#Inhuman!Trip AU

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 9: Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader "Petals."

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual jokes, sexual tension, Nightmare, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Drowning, Mention of Vomiting, SUPER GROSS SUPERPOWER, Reader is really oblivious, and I mean REALLY oblivious. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just really fluffy and I didn't want to keep it to myself, because it makes me so happy. Well, after the first part at least.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Rain glazed all the sharp edges of the world outside the car, smearing the drops against the windows with a heavy hand. The humid air breathed and iced the glass, but did not disrupt the droplets that raced quickly by, catching and sparkling in the sporadic streetlights along the twisting road.

Your mother was singing softly along to "Nights In White Satin", the haunting melody building with every note, your father's deep baritone weaving with hers to make a wonderful melody in the silence of the night. The smell of rain seeped through the ancient air conditioning, the heady scent of wet earth and clean water filling the cab of your family's car.

 You smile to yourself in the backseat, sleepy and content, tracing a single finger against the smudged glass to watch each raindrop race against the fogged glass. You could still taste the chocolate ice cream on the tip of your tongue from the cone your parents have bought you on the way home, your hands and cheeks sticky with the remains. The leather seats of your family car are worn in and soft beneath you from years of family trips all over the United States. There was still a loose marble rolling around back and forth with every gentle rock of the car as it moved smoothly over the wet roads, a comfort when you were a baby and you couldn't sleep and your parents drove around the block to send you into the sweet abyss.

The sharp plunk of rain against the windshield is heavy, but your father reaches to turn up the song on the radio, flicking his eyes to smile at your mother one final time. And as he glances back up he shouts something.

You can't hear what it is, only that when you look out the windshield you see a brilliant flash of white light coming straight for the car and feel the car jerk to the right as your father yanks on the wheel. There's an awful sound of concrete against metal, a high pitched screech that you can't forget followed by the almost inhuman scream of terror that comes from your mother's mouth, as the car breaks through the concrete side of the bridge and goes off the road.

There's an awful moment of weightlessness and when the car hits the water everything goes black.

You jolt upwards out of bed, screaming at the top of your lungs, chest heaving and gasping for air as the memory of water filling your lungs floors your senses. You shudder involuntarily, rocking back and forth as you try to shake off the memory of your parent's death.

No one really knew what happened that night, what the bright light was that you saw or where it came from. The detective said that it had to be lightning, but it hadn't looked like lightning to you. Your parents had drowned inside, but you survived. When the police arrived on the scene of the crash they found you on the bank of the river with the branches of the trees forming a protective cage around you. The back windshield of the car had been completely destroyed, blown inward when the trees along the bank had reached in to pull you out.

You always thought it was funny that somewhere deep down your powers took over, you weren’t  sure if it was when you blacked out or if you somehow forgot what happened in your parent's final moments, but all you knew was that you were alive because you called out for help and the trees answered.

A part of you still felt guilty. It had been your fault that you were out. There was a music recital at school, they'd come to support you, Darren had stayed home too busy doing homework to care. He was taking courses at the local community college, too involved in his own life to pay any attention to yours, except when he needed you. You weren't sure why the trees hadn't saved them too, why you were the only survivor.

You reach for your bedside table, scrambling in the darkness to find the inhaler that usually helps, before finally putting it to your lips and taking in a long puff.  It helps for a moment. Your heart was still beating fast, a cold sweat making your sleep shirt stick to your back, as another involuntary shudder works through your body, the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears.

You press your face into your knees trying to calm your breathing when your bedroom door snaps in half. Pieces of the door shoot through the air like shrapnel as Ben appears in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants holding one of the lamps from your living room.

"Ben what the fuck?" You scream, heart already feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest.

"What happened? What's going on? Why did you scream?" He shouts back, eyes darting around the room as if looking for invisible intruders.

"Get out of my room!" You shout.

"Not until you tell me what's going on." Ben's eyes fall on you once more and you watch the tension in his shoulders drop an inch. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You lie taking in a deep breath, hoping that you can calm down your heart beat and that he's not paying attention to that.

He was.

"No, you’re not."

"Yes I am." You didn’t feel like doing this with him, didn’t feel like telling him exactly why you'd just woken up screaming or deal with him teasing you.

It had been a few days since the party and you had been trying your best to make things as normal between the two of you as you could, especially after you'd yelled at him. It had been more awkward the day after, not because of what you said to him, but because of what he yelled at you after the supe got away. He hadn't come back to the apartment until after you'd gone to bed and when you woke up on Sunday morning, Ben had gotten you coffee again when he went out to get a newspaper.

You figured that was his way of apologizing for yelling at you. That and he had insisted on walking to "Please Don't Die" with you on Monday and Tuesday morning, as if he thought that you were incapable of doing it yourself and then showed up when you got out of work at 5 to walk you back home. You didn't know how he figured out what time you got off of work, only that when he showed up to get you on Monday, he glared at Jake who was debating with you about which of Rory Gilmore's love interests was the best.

Jake had watched a few episodes with his younger sister when she visited him a few weeks ago to tour some of the colleges in New York, and she'd gotten him hooked. Annie and you had watched Gilmore Girls forever ago, but you'd started watching a few episodes now that it was fall and that meant you were being reminded of how much you obsessed over the show when you were younger.

Ben had stood there watching the two of you, noticing how close Jake was standing to you and how Jake seemed to smile even wider and how Jake spoke animatedly to you over the display of cactus all the while frowning and glaring daggers in the back of Jake's head.

You'd be lying if you said that you weren't reconsidering dating Jake. Ben had made it clear what he wanted and despite how much you were attracted to him, you knew that he didn't want to be what you wanted, and you didn't want to force Ben into something or try to turn him into something he wasn't. So you were trying to think about what it would be like dating Jake. He definitely had the kind of qualities you were looking for, he was one for relationships, he had the same sense of humor you did, he liked plants almost as much as you, he was kind and compassionate, and he had a warm smile.

The problem was you couldn't imagine what it would be like to date him and for some reason the thought of dating Jake didn't bring you as much joy as it would have a few weeks ago, and you had no idea why that was.

You also didn't know why Ben came to pick you up or forced himself to walk with you to work, especially if he hated Jake so much and hated being around Jake, but Ben did, and then bought you a cup of pineapple iced tea from your favorite shop around the corner from your apartment on the way home even though you insisted on paying for yourself. He thought that pineapple iced tea sounded disgusting, but because you liked proving him wrong, you'd let him have a sip and he'd grudgingly agreed that it wasn't "that bad," but then took another sip of it when you put it down on the kitchen counter for a second to pet Bean when he thought you weren't looking.

Honestly you didn't understand why he was so eager to walk with you to work or why he wanted to walk you back to the apartment. Not when Ben seemed to fill his life and all his time endless dates with the women of New York City, something that you noticed he hadn't done in the past three days since the party. You always figured he had better things to do than walk with you, and yet he had making somewhat pleasant conversation, well, pleasant for Ben which was not the same as pleasant for other people. But it wasn't terrible. He did occasionally tease you because you couldn't walk past a wilting plant without perking it up, but that was to be expected.

"No, you're not." Ben put the lamp down on the floor by your door. It didn’t have it's shade on it anymore and you figured that Ben had ripped it from the living room table when he heard you scream, throwing the shade to the floor when he kicked down your bedroom door.

The same door that was lying in pieces on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

How am I going to explain that to the super?

"Yes-" You gasp for air and shove the inhaler in your mouth again to take another puff and this time it takes. "I am." You finish, swiping your free hand over your face to rid yourself of the tears, but for some reason they won't stop. "Please, Ben just go-" Your voice breaks for a moment and you bury your face into your knees again.

You really wanted him to go, didn't want to talk to him about this, didn't feel like putting up with his teasing or with his disgusting jokes, and didn't want him to make fun of you for using an inhaler, the same one you'd had prescribed by your doctor when he told you that your nightmares were causing panic attacks. You didn’t have to use it all the time, just when you had the dreams.

You feel the end of your bed dip and you glance up from your knees at Ben. He's sitting there, not quite looking at you, instead he's petting Bean where he was guarding over you as you slept.

"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I don't want to leave you when you're like this Petals." He says it more to the cat than to you, barely audible. Bean was leaning into Ben's hand as if Ben being in your bedroom, sitting on your bed was normal.

You suddenly feel like you’ve been struck by lightning. What he said was so honest so caring so completely unlike the Ben you knew that all you could do was stare at him. If anything the shock of what he said seemed to help you regulate your breathing and calm down from the images you had just seen in your nightmare.

Ben doesn’t say anything, just continues to rub Bean under his chin, sitting on the end of your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world and as if he hasn’t said anything at all.

You stare at him for longer than you should, tracing the dips of his broad shoulders, the gentle freckles that graces his skin, and muscles as the taper down his back. You’d seen him shirtless before, but every time you’re unprepared for how good he looks.

Right now he looks, different. He looks softer.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the yellowed light from your bedside table lamp or if it’s because he’s petting Bean, but there's something about him that feels more open, as if he genuinely cares, and it makes you want to talk to him. You sit there for another few minutes calming your breathing, still holding on to your knees, but you prop your chin on your knee so you can look at him.

Why won't he leave? Why does he care so much that he wants to stay here?

Bean stands and saunters up the bed to press his head into your shin as if he's checking up on you. "Hey buddy." You whisper hoarsely, rubbing him behind his ears.

Ben turns his body, folding one of his legs under him and the other hangs off your bed so that his bare foot is sitting on the hardwood floor of your bedroom. He's watching you with an unreadable expression, eyes following the trail of your hand on Bean's back, but Ben does not break the silence.

"I have nightmares sometimes." You whisper. Bean's thick gray fur was falling through your fingertips in a comforting way, his luminous amber colored eyes looking up at you. "But I'm okay."

Ben still doesn't say anything.

The high pitched ring of the metal of the car on concrete makes you wince and he doesn't miss it. You watch his hand twitch as if he wants to touch you, but instead he lays it on the bed between the two of you, sinking into the soft comforter.

"I've never heard you scream like that before." Ben murmurs under his breath. "I thought that-"

You glance up at him, eyes wide.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, as if he's uncomfortable continuing the conversation. "I thought that the supe was in here with you."

"The electric guy?"

Ben nods once.

"No I don't think he's in here. Unless he's hiding under the bed or something." You smile weakly at the joke, but you can still feel the jolt of the car hitting the water and the sharp snap of the seatbelt cutting into your chest. This time you successfully fight the shudder.

Ben doesn't smile. "The nightmares aren't about him are they? Or when I-" He stops mid sentence eyes flicking away from you, ashamed.

You understood what he was asking. Ben and you, like any modern day meet cute, had met mid-fight, the night that Butcher took him to Vought to take down Homelander. Back then you hadn't been working for Butcher, you'd showed up with Annie, and when Ben advanced on her you'd shoved Annie out of the way from his outstretched hands.

You hadn't been fast enough to escape yourself and he had hauled you up into the air by your throat, his chest glowing a dangerous orange spreading up through his skin until it turned his eyes a molten gold. Your hands had held on to his wrists so tight that you felt like your skin was burning and you were desperately trying to think of a way out of this. But just as you thought he was going to explode, his eyes had locked on yours and you watched something move through them that wasn’t rage. Ben had thrown you across the room and gone after Butcher instead.

"Is that why you didn't want me to move in?" Ben's gaze is on you, something deep buried in his eyes that looks a lot like regret. "Because you're afraid of me? Because I hurt you?”

“Ben, no. I’m not afraid of you.” You touch his hand where it rests on the bed gently. He had hurt you. The bruising around your neck for the few weeks that followed was ugly and had to be covered up with turtlenecks and foundation to avoid people on the street asking you if you needed help.

But it hurt you more to know that he thought that you were afraid of him and that he worried about that. Because you weren’t afraid of Ben. Yes he lost his temper and would yell very loudly and always felt the need to scream his opinion to the world, but you didn’t think that he was a bad guy despite what he had done. If you had been afraid of him then you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment, let alone live with your cat.

He looks relieved when you say it. “Then what are they about?”

“I-“ You swallow, before dropping your gaze back to your knees. You retract your hand, but Ben turns his over, palm up and gently holds yours, not quite squeezing it, just laying beneath yours.

What in the actual fuck is happening?

You glance down at where he’s holding your hand, the warmth from his body comforting like the first day of summer, seeping through your body as it does to take away the chill the nightmare left behind. It seemed a little awkward for him, as if he wasn't sure what to do now that your hand was laying on top of his. He wasn't even entwining your fingertips together, but your fingers just barely curved over the thick muscle at the base of his thumb. His hand was bigger than yours, rough and worn in just the right places.

“It’s about my parents.” The words feel like cotton in your mouth. “The night they died.”

"Oh."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You weren't sure that you wanted to talk to him about this. You'd never wanted to talk to anyone about it. The only person you'd ever spoken about it with outside of your family was Annie. But he was here, and he was looking at you differently, and he was actually holding your hand, sort of, and he was acting so different than any time you'd spent together.

"I was twelve. It was raining and we were coming home from a music recital." You couldn't remember what it was you sang, just remember the people coming up to congratulate you and the large bundle of gardenias that your parents had bought you. "My dad was driving and they were singing in the front seat together."

You felt the tears begin to build behind your eyes, throat closing. You can't really look up at him now, all you do is stare at where his hand sits under yours. " We were crossing over a bridge and there was this brilliant flash of light, my dad swerved and the car went off the road."

Ben's hand finally curls around yours. "You were in the car?" His voice is lower now, emotion lacing his words. 

You nod once. "In the backseat." You whisper. "I can't really remember what happened after we hit the water, all I know is that the trees saved me."

"What?"

"I don't know if I somehow called to them as I was drowning, but they broke through the back windshield and pulled me out of the car, but my parents-" Your voice breaks and you don't try to finish the sentence.

Why am I telling him this? He doesn't care. All he wants is-

"I'm sorry." Ben murmurs, interrupting your chain of thought, sounding sincere.

You shrug. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Ben raises his free hand to tilt your chin up to face him, and you quickly get lost in the greenish glow that draws you in each time he looks at you. "Don't be sorry for that y/n. I'd rather be wrong and you be okay, than sleep through you screaming like that." Ben swallows. "I didn't like it." You watch the ends of his lips twitch for a second and he smiles. "And we both know how much I like to hear women scream my name.”

Despite the conversation you'd have previously, you snort and smile faintly. "Have you always been like this? Or is it a recent development?"

Ben shrugs, thumb rubbing just barely over your cheekbone. "I like to think of myself as charming."

"Of course you do."

"You don't think I'm charming Petals?"

"Nope."

"Still a bad liar." He laughs releasing your jaw to gently touch the scrunched skin between your eyebrows that gave away your lie.

"I don't really think you're that great at lying either." You roll your eyes, swatting away his hand. "At least I can pretend to like people."

"I can pretend to like people-"

"Oh really? Then what about Jake."

At the mention of Jake's name, Ben frowns.

"See!" You smile wide. "I don't understand why you don't like him."

"He's annoying. No one is that happy Petals. He’s probably been drinking the Koolaid for too long and is trying to get you to join a cult. The pussy is practically part golden retriever." Ben rolls his eyes, but then notices you yawn. "I should go." He stands, letting go of your hand as he does. "You need your beauty sleep."

You fight the disappointment that blooms in your chest as he lets go and the immediate loss that comes when he lets go of you scares you. You're afraid of how you seem to be so attached to him, to someone who has told you countless times he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't believe that you need a strong emotional connection with someone else, and someone who said that the only thing he wanted from a woman was to fuck them.  That last part stung a bit. You remember when he said it to you, when you were looking over the map at the other apartment last week.

But why would he say something like that and act like this with me? Why did he come in here to save me from the supe?

"I think you could use some beauty sleep too Gramps. Without it, you look your age. Can't hide all those wrinkles under make-up." You half-smile when Ben sighs, before you pull your hands into your lap and  cross your legs beneath you. "But, thanks for-well- making sure that no one was murdering me."

"It's what roommates are for." Ben pauses in the doorway before he leaves, the light from the hallway reflecting off the strong muscles of his upper back. His body sways, considering if he should say what he's about to. "I -uh- I get them too." He whispers it.

"What?"

"Nightmares." You see the tension in his shoulders, the word muttered almost like a curse, as if he doesn't really want to admit that.

Your body freezes. "About the lab?"

He looks down and you take that as a yes.

You could only imagine what that was like for him, to be trapped in another country, thinking every day that someone he thought he loved would come find him, but then never did. Again the idea of what Countess did to him, burns hot in your chest. It broke you to think that Ben spent all that time wishing and hoping that she would come for him. You would have. You would have fought tooth and nail to find the man you loved, even if it meant you getting trapped in the process. Not trying wasn't an option in your mind.

Honestly, it was difficult not to come up behind him and hug him, to hold him close and let him know that it was okay to break, that it was okay for him to admit those things with you, and that it didn't make you see him as less than a man. But of course that seemed more like a relationship thing than a friendship thing, not to mention you thought if you tried to do that, Ben would probably somehow get you in the same position you were three days ago when he pinned you against the car with his warm body pressed against you in all the right places and his beard tickling against the sensitive skin of your neck. And that would only send the two of you reeling back to square one, and you thought that in the past three days things seemed to be better between the two of you, more casual and more friendly.

You didn't want to ruin that when you'd practically embarrassed yourself at the party by yelling at Ben outside. So you stay in your bed, your legs still underneath your comforter, your heart no longer pounding in your chest, and your breathing even.

"Well," You say slowly. "If you have one, you know where to find me."

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes a little wider than usual and you think that he almost looks surprised. Ben nods once and vanishes down the dark hallway going back out to your living room.

You lie back in your bed, placing your inhaler on your bedside before you do, eyes focused on the ceiling and trying not to think about how good it felt to finally talk like two normal people with Ben and trying not to think about how he let you hold on to his hand.

You drag yourself through the front door of your apartment, exhausted, sweaty, and feeling like you'd swum through a dumpster that had been sitting in the sun for a week. You knew for a fact that you smelled, you didn't need super senses for that. The look of the people that lined the sidewalks of New York while you squished down the sidewalk and up into your apartment building was enough of a clue. Everyone had given you a wide berth and you didn’t blame them. MM even rolled down the window of his car when he drove you back. And he’d made you change your clothes into a set of gym shorts and a t-shirt that reached your knees and proudly proclaimed “I love you daddy” on it.

Yeah. It was that kind of day.

MM also made you sit with a plastic bag over your head to avoid smearing the remnants of the supe that was matted in your hair onto his seats.

When you woke up to answer your phone this morning, that was blasting the UK's national anthem aka. Butcher's ringtone, you knew that your day was going to suck. He had proclaimed over the phone loudly, because Mike had already started to screech Beyonce's "Love On Top,” that he needed you to deal with a supe. You thought that he was going to send you after the electric supe, but no, he and MM had caught a whiff of a supe that was robbing banks with his ability to liquify and turn his body into an tomato colored gelatinous mass.

I know, lovely right?

But of course, Butcher had decided that you were the one for the job and so he sent MM and you, while Ben was assigned to something else on the other side of town. The mission had gone wrong in the worst way, when the supe decided that the only way to fight you was to try and drown you in his liquified flesh, bone, and sinew.

When you'd finally scattered his body in the Hudson, you'd vomited for ten minutes, trying to expel as much of the supe as you could, but you still felt disgusting. MM had tried to be supportive, but the sight of you vomiting sent him hurtling to the nearest trashcan while his own stomach heaved. Not to mention  Butcher had chewed out the both of you good for technically "killing the supe."

But you'd rather the supe died than have to go through that ordeal all over again.

You'd tried to get as much of the orangey-red goo off of your body as possible, but it stained your clothes, so you had to walk through New York city looking like a giant bucket of paint was dropped on you and feeling sticky.

You turn around and lean your forehead against the front door with a loud sigh, trying to catch your bearings before you attempt to make it to the bathroom. You were happy that Mike hadn’t come out of his apartment. You didn’t want to have to explain to him why you looked like you’d taken a bath in tomato soup. Every few minutes you'd get a whiff of yourself and feel the urge to throw up all over again, living in the moment of the supe trying to shove his liquified body down your throat.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ben asks from the charcoal couch, a blunt perched between his lips.

The living room had already started to look like his bedroom back at the other apartment, pieces of his dirty clothing were spread over your hardwood floors, old beer bottles were sitting on your coffee table, and there was a collection of half-smoked blunts in a large ceramic pot that you were letting Ben use as an ashtray. The room was still yours though. The plants on the walls and in pots around the space had not been harmed by Ben's habitation of your apartment. You wondered if that was because Ben actually was trying to respect your rules or if he was afraid you would throw him out.

I'm going to buy him a hamper. The last thing I want is to step on his dirty underwear on my way into the kitchen.

"The next time Butcher calls, tell him I died." You groan moving into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

He turns his head to stare at you. "Is that paint?"

"Nope." You shudder taking a sip from the water bottle, swishing it around your mouth to wash out the taste.

"Then what is it?"

"It's the supe. He was disgusting." You shudder and take another sip of water. It was helping a little bit, but you eat a handful of raspberries to try and get rid of the aftertaste. "I can still taste him."

Ben smirks. "You can still taste him? What part of him did you put in your mouth?"

"Don't be disgusting." You groan. "His power was liquification, okay, he could liquify his entire body-"

"Did you swallow?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"This is why we don't talk." You narrow your eyes at Ben. "He liquified himself and tried to drown me by shoving himself down my throat."

"Drown you?" Ben sits up straighter. "Are you okay?" You watch something shift through his gaze that looks a lot like worry.

Why is he worried?

"I'm fine." You hold up a hand and watch him relax and take a hit from the blunt. "But worst superpower ever."

"I don't know, kinda sounds like a fun way to get to know someone-"

"He was an idiot. He thought that whatever he lost would replenish."

"Wait what?"

"Whatever he 'drowned' me with didn't reform on his body. So he shoved himself down my esophagus and then he couldn't figure out why he was missing a hand, didn't think about stomach acid. Idiot." You roll your eyes. "But we couldn't contain him and the only thing that I could think of was to dump him in the Hudson. He wasn't strong enough to keep himself together in the current of the bay, it’s gonna take him centuries to piece himself back together." You shake your head. "What have you been doing? I thought you had a hot Tinder date or whatever."

He'd mentioned it this morning when you saw him briefly and grabbed a granola bar on the way out of the apartment. You hadn't spoke much since last night or really had time to talk about what happened, if anything did happen. All he did was let you hold his hand and -well- kick down your mother fucking door.

You weren't looking forward to sleeping without a door, it was the only thing that separated Ben and you, the only thing that gave you a little privacy. You figured that you could just hang one of the crocheted blankets over the doorway, but you were exhausted.

Ben shrugs, letting out a lungful of smoke. "Thought I'd just relax tonight. Didn't feel like going out."

"You didn't feel like going out? Mr. Casual-?" You begin to say, eyes sweeping through the apartment and looking down the dark hallway, stopping on your bedroom doorway.

Instead of the broken mess it was this morning, a new door has replaced it. It's a beautiful dark red wood that matches the floors that run through your apartment, different than the white one that had been there previously.

"Mr. Casual?" Ben asks while raising an eyebrow, clearly confused.

You were going to call him 'Mr. Casual Sex' but you couldn't finish the thought.  "Did you fix my door?"

"Huh?"

"My door." You point down the hallway, eyes shifting back to Ben, who looks suddenly uncomfortable. "The one you broke in half."

"Yeah- uh- I know how much you like your privacy." Ben grunts looking back at the flat screen tv. There was a baseball game on, but the T.V was on mute, the blue light flickering around the small room.

You suddenly have the overwhelming urge to cry. You figured that it was everything from today crashing down on you, the frustration you had with the supe, the smell, and now Ben was actually doing something nice for you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He still doesn’t look at you and you wonder if he's embarrassed that you pointed it out.

“Well I think I’m going to try to scrub whatever the hell this is off of me.” You say as you begin to walk down the dark hallway and Ben continues to watch the game.

“Wait Petals I’ve got something important to ask you.”

You look up at him expectantly.

“How much do you love your daddy?” His smile slips into a suggestive smirk. “Would you be willing to do anything  to keep him happy?”

“Shut up Gramps.” You flip him off and squish down the hallway to the bathroom.

When you get out of the shower you're missing several layers of skin. You'd scrubbed and scrubbed until you felt red and raw, but it was better than feeling the sticky remains of the supe all over your body. The clothes you wore were ruined and there was no saving them, but at least now you felt better.

You walk back out into the kitchen wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants. Ben was still sitting on the couch, but the blunt was gone. You hadn’t noticed before that his dark hair was wet, as if he had taken a shower before you got to the apartment, the smell of his shampoo was strong.

"There's pizza in the fridge." Ben glances over the back of the couch. "Much better Petals, orange is not your color. But I will say I miss the t-shirt.”

"I'm just happy that it didn't permanently stain my skin." You make your way to the fridge to pull out a slice of pizza, eating it slowly. "And very happy I didn't wear my favorite pair of jeans. I'm going to have to burn my clothes I think."

"I'm just happy you smell better." He wrinkles his nose. "Before you smelled like unwashed gym clothes and a fucking yeast infection."

"Thank you for that lovely comparison."

"You're welcome Petals." Ben presses his lips together. "Did you want to-" He pauses. "Watch a movie or something?"

"Oh, um-" You glance down the hallway. You really wanted to curl up with your newest romance novel under your covers and relax, possibly with a cup of calming blueberry tea.

Ben shakes his head. "Just fucking forget it-" He almost seemed angry with himself for suggesting something like that.

"Ben no. I do want to watch a movie with you, I just-" Your eyes flick to the t.v watching one of the baseball players hits a home run. "I kinda wanted to relax with some tea and read. I just got a new book and I haven't been able to start it yet. Annie and I are reading the same one and on Friday we're gonna have book club and I really need to decompress from everything that happened today." You say it gently, trying to let him understand that you wouldn't be opposed to the idea of watching something with him.

"Oh." Ben sits there for a moment considering what you said. "Well, do you want to sit out here? I know you don't exactly-" He clears  his throat. "Have a place to sit in your bedroom."

If Ben wasn’t living with you, you would be reading on the couch. Sitting in your living room surrounded by all of you plants always helped you relax. You hadn’t been able to do that since Ben moved in, not to mention you didn't want to encroach on his space.

“I mean if you’re watching T.V I don’t want to disturb you or anything-“ As soon as you say it, Ben hits the off button on the remote.

“I didn’t get to read the paper this morning and I’ve been trying to find the time all day.” He says, pulling the folded newspaper out from where it was folded and pushed up against the arm of the couch on his right side.

“Oh. Well. Um-“ You didn’t see anything wrong with sitting out here and reading with Ben. “Okay. I’ll just grab my book then.”

“Okay.” Ben breezes, before he glances at the left side of the couch where you would be sitting. The couch was in its upright position, which means it was more couch than bed, but Ben had stacked his blankets and pillows on the other side. “I’ll move my stuff.”

“Okay.” You say again because you weren’t really sure what to say.

You go back and grab the book from your bedside table, but stop just short of the door.

This is weird.

You think to yourself, holding the book tightly by its spine. You weren’t sure what was happening only that Ben and you were going to sit together on the couch in your living room quietly with no tv. And weirder still it was him that suggested you two do it.

He turned off the tv. He asked me to sit with him and suggested something non-sexual. You pause shifting from foot to foot. Because again Ben was confusing you. He was acting like the person you'd occasionally see when it was just the two of you, and it made you anxious. You didn’t want him to do this, to pretend to be someone you wanted just to get into your pants. It was like whiplash. Not to mention you didn't want Ben to force himself to change just for you.

Maybe… Maybe I can just go out there and pretend that this is normal and that he doesn’t just use women for sex like he told me. I will not overthink this. I will sit and read just like I planned.

You come out of your bedroom armed with your favorite crocheted granny-square blanket and the new book. Ben had cleared the left side of the sofa for you as he said he would and was now sitting with his newspaper spread out in front of him, one leg crossed over the other.

“Do you want some tea?” You ask him. You were just being polite, you knew that he would probably say no.

“Pineapple?” He actually kind of perked up as if he would have some if you made it.

“No it’s blueberry.”

Ben shakes his head. “Why do you like so many fruit teas?”

“Because they’re good and they enrich my life.” You snort before placing the book and the blanket on the couch next to Ben and go through the motions of making the tea. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You’d be right. But could you pour me a glass of scotch?”

“Sure.”

When you’re finally hunkered down with your book and blanket, legs bent at the knee between the two of you, the book propped up on them, facing Ben with the right side of your head laying against the back of the couch, you feel yourself begin to relax. Bean is sleeping in a ball between the two of you. His soft breathing and the sound of pages being turned fills your apartment. The subtle thrum of the plants in the room soaks into your bones and you feel yourself begin to slip into the soft prose and for the first time in a long time you feel at peace. 

A/N: Annnnnddddd we're just gonna keep the Sky High References coming. Maybe the next supe they meet will glow… or turn into a guinea pig? 😅 Is it wrong that it's kinda making me want to do a Superhero High School AU with the Boys characters? That would be so crazy! I already have several other series fic ideas for Soldier Boy, but that idea is definitely going on the list to be considered.

As always thank you so much for reading and all the love and support! If you would like to be added to my taglist please let me know! 😊

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[sparrowrye]

Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part Pilot

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies you also die. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hair on the back of my neck rose half a second before something hard hit my head. I couldn't see anything but I could still feel when I hit the pavement. I rolled onto my back and tried to kick up at whoever was there.

Multiple hands grabbed me and dragged my across the hard ground. I felt my strength slowly coming back with my sight. There wasn't much to see as three dark figures towered above me. My back cracked when they slammed me into the wall.

One of them grabbed my jaw and dug their fingers into my cheek. I tried clenching my teeth but they easily pried my mouth open. I tried flicking my wrist but the rocks under my feet barely moved. They had hit my head so I couldn't use my magic. Now they were trying to drug me. Keep a mage discombobulated or high and they can't use their magic.

One of them had their entire weight on my legs and the other had my arms pinned against my side. They slipped a powder past my lips and clamped my mouth shut. I took a deep breath before they pinched my nose. I had only seconds before I passed out and they could get the rest of the powder down my throat. It was already soaking into my tongue and cheeks. I tried scrapping it against my teeth.

The weight on my feet disappeared. I tried kicking them but there was nothing but air. I pulled my leg up and dug my heel in their groin. They fell back and slammed into the wall behind them at an inhuman speed. I reached for the last attacker's eyes and dig my nails in. He let go and jumped over me as if to run. I immediately spat on the ground and wiped my tongue with the back of my hand.

I looked around at the dark alley. Everything was starting to double, the colors a wild red and blue. Some of it had gotten into my system. I saw two men laying still on the ground, the other running for the bright road. Something flew past my face and strikes him dead center in the back of his head. His body fell limp.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

I turned over my shoulder to see Alastor, the Radio Demon, towering above me. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark alley and his coat was as red as blood. I knew he was tall but he looked even more terrifying in person. His long, red fingers were outstretched in a kind gesture.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"Is that any way to treat your savior?" He moved his hand closer, edging me to accept his offer.

"Why would you help me?" I rubbed the back of my head and winced. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He stood a full head taller than me but he seemed oddly skinny. He didn't have the muscle I had.

"I know rumors deem me a dark light, but I can assure you I'm still a gentleman at heart. How could I let those fools continue their assault?" He wiped his hand on his coat as if I had some kind of germ or disease on me.

"I didn't ask for the help so I'm in no way obligated to do anything you ask," I said. I looked down to examine my hands because that was better than staring at his terrifying eyes. I lost my balance and fell backwards into the wall.

He grabbed my wrist and roughly pulled it up. I tried pulling it back but he held on painfully tight. I could picture him using his sharp teeth to slice it off in one bite. But he didn't. He dropped my hand and grabbed my chin next. He turned my head as if examining my neck. I tilted my head back and pulled away. I slammed into the wall again but tripped on my own feet, landing right on my tailbone.

He leaned down and grabbed my face again. I tried digging my nails into his wrist but my strength had disappeared. The drug was taking full effect now. "Let go of me, demon," I spat. He used his other hand and dragged a claw down my cheek. I cried and tried pushing him away with my feet. He stepped back, his smile never fading. I covered my bloody cheek and stared him down.

I had managed to stay free for five years. I wasn't about to fall into another mage's trap. I wasn't going to go back. I would rather die trying to escape the Radio Mage than go back. I knew his patience was thin and nothing immoral was off the table for him.

He reached up and touched his cheek, his claws coming back with a dark liquid. He looked down at his fingers before slowly meeting my eyes. That's when it clicked. I felt a rush of cold reality over my body. Matching cuts. A soulmate match.

I put both hands in the ground and pushed myself up. I ran down the alley, jumping over my attacker, and bolted for my home. I tripped several times but nothing was going to stop me. People stared at me as if I had seen a ghost. They didn't know that I had seen worse.

Everything hurt by the time I reached my apartment. I hadn't seen him since the alley so I hoped that meant I had lost him. I fumbled with my keys, struggling for several minutes to get the small key into the lock. I fell into my apartment and slammed the door shut with my feet. I turned the lock and crawled into the corner of the living room. I hugged my legs and stared into the dark apartment. Everything was spinning and unnatural colors jumped out at me. I felt jittery, like everything inside me was buzzing.

I stayed there for several minutes, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door. What was I thinking? I had just led the most powerful mage on this side of the country to my doorstep. I should've hid somewhere else. He of all people could follow someone without being noticed.

The only tell of time was the old clock on the fireplace mantle. I stayed in the corner for nearly forty-minutes, unmoving. Time seemed to be past uncharacteristically fast. I blamed the drugs on that. How long before this wore off, again? It wasn't the first time I had ingested this type of drug. It was the drug they used to keep mages from using their magic.

I finally found the courage to stand. I flipped the light switch and walked along the wall to the bathroom. I fell against the sink, clinging to the edge just to keep myself up. For such a small amount it was having a huge effect on me. Had the drug gotten stronger or had it been that long since it was used on her?

I turned on the faucet and gulped down the cool water. I splashed my face and tired to blink away the bright colors. No amount of drinking or splashing could return me to my normal state. I practically choked on the water and finally turned it off, grabbing the towel off the rack and pressing it to my face. I carefully straightened my feet and tried standing up. I felt more sturdy on my feet now. This meant that I had passed the peak of the drug. I was on the hill down to my normal state.

I let out a sigh and hung up the towel. I looked at my red eyes and saw another pair behind me. I screamed and spun a cast back at him. I slipped and fell into the old tub. I slipped into the corner with my hand outstretched. The faucet dug into my spine. He practically glided into the small room.

"Don't come closer!" I yelled. "My accuracy gets better every time."

"Your Slight magic stands no chance against me," he mused, "but I appreciate the confidence."

"The fuck do you want?" I demanded again.

"Should it surprise you that I want to meet my soulmate?" He tilted his head to the side.

"If you kill me you also die," I reminded him.

He chuckled. "I know how the magic of soulmates work, my dear." He stepped close and held out a hand to me. "If I wanted you dead, I would have done so already." The deepening of his tone didn't make me want to accept his gesture any more than already. "I'd like to have a civil conversation, if you don't mind."

It was another moment before I slowly laid my hand on top of his. He was careful to wrap his claws around my hand and didn't roughly pull me to my feet this time. I stepped out of the tub and let him lead me out of the room. He finally let go of my hand, gliding to the small fireplace and lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

He perched himself on one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit in the other one. I quietly obliged, my eyes never once leaving his smiling face. His trademark cane seemingly appeared in his lap.

"What do you want?" I asked less aggressively this time.

"My my, you're a distrustful soul aren't you?" He leaned his cheek on his hand.

"With my history you would be too," I said.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Anything and everything. Really anything that pays me."

"A tradition-breaker I see," he said. "Most women your age are attending school or doing housework for a master or husband."

"Let's just say I'm not well liked."

"Did you know those men?" he prompted.

"No, but they probably knew me."

"Does that happen to you often?"

"It's not frequent but it's not possible to avoid either," I answered. My clasped hands were sweaty and my cheek pinched from the dried blood on it. He was still sporting the same cut on his own cheek, clearly visible in the firelight.

"What did they want with you?" He was sitting straight again with his legs partly crossed and his hands clasped in his lap. Everything in me was tense and conscious. My hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I needed to get the demon out of my house.

"I used to belong to a fight ring."

"Lovely." His tone suggested anything but that. He looked down at his watch and let out a short sigh. "My my, it's sure getting late. We should be heading back."

"We?" I stood up just as he did.

"I can't leave my soulmate in danger, now can I?" He stepped closed to me.

"I know how to go under again," I said quickly. "I'll be leaving town and changing my appearance. No one will know it's me again."

"Then I wouldn't be able to find you again."  His eyes grew brighter the further we walked away from the fire. I bumped into the kitchen table and tried to put it between me and him.

"I'm sure this will scar and you'll be able to tell it's me." I pointed to my cheek. "Or I could just let you know where I go. That way you know where I am."

"If I bring you with me I'll always know where you are." I found myself staring at a shadow the second his claws touched my shoulder. I turned and he shoved me into the wall by my neck. "Besides, I of all people could keep you safest." His claws squeezed my neck.

"I feel qui-quite safe, I'm okay. I-I assure you." I casted a forced smile up at him. The room seemed to darken around his bright red eyes.

"I'm sorry, dear, it's not a request." He slipped his hand behind my neck and pulled me against him. He slammed his cane down on the ground with a cold THUD. His hand moved behind my back as the floor disappeared from beneath my feet. I instinctively grabbed at him to keep myself from falling. Wind whipped my hair around but I didn't dare let go.

My feet abruptly touched solid ground and the wind died down. I carefully let go with one hand to move my hair out of the way. Around me was a dark forest and the sound of waves crashing was apparent, as was the smell of the sea.

His chuckled vibrated through me and I jumped away. "Where the hell are we?" I turned around to see a dark mansion sitting on the cliff's edge. It's pointed roofs sliced through the light blue of the set sun.

"Welcome home, dear," Alastor said as he walked past. I spun in a circle, seeing nothing but forest and ocean. How far were they from civilization? For his reputation, probably hundreds of miles. Maybe even thousands. I crossed my arms and rubbed them to keep warm.

I turned around to see him waiting for me. His smile was still plastered to his face but his teeth weren't showing this time. He was leaning on his cane, if you called his stance leaning, at the base of the porch steps. I clenched my teeth and forced my feet to take one step after another.

Once I had reached him, he put a hand up to stop me. He tried to touch my forehead but I jerked back, my knees nearly buckling underneath. "Relax darling," he said, "I can ease the drug effect." I forced myself to be still as he swept his palm across my forehead. My vision cleared and the bright colors disappeared. I felt more stable but my magic was still out of service.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Home, dear." He turned and walked into the old house. I looked around once more before following him. Inside looked as dark as the outside. The door slammed shut and the lights abruptly lit up at the snap of his fingers. The house's true colors came through - a deep purple and velvet with dark wood accents.

To the right was the living room that held the warm fire and large windows. To the left was the dining room with what looked like stacks of old furniture and other timely pieces. Did he collect things?

"You don't..." I hesitated, "you don't think...that you can keep me here for the rest of my life."

"I do." He spun his cane and slammed it into the wood flooring. "Because just as you said, lovely, if you die, I die. You have made a name for yourself just as I have. You should be thanking me really," he said walking past me.

"Thank you?" I scoffed.

"I'm doing you a favor. No more of this running from town to town nonsense. Now you have a place to call home and don't have to worry a hair on your head about living to the next day."

"I'd prefer freedom over a fancy cage. I've survived on my own just fine for twenty-one years of my life. I'm no housemaid."

"Then let me put it simply." He stepped dangerously close until I jammed my heels into the door. He leaned down so his yellow teeth were inches from my nose. "You will remain here for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not." The room began to darken. "I have my ways of keeping people in their place. We may share scars but we don't share pain." His face contorted unnaturally and his eyes looked less humane. I felt sick. "You should remember that when you think of defying me. I'm called the Radio Demon for a reason." He abruptly stood up and the lights came back. "Sound good, darling?"

My shoulders fell with my spirit.

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:30」 — b.seungkwan

» seventeen menu | seungkwan menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ gorgon!Seungkwan × fem!Reader wc: — summary: Seungkwan is the youngest of three siblings and the only male gorgon in his family. Probably due to his half-human heritage on his father’s side. He’s lucky that his appearance is much more human than his sisters’. Although he looks mostly normal there are still some things that aren’t quite… human. His inhuman strength and other snake-like features set him apart from the rest, so why his best friend and roommate likes him so much, he doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he’s madly in love with Y/N. genres/themes/au: angst, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, alcohol consumption, supernatural and horror themes, MORE TBD; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this could have been longer but tbh i’m tired of Kinktober lmao i’m ready for it to end already. I love Seungkwan and I would love to write something longer for him like he deserves but I don’t have the time anymore. I’ll make it up to him another time. Thank you for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), shower sex (this is dangerous. Proceed with caution), drunk sex (unless previously discussed, do not do this either), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (use protection!), no one is dom or sub they’re just hella whipped for one another, use of pet names (hers: baby, darling, angel, etc.; his: babe, Kwannie, love, etc.), I think I got everything but of course, let me know if I missed some! kinks: Shower sex + drunk sex dialogue prompt: ❛❛ We’re not just friends and you fucking know it. ❜❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

“But, we’re friends,” Seungkwan,” you whispered, back pressed against the white tiled wall of your shower as your best friend stood in front of you, hands resting against the cool tile as the hot stream water cascaded down to the mat, splashing your feet. The only thing shielding you from your best friend’s gaze was a thin towel that barely covered anything.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. You weren’t sure what the driving force behind his actions was. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the years of pent up love and adoration he only just spilled out of mouth in the confines of your small bathroom. His confession came as a shock to you although, if you looked back, it only made all of his past actions make all the more sense to you.

But you couldn’t take a trip down memory lane right now, now when you were staring into the bright, almost glowing, green eyes of your best friend. Eyes that looked at you with a mixture of frustration, love, and another emotion you never expected to come from Seungkwan.

Lust.

The night had started innocently enough, attending a simple house party with your best friend. The night had gone as expected, drinking whatever mixed drinks Seungkwan made for you because he refused to let anyone else do it, downing a few shots and joining a couple rounds of whatever party games were going on. The night ended quickly for you when you couldn’t get up alone after a round of Truth or Drink and Seungkwan had to all but haul you out of the living room, very nearly carrying you out of the house.

Seungkwan didn’t exactly look like he possessed a lot of strength but looks were deceiving with your best friend. He was the product of a human and a gorgon falling in love and marrying. His sisters had taken after their mother, inheriting her snake-like attributes but Seungkwan on the other hand took after his father, only his eyes a physical give away to his half monster nature.

He didn’t mind, in fact glad that he could pass for human. It also meant he didn’t have to wear special blinders and be confined to the house as he didn’t inherit the Gaze like his sisters did. He could make direct eye contact and not have serious repercussions. He was also the only person who could look his mother directly in the eye and not be affected.

His human nature meant he wasn’t tormented or heavily bullied like some of the other less than human looking classmates. He also was a child who never took shit from anyone. One of the reasons you liked him so much. He made it his role to stand up to the bullies and look out for his fellow non human classmates. This made him extremely popular with the other kids as well as he stood up to all bullies, not just playground ones.

As he grew up, he gained more and more popularity due to his good looks, kind nature, and friend disposition. Despite how popular he became, he never let that go to his head. Well, not too much. He always made time for you and insisted you were his only true friend.

He wasn’t sure when the line blurred and he started loving you but he just knew one day, you weren’t just a friend to him. He wanted more with you but he never spoke out. He was far too shy and afraid of you rejecting him so he stayed silent for years until that night. The night he finally let it all out and confessed his true feelings and what he really thought about you.

After returning to your apartment, you had said you wanted to take a shower. Normally Seungkwan would wait on the couch and watch TV or play a game on his phone but you insisted he sit on the toilet with the lid down and keep you company while you showered.

He knew it was a bad idea, being that close to you when you were vulnerable on the other side of a thin sheet of vinyl and fabric. He should have just said no and sat on the couch like he usually did but he wasn’t thinking clearly. Neither of you were.

And so there he was, sitting on the toilet while you chatted about the most mundane things until you made an offhand comment about your shower head and how you were so glad you replaced the standard shower head in the apartment with this one you had gotten online. It had more settings than the standard one, was detachable, and came in handy when you needed to get yourself off.

That was the comment that had Seungkwan’s breath catching in his throat, his cock twitching in his pants and his heart racing. The idea of you in the shower, using the pulse setting to pleasure yourself. It made him bite his tongue almost hard enough to make him bleed. You had noticed he’d gone silent, cause of course you did, and asked him if he was still awake.

Seungkwan had to take several deep breaths before finally answering that he was awake and that he needed to leave. You whined, asking him to stay, insisting that he stay, asking him what was wrong and that was when he snapped, blurting out the sentences that would change your lives forever.

“How can you expect me to stay after saying something like that? How can you expect me to sit here and pretend like I’m not imagining you doing that right now? How can you expect me to sit still when all I want to do is rip this curtain open and take you against the shower wall?”

Initially you wanted to laugh it off but something in his voice told you he wasn’t kidding. You grabbed a towel, holding it over your chest and letting it fall to cover your mound before pulling back the curtain to peer out at him. “Are you being serious?” you asked. Seungkwan looked up, eyes meeting yours and he quickly turned away, averting his eyes.

“Don’t,” he grunted. “I can’t look at you right now. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

You weren’t sure if you weren’t taking him seriously or just being stupid but you pulled back into the shower and challenged him. “Maybe you shouldn’t stop yourself.” In an instant, Seungkwan had gotten up, pulling back the curtain abruptly which led to where you were at that moment, back against the tiled wall as he caged you in, ignoring the water splashing his clothes.

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it,” Seungkwan said under his breath.

He wasn’t entirely wrong. There had been some… experimentation in your youth. You both had agreed to keep it a secret but when you were around the age that you started learning about yourselves, there had been a lot of talk, stolen kisses. It had been mostly innocent but when you were older, in college, it had continued. Neither of you had dated in high school, only spending time with one another outside of school events.

You managed to get a dorm to yourself when your assigned roommate dropped out just before classes started. Seungkwan would come over to your dorm most of the time to study but you didn’t get much studying done. You’d never gone all the way but there were times where you ended up straddling him, tongues meeting in a frantic mess as you grinded against him until one or both of you came in your pants.

There had also been times where Seungkwan’s hands wandered when he had you on your back, fingers slipping into your panties to touch and explore your bodies. You never dated, never went out once, and yet throughout college, you fooled around a fair few times. Yet you both always introduced one another as your friend. But friends didn’t do that, right?

Your eyes watched Seungkwan’s dip down to your lips quickly before you reached up, your wet hand curling into his hair. “You’re right,” you murmured. “We aren’t just friends.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, your lips meeting in a very practiced dance. This was familiar for you. Kissing Seungkwan was familiar. You let out a sigh as his lips kissed across your cheek to your ear. “I want to take my time with you,” he muttered. “But I can’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Your hands moved, pulling at his shirt, untucking it so you could help him pull it off, tossing it to the floor. The rush to get him undressed left your towel forgotten and it slumped to the floor, landing on the mat where the shower water started to soak it. Seungkwan kicked his pants off before rejoining you in the shower, tugging the curtain back to block the rest of the bathroom as he guided you under the stream of hot water, drops cascading down both your bodies as his hands grabbed your hips.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as he backed you against a different tile wall. You nodded as you looked at him. He leaned in, pressing a much softer kiss to your lips before he started to slowly kiss down your body as he lowered himself to his knees. You watched as he lifted one of your thighs over his shoulder, glancing up at you briefly before pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the inside of your thigh, moving closer and closer to your aching heat.

You let out a gasp as he nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you felt his tongue lick against your clit. “F-fuck,” you cursed, head falling back against the hard tile, eyes sliding shut as Seungkwan’s tongue moved over your most sensitive parts. This was new territory with him. You’d never gone this far before and you were regretting not doing it sooner.

“Kwannie,” you moaned as he teased your clit with his tongue. “I need m-more.” You stumbled over your words. “Need your c-cock.” Your cheeks burned as Seungkwan licked and sucked at your clit, the shower barely covering up the lewd sounds.

He pulled back, looking up at you. “So impatient?” he muttered as he slowly got up, lowering your leg back down. “Fine,” he said as his hands moved up to your hips. “But remember, you begged for this,” he added as he turned you around to face the wall, pulling your hips back and making your back arch. “But I wanna see,” you whined as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance.

You heard him chuckle from behind you as he rubbed the tip against your folds. “If you think I’m not going to spend all night fucking you in your bed after this, you don’t truly know me,” he said as he pushed into you, groaning as he very quickly slid in until all of his cock was nestled deeply in your cunt, your warm walls wrapping around him, hugging him tightly.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he groaned, resting his forehead against your back as he leaned over, ignoring the stream of water falling over the both of you. “You feel so fucking good, baby.” You pushed back against him, urging him to move. “Kwannie, please,” you begged. “Please fuck me.”

Seungkwan let out a breathless chuckle as he stood up straight, his grip on your hips tightening. “Oh don’t worry, angel,” he said as he pulled out slightly, thrusting into you roughly and shutting you up immediately, only a moan leaving your lips.

“I plan to.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Halloween - BTS OT7 CEO au extra

Welcome to something a little different, just to keep you going until the next update 💜

Prev / Next

Yoongi:

Jungkook:

Hoseok:

Jimin:

Seokjin:

Namjoon :

——————————————————————————

Every jaw in the room dropped as the tv screen went blank. The lights in the house following suit as they cut out with an electric buzz in the air.

“Someone call Kitten now!” Yoongi yells in the darkness.

You had texted the group to say you were running late, but you were on your way to dinner. The others had worn their costumes, preparing the meal together when Taehyung had called them all into the living room.

“It’s a Halloween prank,” Namjoon tries to rationalise, but his breathing is heavy. “The news channels are obviously playing a prank.”

“It didn’t look like a prank Hyung,” Jimin runs his fingers through his hair, they’re all standing scared still. “And even if it was the news channel didn’t cut our power.”

“Fine then it’s a disease or a new virus, it is NOT zombies.”

“Sunshine!” You finally picked up Hobi’s call, the faint light from his phone lighting the side of his face. The room is so quiet they can all hear your screams. “Sunshine?”

“Hobi help!” The screams are followed by low groaning in the background of the call, the sounds of flesh being ripped through with decaying teeth.

“Kitten!” Yoongi yells, tripping over furniture to get to Hobi who had been petrified into a catatonic state.

And then, silence. There isn’t a single sound, and they all wait with baited breath. They feel the thud of all their hearts hitting the floor when a low moan comes through the line, your voice, there’s no mistaking it but it’s warped, inhuman.

“Bunny?” Jungkook whispers, his eyes watering as his heart picks up in pace.

The line cuts and they’re all left to the sound of their breathing.

“This isn’t happening,” Jimin almost tears his hair out by its roots. “CALL HER BACK!”

“We have to go get her,” Jin is shaking where he stands, his feet cemented to the ground but he knows he has to move. Whatever was going on he knew one thing, you were in danger.

“Everyone turn on your phones flash-“

BAAANNGG

Their souls jump out of their skins as a body slams into the living room window, their eyes going wide with horror as they take in the face in the dark. They can make out no discernible features but they can see the way his face presses against the glass. The silence that follows is deafening, not a breath, not a beat, until they see a tongue lick the surface of the window as if tasting them through it.

“What the actual fuck,” Yoongi breathes, terrified to speak a decibel louder.

The flood lights turn on outside, detecting movement although a little late but it reveals the body’s features and their eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. His entire body is decaying, his eyes set on them, unblinking, his clothes torn to reveal flesh and flies leaving no question what this creature was. But worse, behind him, what started out as a blur that drew closer, a hoard moving towards their home.

“We need to move,” Namjoon’s brain starts kicking into gear, survival mode fighting with instinct to shut down and freeze.

“And go where, we’re sitting ducks,” Jimin panics.

They all turn to the sound of another bang, closer, louder but they all knew what it was… the front door had been breached, they were in the house.

The low moan of their intruder echoes through the dark hallway.

“We need something to fight,” Jungkook whispers, his eyes darting around in the dark, their backs to the repeated thuds on the window from their other guests.

“Knives?” Jimin suggests.

“The kitchens too far,” Taehyung mumbles.

The lights of the hallway start flickering, the living room lights flickering just a second after, the pattern repeats making the men look around desperately for something to be armed with, but nothing usable is in sight.

“We can’t stand here, we have to run,” Jimin starts to hyperventilate.

“He’s right,” Yoongi agrees, tugging the still shell shocked Hoseok to snap out of it.

Jin’s whole body is vibrating with how hard he’s shaking, he knows whatever is in the house can sense them, the groans getting louder and the hoard behind the window getting more vocal with the frustration of a barrier between them and their next meal. He doesn’t hear what words are being said in the room, his hearts thumping in his ears, the blood draining out of him. He feels someone grab his hand, the maknae’s mouth moves in front of him but he can’t make out the words.

He’s being pulled into the hallway, the scene moving almost in slow motion as his brain fails to comprehend the scene but one thing wakes him up. They’re moving closer to the sound, they were running straight into danger.

It was too late, their bodies collided in the hallway, their attempts of escape stopped before they could even begin. A familiar figure stands before them, a silhouette they could make out even if they were blind.

“Baby-“

The lights flicker and the fills with their screams at the horror of their zombified girlfriend before them. They all scream except from one who covers his mouth and his laughter.

—————————————————————————

The very next day

Office romance:

Hobi : Did anyone get any sleep last night? 😭

Jin : every time I closed my eyes all I could see were the zombies

Yoongi : I slept through this mornings meeting does that count?

Jimin : I say we all go home and let Taehyung do all the work today 😒

Namjoon : I still can’t get my head around how they pulled it off

Yoongi : the maknaes obviously have had a bad influence on kitten

Jungkook : don’t involve me and Jimin in this

Jimin : Jimin Hyung* 🤨 I need another copy of this contract I drooled all over it

Jin : the two culprits are being awfully quiet

Namjoon : how long did you two plan yesterdays events?

Taehyung : for a while, the details were all flower, she really ran away with it

Jimin : I have to say the fake news announcement on the tv was a nice touch

Jungkook : I can’t believe we fell for it 😤

Namjoon : the lights went out, irrational fear was bound to takeover

Y/n : HEY! We were a team Kim Taehyung, we’re both to blame

Jungkook : well look who decided to join the conversation

Yoongi : look, she lives

Jin : dangerous girl

Y/n : if it makes you feel any better, I feel really really bad… but it was worth it 😇

Hobi : Sunshine you’re sleeping next to me until the nightmares stop 😤

Yoongi : you owe him that much Kitten, he fainted

Jin : as if you weren’t a second away from passing out too Yoongi, I know I was

Y/n : sorry Hobi 🥺 I am really sorry but I really don’t regret it 😈

Jungkook : Noona’s sadistic side is coming out

Hobi : we’ll see how long for 😒 wait till we get home sunshine, you’ve got a lot to pay for

Y/n : it was Tae’s idea too!

Yoongi : the brat didn’t dress up like our worst nightmare kitten

Namjoon : I really hope it was worth it baby girl, Hoseok’s got a dark look on his face 👀

Y/n : ☹️☹️☹️

Taehyung : you have to admit, flower’s acting was almost as good as mine 😏

Jungkook : and she made a terrifying but somehow sexy zombie

Jin : Jungkook no 🙅🏽‍♂️

Y/n : 😳

Jimin : Jungkook yes 😈

———————————————————————————-

Taehyung : (the day of Halloween)

[topherwrites]

FIC RECS: OUTER RANGE, OUTER BANKS, STRANGER THINGS

If I made a little comment about every single fic or series here, it would be inhumanely long, so I've refrained from doing so and have just put the summaries for each. This is split into two parts, TGM fics and everything else.

I hope that anyone who reads this list finds something that they love on it just as much as I do! If I missed you, I'm sorry, there was a lot to sort through!

SOME OF THESE ARE 18+, PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS!

RHETT ABBOTT

Yellow Soul by @creatchie8

Trapped in a relationship with your high school sweetheart Perry is like a never ending nightmare of always stepping on eggshells. One winter break changes everything as you are reintroduced to his younger brother, Rhett. Looking for an escape, Rhett provides the perfect shelter you crave.

right where i want you by @sushiwriterhere

Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett.

Odds are Stacked by @sunlightmurdock

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

Wayfaring Stranger by @/sunlightmurdock

Betrayal sends Rhett veering further West, searching for answers and searching for himself. Instead, he finds you.

Much Love by @southpawbitch

you & rhett have found yourselves in a little fwb situation despite the fact that you have a fiancé.

About Last Night by @delopsia

A self-indulgent take on Rhett's best friend coming back to Wabang and surprising him after his final rodeo.

Dancing Beneath the Moon by @/delopsia

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

Closing Time by @youvebeenlivingfictional

“You’re having a helluva night, huh,” You comment. “S’that supposed to mean?” “You got a shit bull, then you struck out with that girl…And you failed to bait Luke Tillerson into trying to kick your ass.”

RAFE CAMERON

Untouchable by @boneblushed

It is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

Glitch by @/boneblushed

Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

So Gorgeous It Actually Hurts by @/folkloreslovechild (deactivated)

childhood enemies to lovers, the slowest of burns, an unbearable amount of pining, both parties in heavy denial for like 90% of the fic, Rafe’s a total douchebag but he can’t help it (you’re gorgeous).

Euro Trip by @/folkloreslovechild (deactivated)

europe summer trip au!

new light by @outerbankies

you come home from college to spend your last summer before senior year in your hometown of the outer banks. an old friend hits you up wanting something more, and you begin to see what’s really been there all along.

You Belong With Me by @forevermoreharrington

Rafe’s fallen helplessly for his dream girl but she just doesn't see it yet.

tis the damn season by @atlabeth

When your roommate Rafe lies to his family that the two of you are dating, you agree to go home with him for the holidays to help sell it as his fake girlfriend after a generous bribe. It's just three weeks in the Outer Banks with one of your best friends -- what could go wrong?

Armour by @probably-writing-x

Having your heart broken was one thing. But Rafe watching somebody break your heart? That was something nobody could prepare for.

So We Won't Forget by @netegf

you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

Hate It When You Leave by @/netegf

you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. He's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want… including him.

I Know I Am by @bookofbonbon

For Rafe, it's always been you. He's just waiting for you to realise it too.

STEVE HARRINGTON

redamancy by @sanguineterrain

redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

dancing with our hands tied part i | part ii by @taintedcigs

in which steve is in love with his best friend's ex.

EDDIE MUNSON

Pearl by @cacoetheswriting

a story about two kids trying to navigate through love and loss, inevitable goodbyes, various reunions, friendships and hardships, joy, heartbreak, plus surviving the upside down - all to the sound of Janis Joplin's Pearl.

[tvseries-writings]

And he is back

Wandanat x Bioquake x Bobbi x reader (soulmate au)

TW: suicide

Plot: In a nightmare, you see Hive whose persuades Diasy killing herself and now he is in your mind, again.

You see him, behind her back, the great and powerful Hive. The shadow of a sadistic smile painting his monstrous face as he whispers in her ear. He did it to you too, and now he's doing it to her. You scream at her to stop but it's no use, she can't hear you, no matter how hard your vocal cords vibrate, begging her to stop, not to listen to him. Daisy, the inhuman who stole your heart, stands in front of him, her back to him as she puts a gun to her temple, her finger firmly on the trigger.

You scream, tears streaking your cheeks as you try to get closer but some kind of barrier prevents you. You slam your hands on that invisible wall; once, twice, three times but nothing you do seems to get his attention.

"Daisy, please," your voice is hoarse and trembling and the Inhuman looks at you but her eyes are glassy, the effect of Hive's drug clouds her mind and your heart aches, you know what she is feeling and you know the effect her control has on Inhumans like you.

"Daisy, look at me, don't do it, love. There's me, there's Jemma, Wanda, Natasha, Bobbi, May, Coulson, Fitz, Mack...please Dee, don't do this."

You plead with her, falling to your knees as your tears fall so profusely that they pool in a small stain at your feet. Your heart clenches as you watch her grip the gun tighter.

Hive walks over to the hacker and girds her hips, bringing his mouth closer to Daisy's neck.

"They'll be better off without you; think about Lincoln, Trip..."

He whispers it as glibly as if he were speaking words of love as he looks at you with dark, malevolent eyes that pierce your soul. He looks at you as if he were addressing those words to you as well.

Daisy looks at you one last time before unlocking the gun's safety.

"You'll be better without me."

You scream and your heart stops when a shot rings out in the dark gray cell where you stand. You fall to the ground and watch the blood gush from her lifeless body. You watch his face quickly turn to ash gray.

"Do not despair, you will soon meet his end, inhuman."

Hive approaches you and, finally, the barrier that separated you from Daisy shatters. You start to run toward her but Hive grabs you by the arm, forcing you to turn toward him.

"Your time has come."

"No!"

You scream and as he makes you dependent again, your concern goes to Daisy's body lying on the cold concrete floor and the only desire that pervades you, before Hive takes over, is to hold her in your arms and hear her laugh once more.

………..………………………..………………

You wake up drenched in sweat and with your heart beating wildly. Your chest aches and it takes you a few seconds to realize that what you experienced was nothing but a terrible nightmare.

Chills run down your spine as you sit up; your pajama shirt is so wet that the cold air outside the covers makes you shiver at the mere touch.

You search frantically for Daisy with your eyes, and when you see her chest slowly rising and falling and her light snoring, you breathe a sigh of relief and your heart finally begins to calm a little. You bring your knees to your chest, looking at Daisy and not taking your eyes off your girlfriend. You struggle to extricate yourself from Bobbi's grip and step over Jemma to get out of bed. You need to get some air and you don't want to sleep, not anymore. You don't want to see her face again and, most of all, you definitely want to get the image of Daisy out of your head and- and.

You shake your head, gritting your teeth and trying to breathe deep to get the image of the gun pointed at her temple out of your head.

You look at the nightstand where Bobbi always rests her gun, despite your protests, Jemma's protests, and Wanda's protests. Natasha, on the other hand, along with Daisy, fully supported her. You don't think twice before taking it in your hand, squeezing it with more force than you should. If Hive is back, if he has entered your head again...No, he is dead, Lincoln sacrificed himself to make him dead. His sacrifice could not have been in vain, not-

You can't freak out, not here, not with them sleeping so you touch your bracelet, activating it, before teleporting to the gym. You sit on one of the mats May uses to meditate, turning the gun over in your hands, savoring its weight and the coldness of the metal. You sob, thinking back to the nightmare and what Hive put you through, put you through. You remember vividly the dazzling withdrawal his lack of touch caused you; the physical pain he caused you, not to mention the mental pain. If he came back--you look down the barrel of the gun and turn it toward you,toward your face. If he came back, your last moment of lucidity will lead to your death, is a promise.

"What the hell are you doing?"

May's voice makes you wince and you drop the gun to the ground. May quickly approaches you, kicking the gun away and trying to meet your gaze.

"What the hell were you doing with a gun pointed at you?"

May repeats, punctuating each word harshly as she watches your every movement.

"I-it's not what it looks like May."

You whisper; you don't make eye contact with her, yet you feel her gaze burn into your back.

" Y/n, I really don't think it can look like anything else right now."

Flashbacks of your nightmare return to cloud your mind. You don't even realize that you tried to reach for your gun again and were stopped by May.

"Y/n, y/n! This is not real, what you are experiencing is not real. Listen to me, follow my voice, let's go."

May is frightened, you don't seem to be listening to her, and the Caveman is particularly startled by the blank look on your face.

"Agent!"

May shouts, shaking you by the shoulders, and Hive's face in front of you turns into the face of your SO.

"M-May?" you whisper, your voice shaky and broken as you cling to her as if she were your only lifeline.

"It's all right, it's all right. It was all in your mind."

It takes you a few minutes to realize that you are clinging to your SO; although you see May as a mother -- well, she must not know that. You pull away from her and swing from one foot to the other, looking out of the corner of your eye at the gun a couple of feet away from you.

May follows your gaze and quickly reaches for the gun, taking it in her hands and slipping it into the empty holster on her right thigh.

"Are your girls awake?"

You open your eyes wide, shaking your head firmly.

"No, no May, you don't have to tell them anything. Please May."

The officer sighs, crossing his arms and looking at you with a raised right eyebrow.

"Y/n, you're clearly having problems and you need to talk to someone about it, okay? They are your partners, if-"

"It's Hive!" May stops and you sigh, before continuing; your back hunches, as if you are bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, "It's Hive, May. He's back, he's entered my head again, he's brought Daisy to-a-"

Tears line your cheeks, you no longer know what is real and what is not.

May looks at you confused and shakes her head as she tries to move closer to you, unsuccessfully as you pull away from her touch.

"No y/n, Hive is dead, Lincoln sacrificed himself to make this happen...Daisy is fine and he is not in your head. Not anymore."

You chase away the tears, wiping them away with your pajama sleeve but they continue to fall copiously; again and again as your body shudders with each sob you emit.

"Rockstar?"

Bobbi's voice makes you hold back a sob. You turn to her, noticing that she is not the only one who has noticed your absence in the bed. After all, your soulmates feel, at least in part, the feelings you have; especially if those feelings are as strong as the ones you are feeling right now.

"We didn't find you and we got scared," Jemma whispers, moving a few steps closer to you.

"And Bobbi's gun was not in its usual place."

The Inhuman approaches you and, before you can pull away, draws you into a hug.

"You dreamed Hive, didn't you?"

You stiffen under her touch as soon as that name slips from her lips. It feels wrong, poisonous, you want to suck it away once and for all. From yours and his mind, knowing the pain he has caused you both.

You nod, slowly. You lean into her touch, tired of bearing all that suffering alone, like so many times before. Daisy caresses your face, brushing a rebel lock from your forehead, before leaving a tender kiss on it.

"He's dead love, he's dead. He will never come back; I will not let him hurt you again, do you understand? Never."

Jemma, Bobbi and May watch the intimate moment between you and Daisy. Although Jemma and Bobbi are dying to hold you in their arms, they understand that in this moment Daisy is the only one who can truly understand your pain.

May approaches the two biochemists, handing them the gun she had previously hidden in her holster.

"I believe this is yours, Bobbi. I would advise you to put it in a safer place, you never know what might trigger an attack, you know."

Bobbi nods, quickly taking the gun and putting it in the back of her pants only after setting the safety. Jemma looks at the gun, looks at you, and then turns her attention to the older officer.

"What did he do? Why doesn't the gun have the safety on anymore, May?"

May sighs, shoots you a look and then drags Bobbi and Jemma away from you and Daisy.

"She...had the gun in her hand and was pointing it at herself."

Jemma gasps, as does the blonde. The weight of the gun, now, is a hundred times heavier and almost seems to drag her down.

"No May, you're wrong, she wouldn't, not-" The biochemist shakes her head, clinging to Bobbi's arm and looking at the blonde for confirmation, a hint of reassurance that, however, does not come.

The blonde agent looks away, thinking about how much Hive's addiction upset you, just a few months earlier, and how you became a different person under his control.

"Bobbi? She can't, right? She can't have done that, not-"

"Jem, remember what Hive did to her, how her powers rebelled against her own control...And now think if she thought she was at his mercy again, unable to do anything. I don't doubt that she could have, though it hurts to admit it."

You only seem to break out of the little bubble you and Daisy have created when Jemma emits her first sob.

Daisy's head snaps toward the biochemist; her gaze is a mixture of concern and confusion as she searches for an explanation for the fact that one of her soulmates is in tears. Bobbi shakes her head, mimicking a "we'll talk about it later" with her lips before leaning close to Jemma's right ear and whispering something that neither you nor Daisy can hear but that makes her stand up and leave the gym.

"Bobbi, what-?" you ask, confusion painting your face as you force yourself away from Daisy and toward the blonde.

"It's okay rockstar, she's just worried about you, we all are really. What do you say we join her in bed? It's four in the morning and I think we all need a good night's sleep."

You're not convinced by his answer, but he's right about one thing-you do need sleep, and even though you're afraid Hive will come back to haunt your dreams, you fear you have to do it anyway. Or at least, you have to pretend you do otherwise your girls will never leave you alone. So you nod, nod a small smile at them, say goodbye to May and leave the gym, joining Jemma. Daisy, Bobbi and May stand there and watch you leave, avoiding talking until your silhouette disappears from their sight.

...............................................................

You are holding Jemma in your arms when you see Bobbi and Daisy enter your room. From their looks, you can tell that May has told them everything.

Bobbi stares at you for a few seconds before setting the gun down on the same nightstand from which you borrowed it not an hour earlier. You stiffen a little at the thought of the talk the girls are about to give you and shudder at the mere thought of having to tell Daisy about your nightmare. The girl you're holding in your arms notices; in fact, she lifts her head and looks you in the eye as she lovingly strokes your back two, three, four times before the other two girls also join you on the bed. Bobbi sits cross-legged on the bed, inches from you and Jemma; Daisy, on the other hand, sits beside you, taking your right hand between her own.

"Honey, what did you dream? Did you dream Hive?"

You nod, stroking her hand and playing with the ring on her index finger. You focus on the warmth emanating from her body, on her face, on the face no longer as pale and lifeless as that has invaded your mind in the past few hours.

"L-he...he killed you, Dais. Or, I, he had you under his control again and convinced you to-"

Although you are trying to hold them back, tears line your cheeks ignoring your concern, "I saw you put the gun to your temple and pull the trigger."

The three girls remain silent and you turn away from them.

"And I couldn't do anything, I couldn't teleport, you couldn't hear me and- and finally, he made me go to you and I held you in my arms but it was too late."

Sobs shake your body as you approach the bedside table. Bobbi follows you, not for a moment leaving you uncontrolled.

"Y/n..." the blonde whispers, starting to move, slowly, toward you.

"I can't let him control me again, I can't, he's still inside my head, I-I love you, I really do, but I won't survive if he controls me again."

Your thoughts race frantically, so much so that your hands shake and you suddenly find yourself on the opposite side of the room. You fall to the floor with a thud, watching your girls, previously inches from you, more than a couple of feet away.

"Fuck it, fuck it, it's messing with my head, I can’t even control my powers anymore!"

Tears roll down your cheeks; you jump to your feet and shake your head furiously, over and over again. The last time you weren't in full control of your powers, it was under the influence of Hive. You no longer have doubts. You're not thinking clearly, otherwise you wouldn't do what you're about to do. You sprint towards the nightstand and, despite Bobbi trying to get there before you, you manage to grab the gun and remove the safety.

“What-no, stop!”

Daisy is moving towards you, Jemma is petrified and Bobbi is analyzing the situation trying not to panic.

"I'm sorry, I love you"

You pull the trigger and wait for the gunshot and the pain but none of that happens. The screams of your girls are the only thing you can hear.

"What the hell did you want to do"

Natasha stands in the doorframe, her voice shaking at the sight of the gun pointed at your temple. Wanda, however, is right behind her; her face is pale and her eyes are red as she uses her magic to keep your index finger from pulling the trigger. You look at your hand, see it covered in Wanda's red magic and your heart stops for a while when you realize that you haven't completed your task yet. Bobbi lunges at you, tackling you to the ground and throwing the gun away, but not before stuffing the magazine into the back pocket of her jeans. You collapse against the floor, surrendering under the blonde's grip with the hope that what is happening is nothing more than a nightmare. You could use your powers to free yourself from her grasp but you don't want to hurt her in any way. And suddenly, despite months of therapy, you fall back into the depressive state that Hive brought you to during his time on earth. You remain helpless in Bobbi's arms; your gaze is glassy as Bobbi talks to you, shaking your shoulders when you don't answer her. Your body moves back and forth, with the same ease of an unconscious body but you, on the other hand, have your eyes open, wide open, even if the emotionless and apathetic look in your eyes worries your girls greatly and Wanda does this that you think is best for you. She kneels next to you, caresses your temples and puts you to sleep with her magic.

“What the hell is going on?” Natasha whispers, breaking the silence as all the girls look at your unconscious form in Bobbi's arms.

“I… I think she has some Hive residue in her mind,” Jemma says, knowing she's just released a bombshell. They have to help you, whatever is happening to you, they will help you.

Thanks for reading! I don’t even know what is this but hey, at least it’s something :)- Have a great day and, if you want, you can support me on ko-fi. ☕️

Taglist: @wandanatsbaby @bioquake-archives @bioquakeweek @daisyjohnsonx @wandanatsgirl @chaekhan @station19 @resilientpendragon @so-no-kissing-then @thearchpitbullmx @ashadash0904 @kingshitonly @alwaysgoodnight @callistic @xjule @yuleni18 @simpforwandanat @alexxislexi @mrsdanversromanoff @coollemonsaresour @hushed-woodsman @razorscooteer @eponine-xx @maniacallinc @michelle170 @classyig @elenaguarnieri @scarletwidow @tati3001 @cristin-rjd @your-my-mission @mr-nicely @hi-i-1 @anniethurs @ktstwice @scarlet-raccoon @maria-403 @goldfishthegr8 @wandanatfan @looiegirl-blog @bioquake-blog @daisyjohnsonx

[darkworkcourier]

This is kind of a quick and dirty smut sampler for @cyber-nya's Monster 141 AU. It's kind of experimental and like an exercise in playing with styles, so hopefully some of it is cohesive?? We Shall See.

It's all gn!reader/the 141 doing their monster thing, and a bonus at the end. :)

(Also content warning for minor (very minor!) bloodplay in Price's section, chase roleplay in Soap's, minor mindfuckery and unreality in Gaz's, and safeword usage in Ghost's.)

---

With Price, it's all dichotomies. Pain and pleasure. Illumination before plunging into darkness. Aching and soothing.

Fangs pierce your neck—a cold metal sting before warmth floods your bloodstream, numbing you from the inside out. You hear your heart thrum like a plucked bass string, and you feel that odd, drowsy sensation that comes syrup-slow and sweet. His eyes flick up once, startlingly blue, and you hear his voice in your head.

I warned you, he says. He always says it, and it took you so long to realize it's because he cares.

"I know," you whisper, bringing your hand up to stroke his hair.

You always lose track of time when you're with him, hours smearing like oil, your circadian rhythm tripping and stumbling. At some point, you know he helps you out of your clothes until your skin is flush against his. His stolen heat soaks into you, and you moan as his fangs retract, tongue laving over your wounds. Then he kisses you, slow and copper-sharp, deceptively human—yet as inhuman as they come.

"Touch me?" you sigh against his lips.

Of course, he replies. In your head. In your ears. There's no difference. All that matters is his hand on you, working up a slow-moving heat between your legs, winding and coiling up the tension until it threatens to spring.

Sometimes he's quiet when he touches you like this. Sometimes he fucks you and snarls in your ear like an animal attempting human speech. Tonight, though, he turns wistful as his hand moves in long, lazy movements and you gasp against his jaw.

"One day," he tells you. "It's gonna be a bite that'll be your last."

This bedtime story. Your favorite of them all.

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod against his shoulder as he fucks you with his fingers. It takes everything in you not to sob at the sensation.

"You'll feel all your life drain out of you, and right when you think it's the end—when all this goes dark—you'll feel it. You'll feel something better than this."

This is punctuated by a stroke that sends you arching off the bed, pressing yourself against him as he works you up and up. You shudder and moan, and he rests a cheek against the crown of your head like he's listening to an orchestral piece.

"Life like you never lived it," he says. "I'll give you back some of what I took, a little bit of me in it. It'll be just like fuckin' you, but so much better. You'll wish it never ends."

You're close to wailing now, his hands moving faster than any human's, the friction a burn between your legs as you tremble in his arms.

"You'll be mine. Properly mine."

And you're over the edge—a burning bright light, something singing high and melodious in your shared blood, and then you fall back into the honey-sweet, velvet darkness.

You lay against him, panting, eyes squeezed shut, shivering in fits as you come down to the sound of him shushing you, the feeling of him stroking your hair.

"It'll happen," he whispers to you, then kisses you so sweetly that it aches. "I promise you that, love."

---

Soap plays with you at the outset. It's shared glances across rooms, quick smiles, come-hither looks. He makes a game out of following you around, then turns it into a pursuit. The aim is to get caught, but you're always given a better reward if you make him work for it. Sometimes you joke and say he's a working breed.

Today, you really make him put in the effort.

A light jog across base turns into a flat-out sprint once you get beyond the hangar. You hear Soap's boots behind you, then his grunt of surprise when you take off. It's thrilling, the burn in your muscles, the sound of Soap gaining on you, the potential of what might happen to you when he finally catches you.

You quickly turn a corner before reaching the easternmost hangar. Your boots skid on tarmac, and you nearly trip before catching yourself on the edge of a crate and using that to push off. Soap's seconds behind you, close enough that you can hear his heavy breathing, and as you round another corner leading to one of the old, disused hangars, you hear him growl.

Not playful.

The growl of something primal.

What starts as a fun exercise turns into a survival mantra—get to the hangar, get to the hangar. As your calves scream in effort and your heart threatens to punch out of your chest, you tell yourself that you'll get the luxury of making decisions so long as you reach the fucking hangar.

Adrenaline fuels every desperate step, but excitement rumbles through you at the sensation of heat at your back, the acrid sent of brimstone stinging the air. Fuck yes, you think. Come on.

You almost take the door right off its hinges, then slam it behind you just in time for Soap to impact it. The vibrations run up your arm and jar you, but you don't have time to be distracted. You sprint through the yawning empty space of the old Cold War-era hangar, the smell of burning dust hitting the air as you hear Soap actually take the door out of its frame with an otherworldly howl. Metal groans and rattles behind you, just as you finally find an empty office to hide in.

Most importantly, there's a lock on the door. Not that it matters, and not that it helps that you're effectively cornered. But that is kind of the point.

You hide between the dust-coated desk and a rusted file cabinet, counting your heartbeats and listening as claws scrape over concrete.

Thirty-one, you count, fingers on your pulse. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-fo—

Something scratches at the door, and you hear him sniffing at its base.

You clap your hand over your mouth and press your back against the desk, trying not to grin.

(You should be terrified, but that part of your brain is hardwired now to remember that Soap would never hurt you.)

"Come out," he snarls. It's impossibly deep, a black snarl of sound that sends tingles through your whole body. "I can smell you."

You wonder what he can smell, if he picks up the scent of arousal pooling between your legs at the thought of what he's planning to do—if he's planned at all. Sometimes, when he's worked up like this, he's beyond organized thought, and the results tend to be incredible.

A few more seconds and heartbeats.

Then you hear the hinges protest, screws stripping in their sockets, wood groaning from the pressure. The lock rattles, then snaps, and the door hits the opposite wall hard enough to make you jump.

Before you can peek up over the top of the desk, black smoke and red eyes fill your vision, and a clawed hand cinches around your throat.

"Got ya."

That's all you have time to register before you're thrown over the desk like you weigh nothing. Soap's at your back, body crackling like flames, hooked claws splitting the wood of the desk as his hands (paws?) bracket your head. You know without looking that he's half-transformed—human and hellhound combined so that he can hold you down like this, but can fuck you with the fury of hell as his fuel.

And enough of a hellhound for his teeth to shred your clothes, tearing them away until you're exposed to him. A long tongue insinuates against you, achingly hot against your skin, teasing you with every lap. Then it withdraws, and you moan in protest.

"No complainin'," he says, grin audible in his snarling voice. "We got a couple hours and I plan tae make the best of it."

---

Gaz is different. He seems to exist in two worlds—a split entity that relies completely on an image of a man combined with the reality of his actual body. You're never more aware of this than when you're intimate with him.

You're in his room, feeling the weight of him against your back as he drapes an arm over your waist. He kisses the nape of your neck, down to the first divot of your spine. There, he lingers, seeming to listen to your soft breathing, hand coming up to rest over your heart. You know he loves to feel your life under his hands, the sensation of your vitality fluttering in his palms like a bird.

"Close your eyes," he mutters into your ear.

You do without question, your trust in him absolute and infinite.

All at once, you fall into that here-and-not-here space that Gaz seems to occupy. You feel his hands roaming over your body, tugging your pants down in slow, methodical motions while his lips press against your neck and shoulder. At the same time, the vision behind your eyelids goes from dizzy phosphenic spirals and patterns to something concrete and clear.

You see a sword the color of burnished gold, handle intricate and polished to a shine from centuries of use. It hovers between the gauntlet-clad hands of a suit of ancient armor, proud and regal. As Gaz touches your thighs, the helmet moves, lending the appearance that the armor is watching you.

The sensation of this particular kind of scrutiny is exquisite, and the version of you that exists in this space moves around the armor to survey it from all sides.

(Gaz touches you at the apex of your thighs.)

The blade starts to glow with unearthly light, flickering like flame.

(His hands move with deep strokes as he licks a line up the column of your neck.)

The armor's torso moves along with you, watching you vigilantly. Always ready for to attack or defend, the sword as much a threat as it is a promise.

("Does it feel good?" Gaz asks you, voice low and lovely in your ear.)

You're at the armor's back, and you see your own hands stretch forward, fingers brushing over the metal—warm to your touch, like flesh. The helmet watches you, holding still, waiting.

(You can't speak, mouth open on a moan before your head falls back against his shoulder. Your hips move on their own accord, seeking him out.)

You return to the front, facing the glowing sword, watching strange patterns ripple over the sharpened metal. The urge to touch the pommel is overwhelming—a need, rather than a want. Something about the sword and armor calls to you in a way you can't explain, like you're being called home.

("That's it," Gaz says, encouraging. You can't tell if it's to you trying to fuck yourself on his hand or to the version of you in the in-between space.)

The helmet passively watches you. You take in the sight of it—intricate designs embossed above the visor, gorget nicked with old dents and scratches that tell of a long history. It's beautiful. More importantly, you know without any sense of doubt that it's alive.

(Something burns in you, bright and wonderful, coaxed forth on Gaz's hand.)

Your hand stretches out, reaching for the sword.

(You moan, and you hear Gaz answer it with his own.)

Heat radiates off the metal, feeling like sunlight on your skin.

("Come for me," he tells you.)

Your fingers touch the pommel—this sword in the stone, always waiting for your hand in particular. The moment you touch it, one of the armor's gauntlets gently covers the back of your hand with something like assurance.

(You shudder in his arms, bucking your hips against his hand, riding out this bliss that he's created.)

This was always meant for you, the armor tells you.

("That's it. That's it," he whispers into your ear, holding you close with his opposite arm. You feel his lips on your jaw.)

You grip the handle, lifting the golden sword from its place, spurred on by the armor's hand on you. Light floods this strange space, brilliant and resplendent.

(And then—)

And then your eyes open, gasps sharp as you come down from your orgasm. Gaz has you in his arms—decidedly human arms with flesh on muscle on bone. You feel so safe, endorphins flooding you as you relax into him and sigh.

"S'always yours," he tells you, kissing your jaw. "You know that?"

You nod, smiling, eyes fluttering closed again. Just there, beyond the cosmic dust behind your eyelids, you still see the sword in your hand.

"I know," you say, rolling over to press yourself against his chest. Your head goes up under his chin, and you smile.

---

Ghost is something else entirely.

During missions, he keeps something of a corporeal form, concentrating himself into the shape of a man. He moves as a human might—controlled gestures and motions that anyone would recognize. Only when he fights, when he truly throws himself against an enemy, does he allow even a portion of himself to loosen from the illusion. Black smoke unfurls from him, wraps itself around anyone unfortunate enough to get caught, squeezes the life from them and leaves a husk behind.

He keeps it controlled around the 141, and especially around you. Keeps his distance, lingering at the edge, like an animal prone to flight. You know what that smoke is capable of—what he is capable of, but not once have you worried he'd use it against you.

And when you finally learn what he can do to you—

You're in the showers, long after lights-out. Even if someone did come to find you, they couldn't see you. Ghost's made sure you're completely enveloped within him, lost in a cold smoke brushing like snow over your bare skin.

He's inside you— in every available place until it really is impossible to tell where you end and he begins. He fucks you relentlessly, but swallows up every sound from where one of those fucking hands plies your mouth open. You think he has you pressed against one of the tile walls, but knowing that would require sight, and he's covered yours.

There's something deliriously intoxicating about the thought of Death Itself fucking you like this, using every hole, taking your pleasure over and over and absorbing each moan like a soundproof room. Your legs gave out minutes—hours?—ago, but Ghost holds you upright, keeps you in just the right position as his presence ensconces you.

"You should see yourself," he says, voice coming from everywhere. He sounds like he's behind you, in front of you, whispering from each shoulder. "Fucked out like this. Barely able to keep yourself up."

You probably groan, but Ghost takes that, too. It feels like a kiss, something brushing over your lips, and you eagerly chase it, too blissed out to know what it is you're trying to catch.

"You'd take anything I give you, huh?"

A tendril follows along the curve of your thigh, up and up, then bridges over to the opposite leg in one liquid movement. It's cold silk on your flesh, making you shiver in his omnipresent grip.

It's almost too much, almost—

Your right hand moves, index and middle finger extended, tapping twice into the cool darkness.

It recedes immediately.

In a set of simultaneous movements, you're lowered to the floor and one of the tendrils reaches out to turn the shower on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough to tolerate. You catch your breath as the water falls over you, and Ghost wraps himself around you like a blanket, settling over your shoulders before nudging gently at your cheek.

Still trying to catch your breath, your trembling hand reaches up and strokes over the darkness, finding it soft and pliable under your fingers. "I just... I needed a break. Just a few minutes."

"Okay." Another nudge, this time from something that's nearly a hand. "You need anything?"

You shake your head, then lean into him. He takes more of a form now, human-shaped enough for you to lean your head against his chest. "You, mostly," you say.

"I'm here." He kisses the top of your head—one of the most human gestures he knows—and repeats it again. "I'm here."

---

"I don't care that it's incorporeal smoke," Dr. Adler says. "Sexual wellness is important, regardless of how you go about accomplishing... whatever it is."

You groan, watching her untie the tourniquet on your arm as blood flows into the tiny plastic vial. Within a few seconds, it's full, and she takes it and the syringe out in one quick movement before holding the vial up to the fluorescent light buzzing over your heads.

She taps the bottom of the vial twice with her thumb, and you watch with mute fascination as your blood turns bright blue, glows like a firefly, then turns back to what you think is still your blood.

Dr. Adler hums and tucks the vial into her lab coat pocket (with no indication of what she's planning on doing with it). "You're clean," she says.

"That's it? Don't you have to send that to a lab or something?"

"In a normal medical practice, yes," she replies with a shrug. "But not here. I don't have to pretend that I can't just do it myself."

"So your magic witchy powers cover checking for STDs?"

A brief look of annoyance crosses her face. "Not naturally, no. I learned it out of— Well, necessity."

You raise your brows. "Necessity?" you repeat.

"Military people. Always putting their genitalia in places where it doesn't belong."

"Oh." Gross. "Ew."

"Mhmm. Besides, I had to test it on myself a few times."

That gets your brows to a new altitude. "What?"

The look on Dr. Adler's face is the dictionary definition of enigmatic. Immediately, she goes to her office door and opens it for you. "Nevermind," she says. "I have another appointment waiting."

You glance out the door, but the waiting room's empty.

Still, she looks pretty insistent, and judging from hearsay from the other members of the 141, it's best not to pry too much into her business.

You leave, and the moment the door shuts behind you, you hear a soft, low, very much masculine laugh and a quiet mutter of what sounds like German.

Best to leave it be.

[thegreatyin]

oh my god i completely forgot about hours literally being a currency in sunless skies. ferb i know what we're gonna do today

fallen london needs a timeloop au actually. every fandom deserves a timeloop au. every fandom deserves seeing their blorbos slowly lose it through repetition and perfectionism

[daechwitatamic]

Sit. Stay. || KSJ

(banner by @kth1)

Title: Sit. Stay. WC: 14k one-shot Genre: fluff, s2l, neighbors!au, baby angst for a quick minute?, smut

Summary: Your new puppy, Zinnia, has turned your world on its head. She’s ruined everything from your sleep schedule to your favorite shoes, and you know it’s your own failure to train her properly. When your cute upstairs neighbor tells you about a local obedience academy, he slowly starts to make himself a place in your schedule, your life, and your heart. After your last relationship went up in flames, will his affections be something else you can count as a failure?

Rating: NSFW - Minors DNI, i mean it

Warnings: language, casual drinking, a parent is having heart problems and seeing doctors for it, miscommunication sort of, immaturity lol, kissing, mentions of surgery/doctors/hospitals - but everyone is okay!, an argument, protected penetrative sex, doggy style (i mean how could i NOT), fingering, a nanosecond of nip stim

A/N: Written for the Paw Prints Academy Collab hosted by @kth1fics! Typo-check by @oddinary4bts - thank you, Ella!!!

--

You’re asleep, dreaming something plotless - your grandmother, long deceased, is there. It doesn't feel sad - it feels peaceful. It feels like, oh, it’s nice to see you again. 

And it’s ruined, too early, by a long, high-pitched, inhuman cry. You startle awake, heart pounding as your brain scrambles to make sense of the sound. The whine - it’s a whine despite the loudness of it - dies down and is followed by a series of yips and sharp barks. Every noise seems to pierce straight through your skull.

You haven’t slept through a night in four days.

“Zinnia,” you beg, pushing the comforter off your body and making your way blindly across the unlit bedroom, “you have got to chill. You are not dying.”

Zinnia, an eleven-week old chocolate labrador, yaps even louder once she hears your voice.

You’re reinforcing bad behavior by getting up, a voice in your head reminds you.

You know it’s true, but what’s the alternative? Let Zinnia wake up every apartment on the whole floor? 

You open the bedroom door, and Zinnie bounces with excitement in her crate, her tail flapping against the wall of it with a rhythmic thwap-ap-thwap-ap.

You sigh. She’s so dang cute, you can’t even be pissed that it’s two in the morning. “Hi, silly girl,” you say, resigned. She rolls herself in a full circle, going belly up and then back to her feet in less than a second. 

You unlock the crate and watch absently as she catapults around your feet, races into the kitchen, slides across the linoleum and crashes sideways into a wooden cabinet door, and then dashes - unphased - back towards you, barreling into your shins. 

You sigh again and head back to your bedroom for a hoodie and some shoes. Miss Zinnie needs to run, apparently. 

You hook up her leash and grab your keys, patting your pocket to make sure your phone is in there before heading to the hallway. Zinnia zips left and right, tripping you more than once on the way to the elevators. 

You take the elevators up instead of down. There are a lot of perks to your high-end apartment building - covered parking, a pool, a 24-hour gym - but the best is by far the dog run, outside on the twelfth floor. You’ve used it approximately sixty times in the days since you brought Zinnia home. 

You realize as you push open the glass doors to the rooftop space that you forgot poop bags. 

“Zinnia,” you say seriously, “I need you to promise not to poop. Got it?”

Zinnie gags once as she pulls too hard on the leash. You rub a hand over her face and reach down to pick her up, opting to carry her hyper ass the rest of the way to the dog run. You hold the door on your way back in for a tall guy with a baseball cap tugged low over his brow, leading a fluffy, blue-eyed dog back into the building. He nods in thanks and hurries past you. You have to step inside for a second to let him by, his shoulders take up so much of the doorway despite his slender frame. 

“His dog isn’t choking itself on the leash,” you point out to Zinnia sourly. You make your way over to the dog run and make sure to latch the gate before setting Zinnia back on the ground and unclipping her.

“Go, you absolute menace,” you tell her. “Go run until you’re tired. Please, for the love of god, run until you’re tired.”

–

You’ve always gotten a mid-afternoon energy slump; Zinnia’s nighttime shenanigans haven’t helped that at all. You’re bent over your desk, trying to inhale the caffeine from your two pm coffee, when your phone pings on your desk.

Your heart sinks when you see the name of the college kid who’s supposed to watch Zinnia on weekday afternoons. 

“Please just be a cute picture,” you mutter as you unlock your screen. No such luck. The text informs you that, in your absence, Zinnia chewed through a pair of shoes you’d been stupid enough to leave out.

There is an attached picture.

It is not cute. 

–

You get home earlier than normal somehow, letting yourself into the apartment and kicking off your shoes. You immediately pick them back up, cradling them against your chest like they need to be protected.

They kind of do. Zinnia hears you and blasts straight at you, running circles around your legs, tail flopping side to side so hard her whole butt wiggles.

“Hello, silly beast,” you say affectionately, though truth be told you’re still mourning those chucks she’d ruined. 

Ry, Zinnia’s college pal, gathers her belongings and tells you goodbye. Alone with your shoe-destroyer, you sigh and head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Abandoned in the living room, Zinnia begins to sing the song of her people.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “Please, can you let me pee and change clothes? It is okay to be alone for five seconds!” 

You ignore her complaints as you do just that, emerging in joggers and a hoodie, and sneakers that aren’t your chucks, since those live in the garbage can now. 

You’d been planning on taking Zinnia on a walk walk, but there are some pretty ominous clouds out there. You pull your phone from your pocket and check the hourly - 80% chance that it’s already raining. 

A quick trip to the dog run will have to be better than nothing. 

You two head to the elevator, and you push the button for the twelfth floor, the ring around the button lighting up red.

The elevator slows to a stop on the eighth floor. The doors open and you spot the dog you’d passed last night, the one with the pretty blue eyes. You raise your eyes to look at its owner, the guy with shoulders the width of the moon.

He’s got a cap on again, but you can see his face today. He lights up when he sees you, stepping inside to let the doors close behind him. He glances at the button panel to make sure his choice is selected - he must be heading to twelve as well.

“We met you last night,” he says slyly, smiling at you. You’re unable to answer for a second; he’s so good-looking you think he must model or something. He’s got a strong brow, beautiful dark eyes, and lips that should be a museum, carved from marble.

“I think we did,” you agree, feeling suddenly shy, completely unqualified to speak to this absolute god.

“We did,” he says confidently. “I’d remember a face that cute anywhere.”

You feel yourself flush, suddenly so warm that you want to strip off your hoodie and maybe your shoes too, just to cool down. Then you realize that he’s looking down at Zinnia, whose tail is wagging so ferociously that she’s almost toppling over as she sniffs noses with the stranger’s dog.

“Is she okay?” you ask suddenly. “Do I need to –?”

“It’s fine,” he says easily, flapping a hand at you. “Blue’s very maternal. She knows a baby when she sees one.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing a little in relief. Being a Bad Dog Owner is bad enough, you’d hate to make a mistake with someone else’s dog in the equation. 

The elevator doors open on the twelfth floor, and the guy holds out a hand, beckoning you to go first. You try to exit, but Zinnia is so obsessed with the guy’s dog - Blue - that she won’t budge.

“Good god,” you grumble, reaching down to lift her, stalking out of the elevator with only a scrap of your dignity. You’re pretty sure you hear the guy snicker as he follows you towards the doors to outside. 

There’s an elderly lady and a corgi in the dog run, and you and the guy from the eighth floor hurry through the gate and latch it quickly. 

Zinnia takes off sprinting the second you unclip her. Blue trots over to the corgi first.

“So,” you say. “You have a dog that listens.”

The grin he shoots you is amused. “I’ve had Blue for almost eight years. You have a baby. A lot of her behavior right now - the energy, chewing on everything she finds - she’ll grow out of.”

“That’s a relief,” you say, thinking of the ruined chair legs under your kitchen table. You’d had that kitchen set for a decade and Zinnia left it covered in teeth-marks within the seven minutes it took you to switch laundry loads. 

He shrugs. “Some of it has to be trained out, though,” he warns you.

“Damn,” you sigh. A raindrop hits the back of your hand; instinctively, you raise your eyes to the clouds. Beside you, the guy does the same. On the other end of the dog run, the older lady calls her corgi over and clips its leash, ready to head in.

“You better pee fast, you monster,” you tell Zinnia, who doesn’t hear you and wouldn’t care even if she did.

The guy laughs quietly under his breath, then whistles once. Blue stops sniffing the ground and trots over immediately. Either his competence is really sexy, or you’re biased by his face. 

“I’m Seokjin, by the way,” he says, looking up at you as he bends over to clip the leash back on. “Most people just call me Jin. This is Blue.”

As the rain starts to patter more strongly, you tell him your name, and then point at your bonkers puppy, who is currently trying to wedge herself under the metal beam below a bench. “That absolute disaster is Zinnia.”

He smiles and repeats it. “We’ll see you around,” he says, heading back in towards the building, leaving you and your puppy in a suddenly steady rain. 

–

You stagger like a zombie to the elevators in the morning, hands clasped around a travel mug full of hot tea. Inside, you lean heavily against the wall, willing your eyes to stay open as you descend. 

You’ve made it down two floors before you even register that another human is in there with you. One more before you register that you know that human.

“There she is,” he says brightly, when he sees that you’ve clocked him, finally. “Good morning!”

“Sorry,” you say, smiling ruefully. “I’m exhausted.”

He nods understandingly. “New puppies will do that,” he says, still cheerful. “Are you crate-training her at night?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. “It’s not going great.”

He seems like he’s going to answer, but the elevator stops on floor three and four more people shuffle in between you. When you’re released into the lobby, he nods goodbye from the opposite side of the small crowd as you make your way through the front doors. 

–

You barely make it through the work-day without taking an illegal nap at your desk, but somehow you do. When you get home, Ry slipping out your front door the second she hears you, you want nothing more than to collapse on the couch and close your eyes. 

Instead, you leash up Zinnia - without even changing clothes first - and head up to the dog run. You figure if she handles her business now, it might buy you a few hours of couch time.

You also wonder if the guy - Jin - is usually out there right around now. He was yesterday, after all. Maybe that’s his normal schedule. 

He’s out there before you, this time. Your hunch was right. You unclip Zinnia and lean back against the fence, hoping you don’t fall asleep on your feet like this.

Jin sidles up beside you and you can’t deny the warm, pleased feeling that rises up in you. 

“Tough day at work?” he asks.

You can’t fight the smile off your face - you don’t even try. “Normal,” you say. “Yours?”

He shrugs. “Normal.”

You wait a beat, two beats. Jin leans comfortably next to you, his eyes watching Blue as she runs happily alongside someone’s doberman. 

“What do you do?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you. 

He gives you a sideways look that you can’t decipher. “You’ll be disappointed,” he says, sort of like a warning.

This surprises you. “Disappointed? Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s pretty boring.”

Your smile turns a little knowing. “And you don’t like looking boring?”

His mouth twists to the side. “I don’t like feeling boring. But anyway - I’m a salesman. I work at a sporting goods store. I do consultations for certain equipment, but most of the time I’m just trying to make commission.”

I think with that smile you could probably sell me a used tissue, you think unhelpfully. 

“That’s more exciting than mine,” you tell him, hoping it cheers him up. “I spend all eight hours behind a desk.”

He grimaces. “Do you hate it?” he asks. 

No one’s ever framed the question like that before. You ponder this as, across the dog run, Zinnia happily harasses a pair of doodle-mixes. 

“I don’t hate it,” you say slowly, weighing the truth of the words. “It’s just… monotonous, sometimes.”

“So you got a puppy to break up the monotony,” he guesses. 

Now it’s your turn to grimace. “I got a puppy because my boyfriend moved out.”

He turns to look at you sharply, expression stricken. “I’m sorry - I didn’t -.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “I kicked him out. Caught him - well - it doesn’t matter. The point is I wasn’t sad to see him go. And I’d been trying for a long time to talk him into getting a dog, so. I gave myself a few months to get back on my feet and then I got myself a damn dog.”

And now she’s eating everything I own, you don’t add.

“Sorry you went through that,” Jin says seriously. You wave him off.

“It’s ancient history,” you tell him. “Besides, I’d trade him for Zinnie any day. Even when she pees inside.”

He laughs at this. 

You stand chatting for a while - long enough for the doodle-mixes to get taken inside, and for a whole herd of dachshunds to come, chase circles around Zinnia for thirty minutes, and leave again, shepherded out by a middle-aged man. Long enough to learn that Jin went to college in the city, has an advanced degree in Business Management that he’s never used, adopted Blue when he was twenty-one. Long enough to learn that his parents live on the coast, that he can do most board-centered sports well, that he likes food and video games more than he likes most people. Long enough for him to learn your answers to the same questions. 

“I should probably take her in,” he says finally, as dusk settles around you. “We both need dinner.”

“Sure,” you say. “I should, too. Zinnie! Zin! Zinnia, come!”

Jin snorts as Zinnia happily ignores you. 

–

Your Friday is off to a bad start. Not only did Zinnie scream through the night, until you caved and let her out of the crate and spent the rest of the night on the couch so she wouldn’t feel lonely, but you break a heel on your way out the door. 

The sudden break sends you sprawling onto your carpeted entryway floor. Your thermos of tea rolls away - thankfully sealed tight - but you feel your tights tear on your knee where you land. And your face ends up almost under a kitchen chair, eye to eye with a delightful little gift that Zinnia must have left you sometime while you were trying to get dressed.

You pushed yourself to your feet, eye your ripped tights and then the clock, and burst into tears on the spot. “Zinnia!” you wail. “I do not have time to go change! And I definitely do not have time to scrub the carpet right now!”

You do both, shooting the puppy death-stares as you scoot out of the apartment twenty minutes late with a blotchy face. You’d better not meet Seokjin in the elevators today, like this.

Luckily you don’t - but that’s about the last good thing you can say about the rest of your day. You get a nasty email from your boss for arriving late, you realize once you get to your office that you’d left your thermos of tea back on your kitchen table after you’d tripped, and Ry texts you to say she’s got a flu and she can’t take Zinnia out to pee after lunch the way she usually does. 

You can’t leave early to handle it; you’re already in hot water for being late. You have to accept the fact that you’ll be going home to a mess - Zinnia can’t be expected to hold it that long, and it’s your fault, not hers. You just hope that, without someone there to play with her, her tiny, baby bladder is the only mess you’ll find, and not more ruined furniture. 

It sucks, and you feel horrible - hoping she doesn’t cry and bark all afternoon, alone - but there’s nothing you can do about it.

When you get home, it’s about what you expected. You spray the carpet, hurry to change clothes, then come out to scrub where the spray had been sitting. You clean this up, and then the shreds of paper towel from the paper towel roll that Zinnia somehow got from the kitchen table, and face the puppy, utterly exhausted and at wit’s end. Somehow, you find yourself wanting to cry again.

“Maybe,” you tell her, as she looks up at you expectantly, “I am just not meant to be a dog parent. Maybe you need someone who knows what they’re doing. Or works from home. Or has a roommate to help. Something. Something that isn’t this.”

Oblivious to your emotional spiral, oblivious that you’re questioning your place in her life, Zinnia lays down and yawns, pink tongue curling and paws stretching as far as they can reach. 

You skip the dog run. You think she probably needs an actual walk since Ry didn’t play with her this afternoon, and you don’t think you can face Seokjin in your current mood. He’ll either be friendly or sympathetic, and you can’t handle either of those with grace right now. 

You strap Zinnia into an actual harness, not trusting her on just a clip-leash off the apartment property, and head towards the river. You detour through the park on your way, hoping the fresh air, exercise, and sunshine will work their magic.

They don’t. You fight back tears all the way to the riverside, Zinnia trotting along at times, pulling the leash towards passersby and random garbage at others. 

Near the river, you spot a restaurant with outdoor seating. A few tables have brought their dogs; they lay on the pavement next to their humans’ tables happily, causing no fuss.

“What do you think?” you ask Zinnia wryly. “Can you be good long enough for one drink?”

You don’t give her the choice, getting yourself a table and tying her leash securely to your chair. One drink turns into two, then somehow you’re working on a third, your chin resting in your hand, a little stormcloud brewing above your head. 

You’re startled when a body drops into the chair across from yours. You reach for Zinnia’s leash, alarmed, and then you realize it’s only Jin.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, at the same time that he says, “You look miserable.”

You stare at each other, not sure who should address what first. 

“I was on my way home,” he explains. “The subway stop here isn’t that far from our place, so I’ll take it sometimes when the weather’s nice.”

You nod, accepting this. Then you decide to address what he���d said. “I am miserable,” you admit. “I am the worst dog owner on the planet. Come see me in five years, I will have one hellion of a dog, and exactly zero unruined square inches of apartment.”

Jin looks at you with an expression that’s both amused at your hyperbole and a bit sympathetic. You don’t know what you expect him to say, but it isn’t this - he leans forward, brows furrowing seriously, and asks you, “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” you say, somewhat desperately. “I will take any suggestions.”

He sits back, the intensity leaving his face. “I have a few friends who work at this place in town? It’s called Paw Prints Academy.”

You chuckle. “Is it for bad dogs?”

He flashes you a smile. “Their secret, unofficial motto is there are no bad dogs, only bad owners.”

“Sounds like the place for me,” you admit. 

“They’ve got it all - obedience classes, experts to run your questions by, groomers, boarding, day care.”

“It sounds great,” you say. “I obviously need some expert help. I’m a disaster.”

“I’ll send you their website,” Jin promises, and then pauses, his hand halfway to his phone. He seems, suddenly, less sure. The tips of his ears are suddenly red. “I… that is… if you’re okay with giving me your number?”

You hide your smile behind a hand. “Sure,” you say, trying to bite back the grin. “You can have my number.”

“For puppy purposes,” he clarifies with a cheeky smile. As if you both know that’s a lie.

“For puppy purposes,” you reassure him, feeling your little stormcloud start to dissipate.

–

Seokjin doesn’t abuse having your number. He sends you the website to Paw Prints Academy, and adds, “my friend’s name is jimin, tell him you know me” and then you don’t hear from him again. You call the academy and get Zinnia registered for obedience courses. You also sign yourself up for a seminar called New Puppy 101. 

Slowly, things actually start looking up. It happens in a trickle, so gradually it’s barely noticeable. You don’t notice - until the first morning your alarm goes off and you realize with a jolt of terror that Zinnia hadn’t woken you up in the middle of the night, even once.

But when you trip over your own feet in a panic, throwing open your bedroom door, terrified of what you’ll find… you find Zinnia lying peacefully on her side in her crate. She begins to thump her tail happily when she sees you, and you nearly sag with relief. 

Things improve for you at work, too; it’s almost like getting a full night’s sleep makes you more productive or something. 

You go a full five days without scrubbing your carpet or throwing away any shoes.

And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that you meet Seokjin and Blue up in the dog run nearly every evening after work. 

It’s during one of these unscheduled, yet oddly routine instances that Jin points out Zinnia’s progress. 

You’re leaning against the fence together, watching absently as the dogs run around, as you have almost every day lately. Sure, you take Zinnia up as soon as you get home from work for her sake. But the coincidence that Jin is usually there around the same time doesn’t hurt.

“She seems way better,” he observes, turning his head to watch Zinnia zip by. “I can’t believe how big she’s gotten, too.”

“I know, right?” you explode, responding to both observations at once. But you can’t help it - you’re proud. “Watch this! Zinnia! Zinnie!”

And Zinnia, your wild baby, stops running and turns to look at you eagerly, waiting. 

“Sit!” you call.

And Zinnia sits.

Seokjin whistles low, appreciative. 

“Jimin’s a miracle worker,” he says. “I’m glad you called them.”

“Me too,” you admit. “Did I ever thank you for sending me their info? Because, seriously, I think you saved my life.”

Jin laughs, full and deep.  

It scares you how much you like the feeling of making him laugh. It makes you want to sprint out of there, with or without Zinnia, hopping the fence if you have to.

–

The next afternoon, you get home and get ready to head up to the dog run. It’s a beautiful day, but you barely notice as you rotely go through the motions - change shoes, clip Zinnia’s leash, grab your keys from the countertop, head for the elevator. You keep your phone in your hand, hoping for a vibration, terrified of the vibration.

The dog run is empty when you get there; normally you’d be a little bummed that Jin isn’t there with Blue as he is almost every weekday evening, but today you’re relieved that you don’t have to try to carry a conversation. You unclip Zinnia, who darts away, and give a heavy sigh, leaning heavily against the fence, your phone still between your white-knuckled fingers.

Your relief is short-lived, because the building door opens less than two minutes later and Blue leads Jin out into the sunshine. 

He smiles when he sees you, loping over and taking his now-familiar spot next to you as Blue sniffs the ground next to the metal bench to your left. 

He’s chattering at you, and you think you’re answering, but it all kind of flows around you. After a few minutes of this, he pauses mid-sentence, brows furrowing.

“Hey,” he says kind of softly - there’s a definite change in his tone, which is honestly the thing that grabs your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer on instinct. “All good.”

There’s something sharp in his sideways glance. “You sure? You seem distracted.”

You wave the hand holding your phone a little, nodding your head toward it. “My dad’s at a cardiologist appointment right now. I’m waiting to hear if everything is fine… or if everything is not fine, in which case I probably need to go pack a bag and look up train times…” You trail off. Seokjin is listening intently, his face serious. You feel a flush of embarrassment anyway. “Sorry. I shouldn’t unload on you. We’re practically strangers.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens with his frown.

“Well, now my feelings are hurt,” he complains. 

You blink back at him, surprised. This was not the response you were expecting. 

“I thought we were friends,” he continues, an exaggerated pout creeping into his tone and onto his features. “I don’t keep a steady schedule at the complex’s dog run for just anybody, you know.”

Your heart trips over its own feet and faceplants in the dirt. You feel your eyes go wide as he puts words to something you’d suspected but had been afraid to assume - that you’d both been coming here at the same time on purpose. Not just you, but him too.

The playfulness melts away with the fake pout, and he’s back to looking at you seriously. “Have you had dinner?” he asks. There’s something gentle about the way he says the words; you feel something warm drop to your toes, intoxicating. “Let me cook for you.”

“You cook?” you blurt. 

He smiles warmly, a touch of amusement in it. Like he’s thinking, but is too polite to say, how much you don’t know about him. It’s definitely what you’re thinking. 

“Come on,” he says, heading around you towards the gate, giving your elbow a gentle touch on his way by. “I’ll make you something good.”

–

Jin’s apartment is cleaner than you’d expected, to be honest. He sets you up at his breakfast bar with a generously poured glass of red wine and gets to work in the kitchen. 

“Is Zinnie okay?” you ask him, looking over your shoulder anxiously as Zinnia sniffs his couch frantically, like the fabric is holding every secret the universe could ever hold. “She tends to… chew. It’s been better since we started classes with Jimin, but nobody’s perfect.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Jin says, waving a hand at you. “Blue did her share of damage to my stuff when she was a baby.”

You watch him in comfortable silence as he dices vegetables, a pot of water heating on the stovetop. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but it’s lowkey pretty sexy how he works a kitchen knife. It’s almost enough to distract you from the churning pit of anxiety in your stomach as you tap your fingers absently on your darkened phone screen.

“So it’s been going well with Jimin, huh?” Jin asks over his shoulder, and you tear your gaze away from your phone and try to catch up to the conversation.

“Oh,” you say, once you’ve processed. “Really well, actually. I think he’s a dog genius.”

Jin laughs at this, lifting the cutting board to slide what he’s chopped into the pot of water. Then he comes over to his side of the breakfast bar and picks up the other glass of red wine, still untouched. 

“He’s good at his job,” Jin agrees. “I don’t know about genius. Did you know he’s secretly a cat person?”

This makes you giggle a little, your eyes falling back to your screen. Again, Jin tries to pull you back.

“Is she following any other commands now?” He eyes you over the top of his wine glass as he takes a long drink from it.

You smile a little, well aware that he’s distracting you on purpose, well aware that you aren’t sure you deserve this level of care from him. 

But apparently you’re friends.

“She’s pretty good about here, and sit,” you say. “Not so good with stay. It’s a work in progress.”

Jin grins at this, something sparkling in his eyes. 

“She’s sleeping in her crate at night, too,” you add.

“Wow,” Jin says, eyebrows raising. “That must be nice.”

“I don’t know how I was surviving before,” you tell him seriously, and he laughs again as he turns back to the stove to handle something.

You chat like this, in starts and stops, until the meal is done. Jin slides a steaming bowl before you and sets up a few sides before coming to take the seat to your right. Zinnia appears underfoot, nose sniffing wildly.

“I agree,” you tell her seriously. “It smells amazing. Who taught you to cook?”

His smile softens, going a little sideways. “My grandfather, actually. Weird, right? He was widowed when my dad and my aunts and uncles were all pretty little, so he had to learn, had to feed all those kids.”

“That’s not weird at all,” you tell him. “It’s actually kind of beautiful.”

Emboldened, Jin continues, the fond smile remaining on his face. “He’s a brilliant cook - we’ve told him forever he should have a cooking channel.”

You laugh a little. “People would probably be into that. Especially if you were the assistant.”

This comes out of your mouth without you realizing; the second you register that it has, you feel yourself blush furiously. And, dammit, Jin clocks the whole thing.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, that soft smile turning razor sharp. “Why’s that?”

You’re saved by your phone buzzing on the table, the screen coming to life, illuminating with the notification from your messaging app: Mom.

Frantically, you swipe to open the message, eyes flying across the screen as you read her update. Then, you close your eyes, pressing your forehead to the breakfast bar, the fake granite cool beneath your skin, letting out a shaky exhale.

You feel Jin; he’s instantly in your space, one large hand resting lightly over your shoulder as he hovers closer to you. Aside from his hand on your back, comforting, he’s not touching you at all. But somehow it feels like he’s surrounding you.

He says your name quietly, inquisitively. 

You reach out blindly, your hand finding his knee. “It’s okay,” you say, taking a deep breath and sitting up. Your head spins. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes and take another deep, bracing breath. Seokjin’s hand stays on your back. “It’s good news.”

You hear Jin exhale beside you, his fingers twitching against your shoulder blade, almost like he had the reflex to squeeze you and fought it just a second too late. It strikes you, deeply, that he’s relieved. He doesn’t know your parents, has no real stake here. But his relief is palpable next to you; your worry had become his own. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Your problems shouldn’t be his to bear. “I know I wasn’t great company tonight.”

He shakes his head, following your lead and placing his hand back on his own legs, as if wanting to cover the spot on his knee that you’d left vacant. “I enjoyed your company,” he says openly. “I’m glad you came over.”

You sit in silence, both sneaking glances, neither knowing what move to make yet. You feel like you’re playing Chutes and Ladders and a chute just sent you sideways around the Peppermint Forest and dumped you seven spaces ahead when you don’t really belong there yet. Or maybe you’re mixing up your board games. 

“I should probably go give them a call,” you say reluctantly. “Can I help you clean up? You cooked.”

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. Both dogs look up at this familiar word, gauging if they’re the ones in trouble. This makes you smile, and it breaks you out of the weird headspace you were in. “I’ll clean up.”

You rise, calling to Zinnia as you grab her leash. You clip her up and head for the door. Jin trails behind you, walking you out. You pause near the door, looking at him balefully.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Seriously - for everything. For… caring about my problems. For the delicious food. For cooking and cleaning up. You should have let me do the dishes.”

He smiles at you, sunlight spun into the quirk of his lips, the soft wrinkle at the edges of his eyes. “If you’re that worried about it, I know how you can make it up to me,” he says, his voice a little teasing. 

“Oh?” You quirk an eyebrow. You’ve got emotional whiplash; in the last three hours you’ve gone from flirting to panicking to soft to awkward to flirting again and you cannot keep up.

He leans against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest, that smile turning sharp again. God, you like his face so much. You like him so much. “Mhm,” he says, mock seriously. “I found a trail I want to check out with Blue, but as a general rule I don’t do mountains alone.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “You need an Adventure Buddy.”

“Yes,” he says eagerly, snapping his fingers in excitement. “Exactly. So, what do you think? This weekend? The weather’s supposed to be great.”

“Can I let you know?” you ask. “Text me the details.” Truth be told, you want to look up the trail first and decide if it seems too challenging. 

Jin slips out of that teasing, flirtatious mode easily. “Sure,” he says, all casual again. He’s so hard to keep up with, you think you’ll never get used to it. “I’ll text you.” 

You open the door, tripping over Zinnia a little as she pushes past you into the hallway, but you’re stopped when Jin says your name one more time. You look back over your shoulder, curious.

“I’m glad your dad’s okay,” he says, giving you a rueful smile.

You give a tiny smile back before Zinnia bodily tugs you further away, spurring you into movement. “Thanks,” you say, and turn to go.

–

[9:19 PM] You: idk about this trail…. looking at the elevation… do you think it’ll be too hard for Zinnie? she’s just a baby :’)

[9:21 PM] Seokjin: the elevation’s misleading, it’s honestly not that bad

[9:22 PM] Seokjin: you’ll be totally fine

[9:23 PM] Seokjin: oops i mean “Zinnia” will be totally fine 😏

[9:23 PM] You: … what exactly are you implying here

[9:24 PM] Seokjin: just that any and all babies will be fine :) 

[9:25 PM] You: …….i think we’re fighting

–

Seokjin drives you - and the dogs - to the trailhead early Saturday morning, the low rising sun dodging in and out between buildings as they pass you by. The forecast calls for a beautiful day - bright and clear, not too hot to hike, but not so chilly that you’ll shiver the whole first leg. 

As Seokjin parks and organizes his backpack, you stand next to the car, shielding your eyes and peering at the top.

He laughs when he notices, the sound alive and as bright as the weather. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he promises, coming close, looking at the top with you. His presence, so close to you, feels thrilling - like electricity, like a promise.

“You keep saying that,” you deadpan, “but if Zinnia conks out on me, you’re carrying her up the mountain and back.”

“Have some faith,” he teases, and heads for the place where the trees split, the path tamped down from many feet, leading into thick forest.

Zinnia keeps up pretty well, actually, and you and Seokjin set a steady pace up the trail. 

About a half a mile in, he asks, “How’s your dad?”

It startles you, and you look over at him kind of wildly. He looks back at you like it’s nothing - like it’s nothing that he remembered and thought to ask - waiting for your response.

“Fine,” you say, a habit. Then, reconsidering, you add, “I mean, the same. He’s got more tests and stuff lined up, but the verdict from the cardiologist was that there’s no immediate concern. So… that was a relief. His primary care doctor looked at his EKG results and said to go immediately, so we were pretty scared.”

“I’d be scared, too,” he admits. “I’m glad you got good news. I would have been a wreck.”

You continue talking as you walk - about your families, your parents, your siblings. This moves into a conversation about things you both remember from growing up, until the conversation has delved into you both laughing too hard to get a sentence out as you manage, “Wait - wait, do you remember -?”

This takes the conversation to old movies you remember fondly.

“Can you believe my ex had never even heard of those?” you ask a little indignantly, before registering that maybe that was a weird thing to say. 

But Seokjin takes it in stride. “The one who cheated on you? We’ve established his poor taste already.” 

This makes you giggle. “Yes, that winner.” 

He looks over at you, as the trail veers left and sharply steepens. “I’m sorry you went through that,” he says evenly. “I can kind of relate. It’s not fun.”

You peer back at him, not sure how heavy this conversation is going to, or should, get. 

Hesitantly, you ask, “Do you want to tell me about it? I don’t want to… y’know. Pry.”

He shrugs. “At the end of the day, there’s not much to tell. My last girlfriend… I don’t think she cheated - or, well, I never had proof that she did.”

“You suspected?”

He wiggles his head, indicating a maybe. “I think it was heading that way with her and a co-worker. It’s possible that I ended things before it got to that point. But she started lying to me about him - about little stuff, stuff that shouldn’t matter. And I just… I’m a pretty understanding, easy-going guy, but I’m not going to tolerate someone lying to my face.”

You continue in silence for a few minutes, weighing these words in your mind, adding this new knowledge to the idea of Jin that’s in your head. 

Then, he flashes you a cheesy grin and says lightly, “And that’s my sales pitch! Want to date me?”

You laugh out loud, mostly in surprise. But he’s still looking at you, and you feel your eyebrows raise.

“Was that a real question?” you ask, a little disbelieving. God, he’s the most unserious person you’ve ever met. 

“A little bit,” he admits. 

Stunned, you manage, “You might need to do a harder sell.”

His brows furrow dramatically. “Please, I’m a catch. Didn’t you taste my food the other night?” 

“That’s true,” you muse. “The food was bomb. I’ll think about it. Gotta decide if this purchase will break the bank or not.”

While you’re just going along with his little bit, it kind of feels like code. You do need to consider if you can afford dating Jin - emotionally. Mentally. Are you ready for a relationship again? Would that even be what he wants?

“That’s fair,” he says easily. “Crunch some numbers and let me know.”

You think with anyone else it would be awkward the rest of the way, but Jin doesn’t allow it to be. He carries the conversation onto the next topic - gossip about your dog-trainer, Jimin - without a hitch.

You follow the conversation somewhat absently, still in your head, questions rising up to stare at you like Marley’s ghost, covered in chains. What do you want? What are you ready for? 

You aren’t sure - about any of it. But Seokjin’s presence feels like warm rays of sunshine, warming you from a chill you didn’t know you had, and his laugh feels like the toll of city bells, telling you it’s time to come home. 

–

Zinnia doesn’t conk out on her way up the mountain, but she definitely slows. Jin ties the girls’ leashes to a low branch near the trail and fishes a collapsible water bowl from his backpack, filling it with water and setting it down.

“Wow, that’s fancy,” you marvel, as Zinnia attacks the water bowl with vigor, water splashing the rock beneath, painting everything a darker shade of grey. “If we’re gonna keep doing this, I might need to get one of those.”

But Jin’s attention isn’t on the dogs anymore - it’s on the view. He’s wandered to the edge of the flat expanse of rock, where grey meets the green of far down below. You join him, and he puts an arm around your shoulders, glancing at you to make sure this is okay. You look out at the view, and it is beautiful… but your mind is too busy to appreciate it.

“Jin…” you say slowly, and he looks down at you, hand tightening against your shoulder almost reflexively. 

“Hm?”

“If I were interested… what exactly are the terms of sale?” you murmur, feeling kind of shy. 

Jin laughs, delighted, throwing his head back with it. His hair falls away from his face and he uses the hand that’s not on your shoulder to push it back. “What do you want them to be?” he asks, and you feel a tingle down to your toes at the dangerous undercurrent that flows along with the question. 

“I’m not totally sure,” you admit quietly. “Is there any kind of… trial period? Any way to start is slow and see how it goes?”

Seokjin gives you an understanding squeeze. “Listen, as much as I love the bit and your dedication to it, I really want to communicate clearly about this. So - just to be very clear - I’d really like to date you. If you’re more comfortable starting slowly, I’m okay with that.”

You press your lips together, reaching a hand up to gently touch his fingers where they rest on your shoulder, considering. 

Seokjin watches your face, then says, “I know a great burger joint on the way home. Let me buy your dinner, and we can call this a first date. What do you think?”

You turn to face him, looking up and up into his warm eyes, and his hand shifts from your shoulder to the center of your back, holding you loosely enough that you don’t feel held in place, feel free to go if that’s what you choose. 

“That’s a pretty good first date,” you say seriously. “But it’s really gonna depend on how the burgers are.”

He grins, cocky. “They’re pretty good,” he says. “But, honestly, mine are better.” Then, he presses the knuckle of his index finger gently to the bottom of your chin and kisses you gently - again, so gently it’s barely there, so gently it would have taken just a breath of space for you to pull away if you wanted to. 

You don’t; instead you press forward, pressing your lips more firmly against his, your hands coming to rest on his upper arms, feather-light. Behind you, Zinnia begins yipping - loud, insistent, each sharp sound piercing the silence around you.

You pull away from Jin, flushing, pleased to see a smile on his face. “She’s just jealous,” he deadpans. 

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Please. She gets to kiss me all the time. She can share.”

Laughing, Jin heads for the dogs, ready to head back down to the cars. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “Let’s go get some pretty good burgers.”

–

They are good - better than pretty good, you think, and you tell Seokjin so after a beer and a half at the burger joint’s outdoor patio. The mountain you’d tackled looms in the distance, blue and shadowy.

“I’m telling you, mine are better,” Jin insists. “I have a secret method.”

“Yeah?” You tease. “Taking it to the grave?”

“You say that like it’s a joke,” he says seriously. “But I am.” 

On the wooden deck beneath you, Zinnia lays on her side, eyelids fluttering and paws twitching as she dreams.

“We really knocked her out,” you observe.

Jin laughs, reaching his arms over his head to stretch, the movement causing his shirt to ride up just enough to show a slip of belly before it falls back into place. You try not to look, try not to remember kissing him at the mountain’s top. 

“That’ll be us in a few hours,” he jokes. “I always knock out after a hike like this.”

“I’m going to be sore for days,” you agree, rubbing your calves in anticipation of the aching muscles you’ll have tomorrow.

“I have a suggestion,” Jin says, voice low. You flush, expecting him to flirt, to offer to rub your tired legs or something suggestive. Instead he says, “You ever try epsom salts?”

You blink at him, bamboozled. You just can’t predict him - he zigs when you expect a zag every damn time. 

“I have, yeah,” you finally stammer. “I don’t think I have any left, though.”

“I have a huge bag,” he tells you, finishing the last of his second beer in one long draught. When he sets down his glass he tells you, “I’ll bring you the bag later. It’ll help a lot, I promise.”

You look him over. “You’re a guy with a lot of solutions, huh?”

He coughs, averting his gaze. You notice the tips of his ears turning pink and you hide a smile behind your hand. So cute. 

“I try to be solution-oriented, yes,” he mumbles, embarrassed. 

There’s no sign of that - the pink ears, the averted eyes, the mumbling - when he shows up at your door about twenty minutes after you arrive home. Zinnia is passed out on the floor behind you, having first lapped up her body weight in water from her silver bowl in the kitchen. As for you, all you’ve managed to do so far is shed your sneakers, your jacket, and the tshirt that had been sticking to your back, leaving you in athletic leggings and a sports bra. 

Jin’s gaze sweeps you from head to toe and then settles determinedly on your eyes, like he’s got to work at it. “I brought the epsom salts,” he tells you unnecessarily, holding up the bag. 

“I see that,” you murmur, feeling warm under his gaze. “Thanks.”

You reach to take the bag from him, but he tugs back on it a little, effectively pulling you to him. You trip into his arms willingly, ready for it this time when he kisses you. 

He walks you backwards into your apartment, out of the threshold, letting the door close behind him. You hit the wall of your entryway, let him cage you in against it, his lips insistent against yours. When he runs a hand softly up your arm, summoning a wave of goosebumps in its wake, you sigh against his lips. 

He takes advantage of the opening, teasing your bottom lip with his tongue before venturing further. You open for him happily, leaning back against the wall, reveling in the feeling of his strong arms on either side of you, the feeling of his tongue sliding against your own, the feeling of his hair between your fingers - when had you grabbed his hair?

You kiss him until you’re dizzy, until your legs feel weak beneath you, until you feel his hand travel from between your shoulder blades, to the small of your back, to the side of your ribs.

You break the kiss gently, nearly panting for breath. You can feel Jin’s pulse jumping as he does the same.

You look at each other for a long moment, communicating silently, weighing options.

You could invite him in. He’s here already, Zinnia’s unconscious, you’re holding a bag of bath salts (wait, no, the bag is on the ground - when did you drop it?). But something in your stomach tugs, tells you not yet. So that’s what you tell him, on a whisper, your teeth coming to toy with your swollen bottom lip as soon as the words are out - not yet. I’m sorry.

“Hey,” he says, cupping your cheek with a hand, so soft. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything. Don’t apologize.”

You glance around the room, desperate for a distraction, but nothing comes. “I, um,” you say, looking anywhere but him, “I think I’m gonna try the salts now. My legs are like jello.”

He gives you a tiny grin, and you roll your eyes. “From the hike!” you protest.

He gives you a playfully disbelieving look but backs off, giving you some space again. “Sure, of course,” he says, smirking. 

You bend to pick up the discarded bag, holding it in your hands, feeling along the rubber zipper. Then, you cross Jin’s path and open the front door again, looking up to find him still watching you.

He gives you a playful smile. “I had a nice first date and a half,” he says, losing the fight against a pleased smile. 

You huff out a laugh. “This was the half?” you clarify.

“I don’t kiss like that on the first date,” he sniffs in mock indignation.

You giggle, following behind him as he heads to the hallway. “Goodnight, Seokjin. Thanks for the salts. And the date and a half.”

–

You soak away your sore muscles and sleep deeper than you have in months. 

Your days continue this way as April’s grey and rainy afternoons give way to sunshine, bright afternoons, trees starting to bud as the temperature grows milder. You meet Jin at the dog run every afternoon unless you text to make different plans - sometimes a walk with the dogs through the park nearby, sometimes dinner out, sometimes dinner in. 

Dinner in usually means more kissing.

Sometimes, dinner out does, too.

In retrospect, you should have known. You should have known that as you fall for Seokjin little by little something else must be coming. Things can’t just be bright sunshine and Seokjin’s laugh, Zinnia’s wagging tail and linked fingers under starry skies.

Your brother shows up at your door, unannounced, almost a full month after your first date with Jin.

You almost don’t recognize him; it’s not that you haven’t seen him in that long - you have. It’s just that he’s still a kid in your head, a gangly, acne-prone teenager with earpods and a scowl. The man who stares at you, a rolling suitcase in hand, is in a suit. He looks put-together, and grown.

You say his name nervously, and he sort of grimaces at you. 

“Sorry I didn’t call,” he says. “I’ve been on the phone with Mom and the doctors.”

“Doctors?” you echo, backing up to let him inside. 

He gives you a look as he wheels his little suitcase inside. You don’t like the look. It says something bad is coming. 

“It’s Dad,” he says.

–

You end up going out to grab dinner - you have no groceries to cook him a meal, and you’re a terrible cook anyway.

Your little brother fills you in - that cardiologist appointment over a month ago had ended with a positive outcome. They’d told your parents not to worry, there was no immediate danger, but there were certainly concerns.

Concerns that had worsened in the following month, apparently.

“They’re going to see a cardio team at the hospital here in the city,” your brother explains. “Mom was going to call and explain all of this to you, but I told her I was coming here anyway. She can focus on them - getting a hotel set up, packing, all that stuff. It looks like he’ll probably need surgery - they’ll decide at his appointment tomorrow. If that’s the case, they’ll stay in the city for a little until he’s recovered enough to go home again.”

You feel like you’re in shock; it’s a lot all at once. Your whole family suddenly in your city, under terrible circumstances. Surgery? Heart surgery?

“I’ll get a hotel, too, if it turns out they’ll be here a long time,” he says.

You come back to earth sharply. “You don’t need to do that. You’re welcome with me and Zinnia as long as you need, okay? Seriously. I’ll talk to Mom in the morning. We’ll get everything figured out.”

Just like that, the toughness drops out of him. Somehow he’d been the one your mom had called, the one responsible for relaying the information, the one responsible for making and supporting medical decisions. You’re the elder, it should have been you. As soon as you take the reins again, he folds, pressing his hands to his face and letting out a shuddering breath. 

You feel horrible, instantly. He’s the baby, he’s not supposed to have to shoulder the responsibility. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “It’s gonna be fine. Dad will be fine. We’ll find out tomorrow what his treatment plan is, and how long they’ll need to stay. You’re fine staying with me, okay? It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he says, uncovering his face and reaching for his water glass. “You’re right.” Then, quieter, “You’re right.”

At the end of the meal, walking back to the apartment, you stop near the door and give him a hug, your brave little brother.

“You did well,” you assure him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

He hugs you back, holding you like he’s been drowning and you’re a buoy. It breaks your heart to think that may sort of be the case.

Neither of you notices Seokjin and Blue pass by, glancing at you curiously over his shoulder on his way into the building.

When he texts you that night, not long after you’ve set your brother up on your couch and crated Zinnia for the night, it’s not entirely unexpected, considering you’d skipped your normal trip to the dog run earlier, and you’d been too spun in circles to text him an explanation.

His message lights up your screen - “missed you earlier. everything ok?”

You hesitate, nibbling at your lower lip as you consider. What could you really tell him right now?

Not really, my baby brother showed up unannounced and emotionally hanging by a thread, and we’re waiting to find out tomorrow if a team of surgeons will be opening my elderly father up for heart surgery. 

Not really a text message conversation, right? Honestly, you’re not sure it’s an in-person conversation, either. The relationship - if you can call it that without having discussed exclusivity yet - is still new, blooming, fragile. Is it too much, too soon? Would you be better off telling him later, when things are settled, when you can tie up the story nice and neat?

We had another health scare with my dad, but it’s okay now. He’s recovering. 

Isn’t that less heavy? Your problems should not be Seokjin’s to carry, and you know he’ll try to carry them. He’s wonderful that way, always doing. There’s something scared and snappish inside you that wants to keep him far away from this until you’re sure you can look brave, until you’re sure you won’t fall apart in front of him. 

In the end you send back, “all good! just got busy. how was your day?”

It strikes you as a little weird that he hasn’t answered by the time you go to bed. But as soon as you’re up the next day, you’re completely focused on your parents. You call them before you’re even out of bed, checking up on where in the city they’re staying, what time your dad’s appointment is. You call out sick from work, glad you hadn’t wasted sick days back when Zinnia was keeping you from sleeping - even though you’d definitely considered it more than once.

You and your brother both go to the cardiologist appointment, you two and your parents squeezing into the little consultation room as the surgeon examines your dad’s results on his computer screen.

Your heart hammers as you wait. You see your mom’s foot tapping, tapping, tapping, and you reach to hold her hand, hoping to comfort her, calm her down.

The surgeon removes his glasses and looks at your father seriously. “I do think surgery is the best course of action,” he says calmly. Your heart drops. The doctor continues, “It’s a pretty routine procedure, as far as these things go. Nothing to worry too much about. I’m confident that a stent will work.”

You lock onto the words minimally invasive, listening eagerly as the doctor continues to outline the plan he thinks will work best. 

“I think it’s best to admit you today and schedule the surgery as soon as possible,” you hear the doctor says, and the rest of the day is a blur - signing papers, answering doctors’ questions, running back to your parents’ hotel to throw together a bag of personal items for your dad, running to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee that has been your only meal all day, more papers, waiting room after waiting room after waiting room.

When you finally get home, long after dark, your brother trailing wordlessly behind you, you’re so mentally and physically exhausted, you could cry. Zinnia waits for you in her crate - Ry had luckily been around when you texted, and came to take her outside a few times while you were gone. You let Zinnia out of the crate and collapse on the couch. Your brother takes the recliner, staring at you like you’ve both emerged from a warzone. 

As you unwind, try to unclench your brain and your jaw and your shoulders, you think to check your messages. Part of you hopes Jin’s sent you something.

But your messages are empty. Your heart sinks with disappointment. You plan to go to work tomorrow; your dad’s surgery should end midafternoon and you can go straight to the hospital from work. It’s another day that you’ll miss Jin at the dog run. You think about texting him with an explanation, but that last message you sent him still sits there, unanswered, calling you a fool. So, instead, you slide your phone into your pocket and ask your little brother if he wants you to order delivery.

–

It takes you two more days to really get the message - Jin’s silence is deliberate. Your father’s surgery goes well, and if all goes according to plan your family should be heading back home in just a day or two. Crisis handled, on the day after surgery you swallow your pride and send Jin, “Sorry I’ve been MIA - family thing. All good now. What’s new with you?”

Not only does this go unanswered - like the one before - but another three weekdays go by and your trips up to the dog run at 5:15pm remain devoid of company. 

Your father heals. Your mother takes him home. Your brother packs up and leaves just a folded up blanket on the couch he’d occupied for almost a week. April turns rainy, like the children’s rhyme says. And you… you slide back into your old routine, sans Seokjin.

You’re sad - of course you’re sad, you liked Jin. He was funny, charming, and so ready to do for you. You’d gotten used to having him around - his windshield wiper laugh, his great cooking, the way he’d carry the same joke or bit with you for a whole day before letting it go, the way the monotony of your day to day seemed interesting again once he was in it.

And you missed Blue, too.

But it wasn’t that deep - not yet. You’re not sobbing, heartbroken, into your pillow or anything. You feel disappointment above all else - disappointment at the loss of what could have been something. 

You really do think it could have been something real. 

You also feel… confused. What had happened? Had Jin seriously gotten mad at your silence for a few days and just ghosted you? You replay your last few conversations in your head, scour your last few text exchanges for anything that would make sense, but nothing does. 

Some little part of your brain niggles, suggests that you’ve been wronged, somehow. That something had happened to you that you didn’t deserve. It’s enough to start just the tiniest flicker of anger, deep in your belly. 

Thursday brings rain - relentless, cold, the kind of rain to make you wrap up in a jacket and tell Zinnia to hustle when you bring her upstairs to pee. 

For the first time since the day your brother showed up at your door, you run into Jin and Blue. Jin is coming in from outside, both he and Blue soaked from the rain. His jacket sticks to his chest, his drenched hair pushed away from his face. He pauses as Blue shakes the water from her fur, and that’s enough time for your eyes to catch his.

You freeze, not sure what will happen - will he talk to you? Should you say hi?

His face, already blank, somehow slides blanker, like something falls away from it and leaves it even more empty. Then he pulls his gaze away from you, orders Blue to his side with a single, muttered syllable, and turns on his heel to walk to the stairwell at the end of the hall. 

He’ll take the stairs, you figure, so he doesn’t have to walk past you to get to the elevator.

That little flicker of anger builds into a flame, and even the mid-April downpour can’t put it out.

–

It rains for days, your apartment cast in grey. You don’t know if it contributes to your mood or if it’s just mirroring it, but you feel grey, too. You quit using the dog run and start taking Zinnie on loops around the block, instead. After her walks, you lay on the couch, cheek pressed against the soft material, dramas playing on the screen without your attention.

Zinnia lays on the floor against the couch, occasionally whining and licking your hand. Sometimes she digs out toys - rubber kongs, plush ducks she’s practically decapitated, rawhides - and drops them at your feet, looking at you hopefully. You toss them for her or play tug each time, but you think she knows your heart isn’t in it.

Later, when you try to remember April, all you can think of is grey and rain.

–

It seems, though, that you’re not the only one who gave up on the dog run. On the first weekend in May, on a day that is - yes - grey, but thankfully not rainy, you run into Jin on the sidewalk a few buildings down from your own.

Blue wags happily when she sees you, but you feel yourself frown, already sliding your gaze to the ground. You don’t want to watch his face go ugly again, like last time. You can’t bear it, you think you might snap. That indignant little flame tickles in your veins. 

You have to pass each other unless one of you turns around, so you grit your teeth and push on. It feels like an imminent collision, tension and anxiety building in you the closer and closer you get - and then Zinnia decides to make it an actual collision, zigging sharply towards Blue at the last second, knocking you off-balance right into Seokjin’s space.

His hands take you by the upper arms, steadying you, placing you back on your feet. There’s something tender in his touch, you think, and then you glimpse his face. That blankness again, the flatness nastier than any scowl he could send your way. 

His hands are off you quickly, and he’s pushing past you, not a word spoken.

That flame bursts from a tickle to a storm.

“Hey!” you shout, the word tearing from your chest like it had to detach from something, burning up your throat like the burn of liquor. Seokjin turns, that flat expression starting to border on a defensive sneer. “What the hell is your problem?”

Now it is a sneer. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me!” you shout, stomping closer. Zinnia follows, her tail down, sensitive to your tone. “What exactly is the problem, Seokjin? I’m dying to know.”

He opens his mouth to answer you, but you cut him off with a bitter laugh. “No, seriously,” you say, that same bitterness marinating every word. “I’m dying to know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I can’t. So please, enlighten me. What did I do?”

Your body sings with adrenaline, your chest heaves with quick breaths as your body tells you it’s ready to fight. 

Seokjin lets out a single huff of a laugh. “What did you do?” he echoes sarcastically. “Literally the only thing I consider a hard no.”

You don’t follow. “What?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe that you don’t get it. “I saw you hugging that guy,” he says evenly, “and then I texted you to see what -.”

“That was my brother,” you blurt furiously, eyes narrowing. “Is that what this was all about? You didn’t strike me as a jealous, jump-to-conclusions kind of person -.”

“I don’t care about that,” he says over you, tone stoney. “You lied to me - right to my face.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to put the pieces together. He’d seen you hugging your brother, and then he’d texted you “everything ok?” and you’d said… “just busy”. It was a lie, sort of - barely. 

You laugh - actually laugh. “You’re out of your mind,” you say coldly. “You dropped me over that? I had things going on that I didn’t want to get into. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he says, not cruelly, just truthful. “It was a lie.”

You heave a frustrated breath, casting your gaze at the full clouds above you. “Seokjin,” you say slowly, “you’re not being fair.” It feels suddenly very important to you to defend yourself, to explain it all away - even if he still walks away after, you want to be sure he knows he was wrong. “I wasn’t lying about, like, where I was, or who I was with. It was just… omission. The situation felt… too heavy for whatever this is. Whatever this was,” you amend. 

He just looks at you silently, but you can see the changes in his expression - that flatness melting away almost imperceptibly, making way for something chagrined. You take this as a good sign and continue, explaining what had happened - from your brother showing up, to the surgery, to your family heading home again - leaving your space emptier than they’d found it. 

Finished, you look at him silently, watching him process. Then, everything off your chest, you move to continue on. You feel, suddenly, like you have nothing else to say to him. “We were just casually dating,” you point out as you take a step away. His ears are red again, but he hasn’t tried to speak. “At no point did I lose the right to choose what to tell you and what to keep to myself. You acted like a child when you could have just communicated with me.”

You give Zinnia a gentle tug and she follows as you head back to the apartment’s front doors. You don’t look back; you don’t think you can.

–

Upstairs, you unclip Zinnia and sink into a kitchen chair, head in your hands. It felt good to yell at him, felt good to find out the reason for his silence. You’d made your peace already with losing him - so why do you feel worse now?

You’re there only minutes when you hear a soft knock on your door. You sigh, knowing exactly who and what it is, and forcing yourself to rise anyway. All the anger you’d felt outside seems to have leaked out of you; now you just feel resigned.

Jin’s ears are still bright red. “You’re right,” he says in greeting. Then, he waits, leaning against the door jamb as you process, as you decide how to respond. Blue stands just behind him patiently, the leash slack. 

Mouth twisting, you look at him flatly. “Care to elaborate?”

“Ah,” he utters. He looks embarrassed, one hand still absently on the back of his neck, eyes on the ground. “I owe you an apology.”

When you still say nothing, he continues. 

“You’re right - you don’t have to tell me your business. I’d like you to - or, I’d like to feel like you can - but you’re not obligated to. I… overreacted. And then I was being too rigid to look closely at what was going on. I just…” 

He trails off and looks at you balefully. “I’m not trying to make an excuse,” he tries to explain. “I know I was wrong. I just made myself a promise years ago to never let anyone lie to me again… hoping I’d never feel so stupid again… and I let it… take over. I’m sorry.”

You consider this, foot tapping nervously. “Okay,” you say finally.

Something hopefully breaks over his face; he moves minutely closer to you. “I feel horrible,” he admits, voice hushed suddenly. “You were going through all that, and I absolutely made more problems for you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice echoing a little flatly to your own ears. “I forgive you.”

He takes a step back, like the unbending insincerity of your words actually knocks him off balance. 

“Okay,” he says, his voice somehow small. He starts to back away from your door, Blue scurrying out of his path, but his eyes remain on you. “I’ll, uh… I’ll probably be at the dog run tomorrow? Normal time?”

The way he says it, a question, asks if you will too.

“I don’t know,” you answer, even though he didn’t technically ask. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. We’ll see.”

You agonize over it all night. You’re mad - mad that he reacted childishly, mad that he added stress during a hard time for you, mad that he doubted you and judged you and didn't give you a chance to explain yourself. Mad that he let you down. 

But, something logical inside you counters, he’s apologized. He’s taken accountability for it, admitted he’d behaved immaturely. Didn’t people, generally, deserve second chances? Didn’t you want to give him a second chance, regardless?

By the time you get ready for work the next morning, you still aren’t sure. Your stomach churns with indecision all day. When you get home, you sit on the couch, still in your work clothes, and eye Zinnia thoughtfully. She sits and cocks her head to the side, almost quizzical. Like she’s asking, okay, boss, what’s the plan?

You still don’t know. With a sigh, you change out of your office attire and take Zinnia out. At the elevator, you stare at the buttons: physical embodiment of this choice.

In the end, you hit down, taking Zinnie out through the lobby and heading down the street. The idea of Seokjin up at the dog run, eyes on the glass doors - hoping to see you, makes you hunch your shoulders up against a wave of guilt.

You feel like now you’re being the childish one. You know you want to give him another chance. Pretending otherwise just to punish him for hurting you… it’s not a good look, and you know it.

When the knock on your door comes, several hours later, as the sunset casts your apartment in deep blues and shadows, you feel like you were expecting it the whole time. You feel like it’s your own second chance.

“You didn’t come,” he says, frowning adorably. 

You sigh, taking a step backwards to let him inside. He does, the door shutting behind him.

“Why are you here?” you ask; not demanding, not to fight - you want to know. You want to know what he’s hoping for right now, what he wants to happen, so that you can decide if you’re game or not. 

He seems to understand, seems to hear the question for what it really is. He says your name, still hushed, like if he says it with too much force the letters will blow away like dead autumn leaves in a November squall. 

“Well?” you prod.

“Please,” he says, something so desperate playing on the notes of the word. 

“What?” you repeat, hating that your voice is choked. “What do you want, Seokjin?”

He closes the space between you, one hand coming to cup your jaw so light you aren’t sure he’s actually touching you or if you just feel the warmth of proximity. “Forgive me,” he whispers. “I want you to let me try again. Let me do better.”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, but you lean into his touch, closing your eyes. He strokes your cheek gently with his thumb, then pulls his hand away and cups the back of your head, guiding you close enough to press his lips to the top of your head, the kiss lost in your hair.

“I promise,” he whispers, “I won’t fuck up like that again. I want to try again - I like you so much, I want to do everything right for you. I feel like such an idiot for wrecking it.”

“You are an idiot,” you say, and you feel him smile against your forehead before he laughs. 

“Never again, Jin,” you say sternly, leaning back to look up at him. His hand slides down to the back of your neck, resting comfortably. “I don’t do bullshit like that. We’re adults. We have to communicate. We have to speak -”

Behind you, Zinnia barks once, sharp and proud. 

You and Jin both dissolve into giggles, both of you praising Zinnia for following the command. 

When you turn back to Jin, he’s looking at you warmly, eyes shining with fondness. He dips his head to kiss you, and when he feels you kiss him back he tugs you closer by the small of your back, grunting into your mouth when your bodies collide. 

He breaks the kiss and whispers against your jaw, “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, tilting your head to give him more room as his lips go from whispering his desire to kissing your pulsepoint, teeth barely there before his lips soothe the spot. 

You fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt, holding on tight, relying on him to hold you upright as his mouth makes you dizzy. When his lips make it back to yours, you tug on his shirt and walk him backwards towards your open bedroom door. You giggle against his lips when he kicks it shut behind him. 

You’re kissing again as you shed layers in tandem, breaking apart to pull shirts over your heads, kissing messily again as you balance on one foot at a time to remove socks, giggling as you lean back to get a good look at him as he undoes his belt. Would it be crass of you to whistle in appreciation? His shoulders are just... so… wide.

When your leggings pool on your carpet next to his blue jeans, he backs you up to the bed, where you sit heavily. He crawls over top of you, mouths clashing again as he holds himself over top of you. You feel like you’re spinning - you cling to his shoulders, focus on the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours, his fingers tracing the outline of your breast, the insistent press of his clothed erection hot against your thighs.

He kisses you like he’s devouring you, like he’s claiming you, like he’s pouring out every frustration into his lips and teeth and fingers and tongue and they’re all spinning you in bigger and bigger circles, ever widening.

Then the spinning crashes to a halt, because his fingers are meandering lower and lower, skimming your last rib, skating over your lower belly, sliding over your cotton panties and hovering just out of reach from where you want him the most. 

He presses kisses down your jaw, down your neck, goosebumps rising up your arms as his breath ghosts along your throat. His fingers skim your slit over the damp cotton, making you moan shamelessly against the top of his head, but his hand travels back up, fingers sliding up your stomach and back to your chest. 

“Jin,” you breathe, as he rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of electric delight clear down to your toes, and he answers you with a low groan before capturing your mouth in another deep kiss. 

You’re spinning again.

Then his hand is back where you want it - fuck, you want it everywhere - fingers sliding through your folds before pushing deep into you. You gasp, but your body shifts to meet his knuckles, hips tilting to let him deeper still. 

It takes you only minutes before you’re begging for him, unashamed, whispering his name around a litany of please and I need you and more, please, more.

He rolls away from you wordlessly, shifting to dig through his wallet. You hear the telltale sound of foil ripping and then he’s back over top of you, lips marking a path from your stomach, up between your tits, past your collarbones, before latching onto your neck as he gives you exactly what you asked for.

The stretch stings but you don’t care, moving to meet him, to take him all the way. Seokjin buries himself deep with a throaty groan, the sound mingling with your own whine.

He keeps a slow pace at first, content with exploring every new everything - every new sound he can pull out of you, every new spot he can touch that makes you arch your back and moan a little louder, every angle that makes you pitch go high and your nails find his shoulders. 

It’s not long before his resolve breaks, his pace quickening as his hips snap into yours, the room filled with the sound of his thighs slapping yours. The tightening ball in the pit of your stomach swells, and your fingers find your clit as you careen towards the edge. Seokjin talks you through it when you crash past the precipice, calling you beautiful, telling you that you feel so good as you clench around him in waves. 

Your limbs feel like jelly as you come down from the high, but Seokjin isn’t done with you. He presses kisses to your jaw, your cheek, the space just beneath your ear. Then, he whispers, “Can I go behind you?”

You nod - words are still too far away, slipping just outside of your fingertips. You can touch them, but can’t pull them close enough to use. Jin uses gentle hands to roll you over and backs up to stand next to the bed; he guides your hips backwards until your knees rest on the edge of the mattress. Still boneless, you fold your arms and press your face into them, moaning loudly when he enters you slowly. 

At this new angle, you feel like he’s somehow, impossibly, deeper, and it’s all you can do to dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you and survive. His pace is slow for only a moment, letting you adjust, and then he’s pounding into you again, hands tight on your hips, pulling you backwards to meet each thrust. 

You can tell it immediately when he’s close - the sounds spilling out of him turn from deep grunts and quiet gasps to lengthier sounds that verge on whiny. You gasp in time with him as he pumps into you more shallowly, barely pulling out at all, as one last strangled, broken sound leaves his mouth. 

You collapse forward onto the bed the second he releases you, your heart hammering. Behind you, he must be handling the condom because when he flops next to you, eyes searching for yours, it’s gone.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. 

You laugh. “Hello there.”

He rolls onto his back next to you, radiating happiness. “So?” he asks your ceiling. “Am I forgiven?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t erase the smile from your face. Oxytocin is a bitch. “I guess,” you allow. “But you’re on thin ice for a while.”

He makes a thinking sound. “I’ll have to fix that,” he muses, one arm thrown over his head. He looks over at you. “How about you go shower, and I’ll cook you something?”

You twist your lips, considering. “Mmm,” you say. “I think I’d rather you join me in the shower first.”

His smile grows impossibly wider, and his hand creeps to find yours, his fingers lacing between yours and squeezing tight.

–

When you think about May, you remember pink. 

Pink flowers blooming on the trees outside. Pink sunsets as you and Jin walk Blue and Zinnia through the park in the evenings. The pink of Zinnia’s tongue, lolling out of her mouth as she pants happily at your feet. The pink of Seokjin’s ears when you tease him or call him handsome in front of your friends. 

You started things slowly - even slower than the first time; you’re nervous that something will happen again, that this second chance was indeed a mistake. But, true to his word, Seokjin shows up for you every day - he misses no chance to remind you that he’s here, and he’s got a score to settle with his past mistakes. 

As the month comes to a close, spring teasing at tepid summer, you make a decision. You head to Seokjin’s place before dinner, as you do most evenings lately, letting yourself in with the door’s code. Blue is resting on a dog bed near the kitchen, placed there so she can see Seokjin even when he’s cooking and doesn’t feel lonely out in the living room. Zinnia slips through your hands the second the door opens, zipping into the apartment wildly.

“Zinnie!” you call.

Seokjin’s voice carries out to you from the bedroom - “Yeah?”

You laugh, shutting the door behind you and heading to where you’d heard him from. “I said Zinnie, not Jinnie!” you clarify. 

He comes out of the room, laughing at the miscommunication, pausing to kiss your cheek. “How was your day?” he asks, before heading around you into the kitchen, where he had apparently been halfway through chopping some veggies. 

“It was fine,” you hedge. “There’s something I was thinking about today, though.”

“Oh?” he says, looking over his shoulder at you as he picks up where he left off with the chopping.

You lean over the kitchen table, palms a little sweaty with nerves. Below you, Zinnia zips around, chasing a rubber ball of Blue’s, barking loudly as if scolding the toy for fleeing.

“I was thinking about us,” you say slowly, and Seokjin stills, setting down the knife and turning to face you, sensing that this talk is serious. His ears tinge pink almost instantly. 

“Okay…” he says slowly. 

You take a deep breath and push forward. “I was thinking about how I asked if we could do this slowly. How we were taking it one day at a time, not putting a name to it or anything.”

He nods, eyes on you, listening.

You shrug, look away and lick your lips. “I think I’m ready - I think what I want is…”

Behind you, Zinnia’s repeated yaps overtake the room, echoing through Jin’s kitchen. 

You try to speak over her, stumbling over your words. “What I’m trying to ask you is… will you…”

Zinnia’s barks get louder; the ball is stuck under the couch and she is pissed. You turn, calling to her, “Zinnia, sit!” 

The command works. She plops onto her butt obediently, and silence descends on the room like a sprinkle of snow. 

You turn back to Jin, heart racing, to finish your question. “...stay?”

--

Thank you so much for reading! <3 Please look forward to the other fics in the collab and support those excellent writers as well!!!

[shoezuki]

rambling bout divinity au in the wake of the new fic:

sampo Did in fact wipe gepards memory of that night. but at this point in the rough timeline i have in mind sampo has fucked w gepards memory So Much and hes... not really good at it like thats fuli's job. so gepards building up a resistance

sampo has a tendency to wipe geps memory a Lot and often for stupid shit. like mid chase sampo trips and eats shit? oo thats embarassing cant have gep remembering that.

(another fic idea is the first chase where gepard actually catches sampo and sampo is so flustered he causes a localized ecological disaster around em and accidentally grows plants n flowers around gepard and then wipes geps memory)

gepard 100% knows that sampo was the one who arrested elias/the dude who stabbed him. he knows that sampo somehow got around all of their guards and security. he knows sampo tried to mess with his memory somehow.

i dont want gepard to seem like an airhead in this. kind of hard to balance it because his obliviousness to aeonic influences is central to the whole au but at the point of this fic. he Knows theres something not 'right' w sampo

at this point gepard knows sampo isnt human or has some inhuman things going on. hes decided its not relevant to the records against him and refuses to mention it or allude to it.

serval was mentioned for exactly 1 line but i have a fic planned from her perspective. she knows sampo isnt human and does her own investigations against him which leads to her butting hands with natasha. pela also knows 'something' is up w sampo but moreso about how sampo feels bout gepard.

gepard shuts down all insistances that sampo is abnormal esp from serval and pela because he doesnt want anything to change for sampo. its sort of his own way of being protective

i cut out that segment where sampo goes to natasha before finding elias but my idea is that sampo goes to natasha for comfort very often. they have a strong mutual understanding and shes kinda like an older sister/maternal figure sometimes to him

(his 'childhood' was shit and he sees his own experiences in the underworld children. so hes envious of how nat treats them lovingly because he never had that and has never had any supportive older figure considering hes not human)

i loved writing the segment with lan because lan's origins as an aeon are interesting to me.

considering lan rose to aeonhood from a hatred for Yaoshi, how sampo felt when spiralling in his anger towards elias is how lan 'feels' all the time. Lan is an aeon but is a very... emotion based aeon.

thats why lan reached out to sampo but never aha. he could feel sampos anger and relate to it. (lan's message was almost a warning as well as a jab at sampo being 'weak')

sampo thinks gepard is an emanator of qlipoth but hes so wrong.

sampo considers making gepard his emanator. he wouldnt though. if he was aha? absolutely. but hes human now and knows doing something like that and altering gepard without his knowledge would be a betrayal. gepard isnt suited for elation anyways

people who know sampo isnt exactly human: gepard, natasha, serval

people who know sampo is so down bad for gep: pela, seele, natasha

i dont think anyone fully realizes hes an aeon though. because thats so unimagimable. nat is the closest though

[thejujvtsupost]

Hi! I saw your requests and can I just ask a little red riding hood au where reader is little red and geto/gojo/nanami/toji are the wolves that eat you (out).

[They don't have to be literal wolves but just as wild. U can pick one but if you want to write for more than one it would be great]

Good Enough To Eat 18+ mdni

Anon your brain is beautiful! This was originally for Halloween, but my I present: full moon Nanami 😌

Notes: F!reader, sex in the woods, prey/predator play(+dom/sub?), oral (F receiving), light breeding kink bc it’s Nanami, minor injuries, reader is consenting/discussed beforehand- consent is v sexy!

Someone did a public service and pulled an audio of Nanami’s heavy breathing and I need to be euthanized. I’d also like to dedicate this to @pseudowho because they’re always on top of the Kento Agenda and sharing the audio with them was a MUST. Like that’s literally our husband. 💗

You weren’t sure how long you were running with your picnic basket but you couldn’t catch your breath.

You couldn’t stop, either.

What started out as a simple evening picnic in the woods with your lover turned into a chase, as you ran for your life.

Kento… Kento was different from other husbands…

His unique qualities weren’t a hindrance to your relationship aside from the few times a year his instincts took over- and the heightened senses around the full moon. Even then, you both were so careful to avoid any accidental injuries. His body was far stronger than yours, with his heightened strength and lack of restraint being around him during his most vulnerable moments was dangerous.

“You can’t run forever, my love. I can smell you…”

Despite his taunts you refused to respond. He would catch up eventually but you didn’t want to make things worse by alerting him with your voice.

Unfortunately, between the blood pounding in your ears and lack of oxygen in your lungs, you lost your balance and tripped over an exposed tree root- with a twisted ankle, you were now dinner.

“Poor thing, that looked painful. Let me see it.”

Kento sounded calm but you knew the truth. Inside he was a simmering, insatiable, beast that already expressed its intentions of eating you.

He was getting closer and closer with his inhuman speed, you tried to get up and run but he had you pinned face down to the forest floor in seconds. Fuck.

“Got you.”

His voice was raspy in your ear as he started mouthing at your neck, “Gonna take you apart right here, right now. Feel how ready I am to take you?”

And you did, his cock was straining in his pants when he harshly ground against your ass. Impatiently, he pulled your hips up and adjusted your legs, keeping a hand on your back to maintain a good arch. The draft of the cool night air hit the back of your thighs, reaching higher when Kento flipped your dress up.

“No panties huh? You like being a wet whore don’t you? Running through the woods from a beast and leaking from your cunt.” He leaned down to inhale your scent close to the source and growled. “This pretty cunt needs filled up.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit of shame at how turned on you were by all of it.

A high pitched mewl left you as his tongue flicked across your clit from the back, feeling the way it throbbed each time it lashed against you. His lips sealed around your sensitive nub, alternating between slurping up your growing arousal and suckling your clit.

Your body was on fire, pussy clenching, needy for him to fill you. “Kento please!”

With one last smack of his lips he moved his body over yours, completely dwarfing you under him and tangling your fingers together. “Gonna get you full of me, breed this pretty pussy.” His cock brushed against your folds for a moment before he thrusted into you in a single breath.

If you weren’t so wet, the stretch wouldn’t be as pleasant. Unlike now, when your eyes were rolling back from the feeling.

You could feel his cock grow harder, stretching you, his swollen tip rubbing against the spongy spot in your cunt, making you leak around him.

He’s panting in your ear, needing you to milk his cock, your whimpered moan of his name only spurring him on more. He moved your legs higher to fuck you deeper, thrusting into you in the most animalistic manner you’ve ever experienced with him. With every pass, he hit his target. You knew your knees would be bruised by morning and it would be a welcomed mark.

His grunting and panting rivaled your moans as you grew close to your peak- he wasn’t far behind you with the way your cunt was fluttering and slicking.

“Kento- gonna!” You couldn’t finish your sentence before you released around his cock, soaking the dirt beneath your bodies.

“Yeah that’s it, come baby.” He roared, spilling his spend into you with a few sloppy thrusts before stilling, his cock throbbing with its own heartbeat, an endless stream of cum filling your pussy.

He pulled out once his breath was even and carefully flipped you over, “Are you okay, sweetheart? Hurt anywhere?”

Your eyes were still glassed over when you smiled all dreamy at him. “We gotta do that again.”

Kento fixed his clothes with a chuckle and gathered you in his arms, putting the little picnic basket in your hands as he carried you back to the car.

He buckled you in and held your hand to his lips when he got in the drivers seat. “How about a hot bath and some ice for that ankle when we get home?”

While worth it, you’d definitely feel deliciously sore tomorrow, deciding then to take the day off work.

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, undead.

Word Count: 3,811

Notes: Mother knows I don’t need another AU but frankly idc 💅🏻

_________________________________________

Day 189

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fuck me, you think, digging your tattered sneakers deeper into the ground. You’re hoping to gain better traction on the dirty road as you run–sprint away from the creature at your back. Gravel gives way, making the asphalt slippery as you try to maneuver through the barren streets or the abandoned town and away from the monster trailing behind you.

You don’t need to be bolting at full speed, but any form of running is tough due to your injured knee. You’d twinged it the other day as you ran through the forest with a horde of undead lazing after you, locked in on the stench of your blood.

You’d tripped over an upturned root and fell harshly, landing directly onto a stone. The crack of your knee smashing into the rock cracked through the forest and the zoms had grunted loudly in response, almost gleefully, like they knew you’d been downed.

It truly is just your luck.

Something always seemed to go wrong in your presence. If it wasn’t dropping your last can of food into the river while you were crossing it was attracting a group of undead while you were grumbling loudly about just how shit your luck really was. It was the man you’d trusted who’d ended up robbing and abandoning you while you slept, leaving you only with the short knife tucked into your boot at the time.

Hell, you were probably somehow connected to the apocalypse happening.

You chance a look over your shoulder, and for a split second your heart calms and you slow your pace, the road clear behind you.

Hunched over with your hands on your knees you gulp down the arid summer air. The stifling heat chokes you and you cough loudly to clear your airway, sucking in a large breath just as a bead of sweat rolls down your mouth. You wheeze, coughing harder as the tiny offender slips its way down the wrong pipe. 

Like you said, bad luck.

Pounding on your chest, you wince. Your hacking will attract more. You need to stop.

Scanning your surroundings, you try to gather your bearings of where you are in this small, rundown town. You were just supposed to be passing through for the usual runs of searching shops for food and unused supplies. Your backpack is a little too light for your comfort.

You’d convinced your comrade to split up, and now you're regretting it more than ever. The town is small enough, quiet enough with the rustling leaves and sounds of birds chirping nearby. There are no human sounds, no scuffing of shredded shoes dragging across the pavement, no snick of safety switches clicking off. 

It’s silent.

You cut off your coughing abruptly and straighten, swallowing uncomfortably. Your tongue is thick in your mouth and your throat is dry from lack of water. You’re down to your last bottle, and choking on your own sweat has only made you thirstier. Your heart pounds in your chest, too loud for you to make out the sound around you but it’s then that you realize–

It’s silent.

The wildlife has gone completely still, birds sensing the threats lingering nearby, falling quiet in their nests. Not only do zoms lure for tasty human flesh, but they’re known to trap any living creatures they can.

A low inhuman growl drags your attention away from the trees. It grates against your skull like it always does, a cry for help, a cry for flesh. Your head snaps around back the way you came. 

You curse.

Really, really unlucky.

Not one, but three undead come stumbling out from behind the building you’d passed. It’s an old laundromat, and one of the zoms is clad in a half-torn dirty t-shirt that you think could use a good washing. Or burning. They’re tripping over their own stupidly clumsy feet, and when they catch sight of you, pick up your sweaty, delicious scent over the soft breeze, their milky white eyes zero in on you.

Grunting softly, you begin jogging away from them. Running has never been your favorite hobby, but it’s imperative to your survival now. Doesn’t matter that your lungs feel like they’re on fire with every step, your knee sending sharp shockwaves of pain up your leg with each step. 

At least it isn’t broken.

Ignoring the throb in your leg, you reach for the holster wrapped tightly around your waist. You’d had to punch another hole into the leather to keep it tight enough not to slip down your rapidly slimming hips. You know you won’t find anything there, that dick had stolen your gun long ago. These days, the worn leather belt housed a knife, but you’d dropped it in the initial scuffle with the leader of the small zom pack chasing after you.

You’d laughed, thought it was your comrade and had shoved the creature off of you. But when your fingers had torn through the delicate flesh on the zombies arm, rotting veins and thin skin spilled out over your hand you were quick to your senses. Reaching for the knife, hand slicked with thick, chunky blood. Your grip slipped once, twice, and the zombie was up in an instant, pushing against the hand you’d planted across its chest.

Finally tugging the knife loose from where it was nestled in your holster was a relief that turned sour as the zombie swiped out. Dumb luck had the flailing limb striking true, knocking the weapon from your unsteady hold. It landed with a soft thump, a small cloud of dust puffing up and clinging to the black blood coated hilt.

Time froze as you stared at the zombie, letting out an unamused puff of air as your heart kicked into gear. It’s head jerked forward on fractured bones, the clacking of it reverberated up your spine like a hot knife, and you winced. The zoms mouth parted and its rotting gray tongue rolled out, lapped at the air, tasting your scent.

It shoved harder against your hold.

You’d managed to wrestle the undead away, pushing it to the ground, but you hadn’t had the time to grab your trusty knife that you’d carried with you since the beginning of the end. You climbed to your feet and side stepped the cracked hand reaching for you, the bony tips of fingers free from dead skin, sprinting away.

Unsure of which way to go, you raced up the road away from where you had last seen your friend. You wouldn’t let her get caught because of your stupidity.

You try to outrun them, weaving in and out of the few buildings in town, but they’re locked on your scent, although you’re pretty sure you smell like one of them by now, you can’t even remember the last time you’d showered.

Rounding the corner of an old bar, you debate stopping for a drink. You pray that there’s an unopened bottle of vodka, or tequila inside. Hell, you’d take just about anything right now.

Making a mental note to come back around and search the bar, you trip. You use your hands to catch you, cursing as your palms scrape against the pebbles and dirt. You hope that there’s no blood, muttering beneath your breath as you survey the alley. There’s a tall chain link fence blocking your path.

Well fuck.

There’s no way you’ll make it up in time, and the drop from the other side is a long way. Plus, you don’t know if your aching knee will be able to support your weight against the flimsy metal, having just fallen on it again.

Your day really can’t get any worse.

Your limbs slide against the dusty ground as you flip over. Your fingertips dig down for purchase. The three zoms are approaching quickly, limping closer to you, keen on getting a taste of your flesh. One of them even looks like it’s smiling, peeling lips torn and curled around blackened rotting teeth, grinning at you sadistically.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

This is it.

You search the alley frantically, hoping that there’s at least a broken bottle from the tavern you can use in defense against the looming creatures. There’s nothing but pebbles and litter, not a single potential weapon in sight. You swallow hard, gaze flitting back to the zombies who moan softly, making grabby hands at you like babies do their mothers.

Your back hits the fence and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, the sun blaring hot across your skin.

You’ve had a pretty good run, you think, for someone who’s luck is as shit as yours. 189 days.

You send a silent prayer up above – although you’re pretty sure whoever is supposed to be watching over Earth has taken a break long ago – and hope that your comrade will be okay.

The zoms are almost on you and you curl tighter around yourself, refusing to open your eyes. If you’re going to go, the last thing you want to see is yourself being eaten. No thanks.

There’s a loud war cry just as the long, overgrown, brittle nails scrape against your cheek. You shudder and a shadow crosses your vision for a millisecond, and your eyes snap open. Squinting against the harsh sun you watch as the zombies arms are lobbed off, falling right onto your lap.

Black blood drips thickly and your empty stomach curdles. With a grimace you shove the limp limbs off of your legs and pull yourself to your feet, the zombies attention turning to the new person in the alley with you.

You loose a sigh of relief at the shaky laugh and taunts thrown at the undead, “Come here, you fuckers!”

It’s your comrade. She’s armed with a landscape scythe in one hand and your knife in the other. The sunlight casts over her sharp cheekbones and her gray eyes are almost as pale as the zoms. It’s unnerving sometimes but right now your chest swells with relief. Her menacing (and slightly crazed) smile has her looking like an angel of death.

“Feyre,” you exhale, head falling back against the chain link fence in solace.

The armless zombie struggles, trying to stagger to its feet, but it ends up inchworming its way towards you and your savior. With one quick jab of your knife to its head, the creature goes still.

Feyre jerks the blade from the body and dances around the other two zoms, swiftly moving behind them. You catch one of their attention, beating your hand against the fence, rattling the metal with your hands. Before one can turn around to face Feyre, she uses her scythe, the curved blade protruding from the stomach of the zombie. She grabs the handle with both hands and lifts with a grunt. The body's decomposed muscle and bone give way as she slices from stomach to head, splitting the damn thing in two. When it falls away it reveals a grinning Feyre.

You grimace at the sight. She’d found that gardening scythe a few weeks ago and now it’s her new favorite weapon.

“Gimme,” you gesture to your knife with a nod of your head, the last zombie still slowly making its way towards you.

“You sure?” Feyre cocks an eyebrow. She’s still on a high from her last kill, “I don’t mind.”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Be my guest.”

You let Feyre take the last one, sliding the knife easily into the base of its neck. It’s a more humane kill than the last one, and you’re just glad it’s over quickly.

“Don’t drop this again,” Feyre says seriously, striding over the dead bodies and firmly placing the knife back in your hand. Her fingers wrap around yours tightly, making sure you understand the importance of the weapon.

“Not like I was trying to,” you mumble, looking away from her in shame. Your gaze settles on your hands and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You hadn’t even known the girl long but here she is, saving your life and sticking by your side even though she doesn’t have to.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admits softly, looking at you with sad eyes. If she’s saying this because she doesn’t want to be out all alone in the shit world or because she feels a kinship with you from what you’ve both been through, you can’t say.

You sigh, frustrated. “I’m no good for you, Fey. You’d be better off without me.” You wipe the blood from your blade onto your already dirty pants and nestle it back in its rightful spot on your belt.

“Stop with that, (Y/N).” Feyre places her hands firmly on your shoulders and stares into your eyes. Her gray iris’ are piercing, similar and yet different than the undead, like she can see all of your deepest secrets and fears, all of the things you’ve had to do to get here, to stay alive.

You’re vaguely aware of the zombie blood dripping from her blade onto your shoulder and you try not to cringe. “Like hell you’re leaving me in this shit hole alone.”

You chuckle softly, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she will absolutely abandon you, your mind supplies.

“Sorry,” you offer quietly.

“Just don’t scare me like that again,” she responds, waving off your apology. There are no ‘sorry’s’ in the apocalypse, no need to ask forgiveness for the evils you’ve committed. You trail Feyre out of the alley, “Use your words next time.”

“Didn’t want to attract more,” you admit, knowing that if you had screamed for help it would only put the both of you in more danger, “Ended up doing that just fine anyway.”

Feyre doesn’t respond to that. She can see that you’re already kicking yourself for what’s happened, even though the both of you are okay. You have a habit of that, blaming yourself for most things that go wrong. You always have.

“You’re limping,” she points out instead, “You hurt?”

“Nah, just fell on it weird,” you try to smile but it looks more like a grimace. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“We should find somewhere to stop. You can rest and I’ll check out the other stores. Maybe we can find you some painkillers.”

The odds are highly unlikely, but you don’t mention it. Not all of the stores in this tiny town have smashed windows and ransacked shelves.

“We’re not splitting up again,” you demand, following Feyre through the broken window of a nearby store. You wince when you lift your leg and pain shoots up it.

You look around the dinghy shop and make a face. It’s a mattress store, and you have no idea how long it’s been since it’s been broken into, but by the looks of the stained and matted mattresses, you can tell it’s been awhile.

Feyre hums in agreement, scythe poised and ready for anything that might pop up and surprise the both of you. You keep your knife tucked tightly in your hand, ready to back her up without a second thought.

“There’s a clothing shop a few stores down. Untouched. Thought we could drag a mattress down there for a night. Sleep on a real bed for once,” Feyre suggests and throws a grin over her shoulder towards you, “Maybe go on a little shopping spree.”

And that’s another thing that differentiates you from Feyre. While she was scoping out for supplies that might actually help you survive in this undead world, you were thinking about booze.

“It would be nice to get some new clothes,” you comment, pulling at the dirty shirt clinging to your sweaty skin. You frown, looking around at all of the mattresses, “And sleep on something comfortable, if we can find one that’s decent, that is.”

Feyre rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on (Y/N). Everyone knows they keep the nice ones in the back. All wrapped up and ready to go.” She raises her eyebrows at you in a silent question, and you nod, silently telling her that you’ve got her back.

Feyre shoves open the door to the storage room and you’re surrounded by stacked mattresses lining the walls. 

“Jackpot!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The both of you had managed to drag a twin sized bed two stores over into the clothing shop with little trouble. You’d ignored the twinge of pain in your leg at the weight. It grows worse the longer you stand on it, but you really do want to sleep in a real bed.

You shove it as far away as you can from the window at the front of the store and tear the plastic wrap off of it. Your heart stumbles as you think that this is what it must feel like for the zombies to tear through flesh. You shudder.

Instead of falling onto the fresh mattress like you want to, you’d gone back out to search for more supplies before the sun sets. You need water, but it’s scarce to come by these days. You each have one bottle left in your bags from when you’d found a pack of unopened water bottles sitting out in the sun in front of a gas station. It probably wasn’t the best thing to be drinking from a plastic bottle that had been sitting in the sun for who knows how long, but you didn’t have the luxury of being picky these days.

You’d seen one more zombie in the drugstore you were hoping to find some painkillers in, but if the spilled pills surrounding the trapped zombie were anything to go by, it looked like they had gotten to them first.

You whistle to yourself as you walk through the aisles, a slight limp in your step. You kick an open bag of chips out of your way, searching for anything that is still usable to eat for the night.

You’d gotten used to the constant hunger pains, the feeling of your stomach trying to eat itself, contorting in pain when you thought about shoveling a thick and juicy cheeseburger into your mouth. As long as your stomach still jumps at the thought of food instead of flesh, you can manage.

Feyre was built for the apocalypse. She’s figured out how to ration, and she’s always planning, not knowing when you’d find your next meal.

Another reason you were so lucky to have her.

You’re frustrated, having walked down the food aisle three times but still coming up with nothing. The only food left was opened or had rotted out a long time ago, and you don’t need to be getting sick over spoiled food.

“Find anything?” Feyre asks, returning from checking the back room and moving over to where you stand.

“A few bandages, but no food,” you sigh, holstering your weapon. “You?”

She shakes her head, “No food either, but I found these,” she tosses you a bottle of painkillers and you smile gratefully. “Fucker didn’t get to those ones.”

“Thanks, Fey.” You immediately tug off the cap and down two. They catch against your dry throat but eventually work their way down.

You tug your backpack off of your shoulder, stuffing the canister inside. It rattles and you remind yourself to stuff a clean sock into it so they don’t move around as much.

The both of you search up and down the rest of the aisles of the small store just in case. Feyre becomes fascinated over a rubix cube you’d found, still in its package. You smile softly at her as she tears open the plastic and mixes the colors. You both need something that reminds you of the simple life before.

You find some chains and padlocks still handing in their spots in the hardware store and you’re both incredibly thankful. Even though you haven’t found more food, you still have a can of beans you can share, and you have clean clothes and a comfortable place to sleep for the night, so today isn’t as much of a bust as you thought.

“Fuck,” Feyre sighs are she settles down onto the mattress next to you. “Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

You hum in agreement, passing her the can of beans. You’ve both changed, opting for plain t-shirts and new jeans. You’d almost cried when you found a package of unopened socks, shouting for Feyre like you’d found a cure.

“S’just socks, (Y/N). Calm down,” she’d replied, but the relief shone in her eyes as well.

You share the beans, passing it back and forth in silence, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You’d packed up what you could into your bags. They sit at the foot of the mattress, ready and close just in case something happens. Your new running shoes sit neatly next to them on your respective side of the bed.

“Go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch,” you offer, and who is Feyre to argue?

She settles into the soft bed and is out as soon as she’s comfortable, exhausted from today’s events. You’re constantly worn out. There’s just something about the end of the world that is so very tiring.

You hum to yourself, checking the exits for the third time in two hours. You need something to do or you’ll fall asleep. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Feyre knows it’s because of your slight paranoia that something terrible could happen if you don’t continually check your surroundings. But you’re not wrong.

Checking the lock and chain on the front door, your attention is caught by something moving outside.

You immediately crouch out of sight, peeking out the grimy window into the darkness to see what it is. 

Three figures, too fast to be zombies.

Your heart pounds. You can hardly make them out in the dark, but it looks like two people dragging another along between them. They’re tall, you can tell. Must be men. They hurry down the street as you watch on. Your gaze flickers up the street, searching for zombies, your knife gripped in a firm hand, but you don’t see anything.

You wonder if the person they’re dragging with them is injured. They must be, otherwise they’d be running alongside the other two. You wonder how much blood they’re leaving behind as the three of them find an open shop across the street and down a few from where you and Feyre are hiding out for the night. An old cafe of sorts. You’d checked it over earlier, but you suppose it’s as good of a place as any to take shelter in for the night, the window and door still intact.

They’ll be away from monsters, at least.

Everything in the new world is a lot scarier in the dark.

_________________________________________

(Part 2)

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Hello!

I have a trip in a few days and I need some longfics to help me survive, do you have any recs?

Hello there! I hope we are not too late with answering. Of course we can't leave you alone in this! Here are some recs:

I’d Forgotten How Nice Romance Was, Then You Reminded Me by Living4LifesSake (M)

At forty-four years old, Luffy was content with the way things were. Sure his life hadn't exactly gone like he had originally thought it would, but it was fine. He had a good job, a cute dog, a whole gang of awesome friends, a supportive family; things were great. He was fine with being single. Then, one fateful night, he got sat by a handsome man at a bar. And suddenly, everything changed. A story where Law and Luffy learn that you’re never too old to have a whirlwind romance.

Lead Me Back to Suffering by Purplehairedwonder (M) [non-con, includes Doflamingo/Law]

In the wake of Kaido's fall, Law is kidnapped from the shores of Wano.

Inhuman Potential by Sydneyxface (E) [Blood and Gore]

Dr. Trafalgar Law has seen many wild and surprising things come across his table as a pathologist, but nothing compares to one of his decedents waking from the dead - and thirsty for his blood. And so Law befriends (and beds) a vampire named Luffy and is pulled into the chaos that surrounds him - which involves cracking a case of missing people supposedly being used as slave labor for the elites of the world... the Celestial Dragons. Alternate Universe - Modern day, 2023.

Not a Ball or a Chain by HollowIsTheWorld (T) [AU-Modern]

Trafalgar Law grew up hoping he would be one of the handful of people to never develop a soulmate mark. Now that that hasn't panned out, however, he's willing to settle for just never meeting them. Unfortunately for him, Monkey D. Luffy is a hard person to avoid.

At the End of the Day by Artificial_Starlight (M) [Edit: we corrected the link]

It was such a simple thing to get worked up about, he knew, and maybe it was because he's so removed from normal social interaction that the idea of new friends coming into his life only bothered him. He only needed the three - they gave him enough trouble! They already bugged him enough to hang out, already caused drama that he was dragged into, already teased him about his idiosyncrasies... They already knew about his issues; spent years around his ever changing moods as he tried to be less angry, less scared, less obsessive. They already tried with mixed results to help him sleep, heal, and trust. He didn't need anyone else getting that close. However, as he began to walk away, he couldn't help but believe that not taking Straw-hat's words seriously would be a mistake.

the thing that remains by tciddaemina (M)

He'd had a plan. Destroy the SAD manufacture plant, destroy the SMILE factory... A kidnapping here, a bit of extortion there. Simple, at least by Law's standards. The Straw Hats had been a surprise, but a manageable one. Doflamingo would submit to their demands, sealing his own fate, or they'd destroy the factory and Kaidou would finish the job for them. He'd had a plan. Now Law doesn't know what's going on, but its definitely not the plan.

Boyfriend's Duties by martilla (E)

“Good evening,” Law said calmly. “I am looking for…” he looked down at the medical chart in his hands. “Monkey D. Luffy.” The boy on the bed smiled immediately when he heard his name, a curious and excited look in his eyes. “That’s me!” He shouted out. “Are you the doctor? They said that they were sending a doctor before dinner and I am really hungry, so if you are the doctor this means that I am gonna eat soon!” The two men in the room groaned at that sentence and Law felt taken aback by the enthusiasm of the guy. He was either stupid or not aware of the gravity of his injury, if his only thought was dinner. “Yes, I am the surgeon that will operate on you,” he answered. “My name is Trafalgar Law.” * Law is a surgeon who needs some light in his life. Then Luffy happens.

-Mod Raiya

[megsironthrone]

Best Friends in Vegas

Based on this request: Oooh! Could I ask for a full one-shot based on the accidentally married Jaime drabble you wrote for the mystery drabbles?!

Here you are! You can find the drabble this is inspired by here. Familiar characters are NEVER mine!

Warnings: Modern AU, Accidentally Married Trope, mentions of drunkenness and the after effects. teeny angst if you squint and a bit of fluff.

Pairings/Characters: Jaime Lannister x reader

You and Jaime had been the best of friends for longer than either of you could remember. So when you suggested that the two of you take a trip to Vegas, Jaime agreed with absolutely no hesitation. He had no idea that this trip would change things completely between you. Or would it? After all, what happens in Vegas…

       Jaime couldn't imagine why the two of you hadn't done this before. The bright lights, the music, the casinos, the drinking. Sure, Jaime would feel it all in the morning, but it was worth it. Especially seeing your smiling face. Jaime loved that. In truth, Jaime loved you. And as far more than his best friend. He couldn't remember a time when you hadn't been in his life and that had recently brought him to the realization that the two of you were positively devoted to one another.

You flashed him a smile as you moved around the dance floor. Jaime had lost count of how many drinks that you’d both had, but it didn’t really matter. You were having fun. Jaime felt the buzz of the alcohol in his system as the night went on. Dance after dance, drink after drink, the world began to spin. When you were both finally ready to leave the club, the world began to blur.

The next morning, Jaime could feel his head pounding before he even opened his eyes. He wasn’t at all surprised to discover his hangover was brutal. After all, he wasn’t in his early twenties anymore. He groaned softly and tried to decide whether or not he wanted to go back to sleep. Before he could fully make up his mind, he heard a groan coming from someone else. His eyes flew open and he sat up far too quickly. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief to learn he was in his own room. Another groan. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, just a sec. I’m never drinking with you again, Lannister.” Jaime chuckled and laid back down. He let his eyes fall closed again only to hear a yell from the en suite. Jaime sat up faster than before, moaning at the spinning room. You flew out of the bathroom in a frenzy. Something caught Jaime’s eye.

“Is that my shirt?” You glared for a second. “It looks better on me anyway. But forget about that. We’ve got a BIG problem!” Jaime must have looked confused because you dashed over and jumped on the bed. You grabbed his left hand and showed  him his third finger that now held a glittering ring. You held up your hand that was now sporting a ring of its own as well. 

“I-I think we got married,” you  whispered and Jaime felt himself grow dizzy and not from the hangover this time. He’d married you. Completely by accident as if he hadn’t imagined what a wedding with you would be like for years. And worst of all, you looked completely freaked out. 

“Jaime, focus! What do we do?!” Jaime met your gaze and saw that you were on the verge of a breakdown. He gently ran his hands up and down your arms. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s try to breathe and then we can make a plan, okay?” You let out a breath and nodded. “Ok. W-What do you wanna do?” you asked. Jaime’s brows furrowed. That was a good question. Before he could reply though, his stomach let out an inhuman noise. It broke whatever tension there was as you began to laugh. 

“Maybe we should eat before we make any kind of decision,” you suggested and Jaime eagerly agreed. The two of you ate in near silence as you both suffered through your headaches and you tried to come up with a plan. Once you’d finished, you pushed your dishes away and turned back to Jaime. 

“Jaime, what do we do here?” Jaime stared for a moment. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he finally said, “This isn’t how I planned for this kind of thing to happen. I mean, Vegas wasn’t exactly the wedding destination I had in mind-”

“WAIT!” you cried, only to let out a painful moan before trying again, “Wait, you planned for this? I mean, you planned on marrying me?” Jaime froze. The thing about Jaime was that, on the rare occasion that he did get drunk and subsequently hungover, he didn’t know when to stop talking. He absolutely had not meant to tell you any of his feelings.

“I mean, I-” he cursed under his breath. You waited patiently for him to get himself together. You knew that if you tried to intervene, Jaime would grow even more embarrassed. Jaime met your gaze and sighed. “Yes. I-I don’t know when my feelings for you changed, but they did. I love you, Y/N. I was just too…afraid to tell you, I guess.” 

You didn’t respond and that scared him. You always had a reply for everything. “Y/N, I promise, no matter what you say, it won’t change the fact that you’re my best friend,” Jaime pleaded, “But please say something. Anything.” You blinked a few times. “You love me. Like really love me.” Jaime nodded even though it wasn’t a question and you began chuckling softly. 

“I guess we’re both idiots then because I love you too, Jaime. I know this wasn’t the plan for our Vegan trip, but I can’t say I’m entirely upset. I freaked because I thought you’d be upset.” Jaime grabbed your hand in his left one, feeling the cool metal of your ring against his fingers. “I’m not. I swear, I’m not.” You smiled at him. “So, what do we do?”

“The way I see it, we have three options. One; we get an annulment and forget this ever happened.” You frowned at that so Jaime continued, “Two; we throw a huge wedding and invite everyone we’ve ever known and get caught up in the crazy thing. Or three; we enjoy our last few days in Vegas and then tell everyone we eloped when we get back and enjoy the looks on their faces.” You laughed out loud at that. 

“I like option three.” Jaime pulled you to him and kissed your temple. “Me too. So, what shall we newlyweds do for our last few days of holiday?” You rolled your eyes, but grinned. “I could think of a few things.” Jaime didn’t even need to ask what you meant when you pressed your lips to his in your first (sober) kiss as spouses.

(a/n: I hope you like it!!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @etherealpotter @smalltownbigheart @gruffle1 @cd1242 @supernatural4life2022 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

Jaime Lannister Tags: @faith-in-dean @bellarkeselection

[merao-mariposa]

I have your back, you have my heart

Day three of the pissa/death duo week! This au was the idea of @amymorningstar ​​in this post I really wanted to write about the Mafia Pissa and this was a good excuse for!

“Mafia + I promised you as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again”

(…)

Philza Minecraft had been on the dark side of the streets for a very long, long time, since his first interventions dismantling brothels that were a little too... “flexible” with the idea of consent going to authentic inhumane places, all falling under the scourge of the Angel of Death until a man, a friend, appeared in front of him with the idea of dominating the criminal world, converting it to his ideals. That was a long time ago but corruption spreads like a fire in gasoline and Phil was there to suffocate it until it went out.

Maybe it was his cruelty in how he snuffed out the lives of those corrupt men that led him to pay the karma he was paying right now, he doesn't know.

The man sitting at his desk looked miserable for say the least, from the outside you feel the discord in the trademark half-twisted hat or the uncorked bottle of wine resting on his messy desk but you can see how the damage runs deeper than that if you know Philza well enough, the immaculate two pieces-suit stand out like a sore thumb on a man so casual and relaxed, the white shirt is buttoned at the neck almost restrictively, and his trail of beard is just a little more prominent than it has been in recent months.

The last few months, that sugar-filled almost year where mafia boss BOLAS had been closer to being an angel than he would ever be since he lived in what he could only call heaven.

His arrival in heaven was a young man with messy, dark hair. His purple eyes dragged him deep into the flames of hell now that they were no longer looking at him.

The fact that he had no one else to blame but himself didn't make it any easier.

But when Sinfonia appeared everything was perfect. He was reserved but easy to smile, aloof but with loyal friends, so pathetic (and cute) yelling at the slightest threat but he was a real threat in front of some of the most ruthless members of BOLAS, selective but had two beautiful kids who looked alike barely in the whites of the eyes, even his last name “Sinfonia” evidenced the harsh contradiction that surrounds the object of the crow's loves, a man as gifted in every possible musical instrument as if he had the Midas touch, and yet that very appropriate last name wasn't real. His Missa was a set of contradictions and embarrassing coincidences over knots in lavender stems.

Which in retrospect must have been a loud alarm, a siren announcing the disaster that his false moon left in its wake in the crow's heart.

It turns out that his love lied, the fire burning inside him to abandon important meetings for the sole purpose of sharing more time of his life with him as opposed to the absolute security of being understood as someone returning to his childhood home (beloved, cared, welcome) with the ease of riding a bike. All of that had been a waste.

The soft hugs that lulled him into deep dreams (chasing away the nightmares that Missa shouldn't know about for his own good) to the chaste kisses all over the face that released the negativity from his husband's shoulders (and if instead of being a result of his low self-esteem was his guilt taking charge?) to the private kisses that said “I miss you” and “one last time, love” without the words, all were nothing but lies.

Not that he had cared much about anything at that moment, he found himself focused on his children (because now they were also Phil's children) they were angels and he only had the head to raise them with Missa, who returned with a sweeter demeanor after his night walks and long work trips, he tenderly asked for nap together as a family.

He should have questioned more why Missa disappeared like that, coincidentally, just when Phil was paying for the services of the most dangerous mercenary on the black market, unlike the assassins he had on his payroll, this guy had the prestige of killing only with his touch, too lethal and above all cautious, Phil did not even met him in person, they only contacted through third parties who agreed on the service and only told about his violet hood and his skull mask. It is said; no one has seen his face and lived to tell.

Like I said before; Phil is old, he's been in the environment for years where only an intelligent man could live as long as he does, with that in mind how was it possible that he didn't know that his sweet husband was actually the most dangerous bastard in the underworld? Shocked by the discovery, in this kind of world, someone you trust can stab you in the back so how can you trust a man who lied to you?

And Missa knew who Philza Minecraft was, what his name means, he always knew, he did always know when something had gone wrong and Philza needed more comfort, always two steps ahead of his needs because he knew it.

The time after their fight breaks up, everything is a drunken blur in the crow's mind, he doesn't remember what they said, he only knows the screams and the revolver clicking in his left pocket while Missa, The Reaper or whoever it was have knowledge of the gun in his pocket and as soon as he pointed it at the man he said he loved time ago the gun was already on the ground, rolling behind this man who was unrecognizable to Phil, the shouting match continued more heated after the blonde pointed his gun at the helpless and clumsy Missa.

That was the last time he saw Missa.

Phil has been so distracted, tired and paranoid since then, even the security is a disaster ignoring the advice of the rest of BOLAS. Philza has scattered guards in unimportant areas, some stuck to him all day but the majority watch that Missa does not return or get close to the children (his children; Missa's own children) Chayanne almost bites him at the slightest suspicion of not being able to see his father, so his impenetrable fortress suddenly becomes a weak place.

Literally and metaphorically

He ordered several guards not to even dream of setting foot in certain areas of the family mansion (those such as the music room, the kitchen and the art studio, any room with traces of Missa must remain identical to how it was before his departure, as if they were waiting for him)

Philza feels betrayed and hurt but above all he is so confused, his rational mind tells him to defend himself, to put up the highest walls to protect himself, his organization and his family but his family is Missa. He is outside and Philza once promised that he will demolish every wall in the world that did not open its doors for the man with purple eyes.

And yet here he is.

Inside his fortress it can breathe the air of a broken family, the kids have believed him for the moment but the tension is felt increasing with every minute they pass without hearing from their papa. Inside the fortress are no longer him and his chicks but a greedy and lonely crow with two brittle shells and a broken heart.

The days pass in that agony until there is a surprise attack from which they cannot respond.

Tensions with the Federal mafia had gotten much worse in recent months, after his formal alliance with Soulfire he did not believe they were going to attack seriously.

But they did.

Thank his Goddess, thank The Lady for allowing Chayanne and Tallulah to be in the school while the white clad mercenaries broke down every door and shot at anything that moved.

At least Missa would get them back and they would be together again. Just as they should have been before he and his greedy hope for a family took that away from them.

As soon as his office door is kicked down one of those white masked sons of bitches puts his hands on him, something happens.

Penetrating in his vision when he sees him but there is stealth in his steps, he is the only one to notice his presence until two bullets (how quickly are repeated) knock down two of the men to dead, wound another in the shoulder, and the last one misses just centimeters away for paint the wall with Philza's skull.

Four shots, two fired before the reaction time of their distracted predators and attacked from the purest darkness, shots fly towards the door and if it was not absolutely broken after that rude kick it is now unusable, falling from its hinges under the siege and behind it are no signs of the mysterious shooter.

Tense seconds pass until one of the feds quickly puts one of his dirty hands in Phil's hair, pulling hard on the golden strands in a hissing threat and that's when he enters the scene.

The men on each side of the door were the first to fall, one quickly takes the place of his fallen companion, his gun raised, ready to shoot, followed by the one with the shot in the shoulder, unfortunately with that wound he is not able to shoot at time to prevent another bullet from the darkness from taking the life of the other one.

The bullets fly again while the threshold of the door swallows the corpse, dragging it out and soon, very soon, his savior enters the room with a constant step carrying the dead body as a kind of human shield.

A well-placed shot, other fall.

And the guy who touched him is one of them, his screams are muffled by his mask and by the gunshots exploding around him.

Phil hides under his desk as fast as he can but not before taking a bullet in the shoulder, it hurts like shit.

But it seems that it hurts them more because he can hear how one by one the white masks fall with sharp blows, they could barely scream in horror before fall with a fatal shott.

Fast, efficient and lethal

When it seems that the rain of bullets is ending, Phil distinguishes the voices from outside his office. That sounds like… Chainsaws? And laughs Phil knows immediately that his best people, who should be with his children, are on and from what he hears they are having fun.

He slowly peeks out of his desk, his hand warm from the blood dripping from his shoulder, and finally sees the reason of his recent insomnia.

Missa, or also known as The Reaper, moves almost with grace but the anger burns in his every movement, it is a wild spectacle as soon as the bullets run out, each man who even tries to get close to Phil is shot down with ease, he watch in trance as his husband smash anyone who tries to get close to him to pieces.

“M- Missa…?” he comes out as a dismayed whisper

The Reaper turns to look at him for half a second, which one of them takes advantage of to kick him in the stomach. Missa lets out a grunt of acute pain but holds the guy's leg with his hands, taking advantage of pushing him forward, knocking another of them against the favorite glass table.

The two guys are left on the floor, one on top of the other and one's suit is now full of glass.

And just like that Missa goes for the next one and Phil can only watch in shock.

Missa is The Reaper, The Reaper is Missa. They are both the same person; they have been forever.

Missa, his Missa is his mercenary and his mercenary is his husband.

he approaches, slowly, as slowly as he can with a bullet embedded in his shoulder. The cacophony of screams shakes the floor and Philza suddenly realizes that he must have gone down to the panic room.

The weight of not doing so clings to his shoulders, the clear implications trying to cross the capo’s tired mind like a malicious whisper makes him feels so wrong, so manipulative.

But he was waiting for him to save him

Of a thousand people in this aggressive environment who swore their loyalty to him and finds himself depending on the arrival of the one who not only never swore anything to him but also betrayed him.

Oh well, who betrayed who?

After yelling at him for lying to him when he also lied, pointing a gun at him and taking him away from his own children, he knows that the Philza of the past would have sent him to hell for ruining the things with Missa.

Missa knew who he was before, he knew it from very early on and that affected Phil, it made him feel cornered and at a disadvantage. He realized at that moment that he was afraid; he didn't fear the hitman under his roof as much as he feared the man under his sheets. feared he was so vulnerable letting him walk around the red mafia's base of operations, taking the children to school every morning, training Chayanne and hearing Tallulah's flute in the distance did terrified him, his worst nightmare was in how his heart was warmed by them so soft and gentle in the reaper's expert hands he could take out his heart and the worst thing is that he would have left it in order to see the children and Missa every morning when he woke up.

My God, he was crazy, he went crazy when he fell in love with him and even crazier when Phil sabotaged his own happiness.

Loneliness tasted bitter on his lips, power and honor became poison with the diffuse days, with his cold bed at night, with his absence piercing his chest.

The last man fell and with the elegance of a dancer stabbed by a steel dagger into his chest, he did the same with the other two men on the ground. The Reaper left no witnesses or loose ends.

He could hear in the distance Baghera and Cellbit stopping their chainsaws which was a good sign. The Federation had basically sent a mini army to his grounds and he partly wondered if his men knew that Missa was there with him.

His name tasted salty when it finally left Phil's lips in a whisper, it tasted like the tears he shed every time he was sober to remember his absence. Behind that mask it is almost impossible to perceive the purple eyes but he knows well that look that is hidden in front of him.

Missa wipes the blood on his own pants with slow movements, the dagger pressed against his thigh until it's clean enough.

“Missa…” Phil insists, he shouldn't insist to the man who has the dagger, especially when he is hurt.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he feels (not sees) the intense gaze on his shrunken figure, well, at least he now has his attention. The purple eyes that he loves so much scan him from top to bottom and a wave of shame hits the stunned and guilty part of his subconscious as he remembers how he looks even worse for being in the middle of a fucking shootout. That wasn't how he would have wanted to see him again see but it was the most likely way to meet again now that he knew they were in the same work area

His eyes seem to linger on the wound on his shoulder and if he could see his husband's face, he would say he was not pleased with it.

“…Phil” Missa's voice sounds like a late greeting and is focused on him.

Goddess, how he had missed that voice

The professional, and infamous mercenary approaches, a little more hesitant than he should for a man of his reputation and a wave of affection breaks over Philza, he too takes a single step closer and they are looking at each other as the first time, feels like looking at the moon at its peak or the sun descending. He can't, he doesn't have the right to act like a wet cat after tearing up his enemies and expecting Phil to be normal about it. Missa just can't do that to him, he bites back a light laugh and takes another step in his direction. noticing that there is blood on his clothes and some cuts on it but if I had to guess I would say that most of it is from the others and Phil is already losing blood himself.

Missa takes another step, knowing the bleeding has stopped and believing the bullet grazed but he won't be sure until he concentrates on something other than mustering the words to ask him to fucking take off the mask.

Fortunately, he seems to read his mind as Phil doesn't even finish taking another slow step towards him when the mask is finally gone, The Reaper has officially left the room and his husband looms in front of him in his place. Is it strange to say that death is good for him? His face, his hair and the sparkle in his eyes or is the blonde just delirious?

Be that as it may, it doesn't take long for them to find themselves in the middle of the destroyed office as if it were his own world.

"You went"

“You kicked me out.”

“You still shouldn't have left” he replied very intelligently and Missa smiled, a little nervous.

“Does it hurt so much?” The black-haired man worried, looking at his injured shoulder and Philza wasn't having his partner distracted just like that.

"No, no. It doesn't hurt" He responded, knowing that lies were not the best for the relationship at this time.

Missa frowned like a kitten about to sneeze but he allowed this one for him, just for now.

“You… you're right Philza” Missa lowered his head in shame and a confuse “what?” died in the blonde's throat.

"I shouldn't have left-"

“I pointed at you with a gun, mate” he interrupted, feeling guilty and a little freaked out by whatever that means, it all was his fault, why was Missa saying that?

“Still, I should have stayed, I wanted to stay” hesitantly he noticed how Missa’s arms floated loosely around him. They weren't very elegant clothes, just good enough for work and Philza wanted to focus on that and the stains of blood all over his man instead of the new confession, after everything he did, but how could Missa still wanted him?

“Missa…”

“I promised, right?” Phil raised his head suddenly, searching for his gaze between the strands of black hair that escaped from his messy ponytail. “I always keep my promises, dear”

When the members of Bolas made sure they had the entire area clean, they advanced, covering the entire perimeter until they climbed the stairs that led to the red leader's office, they found themselves face to face with the splintered frame of the door, an office in an absolute disaster. with the imposing doors thrown next to the lifeless bodies and in the eye of that past storm was the mob boss.

Philza was leaning against his desk (which was out of its place) the purple cloth acted as an improvised tourniquet and in his arms was the waist of a tall man with black hair that they had trouble recognizing at first if it weren't for the clear display of affection, unaware that they had company. Now Phil kept his face buried in the taller man's torso as if he were afraid to let him go again and Missa hummed, deeply satisfied with having his little bird in his arms again, he carefully avoided the other man's shoulder but remained attentive, didn't want to leave that wound out of sight until he could drag his husband stubborn ass to the infirmary. Ignoring the living and dead audience, the couple was trapped in their own world, little giggles that didn't seem to go anywhere, dying and returning with each other's laughter in a vicious circle, finally together.

“I promised you, I didn’t? as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again, cuervito”

EXTRA:

“You look pretty good with that ponytail you know, mate?”

“Philza!”

“So, guys, do I tell Jaiden that there will be no divorce?”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie”

[blueparadis]

❝ I CAN'T HELP IT ❞ + BACHIRA MEGURU ❪ playing ⌗10, ⌗11 & ⌗12 ❫─── via radio line ❛anatomy of emotions ❜〳 from this is what ____ feels like !⠀

[ content and themes ] :: abo au + modern au, f!omega!reader, pov!bachira, slice of life, exs to lovers, mutual pinning, flirting, fast burn,angst and comfort, silent confessions, fluff , $mut descriptions; word count— 2k // [ synopsis ] :: After a whirlwind of highschool years, Bachira trips over an old flame and this time he is not afraid to get hurt no matter how many times he falls. // [ notes ] :: this is for my beloved dee @semisgroupie via snow’s valentine gift exchange ( @suyacho ). just wanna say that I've never been so happy with the results of a lottery ;› ß’read by cherry <;3 ( @cherrykamado ) // [ tag index ] :: for blog navigation ; event masterlist is linked in title. also available in my ao3.

Break-ups are never easy. They tend to do more damage than we expect, than we could ever do to ourselves. Humans say that falling in love is the most beautiful feeling. It would never let hope die,however weak it is. It would never let you weep alone. No matter how much you trip and hurt yourself, you still manage to be up on your feet again to follow them everywhere till the last breath. Love is eternal, they say. They never say how to fall out of love. Humans claim that they fall in love only once; true love happens only once unlike such animals. 

Such is the theory in this world where alphas, betas and omegas exist along with humans. Not only that, but they are actually thriving well, that is, the prospect of cohabitation has become more flourishing than before.In fact, the head representative of such inhumans claims that within a century , there might not be any existence of humans.

Bachira agrees. He agrees with the theory of love, not the animalistic part. He agrees, if he falls, he will fall so hard that he would not be able to pick himself up, at least he thought he wouldn't. His first break- up at least taught him how he was so not in love with y/n. People tend to miss their partner after break-ups, but he never missed her, not even once. Sure, there was this unsettling feeling at the corner of his heart but it faded with time. 

Sometimes, he even thought that there was not enough love between her and himself so he would miss her, after she was gone like the wind. And now she is standing in front of the list of the candidates that have cleared for higher studies. Bachira did too. He can see his name in the list of dominant alpha males. He can also see her name and her feeble stature at ease amidst the crowd. No doubt she is a human, must be, otherwise what kind of omega would not be able to detect the presence of an alpha?

Bachira starts to walk towards her hoping she would recognize his scent, turn around if he released enough pheromones but he halted, he had to. How could he not when she ran away with tears in her eyes to the nearest restroom. Was she not happy about her selection? Did she see his name too? Who on earth would cry if they had cleared scholarship exams? Humans. Twisted humans.

It has been a week since I saw y/n on campus. I don’t even know her particulars and not that I need to but it would be nice to have some info on her so that I could avoid her at all costs. She was the first person I have ever dated. There were a few after her but it wasn’t like I imagined. I didn’t miss her like I was supposed to miss after a ‘break-up’, I didn’t try to contact her or anything like that after she left due to her father’s job transfer. Now that I think about it, it’s pretty much ;ame reason for a break-up. We didn’t particularly talk after we parted. . . wait, does that mean we never broke up? That’s even more lame. Fuck fuck fuck why does she have to go to same college as I do. It could have been any other college in this gigantic city. . . oh fuck! I hate this, I hate this so much.

Bachira does not have any idea how to react if he were to cross paths with her, how to act like an ‘ex’ and hence he was always on guard. Whenever he could feel her presence he would always resort to detours rather than the normal shorter paths. Part of him felt horrible about himself , and another part was happy that she was coming to college, studying , living her day without being aware of her ex’s presence. Must be nice to be a human, to be so clueless about the raw edges of emotions. While he had his own emotional waves to avoid Y/N had her own inner turmoil to come at peace with. Not only did she crack the scholarship exams but also she was identified as an omega. The worst part was she came to know when she saw her name in the list of omegas who are selected for a pass in higher studies. Throughout her whole life she was taught how to talk like a human, behave like a human, feel like a human and now she is one of them now; a creature of the wild. Even though her parents were able to accept it quickly she took a few weeks to come in terms with it. Why was that? 

Her mother is human but her father is not. He is an omega with dominant genes. After first, y/n thought that her parents had a cute love story, just like one of those fairy tales— beauty and the beast. It felt nice. It felt perfect. She wanted it for herself, she wanted to experience one such fairy-like love story, at least once in her lifetime but it ended when she saw her father yell at her mom, so loud, so harsh that she almost cried. Y/N tried to overlook it as ‘just one-time’ but arguments became regular after that. Home was not home anymore. 

But the sun shone upon Y/N again when the family was blessed with another child, a boy, an omega. She was happy that her mom and dad did not fight anymore but the fear in her heart never went away. And, hence when her father had an order of job transfer she left without saying goodbye to her boyfriend who was as warm as the sun. In her defense, she did not have her personal cell phone yet, nor had a chance to see him at school. 

It was during summer vacation when they left the city without any trace of good memories.

And what are the odds that after a year they would bump into each other after a sultry summer afternoon? “Woah!”, y/n blurted, noticing that her ex was playing soccer with a bunch of guys from her class. 

Thereafter, each Monday she used to sit to watch him play. He has not changed, not a bit. Just a little here and there on appearances. He was taller than before, had a piercing just above his cupid’s bow and had a short ponytail; it seemed like he would let his hair grow.

And, each Monday whenever Bachira could not sense her scent anymore, could not feel her presence anymore he would look back to check and watch her walking through the corridor till she was out of sight. He even got hit by the ball for being distracted but that’s okay. He could let it slide. 

Y/N missed two Mondays in a row and his head was everywhere but not in the game anymore. He could muster up enough courage to pass by her classroom. He almost locked on the probability of not seeing her again, expecting her seat to be empty. Four more steps and he will pass through the back-door of her class room.

one.

two. 

three.

four.

The poor fruit juice can was a victim of Bachira’s anger. He never felt so betrayed before, not even when y/n left him without any word or explanation. But the second he passed that back door he was still like a sculpture witnessing the greatest miracle that life has to offer. She was looking outside through the door, with her lips having an upward crescent of mischief that made Bachira lock eyes with her. The bell rang. It was lunch break. All the students were walking out of the classroom, running through the corridor yet only two souls remain still. 

All this time. She knew. She knew that her past was slowly trailing back to her. 

Days rolled on, nights crept in but Bachira could not forget that face of hers, amidst the joyful unified screams of the students y/n was sitting in her place with a smile on her face. He even asked if they could have lunch together or not but all she did was to nod, part her lips to speak yet did not say a word before joining the crowd. 

Thereafter, bachira’s toilet breaks became frequent. He felt like he was in love, again but he knew it better than anyone that it was ‘just a phase’, maybe infatuation or a crush. There is no way he would let an old flame rekindle when there was no affection to begin in falling for her. Yes, sure he liked her but maybe not enough to have her as girlfriend again. But he could tell something was different, something about her felt different. It’s her scent. It’s different than before. 

“Nice play.”, Isagi yelled as he shared a high-five with Bachira. He thought of staying back even after practice since his parents are gonna be home late, it would be better if he dedicated some of his stamina to soccer. Everyone was getting their belongings together, changing dress and as such. 

After a while all the commotion faded. Bachira was all alone in the locker room, the slow breeze soothing his muscles while he kept his head bowed, eyes closed trying to recharge as quickly as possible. There was a feeble sound, someone was humming. Curiosity over took him and when he figured the source it amused him. It was a girl humming and moving her hips, probably practicing her steps as cheerleader, at least her outfit suggested so. 

She closed the cupboard, turned around and almost jolted at the presence of another person, Bachira. He took a few steps towards her. Two to be precise, she backed away with two short steps feeling her back being pressed against the metal locker.

“Let me go.”, y/n tartly responded trying to avert his eyes.

It was as if he was under reflex when he thought for a response. “Kiss me and I’ll.”, Bachira boldly whispered and waited.

Two things began to happen simultaneously . One : y/n slowly began to lose control over her pheromones; she was new at this. It would have been easier if she were introduced to this way of living since childhood. It takes more effort to teach a grown man to behave than a child. It’s a reboot of her whole being within just a few weeks, certainly there would be cases where it would become faulty.

Two : Bachira was starting to feel impatient. He closed the gap with quick steps entering the room and locking the door with a loud thud with his foot. He was already tired from the practice but never before he felt this uneasy, this restless.

“What’re you doing?”she asked, squinting her eyes at him. There was no sound except the dull drilling noise of the fan. Bachira's lips parted to respond, “I . . . —- but his answer ended with his lips on hers. It was a short, dry kiss, just grazing of supple skins against one another. Bachira opened his eyes when he felt a strong push on his chest. Instinct took him over as he grabbed the edge of the bench otherwise he would have knocked his head on the ground. 

“Fuck. . .”, his head felt heavy, vision a little blurred. He blinked a few times before getting up on his feet. He saw her bags and earphones on the ground. There was a bunch of noise in the corridor, giggles and talks of girls. Before anyone could spot any trace of disaster, he grabbed her belongings and left the site immediately.

It was a cold wintry evening when Bachira fell in love again, tasting the tanginess of his first love. He was wrong about so many things. They were still not over, not like this. Their love was just in brilliant sparks back then and now it turned into a wildfire.

 —

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