hands were squeezing the other in fear, Zayne let out a long sigh and rubbed his temple. It’s not the first time things like this have happened between them, and each time, he has always been the one to yield.

“We can eat dinner together, I only need to wrap up before I can go home. I will drive you too.”

Instead of a clear answer, the girl only mumbled for a few moments, not giving an answer to Zayne or anything that would satisfy him. Being scolded by him is not the best thing, and even when she already knew it was because he cared about her, the feeling she felt right now never changed. Zayne did make her feel like she neglected herself.

Knowing his lover for a long time, it was easy for him to notice what made her act like now. Another sigh came from him before he patted her hair, looking at her with gentle eyes and trying to smile. It’s not her fault for getting herself stuck with a condition that shows she lacks sleep and has barely eaten in the past few days.

She is just too devoted to her work.

“Let’s grab something to eat now, Snowflake.”

With the changing tone from Zayne and the look he gives, a small smile finally emerges from her. She stood up almost too fast, showing how eager she was to run away from the dreaded seat. However, with the sudden movement, she became lightheaded almost as fast as she stood up. Both of her hands went towards Zayne’s table to stabilize herself.

“Are you really that eager to walk away from this check-up?” Zayne asked, words tinted with a hint of a joke. When he got nothing as a reply, he knew the condition was far worse. “Should we just order food? You like them, right? I can cook for you too, but you haven’t eaten since this morning ….”

“Let’s just eat outside, and then we can go home,” she cut his words, giving an off smile.

Zayne couldn’t say anything else. Looking at how the girl acted, he felt like there was something she was trying to hide. Yet, when he just scolded her, he didn’t feel like nagging her one more time. He wanted to trust her, wanting to make sure that she was comfortable and knew he only cared for her, and was scared she would get sick.

His negligence, hoping to create a comfortable place for her, only made a hole in their relationship. She was silent all the time throughout the time he was driving. She did talk now and then when they ate, but Zayne noticed something was different with the way she acted. The question inside him was held back with fear. A fear of making her infuriated with his act.

The moment they were at home, Zayne couldn’t even ask if she wanted to wash up or if she wanted some warm tea first. The moment she entered the house, she went straight to the bathroom, not leaving any words to Zayne or a warning if she wanted to clean up first. Being worried more than before, Zayne decided to boil some water, making tea for her before bed, just like usual.

“Is something wrong with you? Did you … Did I hurt you with my words?” Zayne asked when he went to bed, discarding his work for the night just so he could have peace of mind. “I need to know what I did wrong first so I can apologize properly.”

The frown on Zayne’s face made the girl stare a little longer than usual. The same off smile was seen once again. “It’s not you who are in the wrong, I know that you’re just trying to remind me to take care of myself. I can be very forgetful about the important things, but you’re always there to remind me. I just feel … a bit off?”

“Your temperature has risen since before,” Zayne said when he put his hand to her forehead, trying to measure and compare it to when he was checking her at the hospital. “It might be an early stage of fever. I have made some tea, it's supposed to calm you so you can sleep without any problem.”

“Thank you, Zaynie,” she said, leaning on Zayne’s hand that went to her cheek.

“Next time, I would be more than happy if you could tell me about this beforehand. Even though we can prevent it now, I still think that the sooner the better. And no, it’s not me scolding you, I just wanted to make sure you’re always in good health.”

By the end of his words, Zayne was getting closer to the girl’s face, and he was hesitant for a moment before kissing her forehead. His cold lips were in contrast to her burning forehead, giving a strange sensation to the girl’s whole body. Although it was strange, part of her also enjoyed the sensation given.

While drinking the tea, making sure that it was still warm until it finished, there were no words exchanged between them. Zayne has always enjoyed the serene moments spent with them. Now and then, Zayne would look at the girl to make sure that the fever didn’t get worse; he also wanted to see if there were any changes in her body, such as chapped lips.

“For now, you'd better sleep. Rest as much as you need so your body can recover. We didn’t need you to suddenly fall sick or get worse than this.”

“Zayne … you told me to tell you sooner, right?” the girl started hesitantly, didn’t know if she should say it or not. When she finally locked eyes with Zayne, the hesitation was long gone. He needs to know. “My throat started to get itchy … did you think that maybe I’m already sick?”

Zayne was silent, a bit shocked to hear the honest words. However, he didn’t have time to reply to her or respond to any of her speculation as she started to talk nonstop, making assumptions about her condition and what might have happened to her tomorrow. It’s not until she coughs, Zayne takes the cup in her hand, puts it away, and hugs her, taking her to lie down with him.

“Whatever that might happen tomorrow, let it be for tomorrow. Your doctor is here after all, are you going to be the one to make the call about your sickness?” A low laugh, followed by another short cough, came from the girl. “That’s right, relax when you’re with me. We can take care of tomorrow together.”

Zayne’s words were filled with doubt. He didn’t know what would happen the next day, he didn’t know how worse it would be, but he was sure he would be with her through her sickness. The moment she got dramatic, the moment she started to think that she was in the worst situation, and when she started to worry about being a trouble.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be with you all the time. I can’t not come to the hospital today. But I’ve gotten your breakfast ready here, with your medicine. I will call you when I’m available, so please keep your phone’s notification on.” Guilt can be seen on Zayne’s face when he leans down, giving a light kiss on her burning forehead. “I’m not working overtime tonight.”

As he already expected, the sickness came crashing down on her, making her barely able to wake up from bed. As much as he wanted to stay by her side, he did know how important his work was, and how she would be disappointed if he didn’t come to work just because of her. As an exchange, Zayne did ask if she wanted to be treated at the hospital instead.

A clear no came, telling that she didn’t want to bother him while at work, and she knew she would be okay at home. She might get lonely at the moment he’s not there, but his phone call and voice message were enough for her to be able to stay put. With no one at home, she was groaning and crying as much as she wanted.

Taking a picture of what she eats, making sure Zayne knows she has eaten the medicine, and even a picture of herself lying down on the bed, she sent everything with the hope that Zayne would come home faster. While she was fast asleep, snoring lightly, Zayne stepped inside the house, noticing the slight mess she had made that he told her not to worry about.

“Your fever has come down a bit,” Zayne whispered while giving a light kiss. Once he finished cleaning the house, even preparing for dinner, he entered the bedroom to notice a sign of crying. “Does your throat still hurt? Is there anything uncomfortable with your body?”

“Zayne …?”

“I’m here, Snowflake. And I’m ready to take care of you.”

“But you’ve been taking care of a lot of patients all day.”

When a pout was seen, Zayne couldn’t help but chuckle. “There’s still one patient I haven’t properly taken care of. Your primary physician is here, and it’s my duty to take care of you. Dinner is here, and then you should drink your medicine.”

Zayne’s tone was not forcing her, just telling. A lot of sorry and kisses came from him, caressing her cheek and wiping off the tear stain. It was faint, but it was there. Feeling guilty won’t be enough; the only thing he could do was to take care of her, spoon-feed her, and help her to drink the medicine. The bitter taste of the medicine was easier to take with Zayne with her.

Sitting on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, and embracing herself with his scent. Somehow, with his presence, the sickness she was currently having felt easier to face, her body had become lighter instead of uncomfortable all day, and her heart felt full with Zayne’s care and attention. All of that for her only.

“You’re warm …,” she mumbled, nuzzling closer to his body. Sensing that the medicine had started to kick in, Zayne started to move and made sure she was comfortable lying on top of him. “My whole body aches strangely, and I think I will die. It feels really bad without you around, but I’m doing good, right?”

“Of course, you are. May I say, you’re the bravest Hunter who faces this sickness alone. Next time … if something like this happens again, I will try to make some time for you.”

It was silent for a moment before an answer could be heard. “It’s okay. Waiting for you was worth it, Zayne. At least I know, when I’m sick, you’re always there taking care of me too. The message, the soup you made, everything. And at the end … I will be able to embrace you like this. The wait is worth it.”

“Then, sleep tight, Snowflake. You will get better tomorrow. No more sickness for you,” Zayne mumbled before giving a light peck to her lips, sending her to the dreamland to wish her healthy.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

vampire!The8 x Reader: little heavens.

DATE OF RELEASE: 29th June, 2025

WORD COUNT: 2 142

RATING: +13

GENRE: fluff, vampire!AU

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, nothing graphic

SUMMARY: Sometimes it's just about resting off the blood loss and being vulnerable in each other's presence.

You feel safe, and you have a thought that it shouldn't be the case, that, holistically, you're in a situation that should repulse you and terrify you. Yet, your heart beats calmly and you allow yourself to close your eyes and relax into the soft mattress of a canopy bed that is currently your little heaven. 

It feels like your eyelids are almost glued together and any discomforts disappear when you shift a little, finding the perfect angle for yourself. The little band aid on your neck doesn't press against it anymore, and the pain dulls out, exchanged with the bliss of apathy. You wonder if your lack of concern is just another symptom of blood loss. But you quickly dismiss that thought – you were comfortable even before then, even through pain that accompanied the blood loss itself. So maybe it's not the blood loss, after all. Maybe it's just you.

Something shifts – you hear it briefly, but your eyes stay closed when the mattress dips behind you. He shouldn't be able to see your face from there, but he must somehow be aware of the small smile on your lips, because his hand cups your jaw from behind and he leans down, pressing a careful kiss onto your temple.

The kiss is modest, it speaks with delicacy, yet doesn’t cross the boundaries. The two of you are not lovers – more of friends with benefits, even if the benefits aren’t exactly what one would expect. But, you notice, if you were lovers instead, would anything change? The intimate act of vampire feeding is a love language Minghao taught you to speak fluently.

“Have you slept at all?” he asks in a whisper that doesn’t disturb the bubble of comfort you’re nested within.

“Not yet” you mumble in a hoarse voice. “I just laid down, no?”

“An hour ago” he specifies, and you blink your eyes open.

Through the windows of your bedroom, you don’t see the sun, but neither did you see it before and so you cannot tell how much time passed since the last time you looked outside. It is a deep, comfortable night, a time you would normally be asleep at, if not for how your affair with Minghao impacted your sleep schedule in the past months. The small lamp at the bedside table is the only source of light, although dim, only enough to let you roughly tell your surroundings apart.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Maybe you dozed off and didn’t notice” he speaks softly, but there is a vague shade of concern in his voice, barely there, just a hint. His thumb caresses the corner of your lip. “I think I’ve been too harsh on you these days. You should rest for some time. Your body needs to rest.”

“It doesn’t…” You argue, but your voice lacks confidence and you make up for it, turning around onto your back and facing him directly. “I’m fine, I promise!” You lift your hand to your forehead in a drowsy imitation of a salute, but your muscle is weakened and your fingers knock into your eye instead. You let out an annoyed whine.

Minghao holds back a chuckle and shakes his head, taking your unlucky hand in his and massaging the center of it with his palm. His skin is warm, you note – he’s full and satiated, and it shows in how gentle and calm his movements are. Not that there were ever times when he was not gentle to you; yet, he becomes a bit more irritable when too hungry, like there is some longing in him, some sort of primal vulnerability when he finally gets to feed. But it’s not there now. Now, he allows you to be vulnerable instead.

“I don’t need to feed on you as often as I usually do. You don’t need to push yourself.”

“Ah, so you’ve been feeding on me for the mere experience of it~?” you joke.

Your laughter dies in your throat when Minghao’s touch on you stills, and, in a firm, controlled movement, he brings your hand to his mouth, letting his fangs hover above your pulse.

“Can you blame me for that? This is divine.” For a second, you thought he will bite down, and your body tenses a little when he brings his lips down.

Yet, nothing but a kiss to your wrist follows, and you relax instantly. Not this time, you realize – he will stick to his word.

“Does it really taste that good?” you wonder.

With some confidence and strength regained, you find yourself brave enough to maneuver your hand onto his face instead, cupping the side of his jaw. It’s your turn to play with your thumb against his mouth, and you dare to lift his lip a little, exposing one of the sharp teeth. It feels and looks like your own, if not for the elongated shape – but, as you move your fingertip down and feel the underside, it’s sharp. You find yourself reaching with your free hand to your own mouth, touching your own teeth to compare. Minghao stifles laughter.

“You don’t have any self-preservation, do you?” He finally stops your antics by prying your hand off with his own, but holds it like before. Is it an act of intimacy or a way to prevent you from fooling around anymore – you cannot tell. But you smile innocently, though your eyes become drowsy again. “But, to answer your question, there are different factors to the way blood tastes. Your blood type, for example.”

“Do I have a good type?”

He purses his lips, thinking for a moment, and you find yourself frowning, because you expected a straightforward answer.

“I don’t have much preference. It’s a nuance.” He looks away, pondering a few more moments. “Also, the minerals and vitamins you have. Healthy blood always tastes better.”

You gasp.

“That’s why you’ve been giving me the vitamin pills! And here I thought you’re just caring for me!” The offense in your voice is totally fake, but it’s enough to make Minghao glare at you with his eyebrows furrowed. You giggle and he shakes his head – it seems he thought you’re being serious for a second, but he quickly realizes you are just trying to start a friendly banter.

“You had like five different deficiencies when we met” he deadpans. For some reason it makes you laugh even more.

“Fine, fine, fair enough. But” you lift your finger at him “you decided it’s still worth drinking. So it’s surely not all that matters, right?”

 Minghao ponders on it, weighing his words for a few moments. His eyes are fixated on you and you return his gaze.

“The third factor is the hormonal compatibility” he finally announces. “Vampires naturally form a preference towards the taste of people they are attracted to.”

The weight of his words lingers in the air and sinks in gradually. It shouldn’t surprise you, really – although the relationship between the two of you is not romantic, you would be a fool to not sense the fondness in Minghao’s attitude, regardless of whether he fed recently or not. It becomes more and more prominent as the two of you grow closer, and you realize – it wouldn’t be the case over blood only; he came to you of all people, he chose you, it seems, even less for the biological aspect of your blood’s actual flavor than you believed thus far.

“Does this work both ways?” you suddenly ask and Minghao tilts his head to the side. “I mean… does it feel any different because I, uh, I like you?”

You weren’t planning for the confession to slip so casually, and you feel your face heat up at that. Minghao stares at you with his lips parted, as if still processing what he just heard. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly when it finally sinks in, and his mouth curves into a smug grin.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Minghao’s voice sounds with mischief and he suddenly shifts, releasing your hand from his own and leaning over, as though into a kiss – but when he leans down, his nose nuzzles your neck instead. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine; your breath hitches, and your heartbeat quickens, although barely finding the strength to. Your body is accustomed, it knows what should follow. Except, again, this time it doesn’t.

Minghao lets out a low chuckle and pulls back, seemingly satisfied with your reaction.

But your head spins a little and your eyes cloud for a brief second. Minghao’s face softens; a short-lived concern before he relaxes, placing his palm on top of your forehead. It feels like the gesture of checking your temperature, but you’re aware that he cannot really tell, given his own body’s tends to adjust to the environment. But the action is comforting, it puts you at ease, makes you feel well taken care of, even if it holds no practical value.

If it was up to you, you could stay like this forever.

A small sigh escapes Minghao’s lips as he pulls away, looking towards the window thoughtfully. You vaguely note that his face became more visible to you, and, although you don’t look over there, you suspect the sky is starting to brighten, and it won’t be long before the morning welcomes you. You will be asleep by that time, and you will be asleep at least a few hours into the day as well – but Minghao will stay away from you for longer, hidden until the sun sets again.

“Stay the day here” you mumble. “Pull the curtains over and stay until tomorrow.”

 He hesitates. You suspect he doesn’t want to bother you – once here, he won’t be able to leave until the day comes to an end, and the curtains will have to stay pulled over to keep him from burning.

“Both of us will be asleep for most of the day” you argue, even though he didn’t speak up his concern yet. “And I need someone to make me food.” He lifts his eyebrow, although you know – this argument seems to work, because Minghao puts your wellbeing as his priority, especially when he’s the cause behind your weakness.

He finally surrenders, and your face brightens at the shift in his expression, betraying as much even before he speaks a word.

“Go back to sleep” he commands, standing up. You watch as he walks over to your window, casting one longing gaze at the sky slowly acquiring a deep shade of blue even before any sign of sun pokes through. Then his fingers fidget with the thread that makes the curtains go down, and the room is swallowed by the darkness again, save for that one dim light at your bedside table. The curtains aren’t tight enough to keep it this dark throughout the day – in fact, you wonder if they’re dark enough for Minghao to feel comfortable while here, and you make a mental note to acquire something more reliable.

“Stay with me” you ask, trying to keep yourself cool despite the nature of this request. “Not like you have anything better to do.”

“I need to close the curtains in other rooms before the sun rises” he replies as a matter-of-fact, not looking at you as he walks towards the door.

But your whine makes him stop and turn towards you one last time with poorly faked annoyance – the glimmer in his eyes betraying his amusement instead.

“What, do you want me to burn down?” His voice is raised, as if he was actually offended, and you respond with a laughter.

“I’m sure you will be perfectly safe under my bedsheets” you wink.

Minghao’s eyeroll is almost audible.

You yawn and your eyelids slip closed for just a second. When you pry them open again, he is already out of your sight, and your surroundings’ comfortable silence is disturbed only by the muffled sound of movements in another room.

The chatter was nice, and you wish you could continue it once he’s done. But you don’t think you have it in you to stay up any longer. Your eyes still feel sticky and your muscles are almost limp, making you sink into the mattress like it was shaped exactly for your body. It’s warm and so comfortable that you might just melt into it and forget about everything else.

But, you believe, you can just chat later again. He won’t leave. He will stay with you.

Your canopy bed is currently your little heaven, and, ironically, Minghao seems to have taken the role of your guardian angel. It might go against the common sense to consider him as such, you suspect. However, neither is your trust and fondness for him something said common sense would approve of. And you’re completely, entirely okay with that.

A/N: Please reblog if you enjoyed and check out my masterlist for more SVT fics. And, of course, follow if you would like to read more in the future. Thank you for your time!

NETWORKS: @blossomnet @svthub @k-vanity