#Yeah so anyway I really think I do have PTSD

[writinginatree]

Signets

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Riorson!reader, Xaden Riorson & sister!reader

Summary: Your and your cousin's signets manifest within minutes of each other — almost like Bodhi's is a response to your own.

Warnings: Panic attacks, pyrophobia, near death experiences, reader has PTSD.

Written for @empyreanevents's Bodhi Week Day 3: Signet Countering

AO3

Stepping out into the courtyard with Bodhi, you tip back your head and take a deep breath of the cold winter air, releasing it in a sigh.

"I so fucked up that test," you groan.

"It's just math," your cousin says, bumping your shoulder with his own. "Pretty sure that's one class we can fail without being killed for it."

"I know. But I stayed up all night studying, and for what? Just to fail anyway?"

"I did tell you to prepare for the test sooner," he reminds you.

"Yeah, yeah. Next time, I'll let you force me to study with you in time for it to actually do me any good."

Bodhi shakes his head, grinning. "I'll believe that when I see it."

You roll your eyes, playfully smacking his arm. It might be true that you're not the most studious person, but does he really have to call you out on it like this?

Deciding it's time for a change of topic, you ask, "Is it just me, or has it gotten warmer?"

Maybe it's the lingering frustration and embarrassment from math class heating your skin, but you're uncomfortably warm despite wearing just your long-sleeved winter uniform, your flight jacket slung over your shoulder along with your bag.

Bodhi looks at you like you've grown a second head. His own jacket is buttoned all the way to the top, chin tucked into the collar for warmth. "Warmer? It's fucking freezing."

"I don't know. I'm warm."

It's not that you don't feel the cold wind howling through the courtyard, but unlike this morning when you'd shivered in it, now it comes as a relief.

"Maybe you're getting a fever," Bodhi suggests, and takes his hand from his pocket to feel your forehead. "Damn. You really are burning up."

"Hmm."

You close your eyes, leaning into his cooling touch. He's probably right. It feels like you're being boiled from the inside.

"It's not a fever," your dragon's voice comes down the bond.

How does she want to know? She hasn't even seen you today. But then you notice something feels strange about the bond, too. Almost... Almost like that's where the heat is coming from.

Your eyes snap open as the realization hits you. It isn't a fever — it's power, gathering beneath your skin.

Involuntarily, you think of the horror stories Garrick told you — people exploding when too much of the magic their dragons channeled built up inside them, lacking an outlet because their signets were late to manifest. But it has only been a few weeks since Faigh started channeling to you, and you were taught it can take multiple months for a signet to show, so that can't be what's happening to you... Can it?

Slapping Bodhi's hand away from your forehead, you take a few steps back, just in case. If you are about to become some sort of magical bomb and die, you don't want to take your cousin out with you.

"You are not dying," Faigh says, her voice taking on that infuriatingly patient tone that makes her sound like she's speaking to a toddler. "It's your signet. You just need to let it out."

Your signet? Is it supposed to feel like this? When you'd asked Xaden what it was like when his signet manifested, he hadn't mentioned anything like what you're feeling now. Then again, he might have kept it from you so as not to scare you. Or maybe it hadn't been like this for Xaden; maybe it feels different depending on what the signet is.

Bodhi steps closer again, asking if you're alright, but you can't focus on him. All you know is pain and unbearable heat. It feels like your skin will blister and peel off any moment.

Your mind races. How are you supposed to let the power out when you don't know what form it will take? What kind of signet could this be, to make it feel like your blood has been replaced with liquid fire?

Oh gods, no. Fire.

Just as you think the word, it's like the power bubbling under your skin boils over. Flames erupt around your hands and you cry out, dropping your blazing jacket.

No. No.

The smell of smoke and burning leather fills your nose, and your vision blurs, breath coming in ragged gasps. Your trembling hands are engulfed by flames. You can only watch in horror as they start to spread, surrounding your wrists and creeping up your arms, further and further. Tears drip into the fire, sizzling as they evaporate in the heat.

"Congratulations," Faigh remarks calmly. Either your terror doesn't register, or she's hoping that if she ignores it, you will be able to do the same. "You are a fire wielder."

"No! I don't want that!"

Anything, anything but that.

"You do not get to choose your signet. Now control it, before you hurt yourself."

Control it? Is she fucking serious? It's fucking fire — the destructive force starring in all of your nightmares, uncontrollable and deadly. The mere sight of the flames dancing up your arms is enough to erase any coherent thoughts from your mind, leaving nothing but helpless panic in it's wake. You don't feel any pain yet, but all you can think is that you'll die like this, you'll burn to death just like your dad and his allies.

"You will not. Do not let the power control you," Faigh scolds. "You are in control. Aim the fire away from yourself!"

But you're not. You've never felt less in control in your entire life.

"I can't!"

You've tried to overcome this fear the apostasy left you with time and time again, knowing how laughable it is for a dragon rider to be afraid of fire, but all your efforts were to no avail. No matter how hard you try, you can't help it. Every time you see even the hint of a fire, it takes you back to that day in Calldyr. Every time you smell smoke or the sulfur on a dragon's breath, the sight of your father in the moments of his death rises before your inner eye, and you have to use all your willpower in order not to dissolve into a sobbing mess on the spot.

Even harmless candles are enough to bring on a panic attack. You used to love placing them all over your room in Riorson House, loved to watch their little flames flicker and dance, fascinated by the ever-changing patterns of shadows they threw on the walls. Back home, you have a whole collection of different candles — scented ones, ones in glasses, big and colorful ones, and others in peculiar shapes. You know they're still there, because Xaden had once brought you a few into your foster home after a secret visit to Aretia. You hadn't had the heart to tell him you can't stand lighting them anymore.

Yet despite how bad your pyrophobia is, it hasn't been as big an issue as you thought it would be when you entered the quadrant. So far, you've gotten by pretty well, avoiding the highest turret with its burn pit like the plague, quickly finding somewhere else to be whenever a fire wielder demonstrates their powers for the amusement of their peers.

It helps that you usually know in advance when you're going to be faced with fire, and can mentally prepare yourself.

On the flight field and in the skies, you force yourself into tunnel vision, all your focus on Faigh so you won't notice if any of the other dragons breathe fire. Faigh herself is surprisingly considerate of your feelings in this regard, and has never breathed fire around you — except at Presentation, when she'd scorched the bully of a squad mate walking behind you and Bodhi.

At your cousin's insistence, the both of you had ignored your wingleader's advice of keeping seven feet apart, and walked hand in hand past the dragons. You'd been worried he'd get torched along with you if any of the dragons sensed your fear and deemed you unworthy because of it, but when the smell of charred flesh and sulfur hit you, you thanked the gods you'd let him convince you. Without Bodhi, you wouldn't have made it off that field. It was only thanks to the distraction he provided that you managed to keep from spiraling until it was all over, and you could safely break down.

All in all, everyday life in the Riders Quadrant doesn't involve nearly as much fire as you used to believe. Now, however, it seems your luck has run out. How are you supposed to avoid fire when you are the fire?

Faigh is shouting orders in your head, but the words don't make sense. Nothing seems real but the fire. The flames are still rising, the heat near unbearable. You've lost all sense of time, can't tell how long it's been since they appeared. Seconds or minutes, it makes no difference. If you don't get a grip on yourself soon, the fire will consume you.

Maybe you should let it. Wouldn't death be preferable to living in constant fear of your own signet? If you were dead, you wouldn't have to fear the fire anymore. You would be with your dad. There would be no more fear, no more pain.

Bodhi has other plans for you. He closes the distance between you and wraps you in his arms. Reality snaps back into place and you cry out, try to get away, terrified you'll burn him, but instead of rising and jumping over to him, the flames licking at your arms sputter and die down. The red-hot power that had coursed through you a moment before is gone — no, not gone. You can feel it through your bond with Faigh, but now it feels... contained. Like there's some kind of barrier that keeps it from consuming you.

Raising your hand in front of your face, you see that it isn't burned. Your skin is hot to the touch, flushed and tender, the way it gets after a too-hot shower, but that's all. No blisters or burned flesh like you would expect after contact with actual fire.

Bodhi notices the lack of injury too, and lets out a shaky breath of relief. "Are you okay?"

You can't speak, so you just nod, even though you're not at all sure it's true.

Nothing hurts, at least.

"You're in shock," Faigh soothes as you start to tremble, legs threatening to give out. "Breathe. It is under control now. Cuir's rider will keep you safe."

You know he will. Bodhi might only be older than you by a few months, but that has never stopped him from being just as protective of you as Xaden is. Pulling you against his chest to shield you from anyone else in the courtyard while you fight to regain your composure, his arms are a solid net of safety around you.

Once you've calmed enough to speak again, you lift your head and ask, "H-how did you do that?"

Bodhi shakes his head, looking just as confused as you feel, but doesn't need to ask what you mean. "I don't know."

"But you must have done something! The— the fire, I— I couldn't stop it. I thought it would burn you, but then it— it just disappeared."

"Maybe your fear of hurting me made it retreat?" Bodhi asks, sounding uncertain.

"No. It was you. You made it stop somehow."

Bodhi opens his mouth like he wants to argue, then closes it again. He knows you're right, even if neither of you understands what exactly happened.

"I don't know," he repeats, taking one of your shaking hands and turning it over to look at it from every side. "Are you sure you aren't hurt? Your whole arms were covered in flames."

"No, it— it didn't hurt. It was like— I think the fire wasn't actually touching me. Like it was just around me, somehow."

Bodhi nods slowly. "I guess that makes sense. Otherwise fire wielders would burn themselves every time they wield."

Fire wielders. Like you. You are a fire wielder.

Hearing Bodhi say it, the reality of it fully sinks in. Wherever you go, whatever you do, at any moment, you might spontaneously go up in flames. And worse, you'll be forced to use your signet, will be expected to control it. Leadership won't understand your fear, won't care how you feel about this power — they'll only care about what you can do for them with it.

A fresh wave of panic clogs your throat, makes it hard to breathe. You turn your head against Bodhi's neck again, unwilling to let anyone else see your tears.

"I don't want to wield fire, Bo," you whimper, quiet enough that only he can hear.

"I know," he murmurs, tightening his hold on you and bringing his other hand up to cradle the back of your head. "I know. I'm so sorry, baby. You'll be okay, though."

"Nh-nh. I can't do this."

"Of course you can. You're braver than you think, and I'll be with you."

"You— You'll put the fire out again?" you sniffle. You're vaguely aware of how pathetic you must sound, but you don't have it in you to care. "If it comes back?"

You know the if is really a when. There's no doubt the fire will come back — it's yours now, whether you want it or not, and sooner or later, you'll be left with no choice but to wield it. But you don't want to think about that right now. You just want Bodhi to tell you he'll keep you safe from it, no matter if it's true.

"I will," he promises, and even though neither of you knows how exactly he stopped the fire the first time, you have no doubt he will manage to do it again if you need him to. Bodhi always keeps his word.

Now that the burning flood of power has left your body, the cold hits you full force. Your flight jacket is a pile of ashes on the ground, so Bodhi unbuttons his own and throws it around your shoulders. Your teeth are chattering too hard to protest.

"Let's get you inside," he says. "Can you walk?"

"I t-think so."

You know Bodhi wouldn't mind carrying you, but you're all too aware that though there aren't many other people in the courtyard, those that are there are all watching you. You've already shown more weakness than you can afford to.

Still trembling and disoriented, you blindly let Bodhi lead you into the dormitory building, too shaken to care where you're going.

The bone-deep exhaustion that tends to follow your panic attacks is starting to set in, making every step an effort, but your heart continues to race. How are you ever supposed to feel safe again with the threat of fire living under your very skin?

The fear almost pulls you under again at the thought, but you shove it away, clinging to Bodhi's promise. You have to believe he really can keep the fire at bay; it's the only thing keeping you sane.

To distract yourself, you mull over how he did it. It must have been his signet, manifesting along with your own, but what exactly could it be? Water or ice would be good for putting out fire, but you saw neither, nor felt any wetness apart from your own sweat. Bodhi didn't just douse the flames; somehow, he completely stopped the flow of power that had caused them. Like some kind of blockade, protecting you by cutting you off from your signet at the very root.

It's not until you almost collide face-first with your brother that you realize you're on the second-years' floor. Of course — where else would Bodhi take you but to Xaden?

Your brother takes one look at you and immediately asks what's wrong. You don't need a mirror to know your eyes are red and puffy from crying, but even if that wasn't the case, Xaden can always tell when you're upset.

Not trusting yourself to speak without bursting into tears again, you leave it to Bodhi to explain what happened.

"Her signet just manifested. She's a fire wielder."

Xaden's brows lift. "O-kay? I don't see the problem. That's a bit basic, but that doesn't make it any less usef—"

"She almost burned herself to death because she can't control it yet," Bodhi snaps. "Not to mention that she's fucking scared of fire, Xaden!"

"What? Since when?"

"Since the execution! What the fuck do you think?!"

"How am I supposed to know that when neither of you told me? I'm not a fucking mind-reader, you know."

"Stop it!" If you have to listen to them argue because of you for even one more second, you'll burst into flames again. "Just— Stop!"

They both turn to you, their expressions immediately softening. Bodhi's hand is still clutched tight in yours, so it's Xaden who reaches out to wipe a tear from your cheek. You hadn't even noticed you've started crying again.

"I'm sorry, baby. I had no idea you're scared of fire. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it doesn't matter."

The truth is, you'd been too ashamed to tell him. Everyone else seems to be coping with their memories of the apostasy just fine; in comparison, you feel weak and pathetic. You hadn't wanted Bodhi to know, either, hadn't wanted anyone to know, but it's impossible for you to hide anything from your cousin, practically attached at the hip as the two of you are.

"Of course it matters," Xaden argues. "If I'd known—"

"Then you still couldn't have done anything about it," you interrupt, swallowing back more tears. It's easier to act tough in front of Xaden, because you know it's what he expects of you. "I know I'll have to get over it, but that's not something you can help me with. And I've really had enough breakdowns for today, so can we please focus on Bodhi instead of me for a moment? Because I think he got his signet too."

"You did?" Xaden asks your cousin, but not before giving you a look that says you'll be talking about your fear of fire again at a later point.

"Well, I'm not sure. Maybe?"

"He did," you insist. "He made the fire stop somehow."

"Is that a thing, stopping other signets?" Bodhi wants to know from Xaden.

"I don't know," Xaden admits, then sighs like he's come to an unpleasant decision. "Let's get you two to Professor Carr. He's an ass, but hopefully he can give us some answers."

[keithyp00]

︵‿︵‿୨♡ Pretty Little Baby ♡୧‿︵‿︵

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, romance, emotional vulnerability, mentions of PTSD, minor language, soft!Bucky, pining and tension, kissing, implied intimacy, fluff, 1950s music, scars, body image

Song Inspiration: Pretty Little Baby by Connie Francis

Word Count: 2.4K

Author Note: Hello! Sorry this one is out so late... This is another Connie Francis fic (because her songs work for him so well <3) that I'm pretty proud of. This note is to tell you guys that I don't think I bombed my AP exam this morning so that's good! AND that my post for tomorrow will be delayed to Friday night because of my PROM! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

Pretty little baby / you say that maybe you'll be thinkin' of me / and try to love me / Pretty little baby / I'm hoping that you do~

~~~~~

Bucky Barnes wasn't supposed to fall in love. Not again. Not here.

The sunlight pooled through the tiny cafe window just enough to trace gold over the soft curve of your cheek. You sat tucked in the small booth located behind the counter- specifically for workers- like a secret waiting to be discovered, the vintage radio located next to you crooning out a low, crackling tune- something old. Something he vaguely remembered the melody of.

"Pretty little baby, I'm so in love with you~"

Your fingers tapped along the rim of your coffee cup, mimicking the tempo. You didn't see him at first. You never did. Not really. Not in the way others did- with their reverence, their suspicion, their fear. No, you had this gentle way of looking at him like he wasn't a ghost. Like he wasn't a man made of nightmares. You saw through the steel and the silence.

You saw him.

He'd been coming here for three months now. Tuesdays and Fridays. You always worked the morning shift, tucked in your apron and a smile so warm it melted his resolve. Bucky told himself the coffee was the reason he kept returning. Told himself the old songs reminded him of simpler times. Told himself it wasn't you.

But it was always you.

Today, you looked different. A little sad. Your smile not quite reaching your eyes.

"Hey, soldier," you greeted softly when he finally stepped forward to the counter, voice like a balm.

"Hey, doll," he murmured, almost under his breath. The nickname slipped out sometimes, like his body remembered the rhythm of a past life even when he didn't mean to.

Your lips twitched a little higher. You always liked when he called you that.

"Coffee?" You asked, already reaching for his usual.

"Yeah." He hesitated. "And... maybe a slice of that apple pie?"

You blinked. "Trying something new?"

Bucky shrugged, pretending it didn't take everything in him to break routine. "Thought I'd live a little."'

You gave him a playful salute. "That's the spirit."

As you turned to plate the dessert, Bucky glanced toward the radio. The song still played.

"Pretty little baby / You said maybe..."

It tugged at something in his chest. A memory, maybe. A fragment. He remembered holding someone close on a night like this. A whisper of perfume, the hem of a dress, the way music softened all the edges. But that wasn't this life. That wasn't now.

This was now. And you were here.

"Something wrong?" He asked when you set down his plate with slightly trembling fingers.

You smiled- small, too practiced. "Just... tired."

"Liar," he replied gently.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. Startled. Then they softened.

"My roommate's moving out," you confessed. "And I can't afford the place on my own. I guess I'm worried I'll have to leave the neighborhood. Find a new job. Start over."

HIs fork paused halfway to his mouth.

"You thinking about leaving?" He asked carefully.

You nodded. "Unless something changes."

Bucky set his fork down.

Something about the idea of you being gone made his heart lurch in his chest. He didn't want to admit how often he built his week around these visits. How often he remembered the sound of your laugh hours after hearing it. How he had memorized the smell of this cafe because it smelled like you.

"You shouldn't have to start over," he stated.

Your smile faltered. "Sometimes, you don't get a choice."

He knew that better than anyone.

There was a beat of silence. Just the soft voice of Connie Francis filling in the cracks between you.

Bucky cleared his throat. "You like this kind of music?"

Your eyes seemed to light up- really light up- and for a second, the weight on your shoulders vanished.

"I love it," you smiled. "My grandmother used to play these old records. Connie, Doris, Patsy. She used to say romance was simpler back then."

He smiled, something wistful curing in his chest. "Yeah, I remember."

You blinked. "You remember?"

He hesitated, caught. And then slowly, he let the words fall. "I was born in 1917."

The world stilled. You stared. Then stared a little longer. His coffee cooling beside the both of you.

You didn't ask. Not about the arm. Not about the Winter Soldier. Not even about Steve.

Instead, you reached across the table and placed your hand over his flesh one.

"That must be a lot to carry," you said.

And somehow- somehow- that was worse than pity. It was kindness. It made something in his chest ache.

~~~~~

Weeks passed.

You didn't leave. Somehow, a friend of a friend needed a roommate- really just someone to help pay half the rent for a place they rarely ever stayed in. You moved three blocks away instead of thirty minutes. You still worked at the cafe. Bucky still came by.

Sometimes he came just to sit with you during your break. Sometimes you played cards behind the counter. Sometimes he helped you change the records on slow afternoons, humming low and quiet.

Once, he brought you a tiny potted plant with a tag that just said "for the sunshine behind the counter."

You nearly cried.

You started listening to more old songs. Started humming them around him. Started smiling wider every time he walked in. You didn't know when you fell in love with him. You just knew that one day, Bucky Barnes was no longer a customer. He was a presence. A comfort.

A heartbeat. And you were his. But neither of you said it. Not until the night it all came undone.

~~~~~

It was raining.

Bucky didn't show up for his usual Tuesday coffee. Then Friday. Then the next Tuesday.

You didn't have his number. You didn't know where he lived. You were just a girl behind a counter who somehow memorized the man behind all the pain.

When he showed up again, he looked wrecked.

Eyes bloodshot. Jaw tight. Hair damp from the storm outside. He didn't say hello. Didn't order coffee.

Just stared at you like he didn't believe you were real.

"I'm sorry," he said.

You frowned. "Where were you?"

"I... I couldn't come," he whispered. "I couldn't see you. I couldn't look at you and pretend I'm not broken."

Your chest tightened.

"You don't have to pretend," you said quietly.

He stepped closer. "I dreamt I hurt you," he confessed, voice breaking. "My mind... sometimes I can't control what I see. What I feel. I thought if I stayed away, I could protect you. But it just- hurt more."

You were shaking now. "Bucky..."

"I'm not what you think I am," he said. "I'm not a good man. I've done things that haunt me. I'm not fixed. I'm not even whole. I didn't want to let you close because I knew- I knew I'd start to hope. And hope is dangerous."

Tears welled in your eyes.

"Don't you get it?" You whispered. "I don't need perfect. I need you."

Silence.

Then his voice- ragged.

"You deserve someone better."

"Maybe," you replied. "But I want you."

That cracked something in him. Broke him open.

And suddenly, he was holding you like a lifeline, forehead pressed to yours, rain in his hair, in his lashes, on his lips. He was trembling- an earthquake in a man's body. And then he kissed you.

Soft. Desperate. Real.

Like he's been waiting a hundred years just to find someone who didn't flinch.

~~~~~

"Meet me at the car hop or at the pop shop / meet me in the moonlight or in the daylight / pretty little baby, I'm so in love with you~"

The record played again a week later.

You danced in your kitchen barefoot while Bucky cooked behind you. He was clumsy with a spatula but careful with your heart. His metal arm wrapped around your waist as you spun into him, laughter spilling between you.

"I like this one," he murmured into your hair.

"I know," you smiled, eyes twinkling. "You always hum it."

Bucky kissed your temple.

"Pretty little baby," he whispered, echoing the lyrics. And this time, when you looked at him... You didn't see the Winter Soldier.

You saw James Buchanan Barnes.

And he was yours.

~~~~~

The first time you saw him shirtless, it wasn't intentional.

You'd only meant to bring him coffee.

It was barely past nine on a Sunday morning- quiet, sleepy light pouring through your bedroom window, another morning where your roommate was in a city thousands of miles away for work- and you padded down the hallway with two mugs in hand and nothing but one of Bucky's old Henley's falling past your thighs. You hadn't expected him to be out of bed already. You hadn't expected to find him standing in your bathroom, door ajar, wiping steam off the mirror as sunlight caught every scar on his back.

The coffee nearly slipped from your fingers.

He turned at the sound of your breath catching, eyes wide, chest bare, metal arm glinting sliver-blue in the light. He looked like a statue- carved from war and grief, tall and scarred and too beautiful to be real.

"Sorry," he muttered, reaching for a towel.

You swallowed. "Don't- don't cover up-"

HIs hand paused. Towel clenched at his side. His shoulders tensed as if waiting for you to flinch. For you to turn away. For you to look at him and see a monster.

But you didn't.

You just stepped closer. Set the mugs on the counter. Reached up with trembling fingers to touch the edge of one older scar that curled itself across his ribs.

"Does it still hurt?" You asked.

His throat bobbed. "Not always."

You leaned in. Pressing a kiss just beside it.

Then another.

And another.

You traced the map of his wounds like a poem written specifically for you. He stood still, breathing shallowly, as your lips moved over the place where flesh met metal, where skin had broken and grown over again. His eyes fluttered shut. His hand trembled when it came to rest on your waist.

"Pretty little baby," you whispered, half a breath, the song still echoing somewhere in your heart. "I want all of you."

And he kissed you- raw and real and aching.

Like he couldn't believe he was allowed.

~~~~~

Later, when your head lay on his chest, your fingers drawing idle shapes over his sternum, he spoke.

"I used to think I wasn't allowed to want anything," he murmured. "After everything I did... I thought wanting happiness was selfish. I thought being touched would always feel like control. But with you-"

His voice broke.

"With you, I feel human again."

Tears pricked your eyes. You turned your face into his skin and breathed him in.

"Then stay human with me," you whispered.

He did.

He stayed.

~~~~~

Time passed in quiet, golden pieces.

You slowly moved out of your apartment and into his. You left a toothbrush beside his. He left a dog-eared version of The Hobbit on your nightstand and insisted it was better than the movie.

You started watching black-and-white films together on an old projector screen you borrowed from a friend. He fell asleep on your lap during Roman Holiday. You took a picture- his face soft, peaceful, your fingers tangled in his hair- and set it as your lock screen. He pretended to grumble about it.

But he smiled every time he saw it.

You learned that he liked lemon in his tea. That he still had nightmares, but fewer of them now. That he hummed Connie Francis songs without realizing it, especially when he cooked. That he never quite believed he was lovable- but was trying, every day, to let you show him otherwise.

~~~~~

Then came the letter.

It was from the VA. A mandatory psych review. Another round of red tape. Another cold reminder that no matter how far he came, the world still saw him as dangerous first and human second.

You found him sitting on the edge of your bed, jaw clenched, paper crumpled in one fist.

"Hey," you said gently.

He didn't look at you.

"I don't want to go," he said. "I don't want to sit in some room and explain why I flinch at loud noises or why I check the door five times before sleeping. I don't want to be studied."

Your heart ached.

You sat beside him. Laced your fingers through his.

"You don't owe anyone an explanation for surviving," you stated. "But if you go... do it for you. Not them."

He exhaled slowly. Then nodded.

"I want to be better," he said. "For you."

You cupped his face, made him look at you.

"You're already enough," you whispered.

And that night, he made love to you like he believed it.

~~~~~

Spring came slowly.

The cafe bloomed with lavender outside the windows. You reopened the patio seating. He brought you flowers on your lunch break- daisies, once. Then violets. Then roses.

"You're spoiling me," you teased, cradling the bouquet.

He smirked. "You deserve it."

You kissed him on your break. In front of the window. In front of half the neighborhood.

He didn't care who saw.

For the first time in nearly a century, James Buchanan Barnes didn't hide.

~~~~~

But healing wasn't linear.

Some nights, he still woke up gasping.

Some days, he paced the apartment for hours before he could settle.

Once, he got quiet for a week after seeing his reflection in a store window and not recognizing himself. You didn't push. You just stayed close. Made tea. Held him when he let you.

"I don't know why you stay," he said one night, voice rough.

You pressed your forehead to his.

"Because I love you."

He didn't speak. But his arms wrapped around you tighter than ever.

And you knew.

He loved you, too.

~~~~~

One summer night, as fireflies blinked outside the open balcony and the radio hummed in the background, he pulled you into a dance in the living room. Bare feet on cool wood. Fingers on his collar. Chin tucked into his neck.

You swayed. Slowly. Softly.

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your lips.

You tilted your head back to look at him.

"What are you thinking?" You whispered.

HIs blue eyes shimmered.

"That I want this," he said. "I want you. Forever, if you'll have me."

You laughed. A breathless, tearful sound.

"I've been yours since you walked into my cafe three months late and asked for a coffee with way too much sugar."

He groaned. "I said I was trying something new!"

You laughed and kissed him again.

"I love you," you smiled.

He closed his eyes.

"I love you more than I ever thought I could," he breathed. "And that terrifies me."

You kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Then let's be scared together."

[carbonfiction]

angsty frank hcs? :( i think we all have our ghosts, reader might have depressive episodes, anxiety, etc. frank obviously has ptsd and canonically pushes people away. i think them getting together will be a slow burn then they both have to get used to eo's habits. i'd love for you to explore how reader would handle frank being away, constantly being worried about his safety, him self isolating, being rough and angry, etc. i do think he's so gentle and patient in a relationship but sometimes it can get meddled with the version we create of him here. canon frank is a pain to deal with it but we love him anyway hehe.

Ohhh now this is excellent, i love these kinds of questions! Fair warning i have rambled my way through this with a slightly different approach than you asked so it could be a little less headcannony?? - that being said if you'd like dialogue moments/any more thoughts to follow up on this im completely open, just lmk and i can drop another post on this!

But god, You are so right though, frank is canonically a pain in the ass- hes rough, ragged, mentally and in alot of ways physically shattered. He's lived through trauma that no person should have to and become who he is because of that.

I do certainly think, as you said, any kind of relationship built with him is slow burnt, no matter if you also live with ghosts. Infact on his side, the start of it is almost built on a foundation of reluctance? Not exactly in the way that he doesn't want it, more that he holds such a deep rooted anxiety to anyone who gets close getting hurt.

In his mind, If you get close then what? How long does the ticking clock above your head have left?

On Franks side, He knows what he brings to the table, who is he, what he does. Every single moment of his life now is spent trying to ensure what happened to Maria, his wife, the love of his life in many ways, never ever happens again. Much like his relationship with children; frank will go to the ends of the goddamn earth to protect a child caught in crosshairs.

He'll do whatever, anytime to anyone so long as they make it out. its Frank doing what he feels everyday he didnt do for his own kids, while no fault of his own. But that sight of his son and baby girl will never ever leave him, nor will the agony of it. The blood, the damage, the damn fear on what was left of them. No. Thats never happening again, no matter whos damn kid it is.

I feel Frank also drifts off into his own mind alot, blank stares toward the wall or his boots. Lost in a time thats gone but not in the slightest forgotten. Yet Frank will hell or high water feel it an insult to call it PTSD but in near every way it is.

it would take time to understand it- understand him- as a friend or even partner. For you to process what he's been through, Learn what moments he just.. Needs to be left in it and what others he needs helping through. How to approach him in a way that doesnt make him feel a mockery to those really struggling. And its those times you have to squeeze his rough hands tight and really let him have it that he is struggling. Has been from that day at the carousel and likely will always be. And yet that does not make him any less worthy of good, or of care and attention and hell, love itself.

And yeah, those talks make Frank real grumpy. Hes sharp and he's got little filter. Words will fall from his chapped lips as easy as bullets when hes in a mood and they always have the ability to hurt. To push you away and to make you really sit and question why you love him. Fuck, sometimes if makes you question of he even does love you or want you around. It's absolutely the things that set off your own insecurities, anxieties and demons.

But thats unfortunately Frank. And while it certainly is not fair how he portrays himself sometimes it's just.. Theres alot blocking that proof of care from the surface you know? Hes always thinking of what you deserve, not perhaps what you want.

But the one way frank can and does show his care is in his actions, even if his words fall sharp and hurtful. Its the way he'll bring you a tea to apologize wordlessly as you sit curled in on yourself on the couch or bring home a pastry from that bakery you always drop into down the street. It's in your favorite meals he does his damnedest to cook and helping you fold laundry. Its in the baths he runs you after sex and in the hushed drifts of his fingertips on your skin as you drift off. He still loves, while differently now of course, intensly.

And perhaps you worry, ofcourse you do. Thats what happens when you care for someone, much more so when they do what frank does. So his whereabouts and safety is 100% an argument point, you subsequently sitting up to wait by your phone or the window is another.

Its impossible to count the amount of times hes told you not to do it, to stay away from windows and keep shit locked. To not call or text. You try, you do, to compromise, to make an effort, follow all the rules he sets. Naturally it isn't that easy, not when hes radio silent for times on end or coming home battered purple an blue all over; new bullet hole shaped scars littering his skin. He tells you, drills it even, because frank finds comfort in the controll of it all.

In a way, control keeps him afloat. Lets him monitor all that can be monitored.

But, with all of that said, Frank does become more mindful of what makes you anxious or stressed. Infact the longer your relationship with him blooms the more he.. Opens up to it? So to speak?

One way this manifestats is that Frank will never let you go to bed angry. You might fight, might say things neither of you mean in the moment, but not once will he let you walk away (and, after some effort on his part, nor will he). If you need to break down then do it beside him, if you need to slap at his chest and cuss him out? Do it, he's fine.

In the time you've spent learning all of Franks habbits and quirks, hes been learning yours albeit a little more silently. One of those lessons he's learnt is that walking away causes more harm and thats always the last thing he wants. Especially when he has to leave again.

You also begin to find post it notes scattered around, little reminders or messages. Things that fill the silence while in a communication gaps.

But I could seriously yap on this all day.. So again, if you'd like any more.. I guess more thought out?? for lack of better wording? moments, then im absolutely down for it.. I think theres a whole lot of potential there!

[pythonmoth]

cw: FLUFF. social anxiety. self-imposed exposure therapy (pls never do that!). cute and then not so cute, but cute again! panic attack. dissociation. reader is traumatized and inconsistent. implied sexual activity, nothing explicit. simon is a whiny little bitch. slightly styled text.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

word count: 4k

First | Last | Next

Having breakfast with Johnny, with the team, wasn’t something you realized you’ve been missing.

It fits right in your heart, filling a hole you didn’t know has been empty.

So many years have gone by and little things like this usually go ignored until you’re forced to be aware of them and their absence. Maybe it’s therapy; maybe it’s that you’ve gotten used to being alone after nine months, only relying on your brother for a few months and then being on your own, but breakfast with the people you’ve called your family for nearly ten years now, it’s something your body accepted as necessary once you got it back, only then understanding how much you’ve been missing it.

Once everybody’s tummy is filled with tea, coffee and good food, they take turns to shower, one by one leaving to get ready until it’s only Simon and you. He looks far more relaxed than the day before, his eyes warm as he nods when you talk, telling him about how you’ve been planning to remodel a little, maybe change the paint of the exterior or even add some flowers to your backyard. Now that you’re forced to stay home, there are things that you want to change so it looks prettier when you come back. 

You don’t miss the way his right cheek jumps, as if he’s trying not to grimace; you know it isn’t a happy memory for anybody, but you’re glad he isn’t trying to shut it down, and merely accepting it as it is. Same as you are.

“Do you know if Tommy is available? I might have to call him up, since I can’t reach everything on my own. He’s the closest one to a professional I know, anyway” you hum, your fingers entertained as they rip apart a sugar packet, your eyes not leaving it for a moment.

“My brother? I think so. I can ask him to contact you” Simon mumbles. You look up when you notice how unhappy he sounds. He’s… pouting.

“What?”

Simon frowns, seemingly unsure if he should speak up or not. In the end, just when you’re starting to overthink and overanalyze everything you’ve said and done to get him to look like his, he finally looks up.

“I’m… I am available. I could help you” he grunts. “I’ve helped him at work before and I can get it done as quickly as he can” Simon rushes, as if he couldn’t help it. “With the right tools, perhaps even faster”.

When you go quiet, he shuts up. You’re hyper aware of his eyes on you as you look down at the ruined sugar packet in your fingers, biting down on your lip. It’s not that you don’t know he helps Tommy sometimes, it just felt like a safer question.

In the back of your mind, you think back to something your therapist mentioned as a possibility, something that could help you with the PTSD, though she said it wasn’t time nor a good idea for you yet. That was five months ago and, really, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe…

Exposure therapy. It should be okay.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just Simon.

“Wait, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can just call him and—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay” you interrupt him, your eyes twinkling a little. “If you’re free… we could start today, buy a few things. Please?”

And so, when the morning comes to an end, Price, Gaz and Johnny say their goodbyes, only Gaz and Price coming over to kiss your cheek and pat your head. Johnny gives you a bright smile and a promise to come over later. Price makes sure you remember his number, just in case. Gaz cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead loudly before he walks out the door with Price.

Johnny kisses Simon briefly before they leave, Gaz playfully gagging behind them. You see him, however, getting nudged by Price, both of them looking quite content; surely, there was a conversation you weren’t part of. The sun is high up as the car disappears from sight, some part of your heart wishing they could stay longer, but this will be good.

You hope so, at least.

Then, it’s only Simon and you.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes for you to stop looking in the mirror, reminding yourself that you’re not going alone. You don’t have to double check behind you, you’ve nothing to fear. But, the reminder that is Simon who’s coming with you, brings an unwelcome feeling at the base of your spine.

It’s somewhat irrational, you’re aware. But it’s still scary, and it doesn’t make it less real.

Taking a deep breath, you nod to yourself in the mirror, and step back, hastily putting away your makeup and promising yourself you’re going to clean the few-weeks-old dust from it when you’re back.

Your guts flip when you realize the sun’s already coming down, and it makes you feel insane that you can’t even focus on things like that; why would you be unsure of how long you’ve spent spacing out? That’s something else to mention the therapist, maybe.

Simon’s waiting in the living room when you come down, his face relaxed and his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg betrays him, however, because you can tell he’s been waiting, anxious. When he hears you, Simon gets up, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything and gives you a thumbs up, gingerly walking towards you.

“You ready?” he asks, his expression inviting, as if giving you an out. He looks just as anxious as you feel, and that makes you feel a little better.

Reaching into your bag, you make sure you have your knife and the spare knife, before nodding at him. As you both make your way out and into the car, you also pat the left pocket of your jeans. 

Pocket knife is a must, sometimes.

Buying the paint isn’t nearly as boring as you thought it would be. 

Simon makes it his mission to keep you entertained, easily reading the anxiety in your body language; he talks.

He talks a lot. And quite easily, much to your surprise.

Simon tells you why the lighter painting is better, and why you shouldn’t go for the darker one in certain places of the house, and why grey is a hard no if you want your house to look good. The black surgical mask is almost funny with how much it moves over his mouth, but you focus on him, and soon enough, you’re less worried, talking more, smiling and laughing at his awful jokes.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Simon’s morbid comments —"Look, that ashtray would be a funny gift for Johnny, if you ask me. We could make him fit in there later. Do you think it would be cheaper if we tell them why we want it?"—, you find the perfect shade for the exterior of your house. Simon isn’t convinced, you can see it, but he doesn’t complain, only crossing his arms and tilting his head, as if calculating in his brain how much you’ll need. He’s been at your house many times, and knows it as well as you do.

Simon’s the one who asks for the paint and a few other tools, since you’re already aware he won’t let you carry it anyway. You hand Simon your credit card, and turn away, distracted with little light bulbs of soft white light that would look pretty good in your bedroom, so you don’t notice he doesn’t use your card to pay for it, but his instead. He doesn’t tell you either as he hands the plastic back to you and carries the bucket and the rest of the big tools to the car.

Just like a few days ago, you find yourself checking your surroundings, especially now that it’s dark. You keep the car locked as you check the back seats with your phone, making Simon wait a moment. After making sure it’s safe, you pat your left pocket to feel the knife there and quickly get inside, finally allowing him in as well. Maybe your therapist is right and you’re still jumpy, but it is dangerous out there anyway, and there’s nothing wrong with being paranoid careful.

The drive back home is pretty calm, your shoulders finally relaxing after nearly two hours of being on edge. Simon’s music blasts on the speakers, a little too loud to be safe, but you need the distraction, and the streets are pretty lonely at night so you only focus on it, mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re home and carrying the little bag with tools, which is the only thing Simon will let you grab, and get inside. Not even bothering to turn back, you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off, letting Simon take the plastic bag from your hands so he can set everything by the back door.

“I’ll be up early. If you wanna help, make sure you’re up by 7am” Simon grumbles, yawning as he takes the mask off.

“I haven’t woken up at 7am in like… nine months. That’s too early”.

“Tough shit”.

With a happy feeling in your chest, you say goodnight and go up to your room, leaving Simon to get comfortable in the guest room. Neither of you mention it, but it’s implicit he won’t be staying in your room like he would if this were before. The stairs creak slightly when you pause, your hand over the handrail, looking down as he seems to hesitate before waving at you, making his way to the room.

Out of habit, and maybe feeling a little anxious, you lock the door before taking your heavy jacket off. Getting ready to sleep alone feels a bit odd now that Gaz isn’t laying in your bed, but soon enough, you’re fresh and clean, and ready to sleep.

A loud crashing sound makes you jump up, face wrinkled from the pillow and heart pounding in your chest. You make your way downstairs, nearly tripping over your bare feet, one of the long knives in your hand as you try to focus on whatever is happening. The sun hits your face from the back door, watching as Simon hisses and holds the bucket of paint up, a big splash of colour all over your wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunt, using the knife to scratch your forehead.

Simon looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in your appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever be given the opportunity to see you so messy in the morning, but here you are. He clears his throat and starts scraping up the paint before it dries. “I didn’t seal it and I kinda dropped it. It’s fine, I’ll clean it quickly”. He falters a little when he sees the knife in your hand, a little amused. “Are you gonna stab me for messing with your floors?”

“Maybe. Don’t tempt me” you huff, your shoulders relaxing. “Be back in ten. Don’t you dare use the skyscraper ladder without me”.

“Mhm”.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you do”.

“Heard ya” Simon grumbles, his lips curling up. “I’ll wait for you”.

The tone in his words makes your heart tremble, but your face betrays nothing. Excited to work on your house, and hoping the little challenge you're putting yourself through doesn’t end badly, you rush to get ready.

The toughest part of painting with Simon is getting the job done.

Simon doesn’t move until the edges are perfectly done. He accidentally touched something he shouldn’t have? He’s gonna spend as long as necessary to get the paint off. You’re doing it gently, slowly, so he doesn’t take the brush from you? You’re taking too long! And if you let him do it himself, then why are you sitting there all pretty while he does it all? In the end, you give him an annoyed look and he calms down.

But then, when the edges are done, and you have to use the roller? Now that’s fun.

Since it’s easier, he lets you do it yourself, one of his hands on your lower back so you don’t trip —if your heart is trembling a little, that’s none of his business. Though you’re not entirely sure if it's anxiety, or excitement—. Simon’s smiling now, guiding you with a lot more patience, chuckling next to your ear when you accidentally get paint over your hands, and some tiny, little drops on his hair.

“I’ll make something to eat after we finish the first layer” Simon promises, guiding your arm with his warm hand; a simple caress from your elbow to your wrist as he points to the little places that are missing some love, as he calls it.

It doesn’t take you both long to finish the first layer, though it is more than you expected, since Simon kept coming back to perfect the edges and some little mistakes you couldn’t even notice, but you appreciate his enthusiasm, so even if it can be a little annoying, you don’t really complain.

Simon cooks something “simple” that allows you both to take two hours off, letting the paint dry properly. With both of you working together, his movements less sudden than they were the last morning —especially with the knife, which you can appreciate—, you end up just eating on your feet, both of you in the kitchen, not even using the plates and eating straight from the pot. 

Feeling lazy to clean up after this, you reach out for a single glass, lifting your eyebrow at him. Simon nods, taking it from you to pour some cold water for the two of you.

You can tell his eyes are fixed on the little mark your lip balm leaves on the glass and the way he drinks from the exact same place, but you’re easily distracted by food, so it doesn’t cross your mind to call him out for it. It’s something he used to do a lot back then, so you’re not surprised, but… it’s a little funny, honestly.

A few hours later, Simon’s on your ass again. The stupid edges are making both of your eyes twitch and your annoyance grows with each comment about how you’re doing it wrong. He isn’t even mean, but it’s so fucking annoying it makes your blood boil, your guts churning with murderous intent.

When he fucking whines that you’re not doing it as straight as it should be, you just can’t do it anymore. Your hand reaches down to the painting tray and, when your palm is dripping, you don’t give him a moment to understand what you’re doing before you place your hand right across his face, paint getting to his hair, his forehead, his nose and temples.

“Whom do you serve?”

Simon stares at you in shock.

You have exactly two seconds to run away when you see him reaching down for one of the brushes. 

He catches up to you in just a moment, the cold brush getting paint all over your old shirt, as if he were slashing a sword across your back. You shriek, still trying to get away, but Simon’s determined now, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. “You little shit” he grunts, amusement dripping from his voice as clearly as the paint does from the brush.

“Wait!” you yelp, laughing when Simon runs the cold paint across your face, forcing your lips close for a moment as the coarse bristles run over your cheeks.

“See? Better” he laughs, his hand splaying on your stomach before he finally lets go. Your skin tingles when his warmth slips away, but then you turn around to huff at him, and notice the bright, rare smile splitting Simon’s face in two, so you end up tackling him to the ground instead.

You’re rewarded with his flushing face, a loud bark of laughter coming from deep in his belly as he doesn’t even try to stop you. You scoop the dripping paint from your cheeks with your fingers and wipe your hands clean on his hair, his shirt. The paint seems to glow over his flushed cheeks.

A loud yelp of surprise echoes in your backyard when Simon easily flips you around, one of his hands pinning your wrists to the soft grass as he uses the brush to paint ridiculously big dots all over your shirt and arms. Your entire body shakes with amusement, laughing with no inhibitions, until you try to free your wrists from his grip.

And you c a n ’t mo ve.

Your mind fills with awful memories, with pain, fea r, salt wa ter, and pain. 

Pain. Pa in. One finger nail. Five fi ngerna ils.

Th r ee toe na il s.

You suddenly freeze, zoning out. You don’t even notice Simon’s holding you up, carrying you back inside as he mumbles, whispering soft promises. His hands are gentle and warm as he wipes the paint off your face, doing his best not to get much water on your skin, but you aren’t listening, your body is rock solid and your jaw is so tight he can’t even make sure you’re not biting down on your tongue.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed.

Your skin is clean, and there’s a soft towel under you that’s now a little dirty with paint; you’re still wearing the same clothes from this morning. It takes you a little moment to remember why you’re here, and look down at your wrists. 

Right.

The sound of water running from downstairs makes you get up, taking the towel off your bed. You set it over your chair by the desk and walk downstairs, your cheeks warm with embarrassment when you see him in the kitchen. The lights are low so you can’t really see his face, but you can see his slumping shoulders, the tension on his nape and the twitching of his mouth.

“Simon?”

He nearly drops the glass when he hears your voice, but he manages to catch it just in time, freezing as he stares up at you.

He’s still covered in paint, including the mark of your hand across his face. The sight of him looking so worried and still giving you those big puppy eyes behind all that completely dry paint…

“I’m sorry”.

Simon’s lips part, the words heavy on his tongue. His eyebrows seem unsure if they should be surprised or angry, because they jump and pinch together at the same time. He lets the glass aside and walks over to you, stopping just a few steps from you, his shoulders trembling.

“Sorry? You’re— sorry? What the hell are you even apologizing for? That was my fault. I scared you, again” he mumbles, tears welling up in his eyes, even if he desperately tries to stop it, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It slipped my mind and I fucked up”.

You reach up to touch his shoulder, but Simon steps back, flinching away from you. Your heart breaks, your lips parting in surprise, but Simon’s too gone with guilt that he doesn’t realize it. Distantly, you wonder if this is what he’s felt this whole time. You wonder how many times you’ve broken his heart by now.

“I’ll just— I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. I’ll tell him to help you with the rest, so you don’t have to be around me for now. That will be easier” Simon mumbles, mostly to himself, his eyes darting from one place to another, avoiding your eyes. “Just let me grab my stuff. I can leave in ten minutes. I won’t bother you, I promise, I—”

Taking a quick step forward, your arms wrap around his middle, closing your eyes as you navigate through the complicated feelings growing in your chest. A little bit of fear as you feel him so close again, the panic still not gone from your system, but the love makes you weak on the knees; even like that, you don’t let go of him, your arms tightening around him when you hear him breathe shakily.

“I’m alright” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt, almost pleading. “Don’t leave”.

Simon’s heartbeat pounds against your ear, his arms still hovering over you, hesitant. And scared.

“Please”.

That’s all it takes for Simon to sink to his knees, gently bringing you down with him, his arms never restraining you, merely holding you close. His hands splay across your back, your sides. You grip onto him harder when you feel his tears running down your shoulders, shifting until you’re straddling his lap, his face buried in your chest as he cries in complete silence, your fingers lost in his hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry” he whispers, his voice muffled with your skin. You think he’s going to pull back, but his hands only curl slightly on your arms, your sides, one of your thighs, as if he were grounding himself.

As if he couldn’t believe you were holding him again.

The ball of feelings in your chest unravels until you’re able to slowly identify them as you both hold each other right there in the middle of the kitchen. His hands brush over your back, fingernails scratching softly over your skin, and you’re reminded of good memories, of better times; of the moment you realize you were in love with him, of the ridiculous moment he asked you to be together. Of the night Johnny joined you for the first time, of the instant you understood your own feelings, Johnny's, and Simon’s. 

You’re reminded of the night you saw Price and Simon share a fervent kiss before disappearing into the Captain’s room, more than once. And then when you saw Gaz and Price do the same over the years, even if they never freely spoke of it. 

The memories of that experimental kiss with Price, back in your first year with the team haunts your memory for a moment; both of you had paused after a while and grimaced. In the end, Price had given you his chocolate and you gave him your tea flavored mochi, the kiss forgotten and never spoken of again. 

At some point, your arms relax around Simon, but he doesn’t seem in the mood to pull away, even if his grip isn’t even too tight. It takes a little bit of nudging, a few whispered words, but he finally pulls back, his face puffy and slightly wet with tears, staring at you.

“Sleep with me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, it seems; his hesitation appears to be long gone as his arms easily hold you up, calmly throwing you over his shoulder. That would’ve broken the tender moment, if it weren’t for the warm hand over your back holding you still, and the shaky fingers gripping onto your thigh again as he walks up to your room.

Simon hesitates, but you kick back on your door, hurrying him up. Once inside, he sets you down, waiting by the door.

“Are you... expecting me to kick you out?”

“Yes”.

Your lips curl up, forever glad he never holds back with you, and motion him to get in. 

The anxiety doesn’t magically leave your body, and you’re still awfully terrified of him being able to just restrain you so easily again, but… progress.

It’s progress when he curses and rushes down to grab his clean clothes and a towel, asking you to let him take a shower after you’re done.

It’s progress when Simon lays in your bed, body stiff and hands shaky as he waits for you to turn the lights off.

It’s progress when you both awkwardly find a good position to sleep.

It’s progress when you wake up in the morning with his arms wrapped around you, your legs tangled, and one of your hands under his tshirt, warm against the bare skin of his back.

And it’s progress when you’re greeted with a small, sleepy smile from him before his eyes even focus properly on you.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

henlo. how are we feeling? progress!!! progress!!! PROGRESS!!!

› buy me a coffee ♡

anyway, simon's autistic bc i am autistic and he's a whiny little bitch perfectionist!

if things go well, we have 8 chapters left :)

+18 people read here: yes, price and simon still fuck nasty from time to time. nobody gasped, nobody surprised.

taglist I: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[gothicfied]

a fic where Dae-Ho (or anyone) comforts a reader to bed because she/he is haunted by seeing people getting shot, blood and etc. Pretty please?🥺 He also is on watch during lights out and comforts them again while noticing them having reoccurring nightmares and mumbling in their sleep. You could also turn this the other way around because my boy Dae-Ho needs some comfort too! 😖

love your fics and past work btw!! ^^

Sleepless Nights - Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Summary: After past trauma from being a marine, Dae-ho isn't handling the circumstances of the games well. Thankfully, you're there when he needed you the most.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, gunshots, PTSD (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's fluff/comfort, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word count: 812 Words

A/N: hii and thank you sm! I loved this idea actually🙏🙏

Your eyes hurt from staying up so long, counting down the seconds until it was Dae-ho's turn to be on watch. The night was grueling and long — all you could do was stare ahead and think about all the past decisions that led you here. I shouldn't have done this, I could've done that.. you were just breaking your mind like that. After you almost nodded to sleep *again*, you decided this was the best time to wake your friend up and get some well deserved rest.

Quietly, you shuffled to the mattresses Gi-hun had your group set up, searching for Dae-ho in the dark. When you spotted his jacket from behind, the number '388' still readable with little to no light, you went to tap him on the shoulder. That was before you noticed him jolting and breathing quite heavily in his sleep, his face contorted with something like fear. Oh, he was having a nightmare. What are you supposed to do now? Wake him up to free him from his dream? Or should you just leave him be? Would that be bad?

While you were slightly panicking, Dae-ho woke up himself from feeling someone looming over him. His eyes immediately darted to you and he quickly sat up, like he was ready to fight you. "Hey.. hey, it's okay! It's me." you whispered, backing up a bit to give him some space. Dae-ho blinked a couple of times, his mind still reeling with the thoughts of his nightmare. The one that was reoccurring ever since he got here. The man took a deep breath and dropped his head down for a moment, just staring at his lap. "Are.. you okay? Did you have a nightmare?"

Dae-ho simply nodded and smiled, trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal. "Yeah, don't worry about me. This happens.. all the time." The shakiness of his voice suggested otherwise. "Is it my time to be on watch?" With a confused, and slightly concerned, look you slowly nodded shifting a bit. Dae-ho slowly stood up, as not to disturb Jun-hee who was sleeping right beside him, and took another deep breath. "Are you actually okay? You seem really shaken up. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Dae-ho smiled again, this time genuinely, silently appreciating your concern. "No.. no, I don't want to bother you. You need to sleep, come on." He pointed down at the mattress, signaling for you to just lay down and let him handle his own business. That's how he always did it anyway, he didn't like to feel like his problems were burdening others, especially in here. "No, don't be ridiculous. I'll sit down with you for a second." So, you just took Dae-ho's hand and led him to the designated spot a bit further away from your sleeping space. The blue 'O' and the red 'X' on the floor illuminated the whole area, the light of both reflecting on his face.

"I've had this nightmare since I got here." Dae-ho started the conversation again, his eyes glued to the big metal door, where the pink guards would always emerge from. "This whole thing.. people getting shot, people dying all because they're in debt," his voice was barely above a whisper, "it's so messed up. I'm a marine.. I should be- Oh, I don't know. It reminds me of all the things I had to facd while serving this country." You nodded along, letting out a 'mhm' to show him you were listening. You didn't really think about it that way at all — Of course this would affect him so much, he probably had PTSD.

"I can't say that I know what that feels like, but I definitely understand." you whispered back, slowly turning your head to look at him. You felt really bad, but you also didn't know how to better the situation. All you could do is wish that this nightmare would soon end with everyone finally coming to their senses and voting 'X'. Dae-ho scrunched his nose, now burying his face in his hands. You couldn't tell if he was crying or was still shaken up, but you put your arm around him nonetheless. Like he always did with you when you were scared or stressed.

Feeling your arm around him, Dae-ho took this as an invitation and immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you for being here with me." he mumbled into your shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Your expression softened, hugging him back after a few moments. His skin felt hot against yours and it kind of felt like he was suffocating you with his arms, but you couldn't be happier when Dae-ho expressed his gratitude.

"Of course. I'll stay up with you for a little bit longer, okay?"

[wonderjanga]

How would the League react to learning that Marvel was in the war? (Or have you already done something on this-)

I don’t think I have ever written something on this. The only thing similar would have to be the one where he started out in the 1940s as a hero and was there for almost every major war. And if I have, I don’t think I’ve gone into much detail about Billy in the wars. So anyways.

Flash: “You were in a war??”

Marvel: “I was in wars. The nineteen hundreds were so war filled now that I think about it.”

GL: “Which ones?”

Marvel: “All of the major ones besides the first Great War.”

GL: “So World War 2, Korea, Vietnam, and everything else?”

Marvel: “Yeah.”

Flash: “Wait, where were you during WW2…? I remember hearing about you in all the other ones but that one.”

Marvel: “I was mostly on the home front because of Hitler’s magic spear.”

GL: “What…?”

Marvel: “Hitler had this magic spear that could control superheroes so Roosevelt kept most heroes away from the front lines. I wasn’t apart of the All-Star Squadron, and I technically wasn’t supposed to be there, but I did wanna hang out with my buddies so I would go and fight there too.”

Flash: “You talk about hanging out with your buddies like you wouldn’t be hanging out in a war zone. Also, Hitler had a magic spear???”

Marvel: “Yeah? You didn’t learn about that in history class?” *forgot that’s supposed to be classified information*

GL: “No??”

Flash: “Does Germany still have it?”

Marvel: “No? I think the Blackhawks do. Or maybe someone else?”

GL: “You don’t know where it is?” *sounds extremely concerned*

Ever since this interaction, Hal and Wally have now seen their buddy in a new light. Like every time his face goes practically emotionless, (Ref to this post) what if he’s experiencing war flashbacks or something?

Villain: *laughing maniacally and holding someone hostage*

Marvel: *face blank, thinking how to do this*

Flash: *thinks he’s having a PTSD episode* “Cap.” *zips over* “Cap, breathe.”

Marvel: *pauses his thinking and looks over to him confused* “Huh?”

Flash: “Breathe, buddy. Breathe.” *doesn’t really know what he’s doing but is trying his best*

The villain was just awkwardly standing to the side, having been forgotten. Meanwhile, Billy’s just completely confused, but he did go along with the breathing thing Flash wanted him to do for whatever reason. That seemed to make the speedster stop worrying about… whatever he was worried about.

Martian Manhunter accidentally over heard GL and Flash talking about this and as someone who probably has PTSD from watching a lot of his people die in the war against the white Martians, he now invites Marvel at have tea with him because he heard it can calm human nerves. …the Captain is human, right?

Some of the other GL’s were also a little happy at this because this means Cap is technically a military man and they’re military men and women so yippee. Or at least it was a yippee until Hal told them about Marvel having PTSD. Again, Billy doesn’t, it’s just that after the breathing thing that he went along with, it confirmed for Flash that he did have shell shock.

When heard about this he actually went to ask Marvel if he wished to join a veterans group

Batman: “It’s for people who went through war the same as you did.” *gives Marvel a little brochure*

Marvel: “Thanks…? But I can just talk to the JSA, All-Stars, or the Squadron of Justice if I have to.” *sounds confused*

Batman: “Then I guess you could use that for your civilian identity.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “Maybe.” *doesn’t think they’ll accept someone who looks twelve but is just going with it*

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wife and Mother To Be

Synopsis: While you and Joe are shopping for a friend's baby shower, he has a realization about his future with you.

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested by @hoodharlow 😘💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Standing in the baby section of Target and holding up two different onesies to compare them, your phone started to vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans. Placing one of them across your arm, you pulled your phone out to answer it and was greeted by a frantic boyfriend.

“Baby! Where did you run off to this time? You said we were coming in here for toothpaste and face masks. Next thing I know, I turn around and my girlfriend is missing! Are you at Starbucks again?! You ALWAYS do this when we come in here.” You heard your boyfriend say as you picked up and didn't wait for a proper greeting.

“You were literally standing there for fifteen minutes comparing different ones so I walked away. I'm in the baby section looking at clothes. And no, I already went to Starbucks and my drink is gone so I'll need to make another stop before we leave.”

“No, no, and no. I am literally taking you to lunch so no more stops and wait a minute, why are you in the baby section? Is there something you need to tell me?” Joe asked and you immediately rolled your eyes.

“For Gabby! Her baby shower is tomorrow, remember? Just come over here and help me pick things out for her.”

“Oh, right. Be right there, I'm walking over now.”

It was another two minutes when you saw Joe coming towards you and he greeted you by placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Wait a minute, why do you have a cart? We got a basket when we came in here. What did you plan on buying her? The entire section? Am I paying for this?”

“Joseph, will you relax!? I'm just getting her a few things and then we can go eat. Now what do you think about these?” You asked as you held up the same two onesies to show him.

“Hmm, what is she having again?” Joe asked as he was looking at both of them.

“A girl, Joe. Both of these are pink.”

“So? What's your point? I wear pink too.”

“But not something that says princess on it!” You responded to him as you laughed.

“At least not yet anyway and I like both of them.”

“Okay good. Both it is and I’m ignoring you.”

“I should ignore you for leaving me by myself.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot that you need supervision all the time.”

“No, that's you. I'm a responsible adult. You're the one who comes in here for one thing when you tell me you'll be back in twenty minutes but an hour goes by and you're nowhere to be found.”

“And you use whatever I bring back home so you benefit from it so I don’t want to hear it.” You told him with a smirk and now it was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Come on and help me. Sooner we finish, the sooner we get food and go home.” You told him and he quickly agreed as he started browsing the baby toys.

Before you knew it, another thirty minutes had passed by and the two of you had a cart full of different things for Gabby. You were satisfied with how much you had gotten, but Joe was still browsing.

“Babe, come on. This should be enough.” You told him as you came up behind and wrapped your arms around him as he was now comparing two different diaper brands and you suddenly got a flashback to the toothpaste situation.

“You can never have enough diapers though, right?”

“Sweetheart, we got her four packs already.”

“Yeah, but are those really the best ones? I think that these might be better in case she has a blow out. My nephew did that to me and I still have PTSD. Therapy was needed after that.” Joe told you as he put the other diapers back and you couldn't help but to laugh.

“Not funny, babe. I didn't realize how much shit could come out of someone so little.”

“It is funny, Joseph and I wish I was there to be able to see your face when it happened.”

“Keep going and I'm not feeding you.” Joe told you as he put the diapers you had gotten in the cart back and replaced them with the brand that he wanted.

“But, I need energy in order to ride you later.” You replied and Joe immediately turned a bright shade of red as you began to laugh.

“BABE!”

“What? What'd I say?”

“You know what you said. Come on so we can go.”

Later on that night you were sitting on the middle of the floor in your shared bedroom with Joe when he walked in to see what you were doing.

“You run away from me in Target and at home. Did I do something?” Joe playfully asked as he sat across from you and began to help you wrap the gifts for Gabby.

“Nothing at all, Joey. Doing this so I can spend the rest of the night cuddling my amazing boyfriend whom I love to the moon and back.”

“Just the moon, not further?”

“Well we aren't going to the sun unless we want to burn to a crisp so yeah the moon.”

“I'll take it.”

You were folding the onesies when Joe was simply admiring you. Before he could stop himself, he blurted it out.

“When are we going to have one?” He asked and your mouth instantly hit the floor, but you tried to compose yourself.

“Um, have a what?” You asked clearly flustered and Joe simply laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Joe responded as he pulled you to sit in his lap as he kissed the top of your head while his arms wrapped around you.

“You want a baby? With me?” You asked with your voice dripping with uncertainty.

“I want everything with you. I thought that much was obvious. And not just one baby, multiple.” He answered and you turned around to look at him.

“You're serious?”

“I love you and I'm as serious as a heart attack.”

“Well you low key just gave me one.” You muttered against his chest and he laughed.

“Don't you want that with me?”

“Of course I do. I want nothing more than to make it a reality. I just didn't really know how to tell you or if you were ready. I mean you are literally at the peak of your career.”

“Baby, you can tell me anything and everything. You know that. And so what? If this is something that we both want, we're going to make it work.”

“You're not messing with me?”

“Now, why would I do that? I want to make you my wife too whenever that time comes. Mrs. Sheisty has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Now it was your turn to shy away and hide in his chest and all he did was laugh.

“In that case, I can't wait for you and our daughter to have matching pink outfits.”

“Oh, so you want a girl first?”

“Of course, girls run the world and she is going to have you wrapped around her little finger just like I do now.” You told him as you poked his nose.

“If that's the case, you want to get started? I heard that making the baby is the fun part.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the nightmare

buttercup, chapter ten

a/n: i love this man so much 😭

summary: and as you lowered the mug once again, guilt began to consume Matthew as he then quietly began to speak, “I–… I have something to tell you…”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, crying, panic attacks, kissing, cuteness with matt officially meeting her uncles

word count: 2378

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“But you’ve already met him before,” you muttered with a cocked brow as you folded up the slab of croissant dough on the table before you, laminating it to ensure the next day’s batch would be perfectly flaky.

“Cupcake,” Walter poked his head in through the doorway that led to behind the counter, “spying on you from back here in the kitchen when you flirt with your neighbour doesn’t count as meeting him,” you heard Howard chuckle beside you as he unloaded a bunch of loaves from the large oven in the corner, “you and him, come over Sunday night for dinner, what do you say?”

Exhaling softly as you brushed your fingertips over the flat dough beneath them, you then said, “I will have to ask if he’s free.”

And so, when your break rolled around and you cracked open the backdoor to enjoy some fresh air alongside your cup of coffee and still hot pastry, you fished out your phone as you sank down to sit on the threshold.

As you blinked out onto the quiet alleyway behind the bakery’s kitchen, treat balanced in the same hand that clutched your mug, Matthew’s voice soon emanated from your phone, “hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Matty,” a soft smile couldn’t help but bloom on your features, “how’s it going over there?”

“It’s going alright,” you heard him exhale, “currently fiddling with this assault case that came to us this morning,” he informed you, “how about you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you murmured before tilting your head, “although my feet are killing me. I think I might need to get some new work shoes,” you glanced down at the clogs that you had admittedly held onto for far too long, “ah, it’s probably about time for that anyways. I’ve had these ones forever.”

“You want a foot rub tonight?” he offered sweetly through a gentle chuckle. 

“A foot rub? Wow… Matthew Murdock…” you giggled airily, “you really must love me…”

“I really do,” he echoed your soft laughter.

Clutching onto the intention of the call before his honied ways wiped away the memory completely, “well, speaking of how much you love me,” you then uttered, “my uncles just invited you to dinner on Sunday–, or well, us, they invited us,” your pulse began to pick up as you tripped and stumbled over your own words, “and I know you haven’t really met them yet and meeting family can be a bit intense, so I completely understand if you’re not up for it. I can go make up some excuse right now if–”

“Y/n?” he stopped your babbling.

“…yeah?” you hesitantly squeaked.

“What time is it?” he simply murmured, washing away the worries that had begun to bubble up within you.

“Oh,” your eyebrows floated up as you realised that he was up for it, “probably around six or seven. Although I usually get there a bit early whenever I come over for dinner.”

“Are you okay?”

Cutlery in hand, you paused a moment at the quiet tone of Matt’s voice as you haphazardly set the table. Glancing up at him as he stood off to the side, a safe distance away from your tornado-like form, storming through your uncle’s apartment as you gave yourself a task to keep you occupied, “how are you so calm right now?”

Now under the heavy weight of your gaze, Matt’s shoulders then raised in a shrug, “what?”

“Why am I the one freaking out?” you muttered as if he was to blame, before you briefly cast a glance out to the archway to the kitchen where both Howard and Walter put the last finishing touches on dinner, “you should be the one sweating through your suit, crossing your fingers for their approval.”

“Their approval? What year do you think it is, 1830?” he chuckled, earning himself yet another glare, “hey,” he then swiftly attempted to stifle his laugh, “baby,” and took a step towards you, “there’s no reason to freak out,” he caught onto your arm as you edgily straightened out a spoon on the table.

Sucking in a deep breath, you let your eyes fall shut a moment as you felt his thumb sweep against your skin, “I can’t believe you’re so good at this,” your brow knitted softly as you then blinked up at him, “I mean, you bought my uncle fucking flowers.”

“Well, you mentioned that tulips were Howard’s favourites.”

“Yeah, I know I did,” you uttered softly as a smile slowly melted away the tenseness from your features. Raising yourself up onto your toes, you pressed a small kiss to his lips, his broad palm coasting up your arm before you broke the peck, “you know, if you keep going like this, they’ll end up liking you more than me.”

“Oh,” his head gently tilted before he then uttered, “impossible.”

Once dinner, a lentil stew with all kinds of root vegetables, had been eaten and your dessert plates too were all half empty, your hand tangled in Matt’s as he sat beside you.

“Really?” he nearly chuckled in a reply to your uncles.

“Oh yeah,” Walter went on with his anecdote, sitting on the opposite side of the dining table next to his husband, “she did not like me when we first met.”

“Well, you were weird around kids back then,” you pointed out as you scooped up another spoonful of half-melted ice cream, and your head sloped down to rest open Matt’s broad shoulder next to you, curling more into him as the hour began to grow late.

“Hey, I was younger, still in my rebellious phase, before Howard here made an honest man out of me,” he glanced to the rotund baker beside him with a nostalgic smile, “I was used to going out and dancing every night, not hanging out with children, they were so confusing to me back then, like weird little creatures with constantly sticky hands.”

“You tried to teach me how to make a dirty martini when we first met,” you recalled before leaning in a tad closer to Matt in order to add another detail, “I was six, by the way.”

“Well, it was either that or talk to you about the latest issue of Vogue, which you didn’t seem at all interested in.”

“So how did it change?” Matt asked through a soft laugh.

“Well, it was after you two moved in together, so I might have been somewhere around eight at the time?” your eyes briefly narrowed to a squint as you tried to remember, “but we all, Howard and Walter as well as me and my parents, went on this trip together.”

“To Paris,” Walter took over the tale, “because Howard had always promised to take his sister ever since he studied over there,” he uttered and your eyes swiftly locked with Howard’s as you shared a wistful smile, “and we had planned it all out, mostly activities where we’d be split up so that everyone got to do what they were in the mood for.”

“But then,” you drew out, glancing to your boyfriend as you revealed, “my parents got sick.”

“As well as me,” Howard gestured to himself.

“And we were the only two left standing,” Walter caught your gaze, “I mean, I think there was still a week left of the trip at that point.”

“I remember I didn’t wanna run around the city with you, I think I even cried, begging my mom to let me stay at the hotel with her and dad,” you giggled faintly, “but then she told me to give it one day, and not that we had to be civil, but that I had to at least try and find some common ground, give him a chance and find something that broke him away from the scary snob that I thought he was back then, and by the end of the day, if he really was that unbearable to hang around with, then I could stay back with them at the risk of me also getting sick,” you uttered, “but as it turns out, my mom was right,” an exhale seeped from your lungs, “as she always was,” your head tilted gently, “by the end of it, the others had to tell us to shut up because we were giggling too much, sitting next to each other on the plane ride home,” you told as your heart began to ache at the memory of your mother, “…I don’t know who I would have been if it wasn’t for her…”

Sucking in a controlled breath, Howard murmured, “she was an extraordinary person…”

Carefully as everyone around the table grew silent in remembrance, Matthew eventually cut through the stillness in a quiet tone, “…what was she like?”

Your gaze stayed glued to the melted remnants of ice cream in the shallow bowl before you as you then began to utter, “…she was like a bright light… always more patient than what I thought possible, always so compassionate, even to people whom I didn’t think deserved it at the time, and always more brave than I thought even the heroes in my bedtime stories were…” a hum then escaped Matt’s soft and slightly sombre smile, causing your eyes to flicker to him before you asked, “what?”

“No, I was just thinking,” he breathed before he pointed out, “she sounds a lot like you,” prompting gentle tears to well up in your eyes.

Matt began to stir not long after you did, though he didn’t have to wait to hear the sobs that choked you or feel how violently you trembled against the sheets to know that something was wrong.

Carefully, as to not spook you, he pushed himself up to sit beside you, “…Y/n?” he uttered softly, though as you twisted your head to look at him with your bloodshot eyes, he swiftly tilted closer as words refused to form on your quivering lips, “hey, it’s alright,” he reached for your hand, though halted halfway as he wasn’t sure if it would be the right move, “what can I–, what do you need?”

“Can you–… I just–,” you sniffled jaggedly before your eyes drifted down to his palm. You tried to shift your own, but as it ignored all of your signals, you instead managed to utter, “…squeeze my hand,” begging him to rip your skin out of the memory that ached throughout your nerves and played on a loop, forcing you to relive the haunting sensation till you felt as if you were drowning.

But luckily, within a second, Matthew’s fingers interlaced tightly with your own, causing a sob to ripple within you at the relief as you blinked down to sear the vision of it into your brain and force it to override the painful sparks.

“I’m sorry,” a tear splattered against Matt’s palm as you gazed down at it, “it was just a dream, I know it wasn’t–…” but your wobbly words then crumbled from your lips as you instead tried to focus of merely regaining control of your ragged breathing.

And as the touch of your neighbour grounded you, and gradually your body began to calm, when your heart no longer tried to rattle at your ribs like a rioting prisoner, you still weren’t ready to lay back down and attempt to fall asleep again.

So instead, your boyfriend got up to brew you a cup of tea.

At this point, Matt could navigate your apartment perfectly. Your weary eyes tracked him as he delved to the other end of your home, though as he kept the bedroom door open behind him, you could still keep an eye on him even as he switched on the kettle and opened up your cabinet to pluck out the small packet of ginger tea.

When he returned to your bed, he carefully handed you the hot mug to warm your trembling hands on, before he sank back down beside you. Tilting close to slowly press his lips to your forehead, you swiftly grabbed his hand once again.

Raising the cup up for a sip, you tested the temperature, though it was still too hot to drink. And as you lowered the mug once again, guilt began to consume Matthew as he then quietly began to speak, “I–… I have something to tell you…” eyes flickering up to glance at him, you waited silently to hear him continue, “…I know I should have asked for your permission, but I’ve kind of kept an eye on him…”

“…why are you saying it like you made it part of your routine to go beat the crap out of him?” you uttered as your body promptly locked up, “Matt, have you?”  

“I–, no. Have I wanted to? Every fucking day,” he huffed, “if only I had been faster, gotten to you sooner, stopped it in time, then–”

“Matthew, you can’t honestly blame yourself. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. The only one whose fault it is is–…” you still couldn’t utter his name, though you didn’t have to as you watched Matthew tilt his head solemnly, “…so if you haven’t been putting the fear of god in him, then what do you mean that you’ve kept an eye on him?”

“Well, I guess it’s more legally speaking. I asked to be notified if his name ever came up,” he revealed, “and it did… about two months ago, he ended up doing it again, except this time, the girl, someone he’d apparently just met in a club, she went to the police,” you scarcely breathed at all as he spoke, “and then after he was arrested, several others came forth with their own stories, enough so that he got a nine-year-long sentence.”

“What?” you breathed, the hot tea in the mug nearly spilling over from how you trembled, “wait, are you saying that he’s–, he’s–, in prison?”

“Yeah,” Matt faintly nodded, “I’m sorry, I don’t know if that helps to hear about right now–”

“No, it–…” your gaze briefly averted as you panted, “…are you sure?”

“That he’s in jail?” his dark brows gently floated up at your question, “yeah. He is.”

“Holy shit…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.82)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The first beach day of the season prompts both You and Tae to talk through some of your sadness. This time, you do something about it. "You’re so gentle. I don’t think you understand it.”

Tags: Trans! Tae, Dysphoria, talks of jealousy and love, top surgery/boob jobs, medical talk, talk of weight gain, body insecurity, body dysmorphia, crack, attempts at humor boobs, fingering, mild dirty talk, voyeurism, Talks of depression, mention of seizures but no seizures today, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, talk of marriage and wedding rings, mentions of past physical abuse, mentions of past self-harm, mentions of ptsd, scars, this is the beach episode that all anime's have,

W/c: 20.6k

A/n: wow! this is the chapter that officially pushes us up and over the 1million words mark of this story! i hope that everyone has enjoyed the ride so far, it feels so satisfying to get to the end of tae's arc after all this time <3 i really enjoyed writing this even if it took me a bit longer to get here. please tell me what you think of it and if you like it lol.

Previous part- Masterlist - First part

Summer comes, polishing its rusty claws.

It’s easy to feel daunted by the change in season, it always makes you feel like you’re running out of time. But change doesn’t always bring bad things. Scary Things? Sure. But alot of change is necessary, even if it's scary at first.

The date is June 1, and the change in weather is welcome. An early warm spell sends the pack scrambling to set up the outdoor furniture, cutting up watermelon after watermelon and strawberry over strawberry.

Jimin gifts Tae a new outdoor settee with a thick pink cushion and woven rattan back, dotted with swans and flowers. You and Tae tear through your sundress collection and keep your favorites on rotation. matching most days and color cordinating. You wear yellow on monday and pink on wednesday. Sometimes when Namjoon asks, you wear blue.

Hobi's sprouts come up on the windowsill and Yoongi makes him a set of four raised garden beds out front for green onions and parsley. the tomatoes that are green and small now will get a little out of control by the end of the summer.

Sort of like the roses. They heap over the rock wall. Wild and untamed and beautiful. Hobi can't bear the idea of cutting them back or even propping them up with a trellis.

But Picking the flowers for you and Tae however- that is something that Hobi can stomach.

Jungkook is perpetually empty from the nest from the hours of 6am to 9am. Intent on using as much sunlight as possible to take his ridiculous 12-mile runs. Sometimes when he feels like going slow, you go with him. He has this stupid dream of running a 5k with you (and you are unfortunately prone to indulging his stupid dreams). Even if he spends half of your morning walks teasing you for your slow pace.

You can only run like 50 feet without getting too out of breath to continue. But every day you go a little farther. Run a little longer. change is funny like that- it creeps up on you.

"Did Yoongi's mating mark make you like- more like a cat?"

"That's a really nice way of calling me lazy" you tease. Jungkook just grins. Both of your hands are sweaty and swinging between you. You have too many questions for him. “Why do you even like running anyway? Why do you want to run with me? Wouldn't it be faster if you went alone? You could run a marathon like tomorrow if you wanted.”

“Yeah, but it would be different if it was with you and I ran my first marathon when I was 20 before I even met Jimin and Tae. They're fun but only if you do it with a ton of people.” he looks down at your feet.

"When those wear out we should get matching sneakers."

"Can mine be pink?"

"Only if mine are purple."

"Deal."

When you do leave with Jungkook you always come home to Namjoon sitting on the front porch reclining in Tae's pink settee, reading and sipping his coffee. The curious chickadees twittering around you a gentle giant of a pack alpha.

Namjoon’s hair has started to go truly salt and pepper. Probably from the stress of the last year. You try to count them all one evening sprawled in the living room, spirited away playing on the TV, Namjoon on the floor sitting between your legs. He lets out a groan and tells you to stop when you get to 100.

“We could always dye it you know? You don’t need to go grey if you don’t want to. Jimin's pink for Christ's sake-” Jimin had perked up from the dining room chair, fresh dye dotting his hairline like the roses dot the rock wall outside. (And most of the windowsills since Hobi likes to pick the roses and bring them inside.)

"Yeah hyung, go pink with me! you're practically a blank canvas" Tae hums from behind Jimin, smiling down at him as she mixes a fresh bowl full of fuchsia.

Namjoon peers at the back of his head with the handheld mirror. He catches your love-struck look as you gently thread your fingers through his nape, your soft smile.

“No. It's okay.” He says. Contemplative. Even though you tell him that Tae dyes her hair so much that she has no idea when she’s going to go grey or if she’ll even ever really notice.

(Jin shaves Namjoon's hair later that week, going short for the heat and summer. And you and Jimin perpetually rub his spiky short hair, a bit obsessed with how sensory it is until he tells you to stop).

But this is how summer with the pack goes. Warm nights spent at your favorite spot and hamburgers and French fries. There are people to call, and things to orchestrate. Jin’s been going a little insane since quitting his job with the FBI, and the warm weather only makes him more prone to fussing. You hardly survived the post-heat spring cleaning.

More than once this spring Jin has demanded that Jungkook actually be hosed down outside after one of his runs turned him muddy and sweaty. Sometimes, Jin does the same with Hobi if he gets particularly grimy taming the garden. The veggies and the Roses. The walks and slow evenings. Life with the pack goes like this; a little lazy, a little busy chasing everyone around and keeping it together.

The garden grows. The sweet lemony lemony-smelling French doubles fill the yard with their scent and Red David Austins dot the fence in the corner like red stars. White fragrant French cups drape up and over the stone.

Hobi likes to pick them in the early morning, right as he has his first cup of coffee. Someone else is inside is getting you yours, or maybe you and Tae are changing for the pack's beach day. You both looked sleepy and draped all over each other when Hobi last saw you. Trailing after Jin who was already griping about the UV index as he and Tae led you in the direction of the dressing room to pick out your bikini for the day.

His careful fingers are mindful of thorns as he snips them free of the bush. A morning dove coos in the middle of the cul de sack, and Noodle meows from around his ankles guarding the alpha’s coffee (and occasionally sneaking sips. Especially if Hobi's used half and half). His baby blue cup rests in the grass slightly overgrown because Hobi is ever mindful of the pollinators.

He has a few blooms in his hands, mainly the pink ones. Hobi offers one to Noodle, crouching on creaky knees, letting the cat smell. Pushing his whiskers past the first row of petals. Purring loudly.

“What do you say Nu? Should we head inside and see if the girls like them?”

The door creaks and Hobi's coffee cup dangles from one pinky, empty. Three brightly colored beach bags wait by the door clogging the doorway and stopping Hobi from being able to open it all the way. They're piled high with towels, chip bags, and enough sunscreen to cover a small parking lot. Your and Tae's dresses are draped over the back of the couch, colorful and long patchwork spilling half onto the floor. A river of multi-colored floral squares.

Hobi can be forgiven for not immediately realizing what he’s watching.

You’re up on the counter and the bikini you wear is small, a bit too small. The red string at the back tied in a bow. One of Tae's hands tangle in it. Winding the red strand over her knuckles, back and forth between her fingers. Your bare back and your dimples are on display- distracting Hobi from what’s going on at your front. 

There’s just a lot of skin on display is all, and not much clothes. Hobi can handle it. Like a gentleman.  He restrains his imagination. Reminding himself that he's allowed to look, that he's not being creepy. But still- he's a little happy that Tae seems to be too busy whispering something to you from between your legs to notice Hobi's eyes trailing up your back.  

She's got one hand on your hip, digging into the alluring cleft where hip meets torso, the other concealed by your bodies.

You’d think he’d be used to it- you and Tae lounging around in little to nothing. Tae's gauzy collection of night dresses, or your spread of mini sleep shorts- but the mini bikini seems extra extra mini today. The thread-narrow straps and small red triangles do little to conceal your body and how it swells. 

Your milk had tapered off after the first few weeks of your heat but the swelling has been slow to go down.  That coupled with a little bit of post-heat indulgence and doting has left your body round and supple in a way that the alphas just devour. Hobi knows you've complained more than once about the newfound back aches and the new stretch marks and he sympathizes he really does but-

But fuck.

You sort of look like something off the cover of one of those vintage Playboy magazines that Tae pretends she likes for 'aesthetic reasons'. Not that Hobi judges. Hobi understands why tae's a little obsessed with them. Your chest is sort of a wet dream.

The whole pack is a lot obsessed with them.

Hobi thinks you're just kissing until You tip your head back and moan, and he almost trips over the corner of the carpet.

“Oh? You're-” Hobi's throat goes dry.

Tae picks her head up from where it was buried in your hair and laughs. Showing her canines, eyes bright and mischievous.

Her hand keeps moving between your thighs. When you try to close your legs, Tae's other hand grabs your knee and pushes them open. She does it like she hardly notices you squirming away or your sudden shyness.

Your scar shines silvery. Hobi hardly notices it. Eyes flicking down to it, to where tae grips your hip, fingers dimpling. Hardly catching the half-frantic glance you send over your shoulder at him. Caught.

Tae bites into the skin of your shoulder, so quick that Hobi almost misses it, directing your attention back to her with a jolt. It's a light correction, a playful one. There are other bruises and evidence of the pack's loving on your body too, a hickey under your jaw that hobi's pretty sure is from him. Others on the inside of your thighs from Jimin, And even more along the line of the bikini.

Jungkook has this funny habit of leaving bruises in the shape of a heart. Tilting his neck so that his hickeys make a pattern.

It's nothing Hobi hasn't seen before. This kind of thing is sort of routine for the pack. Yesterday he found Jungkook and Yoongi fucking in the sunroom, and the morning before that Hobi walked in on Jimin and Namjoon in the upstairs bathroom having some sort of staring match as Jin showered. Both of them hard and pretending they weren't.

And the day before that Tae had walked in on you and Hobi and Yoongi being…a little bit ridiculous on the front porch. Doing some all too public heavy petting that the pack alpha and pack omega would surely disapprove of if they found out.

It's not the first time Hobi has kept your secrets.

The last time Hobi saw Tae finger you, you were at the kitchen table (three mornings ago) but Hobi can't say it's not a welcome surprise. Your squirming is all you can do to keep the pack's pawing at bay when you're like this.

Tae grins, Drinking in Hobi's blush like it's strawberry lemonade. She doesn’t slow her pace at all. Two fingers or three? Her hand works in between your tights as you sag against her front, boneless. Giving in to the fact that you have an audience and Tae doesn't have any plans of stopping. Her wrist crooks to find the angle that makes your toes curl and Hobi sees it on your face the moment she finds that little spot that makes you clench extra hard.

Upstairs, Jungkook laughs loudly. Someone or something crashes into a door or a wall hard enough to make the windows in the kitchen rattle. Probably Jimin and Jungkook chasing each other around, zoomies that are sure to get worse when they get to the beach.

“Guys” Jin’s stressed tone sounds and Namjoon’s deep baritone says something in response. Too low to hear. Distracting the pack omega so that the pups can be pups. Who knows where Yoongi is, probably tightening down a screw or a loose nail or something.

Hobi smirks, kicking a hip up against the counter after refilling his coffee. Settling in to watch. The roses are forgotten about, discarded on the counter where they glimmer, going withy.

Hobi sips his coffee. Making eye contact with you over Tae's shoulder. And you blush furiously at the blatant way his eyes flicker from your face to your chest to between your legs.

"Do you-" you breathe heavily, cheek resting against Tae's arm, scrambling to paw at her hand when she crooks her fingers a little deeper, petting insistently in and in. Your bikini bottom is pushed to the side, leaving a little trickle of slick on the counter. The dewy and delicious parts of you are hardly hidden by Tae's wrist. A delighted growl-pur builds in Hobi's chest at the sight.

"Do you have to watch?" Your voice goes breath as Tae changes the angle of her hand and you throw your head back, but Hobi doesn't even blink.

"I'm quite enjoying my view thank you very much." He teases. "a settling?" He asks, taking in your dazed expression and the way you cling to her.

"Hole check." Tae quips, her tone vaguely endeared, like Jin's hole checks aren't the pack's favorite form of entertainment when it comes to teasing you and keeping you settled. Hobi's seen you get them just about everywhere; in the shower, bent over the arm of the couch. Or jin's favorite- sprawled over his lap in the nest before bed, usually post knotting.

You hiccup and paw at her wrist, but she just keeps going.

Tae growls, deep and pleased. There must be something with her instincts today, something setting her on edge. Maybe it's just the sight of you in that itty bitty bikini, a size too small for your new healthy body that spills out around its edges. Fuck- girls are so-

Hobi's grip goes white-knuckled on his coffee, and Tae shifts to the side so that Hobi can see. You duck forward into her chest overwhelmed nuzzling the faint fat there. You want to suck. To keep something in your mouth to keep the moans at bay.

You’d woken up a little bit soft-minded, a little bit more laconic than usual. Yoongi wrapped around your shoulders and Jungkook nuzzling somewhere around your stomach. No one was too surprised that it had been hard to wake you up.

It’s no wonder that Tae- usually more prone to being riled up by you in omegspace, had taken the way you’d trailed after her as something of an invitation.

You’re not wearing one of your bikini no- Hobi is intimately familiar with those (on account of how much you’ve both used the upstairs hot tub this spring) this red one is Tae's. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue but-

Tae's chest is not the same size as yours, especially not after your heat- whereas this bikini fits Tae perfectly- on you- it’s a little small.

Hobi can’t stop looking at your sternum, can't stop looking at you. the rest of the day is going to be torture. everything about you distracts him- the chub at the side of the red triangles, that freckle between your chest- all of it.

Tae grins at him like she knows and that's why she chose it, her cheek resting on the top of your head, smiling gently like she’s not knuckle deep in your pussy. Your bikini bottom is pushed to the side darkening to a faint maroon.

Her hand keeps moving, nudging sweet little sounds from you. Her hands are glossy to the knuckle and you know you’re leaking onto the kitchen counter (not that it hasn’t seen worse) you bury your nose in her throat, and let out these little huffs, and tae's hand slips under the side of your bikini to feel the flutter of your heart.

or just feel you up a bit. Her squeezes are appreciative and surprisingly tender.

Ah, fuck.

Hobi crosses his arms and sips at his coffee. You make eye contact with him and then shy away, hiding your moans in Tae's shoulder. Tae's bikini is dotted with small flowers, white on top and pink on the bottom.

Her chestnut hair is extra curly- Hobi doesn’t know why she bothered with the rollers when any effort that she puts into her hair will be damaged by the salt water later but still. It spills over her shoulders in pretty waves. She’s still wearing a clip at the nape of her neck, Hobi darts forward to take it out as you let out high-pitched ‘ah- ah- ah's

“Yah guys! Not in the kitchen! We eat here.” Jin already has a healthy glob of sunscreen covering both his cheeks, depositing yet another beach bag by the front with a loud and uncermous thud as he catches sight of what you and tae and now hobi are doing in the kitchen.

You can tell by the brief glance you cast over Tae's shoulder that he was planning on hassling you to get some sunscreen on too, a task now forgotten.

Tae cocks an eyebrow at Jin, and her fingering goes a little stronger, she picks up one of your legs hips splaying wider, showng jin too. "Yeah? I eat here too."

Jin huffs, half laughing. Hobi snorts into his coffee. "You're unbelievable."

“Just one sec, she’s almost there.”

You hide your face in Tae's shoulder, blushing furiously at the casual way she says it, all but pawing at her. Your fingers dig into her arm, the delicate bracelets on her wrists jingle and she crooks her fingers right there.

“You’re just gonna stand there? Your bathing suit is still upstairs?”

Tae grins at Hobi, pressing her thumb against your clit in the way that makes you squeal. All but ignoring your predicament. Hobi knows you like it when your pleasure is treated as routine, as something casual. Hardly worth mentioning or acting up over. They could make you cum over breakfast and then in the car and it would just be taking care of you. they'd decide and you'd take it. 

“And what? Miss the show?”

Jin sighs and forces you to untuck your head from her shoulder. "you have until she cums before I make you go upstairs and change baby."

"But-"

"No buts." you bite your lip to keep your moans at bay. Eyes dazed and foggy, completely small underneath their attention. “Pretty little thing,” Jin comments, eyes dark. Tae's hips shift ever so slightly. Like she’s supremely aware of the pack omega so close behind her.  And Jin’s hand crests your knee and your ankle, holding you open so that Tae can continue.

“Close your eyes pup,” You moan through it, Jin spreading a generous layer of sunscreen on your cheeks as Tae's hand works, turning your bathing suit dewy, wet, and messy.

You whine, high-pitched quiet. Jimin trips over the carpet in the main room same as Hobi, eyes flicking from Tae's hands to you then back again. “Oh, I- oh”

Hobi takes another swallow of his coffee, "yeah, oh" Hobi watches Jimin's eyes flicker from your pussy, to the wet countertop below.

Jimin's been being…a bit weird about your slick since your heat. A little bit less likely to reach out to you, to touch you. Like he’s too mindful of his own desires (or of triggering an early rut, Jimin is sort of due for one just like Hobi- he can feel it, an itch under his skin sometimes that threatens to build). But still unable to stop the almost magnetic draw to you in the evenings when the night falls and the hours grow slow.

He hasn’t exactly been obsessed with your pussy since your heat, but to say there's have barely been a 2-day span where Jimin hasn’t sought you out would be true. There's hardly been an evening that he hasn’t folded himself close in the nest and shuffled up behind you. Needy and a bit hard already at just the thought of asking. It's hard to pretend like he hasn’t sat next to you at every available opportunity. That Jimin hasn't trailed behind you and Tae or closed the door to the library room when Tae decides she needs some 'personal reenactment' for a chapter in her book.

Hobi doesn't blame Jimin for being pussy whipped. Hell- all of them are a little obsessed with it. He's heard Namjoon and Jin talking about it, late at night when they think no one is awake.

"The doctor did say that we should be careful. About her slick and us alpha's."

"Do you think they could get like- dependant on it?"

"I think it's only an issue if the pup says it is." Jin had snorted, and the sound of lips connecting had slightly woken Hobi from sleep. Wet and messy kisses getting messier by the second.

"If Minnie wants help, he'll come to us."

Hobi sort of wonders if this is like that, if Tae is like that with you, either addicted or dependent on it and that's why she's fingering you on the kitchen counter. Watching as you paw at Tae's wrist as it starts to become too much, moaning against her throat as she stalwartly continues to rub up against the spongy part of you.

Hobi could tell you the exact moment that she tips you over the edge. Fingers reaching just a bit deeper in almost a petting motion. Hobi laughs, and your squirming goes a little overstimulated, trying to pull back, gripping Tae's wrist with a choked-off moan. But Tae won't stop until you actually start to tremble.

Your body seizes and then relaxes, and you cling to her, sighing, burying your face in her neck to hide from the others who shuffle around the kitchen. Yoongi barely pauses to dot a kiss on your forehead before he gets the cut-up watermelon out of the freezer and asks Jimin to carry the cooler up from the basement. The others continue to chatter.

"Did you grab the lemonade?"

"Yes!" Jungkook bounces around the kitchen, already with so much energy even though he's had no caffeine.

"And the liquid iv?"

"Yes hyung- yes, come on- the tide is changing and I wanna make sure we have high tide for body surfing-"

"Wait Yoongi- could you check the oil in Hobi's car-" 

"I checked it two days ago." Hobi puts his empty coffee cup in the sink.

"Before or after you and the pup took it out? I know how you drive baby."

That makes Hobi blush, it’s as gentle of a scolding as Jin is capable of giving, "Hyung-"

"Go change pup."

Hobi sighs and follows the pack omega's instructions. Tae keeps her fingers inside of you until you’ve had the chance to come down all the way, until your breathing has gone heavy and you blink up at her, feeling a little hazy. She grins and kisses you on the nose. She takes her fingers out with a faint squelch, wiping them on a kitchen towel before she gently puts your bikini back in place. You whine and squirm.

Namjoon comes down the stairs, nostrils flaring, looking up at you and Tae, you’re a bit debauched, but Jin continues rubbing sunscreen onto your cheeks, switching to Tae's after a second. “Are you guys ugh- ready to go?”

Tae shuffles away with a lazy grin. You blink at her like you're half surprised that she's left you alone on the counter. She asks for it, and Jimin hands her both of your dresses, she pulls her dress over her head and sets yours on the counter.

“Hold on, one sec,” Tae fixes your bikini bottom, putting it back in place before dropping to one knee. Your hand goes into her hair, tugging and blushing furiously as she does. Trying to pull her back up as the whole pack watches her press a kiss over your pussy lips, the wet fabric of your bottom clinging to them, showing everything. Every ridge and dip.

Tae doesn't lick or nibble. She just kisses your wet spot and pops up onto her feet with a grin, hair bouncing,

“There we go, ready!”

~-~

It’s an uncommonly hot day for June. The seagulls turn slowly in a circle, like one big mobile buffered by the gentle ocean breeze. Even the screaming children feel quiet, dampened by the sound of the ocean waves roaring.

You almost bump into Jungkook as he helps unload the car, a brightly colored beach bag under either arm. Shirt already off and looking drippy and boyish in the summer sunshine, romantic looking in a way that only Jungkook can gring. He grins, his tousled hair just so before he ducks down to peck your forehead and dance around you.

You sway in the sunlight like a reed before toppling back into the passenger seat.

Hobi leans low, hands balanced on the hot metal roof of the car. Eyeing you over the rim of his dark sunglasses. A little worried. The others dart around both of you. Getting the bags, the cooler, the umbrella from the cars.

“You okay?” He asks and you fiddle with the ribbon on your sunhat, not meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say after a second. You'd spent the whole car ride staring out the half-cracked window, eyelashes catching the wind. Hair going tangly until Tae leaned forward from the backseat to put it up for you in a claw clip.

The rendezvous earlier hadn't woken you up, not like they'd hoped, not at all. Hobi looks at you for another long moment before saying, “okay, I’m going to believe that until you tell me otherwise alright?”

“Alright.” You say, trying to convince yourself to smile. It’s easy when Hobi is looking at you like that. It's a nice day, you should enjoy it without worrying.

But the worry is hard to let go of.

Jin's endless chatter is the companion to your quiet. "Joonie- did we pack the watermelon? Did anyone see my SPF 70? Jungkook- do not run down the stairs, you remember what happened when you slipped and you skinned your knee? that goes the same for you too Hobi! Yoongi did you remember your sun top? Where did I put my sunglasses- thank you, baby.” Yoongi hands them over, dark hair glistening shiny, and healthy under the sun.

Tae wears a big pink sunhat and you wear a black one, sparing your shoulders from the sun, although they’ve been dotted and smeared with sunscreen too. Although the pack omega made each and every one of you line up for another layer of sunscreen and morning kisses before getting into the car you know today will leave you with tan lines no matter how many times Jin asks you to re-apply.

Especially when it comes to swimming.

The ocean hovers, stretching to the end of the world. The tide is still high but turning. A storm surge from a few days back has left even the waves aggressive at low tide. “Buddy system- Jungkook, you’re not allowed to go out on your-” Jungkook ignores Jin’s griping, dashing out into the hot sand. Jimin and Hobi and Tae hot on his heels.

The pack files down the steps, toting woven chairs and tasseled umbrellas, Yoongi’s face looks several shades lighter than normal from the sheer amount of sunscreen that he’s applied. He grumbles and hugs a big 2-gallon jug of water and lemon slices to his chest. But Jin is a professional. Each of them hold one fishing rod a peice, a small tackle box between the two of them is all that they need.

From the bottom of the steps, Namjoon waits.

He smiles up at you. You’re taking the steps slowly, one at a time in your squeaky plastic flip-flops hugging the big woven beach blanket to your chest. Jungkook Jimin and Hobi are already chasing each other across the sand, halfway to the ocean. You watch Jungkook dive, all but tackling Jimin up and over the dunes, Hobi valiantly comes to the other alpha’s rescue, but it’s no use, the three of them go rolling and tumbling. You can see the sand in Jungkook’s dark hair from here.

Namjoon smiles at you from the bottom steps, switching from holding the packs cooler with two hands to one, he offers you his hand wordlessly tugging the cooler behind him while you walk. Waiting for you to take off your flip-flops and hook them through his fingers so that you don't have to hold them.

Namjoon and you trail behind, the pack alpha going slow for you. Your hat nudges his shoulder. Yoongi and Jin walk a few paces ahead, bickering like an old married couple about the place you'll set up shop, matching rings on their fingers, bound between the two of them even if they’re both carrying too much. They still hold hands.

The rings are a new development, simple silver bands for the two of them, a tiny diamond on Jin's. You don’t know when it exactly started to come up in conversation (shortly after you'd drunkenly announced that you wanted to marry Tae maybe, although that was months ago at this point) but somewhere along the last 4 months, they've both started to wear them every day. One morning you’d woken up to Yoongi grumbling about ring sizes, that all the nitrogen from the day before was making his fingers feel too swollen for it.

You're hardly surprised.

They’re just testing it out, just making sure to see if they even like wearing them. Is it even a real marriage if they haven't filled out the paperwork and don't want to do anything like a ceremony? Does starting to wear rings even matter when Yoongi and Jin have already been semi-married in everything but paperwork for nearly all of their adult lives?

You’d known sort of from the beginning that Yoongi had always planned on marrying Jin, regardless of the mating mark. Maybe it would bother you more if you weren't fully planning on marrying Tae one day.

But with that you're going slow. Like today, you're in no rush.

Just like you plan on marrying Tae, just like you're sort of already mated to Hobi- regardless of the fact that you'll never bite him and he'll never be able to bite you. The feelings are still there.

You’d talked about it with Yoongi shortly after your heat. Alone, just the two of you cuddled up together late one night in the nesting pod after a bit of pack revelry. you can still hear everyone upstairs if you listen hard enough, spilling from the upstairs windows. The windows open to allow in a stray sun-warmed breeze. The weather shifting, the season changing and another summer is on its way.

"It feels like something I need to do before I finish the house. You know? Like it doesn't make sense to finish the house and not be married to Jin inside of it."

"This sort of feels like you're breaking up with me."

Yoongi had rushed to reassure you before he'd clocked your teasing expression. that really- you were just joking. he'd bent over you, and you'd put your foot flat to his stomach and pushed playful. A little tipsy, a little silly.

"Does that mean i can ask you out again if we're broken up?"

"Why don't you ask your husband first!"

It’s hard to believe that it’s been a full year since the pack moved in and yet, the empty champagne bottles on the floor linger gathering condensation. Tae had pushed you to celebrate it. The house is almost nearly complete too- there are only a dozen or so odd tasks that Yoongi has yet to do, picking a color for the exterior of the house being one of them.

They linger on the edge of his to-do list, so unimportant when it comes to the regular responsibilities of the pack beta. Like taking Jungkook to work, cooking dinner and doing the shopping, taking Noodle to his vet and grooming appointments, and picking Namjoon up after his night shifts (of which there are thankfully few).

And edit Tae's novel.

It’s almost complete but in need of serious serious review. She’d asked you first, but you’d read it, cried, and deemed it a complete masterpiece a welcome compliment but not exactly what she’d been looking for. Tae's sensitive heart cannot take much criticism, especially for something so close to her soul. But Yoongi and Jin are gentle enough.

Jimin, Namjoon, and Hobi had all asked to read it as well. And had whined and tried to barter when she told them that they'd need to wait to read the finished product.

You have a feeling that might have to do with the main character and the love interest. The love interest is a bit of all of them- although you confess you can’t read it without picturing Hobi or Jungkook in their slot.

But for today everything can wait. Editing books and chapters. Words and confessions. Everything can wait in the wake of a beach day. It's so rare that no one has to work, on a weekday no less. Jimin’s off from his bodyguarding, Jungkook doesn’t have another client or class scheduled until two days from now, and Namjoon’s next day of work isn’t until then either. You guess it’s just really you, Jin, Tae, and Yoongi who are regularly without anything to do these days.

Although that might be changing soon.

You’d submitted your application over a month ago, and yet, there has been nothing, no rejection or confirmation. No nothing. Although you’ve gone out and gotten the mail every morning without fail. Hobi is always reassuring you that there is still time, and that even if you don’t get in this cycle there’s always next semester.

Yeah, you’d taken his advice and applied for culinary school. You talk through it all the time, late at night on a drive, over lunch when you bring it to the flower shop after he forgets it at home again, after Jungkook's early morning walk/runs.

“As much as I hate to point it out but becoming a baker will mean that you’ll have to wake up like- really early every day. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

You’d whined and flopped down into the nest on top of Hobi, shuffling to the side to get your body all aligned up against the pack omega. Still Half-asleep, glasses askew, Yoongi already carrying three cups of coffee up the stairs, steaming good.

“I know- I know," Although the rest of the pack defaults to being encouraging, Hobi is the only one who asks questions like this. "I don’t know if I’m like- so focused on the results or that I just want to go to school in general but-"

He'd grinned at you. "You want it too bad for it to matter."

"Yeah…I think I do. Even if I don't even like do anything with it after. It would be nice to like- understand why I can't make a fucking souffle."

"You're the shame of the regimen."

"What do your superiors do with you." (Tae made you watch Pride and Prejudice again a week ago and you've been quoting it back and forth since then.)

Wanting something enough to try for it is strange for you. It feels strange to have a dream after so many years of straight survival. But the pack isn’t really hurting for money these days, what with your old penthouse sold to the highest bidder and the dizzying sum put into stocks and bonds that pay out at regular intervals.

It's more than enough to make your taxes and utilities and even have a good bit left over at the end of every month. You're not really involved with it, Jin and Yoongi handled all of it. The sale, the business with the realtor, and property in Manhattan always goes for a lot, even with a burnt-up top floor.

It's a strange thing, but you honestly don’t even have to think about money anymore. No one in the pack does.

Although that’s not what’s making you quiet.

Your slowness right now has nothing to do with your and Tae's rendezvous earlier. If anything, you might be worse if it wasn't for her. You have that vaguely disgruntled look that Jimin gets when he's overstimulated today. Like your skin isn't fitting right, or your hair is pressing in from all sides. It's not overstimulation- not exactly.

Your thoughts are still somewhere too slow for summertime. Dripping and melting slowly like ice cream. By the time you get over the hill, Hobi is wearing Tae's sunhat and Jimin is holding her flip-flops. Jungkook is walking backward several paces in front of them. Saying something that makes Jimin throw one of Tae's flip-flops at him.

Jungkook takes it and runs. Tae's pink sunhat goes fluttering in the breeze and the three of them chase after him until they drop their towels and bags in a spot that Jin and Yoongi deem alright enough and continue their pell-mell puppy tumble to the ocean, Tae's pink flipflop nearly gets taken by the sea but Jungkook dives for it.

"Help me set up the umbrella?" Yoongi asks, touching your arm gently. You nod, happy to have some shade in the bleeding sunlight. You hold it still while Jin fluffs out the beach blanket and Namjoon sets up the chairs, and when you're finished and Namjoon sits in the camping chair, Jin and Yoongi meander their way towards the shoreline, still holding hands both of them covered to the wrist.

"They look like a pair of grandmas."

Namjoon looks up at Yoongi and Jin and grins, "Yeah they do."

You plop down on the blanket just next to him and Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you. "Are you sure you don't want a chair?"

"I'm sure."

Namjoon spends a long moment looking at you, but you're not paying attention to him. You watch Jimin spin Tae in the sea spray, her dress twirling with him, she holds around his neck until he puts her down, pulling her dress over her shoulders too. Jimin runs it back to your things, grinning at you and ducking low to kiss your forehead then Joonie’s mouth.

You still watch Tae, mouth a little turned down as you watch her. taking in the way her shoulders hunch, the way she looks down at her body and then up at Jimin.

Joonie makes a noise and Jimin ruffles his buzz cut before darting back to Tae with a giggle. you watch tae straighten up before he gets back over to her. The pack alpha shakes his head. Tae has crossed her arms over her chest, but she’s still smiling at Jimin.

Tae has always been better than you are at pretending that nothing is wrong.

The ocean is speckled with people, brightly colored swimsuits, and beachballs. You’re glad you came on a weekday because there aren't too many people here. It's not crowded. From a distance, the Ferris wheel turns slow and when you listen you can almost hear the Jingle of the carousel mixing with the screech of the gulls.

You know that later there will be fried dough and milkshakes up on the pier and a walk on the boardwalk later. You should be more excited for that, you love fried dough and you’ve been meaning to try and make your own for the longest time.

Jin is quick to call Jungkook and Jimin back for more sunscreen and to take off his clothes before he gets them wet. Really he's getting a little ridiculous with it. Jungkook and Jimin strip the rest of their clothes until there's little left beyond a tiny red Speedo.

It causes more than a few groans. Your mate looks away, laughs, then looks back.  "Jungkook-" "Really Koo-"

"What? I wanted to match the pup!" That actually gets a laugh out of you. You touch his knee and Jungkook smiles down at you, winks, and bounds off in the direction of Tae and Jimin. 

Tae looks gorgeous running through the water, her hair quickly during dark from the salt water. Both of them tug your mate into the water when he dares to come too close and it's seconds before Yoongi sinks a Jungkook-shaped necklace wrapped around his shoulders to pull him to sea. Yoongi puts up a valiant fight you can hear his "yah!" from here.

Jimin isn’t far behind. Getting more than a few looks as he wets his hair and flips in back. You find it hard to look at Jimin and Tae actually. Flustered. Hobi is already 50 feet down the beach, head lowered to look for things that have washed up. Headphones barely visible at this distance. You didn’t want to walk down the beach today with him, too tired.

And it’s so hot.

You sigh, Namjoon is already flipping through his book (fiction for a change- probably one of Tae's recommendations if you had to guess from the ballgown on the front.) You watch as Hobi becomes a dot on the horizon.

You sort of wish that you’d gone with him after a few minutes. You alternate between watching him become smaller and smaller, and watching Tae, Jungkook, and Jimin roughhouse in the water while Yoongi and Jin stand in knee-high waves, keeping an eye on them and talking. Still holding hands. Mostly just making sure nothing happens.

You know the pack is always worried, always just a little bit extra watchful of Jungkook on beach days. It’s always a risk, having him go out and swim. But someone's always nearby. If anything happened, if he started having a seizure, the rest of the pack wouldn’t be that far away. He's never had a seizure in the water before but it's always a risk. Jungkook doesn't act like he's nervous whatsoever, pushing off from the bottom when the big waves come and diving where they break, cutting through the water like it's effortless.

You feel a little too tired to share in their worry today.

The pack has picked up on it of course, that there is something wrong with you today. That something is turning you quiet and a little bit grumpy. There are only so many forehead kisses and reassurances that they you can give before you sort of have to come to them for help. Tae at least had tried this morning. And while you hadn’t not enjoyed your rendezvous…

Namjoon opens up the cooler. Offering you a piece of watermelon. You decline it.

“Do you want some water?”

“No Joonie.” You cover your feet with sand. Wiggling your bright red toes up through it before covering them again.

"How about an ice cream?”

You snort. “It’s not even noon.” You find a little pink shell in the sand, sun-bleached, and you balance it on Namjoon's knee. The pack alpha watches you line it up with others you find searching through the sand. You'll show Hobi when he gets back.

“I won't tell Jin if you don't, we could walk and get some for everyone?” he offers. Folding his book to the side. Index finger keeping his place.

“They’d melt and I’m still full of breakfast.” Hobi had made French toast this morning, sticky and yummy and melty with how good it was. Your lips are stuck in a pout, and you school your expression into something neutral the second you realize.

Namjoon gets barely another paragraph under his belt before he's trying again. “Are you sure you don’t want to join the others in the water?”

“No Joonie,” You nudge his novel with your elbow, “Read your book.”

“We could get you some lemonade or something else from the boardwalk? It’s kind of hot out you know, you should be careful of heatstroke.”

“Joonie-”

“Pup.”

Namjoon folds his book in half again, raising an eyebrow at you. You know he’s asking you to tell you what’s wrong without actually doing it. An invitation if ever there was one.

The cool ocean breeze tickles your forehead comforting. “Do you wanna tell me why you’re a little grumpy this morning, or do you want me to wait until noon until I start to actually try and cheer you up?”

"You are cheering me up."

A look at your phone tells you noon is about 40 minutes away, and the temptation to wallow is there but-

You pull up the hem of your long skirt. Green and yellow and embroidered, Tae got it for you special just for today, it was wrapped in gauzy paper this morning at the end of the settee in the dressing room. One for herself already hanging in your shared closet. You like matching with Tae- you always do, but-

She looked so good in hers, and you couldn’t help but feel like it didn’t look the same on you- your legs too short and stubby, your arms, just a little too pudgy when you turn to the side. You don't pick yourself apart in the mirror nearly as bad as you used to. And it's stupid, because you know she probably thought the exact opposite about how it fit you. You’d seen it just briefly, the way that her eyes had fixated on your chest and then quickly looked away.

You don’t make Tae feel dysphoric often but you hate it when you do.

She'd noticed you noticing, and then in the best way she knew how she'd distracted you from your own feelings and let you know just how delectable she found you in your bikini and dragged you downstairs into the kitchen-

Ugh, today might be a good day if you could only get over it. You might be happy to spend it here, lounging with the pack alpha but it’s also a bad day too.

You kneed the sand with your feet. And Namjoon waits for you to speak, recognizing that you’re working through it. You bury your head in your knees, skin pressed to skin, holding around your calves tight.

"I thought I’d have more time, when the weather started to change and Tae and I started looking at bikinis. All of them were just so small and I’m so big now.”

“Pup, you’re perfect,” You can tell Namjoon means it.

“I know, I just want to feel more comfortable.” you say it like you don’t really believe it. Steamrolling past the pack alpha before he has a chance to argue with you. To pry. “I ordered a one-piece and I know that but-” you tug your knees to your chest, feet sandy, flipflops discarded. Pink. Tae's matching ones are a few sizes larger and not far, resting in the sand.

“But I also don’t want anyone to look at the scars on my back.”

A gull squawks and Jungkook giggles as he gets up on Jin's shoulders. tae is already perched on Jimin's, playing a game of chicken. An extra large wave hits them from the side and they both go tumbling. Laughing and falling into the salt water. Yoongi smiles from his spot with his fishing pole, screwing with his line and then Jin's, getting them set up. Namjoon drops his book to the side.

“Ah. So that’s what it is.”

“It doesn't bother me when you guys see them but-“

You look at the waves instead of at him. And you realize it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that that might be the reason why you’re nervous, why you’re off today. You hadn’t really realized it either, not until you caught Tae looking at them this morning and then Hobi.

You look at the ocean, and then back at Namjoon. He folds his book and puts it away. Beneath his big body, the beach chair creeks. You lay your head against the sun-bleached wood of the arm rest. His fingers naturally find themselves in your hairline, rubbing at your temple. You don’t know how he knew that you’ve got a headache but the relife is near instant.

“It’s not that I’m even that self-conscious of them.” You say after a moment. You don’t think about it at all when it’s just the pack when it’s just the eight of you. You don't feel nervous when you're walking around in a bra with Tae or in a bandeau and a pair of Jungkook’s sweats when he eventually badgers you into stretching in the sunroom. You never think about them when it's days like that.

“If anyone looks, I can tell them off for you.”

“No, you don’t need to, I just-” You watch a little kid and his friends toss a ball to each other, getting too close to the waves until it's swallowed by the seafoam, Jungkook is close to it. He gets it for them before it has a chance to get swept out for sea. They scream and crowd him. You get it- all little kids sort of love Jungkook.

“I don’t want anyone thinking that it’s you guys who did that to me, I don’t want anyone to look and wonder how it happened.”

You think of it, the scar, the sharpness of a knife, your face under Geumjae’s boot. It doesn’t bother you to remember it anymore. All the pain from it is so far away. But anger has a habit of sticking around.

“It doesn’t matter to me, if it matters to you, I understand, but I don’t care what strangers think about us, not anymore.” You feel warm at that, that the pack alpha doesn’t care about his reputation so long as you know who he is. The content of his heart and soul, or whatever.

“It matters to me just- I hate them, I hate having them.” You bury your hands in the sand to hide that they’re trembling and this time, when Namjoon passes you a slice of watermelon you take it from him.

"Come with me to get ice cream?"

"Did you only suggest it earlier because you wanted to get some?"

"Yeah," he admits, he gets up from the chair. Hand out, waiting.

You put your palm against his and he pulls you to your feet. "Okay, only if I can get mint chocolate."

His face goes sour, “pup-” you laugh and down the beach, Hobi picks his head up from looking down, pockets heavy with sea glass, listening to the sound of it on the wind and smiles.

Your hands stay like that, tangled together between the both of you. Now that you're talking about it, it's hard to stop.

“At first, I was so disgusted with myself that I’d let someone do that to me. You know I didn’t fight back until the end, not really, not until Yoongi.” Namjoon hums, and lets you vent. Let’s you talk it through as you walk up the steep steps. You know he knows all of this but you want to vent.

“I spent so long thinking I deserved it, wondering if I did, and trying to convince myself that I didn’t. I still don’t know if deserving has anything to do it. But after I stopped wondering, I just got angry.”

The sun beats down, burning the sand and bleaching the earth slowly, leaching the color out of everything, the seashells, Namjoon’s eyes, the grey strands in his hair. Everything. “I got angry at me, and then at him, and then at myself again because I couldn’t punish him.”

Your feet thump up onto the boardwalk, staccato. Namjoon pauses so you can put on your pink flip-flops. You know he doesn't want you to get splinters. “Do you still want to punish him?”

“No.”

You realize how true it is, you really, don't think you want revenge anymore. “I just want to let go of all of it and start again, I just want it to not matter anymore. I don’t care about it and I’m not ashamed of what he did to me because that’s his shame to bear now. Even though he's dead."

"But I still don’t how to let it go. I still have the scars. I don’t want to hold onto all this rage and grief and fear anymore. I woke up angry, and I'm trying to let go of it, that's why I'm grumpy.”

Namjoon’s voice is so deep, that it’s almost hard to hear over the crash of the waves. “I don’t know how you let go of it, I don’t know how to grow. Change is of course natural and you can't avoid it- but I think healing is different for each person. Some people just need love and care, and some people need a fire lit underneath them. I won’t sell you a false promise because I don’t know if it’s possible for everyone to heal. Brains aren't like bodies.”

Namjoon pauses, and he glances at you tentatively, like he’s not sure he’s supposed to say what he wants to. The second you clock the look you want to know what he’s thinking. He must guess it from your face because he soldiers on.

“But you’re so gentle. I don’t think you understand it. you don't understand how rare it is, how special you are to have gone through so much and still be gentle. Your anger doesn't take that away. Not to me."

“Oh, uhm- thanks?”

"And I think if you weren’t healing, we’d know.” Namjoon still has the tacky feeling of sunscreen- probably from spreading it on Tae's shoulders. When he touches your cheek, tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. Eventually, you say,

“I don’t want anything about me to be violent anymore. I think I’ve earned it.”

“You have,” Namjoon says. You need it, the permission to be this way, permission to be peaceful after fighting for so long. There is no joy in this trying, there is no satisfaction in trying to get better if you can’t have peace.

So, what if life gets a little boring eventually? It's better than things being painful all the time. You have your coffee; you go to the beach with the people you love. What will the unblemished skin of your back feel like when the scars are gone?

You want to know. You realize it then, that you wish you didn't have them. That not having them would be easier. You want a new body, you want a new life, or maybe not a new one- But the same one just different, without all the pain and anguish and struggle.

When you look back at the pack, they’re nothing but dots among the ocean. Your heart pangs when you realize you can’t pick out Tae.

Namjoon squeezes your hand. “What are you worried about?”

“Tae's feeling dysphoric today, it’s kind of odd that we’re so in sync don't you think? I’m feeling like shit about my body and what’s been done to it, and she’s feeling like shit because hers won’t love her right.”

Namjoon tips his head. “I noticed. How do you think we could help?”

The pack alpha is asking you how to care for another member of your pack, and you wish you knew better how to say it. How to explain what tae needs. You feel so fragile today, you’re not sure you could help but- loving Tae is easy for you. Loving Tae has always felt like breathing.

“I don’t know. Probably just braid her hair and tell her she looks lovely. Support her. You’re good at doing that. You don’t need my help.”

Namjoon kicks at the boardwalk, “I wonder if it will ever not matter to her if she’ll ever truly reclaim her body and make it what she wants. Do you think she should stop trying? That she should stop wearing dresses, even if it never makes her feel the way she wants it to?”

“No, never, Tae should always try. I love her and I just want her to be okay.”

Namjoon takes your hand, turning it over tracing a scar on the back of your hand. It's a burn scar, one of the ones you gave yourself back when you wanted hurt because you didn’t know how to make everything stop hurting. It makes sense- in a recursive sort of way.

“Then I think you can try to let it go, and if it doesn’t work the first time or the second or the third you just try again. You can try, even if you think you’ll fail. If Tae deserves it then you deserve it too.”

“Sometimes all I want is a do-over, sometimes all I want is a new life. I've wasted so much time being sad-”

Namjoon drops your hand and then holds it out. Smiling brightly in that what that only the pack alpha can, dimples and all. His tone switches from serious to goofy so quick that it gives you whiplash “My name's Kim Namjoon, it's nice to meet you, what's yours?”

“Joonie.”

His eyes are teeming with mirth, the kind of goofiness that Namjoon only really has when he’s one-on-one. You won’t do him the disservice of thinking that he’s only this goofy with you. You know he acts this way with the others too.

But when it's all of you together Namjoon is always counting heads and bending down to tie loose shoelaces. He's not silly like this. He's your caretaker and your confidant, your pack alpha, and sort of your dad in the best kind of non-creepy way. You've learned alot from him over the last year, you've grown alot with him.

“I’m here with my pack, I think you’d really like them. Especially my girl, Tae.” He bumps his shoulder into yours and you giggle. He holds the door to the ice cream shop open for you with a faint jingle.

"Can I have your maraschino cherry?"

"Yeah. You can even eat the others too and I won't tell. I’m getting an extra sugar cone too."

"Deal." You don't end up getting mint ice cream at all, the strawberry gram cracker is too tempting for you. You're ladened with them when you're on your way back, the shop has these special little insulated cups to keep the ice cream cold, but it's still in danger of melting.

Namjoon is a little quieter, that might just be from the sheer amount of ice cream that both of you hold and the concentration it takes to avoid spilling it. You've got a strawberry milkshake for Tae, a peanut butter scoop and split for Jin, something with caramel for Yoongi that Namjoon thought he'd like, and fish-shaped samanco for Jimin and a chocolate covered banana for Jungkook. The whipped cream and cherries hardly make it off the boardwalk.

But you sense there's something more to it, that there is something more to Namjoon's quiet than simple concentration.

So, before you get back to the others you pause, sun beating down, ice-cream melting. "If you want to say something Joonie, just say it."

His eyes are heavy-lidded. "I know you doubt your progress, but you are getting better. I think with healing, it's either heal now, heal later, or heal never. And while I don't think you're wasting any time at all because healing isn't a waste, but-" Namjoon takes a deep breath, looking at you, unable to tear your eyes away,

"I'm really really glad you decided to heal now, because I get to spend a lot more time with you and I like spending time with you. I'll hash this out with you as many times as you need me too because I love you."

"Oh," you blink at him, at the sun, trying not to cry, pausing in the sand. Namjoon looks a little alarmed that you've stopped walking.

"The ice cream is melting."

You ignore him, you can’t pull him close because you’re holding too many ice creams. So you just demand "Come here." It takes a bit of juggling on his part but he leans down and kisses you. A bit of whipped cream ends up in the sand, but you'll just tell Jin that you ate his instead.

You already ate the cherry on top anyway.

"Oh! They're back!"

The pack is towling themselves off, with sandy bottoms and wet heads. You grin as Yoongi excitedly tells you that he's gotten 2 nibbles on his fishing rod, two! At this rate you'll be having fish for dinner. Even Jin has let himself be dunked, and you disseminate the ice cream to everyone with thank you side hugs and thank you kisses.

No one comments that all the cherries are missing.

Tae flops down next to you and then Jimin on the other side competing for the shade. "Oooh strawberry." "Can I try a spoonful of yours?" Jimin asks, then hums, eyeing it, "We can switch if you want Minnie." You offer before he can pout. "Oh, really? You don't care?" you shrug, you don't mind red bean. It sort of always reminds you of Yoongi and Jin since they like it so much. You trade back and forth and then.

"Hobi's back too!"

A smile stretches your face before you’ve even caught his scent in the air. When you look up Hobi has his hair held back by his sunglasses and his headphones are looped his neck. Pockets round and hands full, looking freckly already. "You didn't go far?"

"Yeah, got too hot" Hobi grins dropping to his knees on the beach blanket. "And besides I got a lot."

"Oh show!"

He dumps out his sea spoils while you lick ice cream off of your spoon and nibble at Jimin’s Samanco. Oohing and aahing over his chunks of glass and pretty shells. And he takes a nibble when you offer him one, but only a bite before he relents-

"It's so hot, I wanna go swim. You haven't been yet? Wanna come?" Your hands are sticky and your mouth goes dry. But before you can tell him no Namjoon is already taking off his shirt, jumping when Jungkook's hands get a little pinchy at the gentle chub around his waist. "Here, you can wear this-"

Oh, it's perfect. You take off your dress and you miss the heavy knowing glances between Jungkook and Jin and the hungry way Jimin's eyes flicker up from your waist to your face, the way that Tae can hardly look at you. Yoongi taps Jungkook on the shoulder when he reaches to squeeze and give you the same treatment Namjoon got, shaking his head imperceptibly. You have your back to it so you don't see.

You are this way; taken care of even when you are unaware of it and loved even when it is not seen. The pack knows that what you need today is not any more of that sort of attention. Tae gave you enough earlier. They watch, wink, and linger. Unseen by you. Does love matter any less if you don’t know it?

You put Namjoon's shirt on and it falls just below your hip. It's worn at the shoulders. A hole in the hem that Jimin hooks his finger into experimentally. Making a deep hum in his mouth around the sugar and sweet. The texture has passed your pickiest alpha's inspection. Perfect. No one asks why you feel the need to wear it or why Namjoon offers it up.

Jin immediately reaches for the tube of sunscreen and starts spreading it on Namjoon's shoulders, leaning against the pack alpha's back when he's done and resting his chin on the top of Namjoon's head.

Namjoon tilts his face up, pressing a quick kiss under Jin's jaw. Licking his lips and grimacing. "You taste like sunscreen hyung."

"I'm going to ignore that because when I'm fifty I'll be pretty and wrinkle and skin cancer free and you'll be even more grey." Namjoon turns, touches his hip fondly, and then glances to you.

“i'm sticky, I’ll come with.” Namjoon doesn't offer you the choice, he makes the decision for you and you're so thankful you don't know how to say it. You finish your ice creams and when Hobi takes your hand, you let him pull you up and into the water. You let him tug you until you're running the last few feet before you and the ocean collide. Cold, but just right, just what you need underneath the heat. Jungkook runs with you too, barreling through the waves.

Yoongi and Jin walk down to where there aren't many swimmers and more rocks, casting out their lines. Glimmering when they catch the light properly. Leures hurdling through the air to land with a plop.

The hem of Namjoon's shirt is just turning wet when he tells you. "You know, the human body and the sea have roughly the same salinity."

You don’t feel like that strong of a swimmer, at least not like Jungkook who cuts through the waves like it’s nothing. Like he's a part of the ocean, salinity or nothing. Namjoon is close behind, Hobi too, back to the waves, the red of his hair catching the sunlight. Tae comes in but goes back to the shore just as fast. Tossing her wet dark hair over her shoulder, ringing it out. And you know she’s probably going to want to do a hair mask later.  Jimin stands on the shore, watching you, waiting for Tae.

the sea foam glitters in the sun bobbing and tumbling, lost to the waves. A cold wave of water crashes against Namjoon’s back as he and Hobi lead you to deeper water until your feet just barely brush the bottom.

“Just kick pup. I've got you." You breathe, letting the water wash over you, ducking and closing your eyes, bracing yourself for it as it hits you. But Namjoon holds onto you so that when you rise up, you're still right next to him.

Something light and fast, silvery in the water slithers past you and you jump, clinging to him.

"Joonie! Joonie! Something slimy hit me! Namjoon!"

You cling to his shoulders and he laughs. His strong hand splays against your back. "It's just a fish!" Hobi calls.

"A fish! Where?" Jungkook dives, looking around under the water. Where did he even get goggles? You cling to Namjoon's front, his body warm in the cold water. "Do you wanna get out?" He asks, dimples curved.

"Yeah, just let me dunk." Namjoon holds onto you as you go under, keeping you steady. For a moment all you can feel is the pull of the ocean, the way that the tide is shifting, pulling you out to sea too. Namjoon's hands remain on your arm.

When you rise up there are fingers against your cheeks wiping away the water before it has a chance to get in your eyes. It's Hobi, holding you as you bob. You're so much shorter than them. They get to stand just before the break whereas you have to tread water.

They help you time it right but you manage to avoid getting tumbled by the next crashing wave and when you turn your back to the ocean, you spot them there.

Jimin and Tae stand by the edge of the ocean a good 20 feet from your umbrella. The roar of the waves is so loud that you can’t hear exactly what they’re saying. But you can see Tae's mouth move, the upset lilt to her smile that falters. The way Jimin’s lips are turned down as he says what he wants to say. Standing close the way that lovers do.

He says something then entwines their hands tentatively, like he’s not sure he should. His shoulders are already turning freckly under the sun, the same as Tae's. Like little bits of summer trapped there against their skin.

They have new freckles, you have new stretch marks, and Namjoon has new grey hairs. Your mouth turns down into a frown the longer you watch them.

You watch Jimin reach up and wipe at tae's cheek, watch it as he says something that makes her shoulders shake, that makes him pull her tight against his front.

Your white shirt speckled with sand. Still damp from the ocean water as you splash through the waves to get to them. Tae smiles at you before you get there, eyes glassy. She doesn't do anything to hide the fact that she's been crying just a little as you effortlessly fold yourself into her side Jimin's arm trapped under your ribs.

You watch her smile falter. She hasn't been crying too much, just a tear or two, And she leans down to peck your forehead. Her skin is hot to the touch. Warm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, quiet and know, it's somewhat of a lie. Jimin looks from you to her, and you sense some special small conversation going on like whatever they were talking about before you came over has been touched on just by you being there.

Tae looks down at you, biting her lip. “Are you mad at me?”

“What? No. Why?” Your hands go hard on her waist easily, because you hardly come up to Tae's sternum. You happen to know that she likes it when you grab her waist, but something that usually makes her squirm in a good way right now has no effect.

Maybe you respond too quick for her, because Tae looks at you under her lashes. “For this morning, did you-" did you not want it, did I misinterpret? Did I give you attention that you did not want? Would you tell me if I was loving you wrong?

Jimin squeezes her shoulder and you watch Tae brace herself for what you might say, “Tae,” you smile up at her, blushing just thinking about it, scent sweeting as you remember this morning. You can tell that both of them can smell it by the way that they straighten up and adjust their stance. Alphas.

"Tae I would have told you- I’m not- I’m not like that.” Anymore you don’t say.

Her dark hair is curling against her cheek, all of her salty and soggy. Tae looks like just wearing her bikini is making her ache. Like just standing here next to you is hurting. She sighs, Jimin loops his arms around her waist with you. His voice is deep and rough. “Tell her, you know she makes it better.” He mumbles the words against her shoulder.

“Minnie and I were talking about me getting a boob job. Since my boobs aren’t growing anymore, I've been at the max dose on my estrogen for like 3 months and there's still been no change."

You perk up a little at that, eyes bright. “Oh? That’s awesome, 10/10 should, totally agree.”

But the words don't soothe Tae, if anything, her shoulders just get closer to her ears as she hunches them making herself look and feel small. “But it’s expensive and it's like- not a necessary surgery like- it’s extra? Right? I can wear a push-up bra and inserts it’s not like-”

“Tae” you cut her off, and you can tell really this is what’s been bothering her. “Do you want it?” Tae looks down at you.

“Yes.”

“Would it make you feel better? Would it make you feel more girl?”

“Yes.”

You wipe away the wetness on her lash line with a thumb. “Then it’s not too much. What you need is never too much.”

"You wouldn't be like, nervous if I did?" You can tell that nervous isn't what she means.

"Maybe for your health but-" This isn't really helping, Tae is just getting more frustrated, her words failing her such a rare thing. You sigh, taking her hand in yours and you sense a little that none of this, none of Tae's anxiousness is about your approval. Not really.

She reaches down and fusses with her bikini and Jimin looks like he wants to say something. "What's got you so worried? Tae, what's wrong?"

Tae looks up at you and then back down. “But, I’m being so not a girls girl."

"Don't care, tell me."

"But are you sure?"

"Tae"

"Fuck pup, you look so good in yours and I just look- I feel gross. I feel all wrong and I look at you and sometimes it just- comparing myself to you isn't fair to you." Tae closes her eyes turning to Jimin, “Can I wear your shirt?”

Jimin has it off before she’s even really finished her sentence. His miles and miles of skin and muscles are even more alluring under the sun. His hair shimmers like it’s burnished gold underneath it too. Jimin is always sort of golden. He's always sort of stunning.

"I don't like feeling jealous of you. It doesn't feel good, it doesn't feel right. I’ve been mad at myself all morning for it" she tells you. And it sort of makes you want to laugh but in a good way.

“Tae, I’m jealous of you all the time.”

She looks up sharply, “really?”

“Yeah like, whenever you put your hair in rollers and you do the back perfect on the first try, or when you string words together or when you get out of bed and you put on your dresses and makeup like it’s nothing. I'm jealous of how much you want it. You make being a girl look effortless when it's given me nothing but trouble. And then I wander out of the nest room and I look like Adam Sandler half the time and you guys do a good job of pretending I look cute instead of like a gremlin.”

“You do look cute. You're a cute little gremlin.” Jimin says.

“You look like your sweaters are swallowing you.” Her tone is scandalized. Like she can't even believe you're saying that about yourself.

Jimin nods, “You just like being comfy like me. I like it when you're comfy especially when you wear Joonie’s worn clothing and it's like-” Jimin shivers happily and you laugh.

"That was like- so autistic of you Minnie."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I like it when you say how you’re feeling that way I know you’re not having grumpy alpha time.”

“You don’t have to call it that.”

“Well, I could go with ‘Jimin looks so overstimulated he looks like he’s gonna punch someone’ time but 'grumpy alpha time' sounds cuter.” Jimin is looking awfully red, and you suspect it has nothing to do with a potential sunburn.

Tae shakes her head, still sort of angry with herself, This might be the closest you've ever gotten to a fight. “It’s not the same, it’s not the same as me being jealous of your body and wishing it was mine.”

“Isn’t it? I’m jealous of the rest of the pack, even the boy stuff sometimes, like- You want boobs but half the time I’m just wondering if my life would have been easier if I was born a boy omega like Jungkook. It’s not the same as you, because it’s not a gender thing but a safety thing. But I’m jealous of him too, you know I can’t even run one single mile and he goes like 5 every morning and he always has energy.”

Jimin snorts, “Everyone’s a little bit jealous of Jungkook.”

“And Jin,” Tae adds, casting a glance over to where they’re both standing, both looking absurdly model esc. They’re both unfairly pretty even for omegas. You always feel a little too grubby if you think about it too hard, but you’re getting over it. In the same way, Tae will eventually get over this too. Namjoon was right earlier when he said that healing takes time, it's going to take Tae a while to heal from being born in the wrong body.

“My point is, does my feeling jealous over it mean I love Jungkook any less? Does that mean I hate him at all?”

“No, you love Jungkook.”

You hold your hand up, splaying, letting the silence pause and the realization dawn on her. “Then why does you wanting my boobs mean you have to feel guilty about it?” Her expression slowly crumples, and she goes from looking nervous to feeling guilty.

she's quiet for a few breathes, and when it's clear to you she's not going to say anything, you fess up.

“I ate the cherry off your ice cream earlier just so you know. I don't feel guilty about it at all and I will do it again, just fyi.”

A laugh forces its way out of Jimin's mouth, and even Tae can't resist a smile and a roll of her eyes.

Obsession and infatuation. Jealousy and love. It’s always been a bit of a tangle with you three. With you, Jimin, and Tae.

Some omegas that are a little too young- probably still in high school glance in Jimin's direction. You do not pull him closer, just pout. But Jimin only has eyes for Tae, and the way his eyes flicker down to yours tells you there’s nothing to fear.

“Oh, we know.” Jimin grins, “I think the only one who was upset about it was Kookie.”

Jungkook bounds over as if summoned by his name, looking gorgeous shaggy-haired, muscled arms rippling. “What are you guys talking about?”

“How jealous we are of you,” you say before Jimin or tae have the chance to. Tae blanches a little like she expects jungkook to be upset but Koo just shrugs.

“Big wop." He tugs on the hem of Joonie’s shirt. Almost pulling you off balance. "I wanna go body surfing again but Hyung’s say I can’t go alone- come with me?” He wraps his arms around your shoulders, dragging the last syllable and batting his eyes. It's too hard to say no to him.

You glance at Tae one final time and she sighs at you. Nods. “I’ll be alright. I just need to think more."

Bodysurfing turns out to be the most fun you've had in months, weeks, years maybe. Jungkook shows you how to do it. One second you feel like you're going to be tumbled in the wave and the next you're hurtling not through the ocean but over it. sliding across the water all the way from where they crash to the shore. Giggling and bubbling in the salt water. hair hanging lank over your face all messy.

“Did you see me!? i was going so fast!” You cry happily, picking yourself up off the wet sand, you'll probably have sand in unmentionable places later but you don't care. Yoongi is standing on his own.

Jin has disappeared somewhere no longer yoongi's shadow. both of their poles sit tip up in the sand. You hardly wait for him to respond before you're back in the water. Dashing back to where the waves are breaking.

“I did but! Be careful!”

The rest of the day passes like that. You walk down the beach with Hobi and find handfuls and handfuls of sea glass. You suntan with Tae (it's more just lounging) and ask Namjoon to read you snippets of his book while Hobi and Jungkook play volleyball. You go to the tide pools after, because Joonie wants to look for crabs.

It doesn't end all that well. It ends with your bloody finger, a fat seagull who is amazingly adept at snatching crabs out of thin air with a full belly thanks to you.

You swear you didn't mean to fling it, it just surprised you. You tell Namjoon as much as he sniffles and wraps a band-aid around your finger. Pierced through by a crab claw (it's nothing more than a paper cut). "I didn't mean to kill it, promise it just startled me."

The rest of the pack contains their snickers. And Namjoon's sniffles reignite. "It's fine, it's okay, it was a big crab anyway probably at the end of it's lifespan." 

Jin disappears, but when he comes back, he's toting several pizza boxes and a liter of soda. Jungkook shows you how to feed your crusts to the seagulls without them biting your fingers. And Jin also brings back a big big bowl of maraschino cherries from the same ice cream parlor as earlier. Red and bright like mini suns.

"I had a feeling you might want more." he teases, but you don't respond with anything more than "I do!"

Jin makes everyone grab one first, but after, he lets you have the rest.

~-~

At home, Tae gently lifts Namjoon's shirt over your head, the house is so noisy- as it often is whenever the whole pack is moving about, in the kitchen Jin and Yoongi are fixing dinner, still in their own perfect little bubble. Two fish already filleted in the sink.

Jungkook is half slumped against the wall, already in the shower. Turning wetter and wetter under the spray, groaning low, “god I love the sting when hot water hits my sunburn.” jimin pinches at that sunburn. there's alot of that going on, pinching.

“You’re such a fucking masochist.”

“Shut up”, he says with a smile. “I've never spanked you before.” He licks his lips, “soon.”

Tae huffs and pulls herself over to him, sudzing up his hair. Jungkook is the only one truly nude. Tae is still wearing her bottoms and so is minnie. You linger. Still in your bikini, a little resistant to getting wet again but working up to it. Jungkook goes to give her tan lines a pinch and you watch her brace herself.

You grab his hands before he has the option too. Your shower with them isn't sexual. Not this one. Not when you're all so sun tired from the day you had at the beach. You're gonna sleep so well later, your whole body aches from body surfing and you have a scrape on your hip that namjoon had frowned at earlier but you don't even care you had so much fun today.

your hands tangle with Jungkook's, "Be careful with her, she's delicate."

"Why? What's going on?" he glances from you to her.

“Tae wants to get a boob job and She's feeling sensitive about her body today,” Tae says nothing, looking from you to Jungkook, measuring his response.

"Oh? Sweet. thanks for letting me know." Tae makes an affronted noise in her throat.

You talk. Back and forth about it. “Are you sure you don’t just like- want it for us? Cuz dang I love boobs-" It’s a fair question, even if it does come off wrong. tae doesn't take it personally, shaking her head.

"It's not like that, i'm just tired of waking up in the morning and not having them, i just- i want to be done with the dysphoria. it's such a pain feeling like this all the time, but what if i like- don't like them? what if thats not going to fix it? and boob jobs are like- so expensive too." Jimin hardly responds with more than a hum. He's been a little bit less verbal than usual since you got home- but no one comments on it, no one prods him to speak.

Namjoon steps into the bathroom, hips swiveling. It's absurdly attractive- the way that Namjoon moves in his body. Leaning down to take off his bathing suit, he's got sand in them, but you don't mind because you also have sand in your bottoms too.

“82 percent of women express satisfaction with their boob job. I looked it up.”

Tae looks surprised then stricken, “you did?”

“Yeah, I wanted to know in case you ever asked for it.” Tae goes quiet, looking at Namjoon over your shoulder. You can feel the string of your bikini digging into your skin. The slight chub under your arms and around your middle. The place where you go soft. You reach behind your back, undoing it. jimin beats you too it, pulling at the string.

"i've got it."

“Oh Joonie- you’ve got tan lines.” He almost trips when he looks up and sees you topless, actually does stumble. He does have tan lines, rimming his hips, cutting across his hip bones. Tae giggles and traces along them. (If Namjoon's cock jumps a little at the touch, no one hassles him for it, you're all too sun tired for sex).

"Are you asking for it? A boob job? Is that something you want?"

"Yes."

“Oh!” Namjoon's eyebrows shoot up, and he glances from her face down to her chest, and then your face down to yours. Going red from ear to ear like he's imagining it. Namjoon scratches at the back of his head, you can hear the sand flop onto the tile floor. Tae takes your bikini and hangs it over the glass door where it drips. Namjoon clears his throat and Tae looks at him.

“Do you want me to make you an appointment on the same day as the pups?"

“What? Are you planning on getting a boob job too?” Tae cups your chest in her hands, and it’s not necessarily sexual, not even when you wrap your arms around her neck. and tug her close enough that your chests squish together.

“No, not that just-” You peck her lips, and she’s already starting to smell better.

“Just the scars, I want them gone. I got all in my head about it and Joonie helped me earlier.”

“Really?” Tae says, glancing from Namjoon to Jimin to Jungkook to you. the boys look a little dazed, a little love-struck as you reach for her bikini straps and paw at them. Namjoon takes it when you hand it to him and hangs it over the glass next to yours. You like it when it's like this, your warm body pressed to her body.

“Yeah- I got all in my head about it too.”

“Our boys are kind of good at fixing that, aren’t they?” You giggle and start to suds her up. Namjoon and Jimin grumble at the teasing, but join in.

~-~

Everything moves fairly quickly for Tae.

Maybe it only happens so fast because having a doctor for a pack alpha makes shit get done, or because Namjoon and Jin have sort of been planning for this for the last few months. It's been in their back pocket and they've been making measurements and taking down names of good doctors since just after Tae came out.

They’re funny like that. Always planning how to make sure the pack has everything they need. Everything that they could possibly want.

It's like that with your scars too.

The pack all insist on coming for her consultation. The room is full, Jungkook has to sit on Yoongi's lap because there isn't a seat for him. You and Tae are knit close together and you stubbornly refuse to let go of her hand with Jimin on the other side.

It had gone well, well enough that Tae had looked up at the doctor, a kind omegan woman in her 50s. All ready with pre-release forms and the final quote. She comes highly recommended, Namjoon even looked over her case files and gave her his stamp of approval.

She specializes in reconstructive surgery, and for some reason, Tae likes that. She likes the idea that she's not adding but restoring her body to what it should be. What it should have been in the first place.

(Tae doesn't believe in God, not anymore. But a small voice whispers in her head about it. About divinity and mistakes. People say God doesn't make mistakes, but if we are made in God's image, then God must also have an awkward phase. She must also make her mistakes; like cancer in children and what happened to you. Like Jungkook's seizures and women like Tae. It's okay to revise a little. To scribble out and rewrite the lines.)

“You mean I don’t have to like, prove it?”

The pack had gone still at the question, scents anxious and stressed, your hand on hers tighter. Readying yourself to whisk her out of here if the answer isn't to your standards.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Just getting here is enough. And besides, I believe you.”

I believe you. It’s strange how 3 words can make you feel so much. Can have such an effect on you. There is a lump in Tae's throat just thinking about it. It's on repeat in her head over and over again, I believe you, I believe you, I believe you. In this moment I exist, in this moment I am believed.

it's silly, because the pack has always believed Tae. she's had proof of that belief in the little things like the omega's putting more pink in the nest and how Yoongi made tae a whole dressing room, and the new pink plates in the kitchen. Your endless trying with her, even when you were too tired to try with everything else. Everything in the house is pink because it's Tae's favorite color. Everything is pink because it makes her happy.

But it feels different to hear it from someone new. Tae doesn’t have to talk about the dysphoria if she doesn’t want to to this doctor. She doesn't have to talk about it at all. About passing and expectations.

She only talks about it with you, only with your heads close under a big sheet. A pillow fort just for two. The light of mid-morning, or the Christmas lights above blocked out. Counting down the days with lipstick in the corner of the vanity mirror. 21 days. 17. 11.

9 days to go for her, and only 2 days to go for you.

There has been a new addition to your vanity too. Pretty delicate packages. Rose-scented tissue paper and golden ribbons, Chanel and Versace and even something called la Perla that you are incredibly unfamiliar with.

Tae always blushes and pushes them into the back of her closet, but not before taking them out of their packages.

The lingerie is Pastel pink, Deep purple, buttery orange, delicate white lace, something almost bridal. Every single color of the rainbow and then some. She's gotten one set every day since the beach day, she's pretty sure Jimin ordered the first one on the drive home.

“Jiminie- you don’t have to spend all of your money on me, and I don't even know what size I'm going to be yet. I know you don’t make as much now, it’s alright, I don’t need all of this." You’d simply clicked your tongue and leveled Tae with a look that was not to be debated or questioned.

“He’s not spending all of his money; he’s spending all of my money. And a bit of Namjoon’s. and Yoongi actually got you that one, not Jimin. I helped him pick it out. ” Yoongi's choice is so feminine it almost makes Tae cry. Pink ribbons and yellow ruffles. Matching garters and buttery soft stockings.

You've never minded being frivolous if it means making Tae happy, making Tae happy is a priceless expense. Paying for her top surgery had been a no-brainer, not something you even had to think twice about or discuss with Yoongi in any overt terms. Like the expenses for the house that come out of the account that you and Yoongi share, the account that receives the dividends from your stocks.

Huh, stocks. You never thought you'd have those.

By halfway through the month, you’re sitting in the upstairs dressing room with Namjoon, Hobi, Jimin, Jungkook, and Yoongi draped across each other and the settee in the corner by the window and the door that leads to the deck outside.

There's so much weight on the settee that the legs creek. A very large tray with Jelly silicone implants sit on the vanity. They're only samples. Tae has to return them after she decides. 

Tae is having trouble choosing. Naturally- the pack put in their two cents. It's easy to be casual about it, to talk about C cups and D cups and even double D cups.

But what started out as trying to help her decide exactly which tits to get has turned into everyone getting drunk and dumb. Has turned into the boys trying on those bras and putting the implants inside. The general ridiculousness in the room might have something to do with the 5 (yes 5) bottles of fancier-than-normal champagne discarded and empty around the room.

Namjoon puts a stop to it when Jungkook throws the largest one and hits Hobi square in the stomach. The resounding 'thwap' is almost loud enough that it makes you flinch.

“Wait, are these the ones that are modeled after yours?” Jungkook asks, Yoongi says something into your ear that makes you flush and giggle, and when Hobi tries to come close onto the settee you put your socked foot against his chest and push.

Hobi catches your ankle and fiddles with your sock, thigh high, white, knit. sliding his hand up your calf and tickling under your knee. "It's hard to believe they're like that big"

"Imagine how I feel Jungkook, it feels like carrying around mellons not lemons."

Jungkook scoots to the edge of the settee, "let me try them on." It’s stupid and you feel like a bunch of boys playing with water balloons but Tae doesn’t seem to mind at all. If anything, she's more comfortable when you're goofy about it. You're just deciding what tit's she's going to have for the rest of her life, no big deal. It's no big deal at all.

Tae is sort of freaking out about it, which is why you're drinking and trying to get her to lighten up. Emphasis on trying.

Tae had asked for implants that would give her a similar side profile and cleavage to yours. But truthfully, after she tried them on… she's going to go with something just ever so slightly smaller and more conical.

You honestly didn’t know there were so many different types of implants or so many different shapes and feels. But this choice matters. She’ll only choose this once so she wants to make the right choice.

The ones your size simply hadn’t looked right when it came to her shoulders- made her look too wide up top.

There's one pair, your pick, that looks a little bit more perky than the ones she initially wanted to go with. And while you understand wanting a natural result…

The horny side of you is sort of winning out. But you are 4 glasses of champagne deep, your judgment is a little impaired.

“We can do back exercises! So that you won’t get rounded shoulders!” Jungkook had excitedly commented when Tae had confessed she was just a little bit worried about how much the ones modeled after yours might weigh on her back.

By midnight, the champagne is gone and Seokjin is mostly asleep. Asleep enough that Jimin’s attention is divided. Earlier there was a moment, Tae wearing them and the lingerie, standing between Jimin’s legs, his arms around her waist, eye level with the implants shoved into one of those bra’s. “Go on tell me they’re too big.”

Jimin had hummed, looking down at them then up at Tae, “will they make you happy?”

“Yes but-”

“Tae, will they make you happy? Yes or no?”

Shifting from foot to foot, eyes flicking down to them, then to the mirror. “Yes but-“

“No buts” he’d said, which had led to you and Jungkook doing a chorus of “butts butts butts!” Sing a song and ridiculous.

Namjoon did try and twerk. Emphasis on try.

“Should we take a vote?”

“It feels like we should take a vote.”

“Okay, but the pup gets two because she actually knows what it’s like to have big boobs.”

You do, your votes written out on scraps of that rose-scented tissue paper. “Jungkook- don’t you dare put down the big ones.”

“But then they’ll match-”

It feels good to do it this way. To help her make a choice that would probably make Tae's head spin, cry, and melt down over choosing the right one. She got close to having a melt down earlier but It's all goofy and silly and light like this. Maybe even the hard things are easy if you're doing them with the right people.

Tomorrow they’ll order the implants, and on Friday Tae will have to get up very very early. She will not eat breakfast, will be driven to the hospital by Jin and Namjoon, and Jimin. You’ll tag along for moral support with Yoongi in a separate car and Hobi and Jungkook will follow later because there’s no real reason why she’ll need all of you there.

The surgery will take Tae around 3 hours, by mid-day she’ll be in post-op and by evening she’ll be home. You get the ground floor bedroom all set up because Tae will be too dizzy to manage the stairs. A bright pink nest with a minimal border so that Tae can get in and out without straining her abdominal muscles too much.

You know to expect bruising, to expect her to be out of it from the anesthesia first and then the drugs. Namjoon will be the only one to sleep in the nest with Tae, although Jin won’t be far and Jimin will eventually decide to sleep on the floor around midnight. Just to make sure she doesn't have to get up for anything.

You'll be buzzing up and down the steps several times through the night to check on Tae, everyone else will too. You, Yoongi, and Jungkook are going to go to the store tomorrow to get some recovery foods to help her heal faster.

You put your slips of paper, your votes into the largest bra that Jimin's gifted Tae. You get your two votes, and everyone else gets one. Yoongi cranes his neck to see what you're writing downand you shove at his shoulder playfully.

"No peaking!”

~-~

The pleather gurney is cold beneath your knees as you gently lift yourself onto it, trying not to be nervous. Trying not to be afraid as you lie on your stomach. A breeze makes you shiver through the open back of your hospital gown, bare underneath.

You're cold everywhere, although the numbing cream has already taken effect, carefully smeared over the sensitive scared skin of your lower back by Yoongi. As gentle as ever, rough fingertips rub over skin that will burn in just a few minutes.

He wears stupid small glasses to the side now, designed to block out the light from the laser that will scrape away your scar tissue. He wears lemon yellow ones whereas Jin wears black, and to your side, Namjoon wears red ones- all to protect them as they watch over you. You'd had a good moment of laughter earlier when you'd realized just how ridiculous it made them all look. But any levity in the situation has dissipated now.

Now, you're just nervous.

“It will probably take more than one session to see the results you want, but complete and total removal is definitely possible if you're good with your aftercare.”

The doctor had warned you before you’d started, "she will be. We'll make sure of it" Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi had all promised. And you believe them, there is scar cream and a special oil and even a compression vest for later, similar to the one that Tae will wear for her surgery in 4 days' time.

You’ve spent sleepless night after sleepless night talking through it with Namjoon, with Yoongi, with Jin. They’ve all been supportive. It’s all happened relatively quickly- same as Tae's surgery. The second that you’d given Namjoon and Jin the all-clear that you wanted to go through with the plastic surgery to reduce the appearance of the scar on your back they’d expedited the process and gotten you in contact with a world-renowned plastic surgeon who works at Namjoon’s hospital.

He's not the same plastic surgeon working on Tae, no- this one is a specialist in scars, in burns, in places that have been kissed by pain in a way that no skin should ever be. You think he might understand it. The way that you tremble when you get onto the gurney. He's seen the scars, had seen them during the consultation. He had asked very very politely and as gently as possible Whether they were 'situational' wounds or self-inflicted. 

"I've been married- Widowed actually." Had been your only reply.

The doctor hadn't looked at your face, gloved fingers testing the skin around the scar to see how much it stretched. You felt a little weird about having your back end bare to another man, but with Namjoon there and Yoongi and Hobi too, it had felt a lot less nerve-wracking. You can tell from the flex of his jaw that Yoongi is about to step in when the doctor says one word. after a moment. After he's pieced together what you're implying.

"Good."

Good. This is a good thing; this is a thing that you want to do. The wrath might never leave you; you might never stop being angry about what was done to you. But you can at least keep it from your body and let the pain become a memory and not an imprint. You will not let your body become a place of pain again. All scars are temporary, you're just expediting the process.

Heal now, heal later, or heal never.

You’d woken up this morning with Hobi and Jungkook blanketing you on either side, Tae's long-manicured fingers scratching at your scalp. Stomach uncomfortably empty for a change because they’d told you to fast before your procedure. Bot that you’ll need to go under general anesthesia like Tae. But sometimes laser therapy can make people get sick.

You’d woken to the sound of them taking through it. Something like “I’m going to get her a cake anyway.”

“You should make her one Hobi, you know she likes it when things are homemade."

The hum of your best friend against your front had felt like the ripple of a river. Hobi's deep voice- the one that only comes out after he’s been in deep sleep for a while is always so soothing. “I guess I made you that boob cake with her didn’t I huh-"

They say something to each other, softer, laughter petering off. trying to be quiet and let you sleep but sort of failing. The sound of slow kissing joins the coo of mourning doves and Jungkook feeding Noodle downstairs. He's come back from his run early to make sure he can see you off.

“We can both- yeah?”

You’d been happy to doze until Yoongi’s hand had joined Tae's on your cheek, slowly picking you up off of Hobi's shoulder. Tucking your messy hair away from your face.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, but it’s time.”

You’d fussed only a little. Only the pre-requisite amount to get a bit of babying (a necessary medicine, as important as the numbing cream) before allowing Tae and Yoongi to pull you out of the nest. putting on loose clothing that can easily be taken off and put back on.

You wanted to get this done before Tae and her top surgery and you want to meet the new version of her with the new version of you. It feels good that both of you are going through this change, this healing together.

Next week. Next week Tae will have boobs, next week she'll look whole and beautiful and so so pretty. She'll look exactly as she wants to look and you can hardly wait to see. To meet that version of her as the new version of you.

You still haven’t decided if there are any other scars on your body that you’d like to get rid of. Maybe the one under your chin- that's the only one that's so visible or as the one on your lower back. Or maybe the ones on the inside of your thighs. Those are so faint, too faint to matter. Too faint to hurt in a way that’s not purely psychological. Not like your back that you can feel when you turn wrong.

Your heart is in your throat as Namjoon helps you onto the gurney, wearing surgical gloves. The doctor behind him already has black-out goggles on his head. There is a pair that Namjoon hands you for you to wear. Jin and Yoongi stand back, wedding rings catching the light. Jimin is a faint presence outside the door, a shadow looming, protective instead of threatening.

“It’s going to smell pretty horrible, but the lidocaine should block most of the pain."

Namjoon does the honors of unlooping the back of your surgical gown and revealing your scars for the last time.

Worthless. But not for long. Worthless once, but not anymore.

You nod, “Okay.” You hear the clatter of the plastic machine against each the floor. The roll of the wheels on the linoleum as they wheel the machine over to you. Two technicians adjust it and the doctor clicks away at the computer before he grabs the wand and fiddles with the settings.

“The first pulse is going to come in just a second. I'll count down to three.  Are you ready?” You nod and try to relax, untensing your muscles and your body.

This pain, you can handle. This pain, you welcome.

Namjoon’s hold on your hand tightens, the doctor counts, and the light flashes.

~-~

Tae will also have scars. But not like yours. Not like stitches. They'll be like growing pains and stretch marks. Like her heart making room.

The surgeon has done a good job, but when Namjoon unwraps her gauze. You see the bloody stitches and whine. 50 of them under the edge of her generous curve, small nipples also taped over still. There's a fair amount of swelling- making them look larger but-

Yoongi's hands slip on the mirror as he holds it up for Tae, holding it at a tilt so that Tae can see. It's the next morning after her surgery, and you blink as you look at them. behind you, hobi bites on one nuckle.

“Oh my god.”

Jimin's face is flaming. He looks at the ceeling. "That bad?" tae slurs, head tipping limply to one side, her eyelashes fluttering, "Why are you all looking at me like that? How are my lemons?"

"Delicious." you say, at the same moment Jimin says, "breathtaking."

"I don't want anyone to juice them, they're mine, my lemons" tae pouts. Hobi holds his mouth trying not to laugh as yoongi chuckles. jin whipes her hair back from her sweaty forhead.

"Oh my god you are so high."

“No one can touch them.” Namjoon warns, looking at everyone in warning. "Promise me. No pawing. You cannot touch them when you're not sterile."

You let out an upset whine, “Joonie, just a kiss” Tae smiles from the bed, gently, tired. She's barely awake. It's the same bed that you and Yoongi used to share, this used to be your bedroom before you moved upstairs.

“Pup, It's non-negotiable” You pull up the straps on her billowing night dress and cuddle up next to her, sniffling and peaking at them while he wipes them down gently with gauze. Tae can't feel anything through the painkillers, but Namjoon's wipe comes away rusty and red.

You rest your head against her shoulder where bruises spread like ink as Namjoon works to clean them and her. The smell of blood doesn't bother you. You tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear and Tae murmurs quietly- eyes still closed that she could use some skincare.

Doing it for her is a reverent act, rubbing it across her cheek the bridge of her nose. When she remembers to open her eyes, she smiles dopily.

“Drugs are so so goooooood.” the pack laughs, yours jiggles the bed and Hobi shakes his head from the doorway. Tae furrows her eyebrows at Jimin.

"You're so pretty."

"I know, you were saying that in the car." Jimin is ever patient with her.

"Do you wanna like, be my boyfriend or something? I feel like we should kiss."

"Tae, we've been dating for twelve years."

"Oh! nice, I should tell Jimin."

"I am Jimin."

"No you're not. Your name's noodle cuz you're little." Jimin sighs trying to keep his smile at bay.

jin kicks hobi and jungkook out of the room for laughing too loudly and you shuffle closer to her. barely keeping your laughter hidden.

You kiss her cheek, the apple of it where her skin goes round and full and pink. “I’m sure the drugs feel amazing.” Your voice goes husky as you look at her, and when her hand tangles with yours. You notice that her nails have gone chipped. you'll fix that for her later.

Tae flutters in and out of consciousness for the first-day post-op. By noon- most of the good drugs have worn off. Movement means pain, but there is always someone there to help her move, change her clothes, or help her to the bathroom (even if that part is significantly unglamorous). Noodle rests in the crook of her knee, purring loudly.

There is cool water directed to her lips, guiding her to sip, then a soft kiss. When she asks for a pen and paper the pack calembour gives it to her. To brush her hair, to pat her skin dry, to praise her, and tell her how well she did. Apparently, she was a stellar patient. She's not sure why Namjoon says it like that. Like it took more energy to just lie there than actually doing the surgery but-

Tae's hand moves sloppy, and her words are half unintelligible but this is what she writes on the paper:

Cage or no cage. We are both birds. Wingless or not. Me a chicken, you a penguin looking at the sky no longer flightless when we close our eyes.

Jimin’s scent blooms close, happy and vanilla goodness. The smell of reading old books at nighttime is comforting and familiar. Tae's heart beats a little faster. Namjoon huffs with his stethoscope and listens some more- laughing lightly when Tae opens her eyes and looks up at him, heart pumping quicker. He zips up her compression vest, to help with the swelling and buttons up her shirt, one of Yoongi's warm flannels. The same one that the pack trades back and forth.

She closes her eyes and you take the notebook and pencil from her before it can clatter onto the floor. Jimin kisses one eyelid and then the other. Murmuring something softly to you at her elbow. Kissing you too- judging from the way that the bed dips as he leans over. The light is turned low and honey.

Tae doesn’t really feel it, the weight or the pain of the incisions or anything really, just a bit of nausea when Namjoon asks and she thinks about it. She turns down the crackers and the toast that Jin offers.

She breathes in, feeling her body move with air. There is no weight to them, the lump of her chest. Compressed close to her body by a surgical vest to minimize inflammation. Honestly, she feels a little lighter if anything. Something like a string poised to snap that is no longer wound around her ribcage and aching heart. No longer suffocating.

She hasn’t even seen them yet; she shouldn’t be able to feel a difference already. But somehow when she closes her eyes, she can tell it’s different. That she’s different. A good sort of change.

It’s a slow healing process, Tae can’t get up or get out of bed for a few days, can do little more but sleep and eat and listen to Namjoon read her favorite books to her in his deep voice when she gets too dizzy to read on her own. Watching bad television and every single Studio Ghibli movie that ever did exist.

She can’t even do so much as put on her own shirts- although the pack is there to help with literally all of it. Buttoning a shirt over her fresh bandages, Jin kisses up her midline the same way she seen him do to you. Namjoon cleans her drains and Tae asks for perfume for once. Her Rosey cinnamon scent has stayed foggy with sickness and stress. Almost dewy damp.

You understand, the skin on your lower back is pealing and smells so ewey. You still can't sleep on your back.

It takes her 3 days before she can lift her arms above her head without pulling her stitches and manages to convince Namjoon and Jimin that she’s well enough to eat dinner like normal at the dining room table.

She sits with you on the outdoor furniture in the morning and eats watermelon. There’s only so much editing and staying yes to the dress that she can handle. The others herd her back to bed any time she looks the least bit uncomfortable or in pain.

Everyone is good, everyone is perfectly well-behaved, you don’t get handsy you don’t even paw at her to look when Namjoon undoes the compression vest. Although there is a moment when Namjoon stands back with the surgical gloves and blushes from his collar bones to his ear. "You need to wear this for the next three weeks, you can only take it off when you shower okay? And be gentle, the skin is so tender."

By day five she can dress herself, and she can't sleep any longer that to 5am when jungkook starts moving around for his walk, rousing you gently. She’s going stir crazy enough that you’re very very happy to take her with you on your morning walk.

Going extra extra slow. By the time you’re home the rest of the pack is in a bit of a tizzy trying to find her, Jimin wrenches open the door at the sound of your steps on the stairs.

Both you and Tae chagrined, Jungkook smiling a little too wide at Jimin’s generally disheveled appearance. Hair all a mess, scent acrid with panic.

“We went on a walk.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, “where?”

“Around the block. Tae woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep.”

“You have fun?” "Yes." "Are your stitches torn?" "No" "You're not bleeding anywhere?" "No."

He wipes down his hair, behind him. Yoongi looks similarly off-kilter, buttons mismatched on his flannel. Rubbing his eyes. “Hobi's making breakfast.”

"Oh? Pancakes?"

"Boob-shaped ones!" He calls from inside.

Everyone is a little protective of Tae, a little possessive too.

By Wednesday of the next week, Namjoon goes to work and you drag Yoongi and Jin out for a little bit of shopping for nesting materials. Jimin has to go back to work too. She'll be fine on her own for a few hours. She can get dressed all right by herself. But Namjoon and Jimin have their ringers on and she's got a day's worth of snacks already pre-wrapped in the fridge.

Jimin and Tae had a moment earlier, helping her get dressed, smiling, looking up at her face and then back down, cheeks slowly going red. "hey my eyes are up here."

"I know," his fingers are gentle as they stroke down her midline. looking at them.

"They suit you, they look so nice and soft. They look so- you." Jimin's voice is rough and Tae's is too, but there are kisses and soft words.

"I'm so glad you told me, you're so brave. I'll never not be proud of you. I'm so glad you tried to be you. I'll never not be thankful that I got to meet the real version of you and got to fall in love all over again."

there's more, but i'll save that for them. Their little secret. Tae is sort of crying when Jimin's done, but he just wipes her tears away gently and lets her cry. The last of it goes away with that. The last of the tension. The dysphoria that will become a distant memory.

Tae hasn't really seen them yet. They're covered with the compression vest almost all the time. She's been sitting too much. Reading and editing and writing because she can at least use her hands. The brief glance she'd gotten at the bloody stitches had sort of freaked her out. But everyone has been so appreciative. You especially.

Hobi has another wedding to do the flowers for and Jungkook has his Wednesday kickboxing classes. The house is quiet and Noodle naps in a puddle of sunlight in the living room. The air conditioning hums and Tae is home, alone, for the first time.

She spent the morning waking up slowly, forehead kissed, waist held, but when the house gets silent, she steals away upstairs. Take the steps slowly, one at a time. going as fast as she's able. Aiming for the dressing room.

Her body is still a bit sore. A little tender, it's only been a week- and it's going to take her another week before she can really move around like she used to. But Namjoon took her stitches out at the kitchen table last night. And the slide of thread through the skin was only a little bit gross, a little bit nauseating.

The weight of her chest is welcome, but hard to get used too- she feels like she’s a little off balance as she teeters up the stairs. but she was warned about this, she knows to take it slow and adjust to her new center of gravity. Going up the stairs one at a time. patiently waiting for her body to stop hurting.

Tae steals away to the side of the room that contains your dresses and a spilling over set of drawers that hold your and Tae's lingerie collection (let's be honest, most of it belongs to Tae.)

Somehow, most of Jimin's gifts had actually been in the right size. It's soulmate magic maybe, or perhaps just good intuition that had him picking out the right cup and band size. Most of them are unlined anyways.

A lot of them are new and hers but a few of them are yours and old, your workout bras and old bralettes. If she’s not careful she still catches you wearing the same bras and underwear greying with age. The type of thing that's gone worn and brings back affectionate memories of the first time you and her ever did your makeup in the library room downstairs.

The little book box of makeup that once held her soul and kept it hidden away now sits open on the top shelf just above her head. The inside of it is filled with costume jewelry, fake pearls, and glittering Swarovski chokers.

Tae gets a stool so she can reach for it.

What Tae reaches for isn’t anything that you or Jimin have bought. It's small enough that she had almost forgotten about it (and you’ve probably forgotten about it too). But the bralette is thin and flimsy at the bottom of the book box. Made of cheap plastic fabric, white and gauzy mesh dotted with small yellow daisies. The first bra she ever bought and the only one she ever bought for herself.

It's not even really a bra, but a bralette.

Tae unzips her compression vest with shaky fingers.

Tae remembers you looking at it the first time you ever did your makeup together, the crinkle of the plastic as you touched it. A realization dawning on your face that you hadn't voiced. But you'd used 'she' pronouns for her pretty soon after that. And Tae had always know, that seeing this was the moment you realized, that was the moment it started to feel real for her too. Not just some stupid dream.

Tae puts it on quickly, hissing when she feels her sensitive new skin touched. The band digs into her skin uncomfortable, the fabric brushing over her sensitive nipples.

It will take some getting used to. She’s careful to close her eyes before she sees herself in the mirror, careful not to spoil it for herself. She wanted her real first look to be like this, alone. Just herself and her body.

It might be a little too early to wear this and yet, she keeps her eyes closed as she maneuvers herself in the direction of the floor-to-ceiling mirror over by the settee. Almost tripping over your pj's discarded on the floor as she goes. Her eyes are still closed when her fingers touch the cold glass, and she stands in front of it properly, gripping either side so hard that the gold filigree edge digs into her skin.

later tonight there will be dress up and dress down. it will feel like the most natural thing in the world and tae will realize that although they're new to her, her boobs have always felt like they were there. There will be no more dysphoria, no more clawing at her throat when she takes off her shirt or puts on a dress.

Your hands will hold around her waist as she tries on each and every one of her dresses to see how she looks in them now. The blue dress from the first day at the thrift store, the one you wore for your first date, every dress, even the ones with the puffy skirts that Jimin got for her after she came out. The ballgowns and corsets and lingerie.

Tae is going to try on all of it. You're going to do her makeup and when you're finished, both of you will be covered in kiss marks from your belly button up. It won't even be sexual it will just feel like love.

You're going to take so many photos that you'll fill up your camera roll and ask for yoongi's phone instead. They'll be half boudoir and half not. Pictures of the two of you in each and every one of those new bras and underwear, photos of tae in this pose and that pose. Kisses on her cleavage and even lower.

She's going to not be able to take her eyes off of them in the mirror but the feeling of them squishing into your front when you hug will be something else entirely. You might have a second photoshoot just for you- a gift maybe for the rest of the pack, you and Tae bare. One chest pressed to another, nothing between the two of you.

Tae will be a bit obsessed with them, will be a little bit proud of them. they'll be perfect.

She's perfect.

But that's for later. Right now, Tae takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

~-~

Notes:

-sometimes i worry that i'm starting every chapter of bily the same way and while i know i started the letter to my dead cat this way, i hope this is the fist chapter of bily i've started with the line of summer polishing it's rusty claws. Because thats what i'm refrencing, my old cat, i miss her every day. Barely a day goes by that i don't miss her. we're planting cat nip over her grave this summer. i think hobi probably does the same when noodle dies.

-90% certain that namjoon is reading one of the Bridgerton books when they’re at the beach, I love the idea of him being like “don’t fall for it Penelope, make him work for it” when it comes to pollin you know? Like namjoon would be so cute and so so into it.

-Okay but??? I actually got emotional thinking about noodle and Hobi smelling flowers together. You’re telling me noodle went from living in a 2 x 2 cage to having his own garden and 8 humans that love him 🥺 stop I just know he’s so happy. I’ve also decided that noodle is 8 years old. I think that feels like the right age for him.-

-Not to be unintentionally soft but I think the act of putting on sunscreen for someone else might but the most drawn out act of loving there is, when jin does it he’s taking care of the packs future health, a sort of daily effort that shows the investment and that he’s invested in their health for a long time :( I personally think it’s a very soft way of loving.

-i feel like at one point in the future hobi and the m/c actually do try doing oral sex on each other but it's way way too much of a trigger for both of them- hobi especially with pussy, that he tries it once and decides he doesn't want too do it for trauma reasons and both of them are so very cool with it. especially because all of the other alpha's do eat her out fairly regularly and jungkook loves sucking cock so- one thing i like about the bily pack is that they're all so sexually active that everyone gets what they need without hose needs imposing on any of the other packmates.

-the part where hobi and the m/c are like "you're the shame of the regimine.", "what do your suprieriors do with you." is a quote from the 1996 pride and prejudice movie, in my mind i think it's one of their inside jokes with tae too! hopefully people get it.

-yoongi is so cute telling her that he got a nibble on his bait like- i can just picture him being so excited and gummy smiling at her when he sees her. i feel like yoongi might be a tiny bit unaware that she's having a bad day, but their relationship is more equal this way when he's not like- hingeing his entire self worth on weather or not she's okay. i think about them post and pre moonbyul and i think this is one of their diffrences post moonbyul

-i think that the conversation that tae and jimin where having before the m/c walked up went something like this. "i feel like this morning, she might not have wanted it but she didn't tell me." "you should ask her before you ruminate on it any more." "i know i know, it's just hard." "thats not what has you upset today though, you're blaming yourself for that for a reason." "don't tell on me," "i'm not, i just know you." "i don't look good today and it's stupid, it's stupid to be upset about it when the pup- when jungkook- it's stupid to worry about how i look when there's so much going on." "it's not stupid, not when it's you." "i feel like if i hadn't been jealous this morning, i might have noticed that she wasn't into it." "tae, you still don't know if she was even upset." or something like that.

-i know it's silly, but i absolutely love the part where the m/c tells tae she ate her cherry and she's remorseless about it. like thats so /her/ she has such a personality to her you know? i don't think she'll ever be a true reader insert.

-I did not mention namjoon's dick in the shower scene because i knew i would get side tracked if i did.

-the line of 'i believe you' is because clover told me that this last time she visited and honestly, i don't think anyone's ever believed me before. it was the first time anyone told me that they belived me. like- someone /belives/ me??? how wild is that???? i know she loves bily more than anyone and i wanted to make sure i put bits of her in this story too. i haven't told her it will be in here but i hope she reads it and knows its from her without even having to read the notes. i sorta wanted to send her this chapter of bily early because she was sick but i also! wanted it to be perfect and a good surprise <3

-this might be an unpopular opinion but i think tae looks the best in yellow.

-i helped a trans friend of mine remove their boobs in 2020 so i'm hoping that getting a boob job is a similar process/recovery time. they told us the surgery would only last 2-3 hours but we where there for 18 because of pre and post op.

-the drug section where tae is being dumb was a last minute addition- i hope people think it's funny as opposed to thinking it's stupid.

-i actually got really emotional writing that ending i hope...i hope one day being trans won't be so scary. i hope each and every trans person gets a moment like tae's a moment where they love their body and love themselves as much as they love the people around them. i hope your body loves you back. i hope you never stop trying or dreaming.

[snail-day]

Inked: Daddy's Girl

Tattoo Artist! Sukuna x Reader

Previous // part 3 // masterlist

WC: 3k

TW: Yandere Behaviors (possessive & manipulation), Very Toxic Established Relationship, Mean/Jealous Sukuna, Dubcon/Noncon themes, Big Age Gap (Reader is twenties, Sukuna is pushing forty) , Oral m!receiving, Rough sex, use of piercings. Use of Daddy.

A/n: Was going to do Toji instead but...I don't think Toji would like to be called daddy gives him like ptsd

Tattoo Artist Boyfriend!Sukuna who’s rough around the edges - hell, he's nothing but rough edges. Sharp tongue, inked hands, always smells like cigarette smoke and motor oil. He’s the kind of man people glance at twice: once in curiosity, and once in warning. Definitely not the kind they expect to see with someone like you.

You, with your young pretty voice and starry eyes. Barely in your twenties, still figuring yourself out - meanwhile, Sukuna’s pushing forty and already decided you’re his, even if your parents kicked your sweet ass out the house.

He doesn't know how he managed to get you wrapped around his finger. Some nights, he looks at you curled against his chest and thinks you should know better. Thinks you’ll wise up one day.

But not today. Not when you're clinging to his arm like he's gravity. Not when you sit pretty beside him at late-night yakuza dinners, decked out in silk, lip-gloss, and shy little smiles. The Zenin boys tease him for it.

“Robbing the cradle, huh, Ryo?” Teasing him in-betwen sips of beer, if they weren't clients he'd be knocking their eyes out for gawking at your chest. They just love watching what's his. What keeps his bed warm at night. Watching the way you lean into him like you don’t hear a word. He just grins in response - sharp and cocky -tightening his burley-inked arm around your waist.

“Jealous?” he fires back, and lets his hand rest just a little too low. Palm hitching up the hem of your mini dress, enjoying the way you hide your warm cheeks, muttering to stop. It's cute really. Like a little bunny.

Sometimes - rarely - he thinks about how he’s your first for almost everything. Your first boyfriend. First kiss. The first man to touch you like that. That he probably shouldn’t have taken so much from someone so soft, so new.

But then he always remembers the way your body folds for him, soft pliant skin for his roughened hands, how your voice breaks when you moan his name, how you cry when you come - clinging to him like he’s the only thing that makes you feel real. Any hint of guilt burns away. You were too young to know what you needed.

Lucky for you, he did.

Yeah, you’re young. Sweet. Barely know what the hell you’re doing.

But you’re his.

Can’t just be letting go of a perfect little cunt that milks his cock every night. It does something to him, makes him think, just for a second, that maybe he actually loves you.

So it’s not exactly something he plans on fixing anytime soon.

He likes being your first for most things.

Except your first tattoo.

You weren’t stepping foot into his shop. Sukuna’s old school - heavy lines, bold color, blackwork sleeves and dragon back pieces that take twenty hours. Not some dainty little butterfly above the hip. That’s not his style, and he told you flat-out: “I ain’t doing none of that delicate princess shit.”

Besides, he knows you. Knows how you squirm and pout, whine and wriggle at the slightest sting. The brat in you would turn a two-hour session into four, just for attention. (Not that he doesn’t enjoy putting you in your place, but not with gloves on and a machine buzzing in his hand.)

So he didn’t care where you went. Really. As long as the work was clean and they didn’t leave a mess on your skin, he wasn’t gonna throw a fit.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But then you came home. Face glowing, bandage peeking out from under your cute little top, practically bouncing as you beamed, “Look! It’s done!”

Of course he was gonna have a look. Had to make sure they didn’t botch it. Had to check the lines, the shading, the healing wrap. Make sure you weren’t upcharged just for being sweet-faced and clueless.

But when you peeled back the wrap, soft skin shining, ink still fresh - his red eyes narrowed. It was pretty. Clean. Finer than he expected. What kind of prissy-ass artist did you go to for this kind of work?

Then he looked closer. And his lip curled. Hidden in the curve of a line. Subtle. Too subtle for you to notice. But he noticed. Of course he did. Only an experienced artist would catch it.

Someone marked their fucking claim.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed over it like he was double-checking. Like maybe he imagined it.

He didn’t.

G.S. Right there swirled into the shading.

His stare went flat.

Geto.

The Gojo clan’s favored pretty boy. Well besides the yakuza clan head. Though Geto, the soft-spoken, smirky bastard with his fancy upscale studio and staged Instagram shots. The one blowing up online with dotwork and minimalist florals like tattooing was some kind of aesthetic lifestyle brand instead of a craft.

Who the fuck puts plants in a tattoo studio and cares about natural lighting?

Geto’s only been featured twice. Meanwhile, Sukuna has been praised, published, and respected for years. He told you that. Told you which artists were safe. Gave you a list. Vetted portfolios. Studios run by pastel-haired girls with gentle hands and sterile tools.

He expected you to go to one of them.

Not to Geto fucking Suguru.

And now that signature’s engraved into your skin.

Of course, Sukuna wasn’t going to throw a fit - not to you, no, no. You’re just his sweet little babe who wanted to look all cool for her older boyfriend that clearly all your friends hate. Catching onto how you're babbling on and on about how Utahime has been friends with Geto. He gets it. Wanted to surprise him, maybe impress him a little. That pretty head of yours wasn’t thinking about hidden signatures or rival artists marking their claim. You were just excited.

And besides, he didn’t have the time to deal with it. He had a full backpiece to draw up for some cocky kid in the Zenin clan, and frankly? He had better things to focus on.

Like the way you look when you’re under his desk, mouth stretched and drooling around his cock while he sketches between grunts and praise. You always find the perfect way to “help” him work.

So, no, he didn’t bring it up. Didn’t mention the initials, or how Suguru must’ve known exactly who you belonged to when he etched those tiny letters into your skin.

But when Sukuna came home from his three-day trip? He wasn’t exactly expecting you to be bashful.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You’re not lounging on the leather couch of his apartment, not curled up in his bed, not running into his arms like you usually do the second he comes back from a trip. You’re in the hallway - half-hidden behind the doorframe like a guilty little bunny, wrapped up in the sheer silk robe he bought you for Valentine’s. The one that barely covers anything. The one he told you was “just for Daddy’s eyes.”

Thin as mist, the sheer fabric clinging to your body, doing nothing to hide the swell of your breasts or the slight stiffness of your nipples pressing through the fabric.

His red eyes narrow into slits.

“You gonna come greet Daddy properly or what?” he drawls, voice low and rough from travel, tinged with irritation, but there's that dangerous gleam in his red eyes. The kind that always means he knows something’s up.

You step out slowly. Bare feet soft against the floor. Fingers nervously tangled in the belt of your robe.

“I… I have a surprise for you, Kuna.��

Sukuna raises a pink brow, drops his duffel on the couch with a heavy thud.

“Yeah?” he says, stepping toward you. “Better be worth the fuckin’ wait.”

You nod, eyes wide and shimmering with anticipation. Then, with trembling fingers, you untie the robe.

It slips from your shoulders and slides down your arms, pooling at your feet.

His gaze drags over your body like smoke, slow and burning with lust.

And then he sees them.

Two silver barbells pierced neatly through your nipples, still pink from the needle, skin taut and freshly marked. They're healing. They're new.

They're not from him.

Sukuna goes completely still.

He steps forward. Then again. Close enough for you to smell the leather and cigarette smoke on his jacket, that manly scent that always makes your head spin. You try to speak - try to explain, defend yourself, maybe soften whatever expression has just settled across his face - but he silences you with nothing more than a sharp grin.

“Well, well…” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand lifts. “Look at you. Princess is getting a little bold now.”

He cups one breast, rough palm warm over your soft skin. His thumb brushes lightly over the metal, and you flinch, just enough to make his grin widen.

“Still sore?” he asks, all faux sweetness.

You nod quickly, lip trembling. His palm tightens. His other hand lifts too, thumb and forefinger teasing the other barbell, rolling it with ease. Just enough pressure to sting. Just enough to make you gasp, one of his favorite little sounds.

“And who did it?” he asks, even though he already knows. He remembers that offhand little story you told him before he left, how Geto had mentioned piercings. How you’d laughed about it, brushing it off like nothing.

The question isn’t for confirmation.

It’s for you.

For a sweet little thing who should know better.

“Geto,” you whisper, like maybe saying it quietly will make it sting less.

Sukuna laughs. A quiet, mean sound that transforms to an amused hum, stepping closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Geto’s real fuckin’ bold, huh? Touching my girl’s tits. Thought he could leave his little signature and poke you full of steel?”

His tongue clicks. “Tch. Should’ve come to me, princess. You know I would’ve done it for you.”

You shiver, lashes fluttering, bottom lip caught in your teeth. He leans in, his mouth dragging over your jaw, hot breath curling against your skin.

“You let him touch you here?” His thumb presses down - hard - on the piercing, and a whimper escapes. “Let him roll these sweet little tits around in his hands? Let him make you flinch? Cry a little?”

You try to shake your head, but your voice is stuck somewhere between shame and arousal.

“Don’t worry,” he croons, fingers now rolling both piercings between calloused fingertips. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t know any better.”

His voice drops to a whisper, soft and vile.

“Didn’t know Daddy would’ve loved to watch your eyes go glassy from the sting. Bet Geto was real gentle, huh? Took his time. Spoke to you nice. What a good little professional.”

You make a small, wounded sound clearly embarrassed, overwhelmed and it only makes him grin grow wider. His hand slides behind your neck, firmly, guiding you to look up at him.

“But now I gotta clean up his mess.” Pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours, the air thick and hot and possessive. “Now I gotta remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

His hand slips to the back of your hair, rough fingers curling tight, guiding you through the hallway, you’re something he owns and he expects you to understand that. You follow without resistance, robe forgotten on the floor, the cool air brushing your bare skin, making your new piercings ache.

He leads you to the full-length mirror in the bedroom - the one he usually watches you through when he’s got you bent over the edge of the bed, when he wants you to see what you do to him.

But this time? He positions you in front of it. Chest bare. Legs trembling. Face flushed.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, settling behind you, one hand on your hip, the other sliding slowly up your stomach. “Real proud of yourself, huh?”

You try to shake your head, stammer something soft and along the lines of that it was a gift of sorts, but he shushes you with a low hum, nose brushing the side of your neck.

His hand moves higher.

Fingers ghost over one of the barbells, tugging just enough to make you gasp, watching your reflection as your eyes flutter and your lips part.

“Pretty little things,” he murmurs, rolling the piercing between thumb and forefinger. “Too delicate for my style, but you do wear them well.”

He pinches, just a bit harder, and your breath catches. His voice is right against your ear now.

“You let him touch you here? Mark you up while you squirmed on his table?” A small chuckle. “Bet you made those same little sounds too. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

Your throat tightens.

“Say it,” he presses, watching you in the mirror. “Tell me what he did.”

You blink up at your reflection, lips trembling. “He… he touched me.”

“Where?”

“M-my chest.”

“Like this?” Sukuna’s palm covers your breast completely now, fingers digging in, his thumb brushing over the piercing again, gentler this time - a rare softness. “Was it like this, baby?”

“N-no,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “Not like that. It wasn’t like this.”

That pleases him. You feel it in the way his mouth presses against your neck, the low grunt that rumbles from his chest.

“No,” he agrees, “’Cause he’s not the one you fuck at night.” His other hand comes up, cupping your other breast now, both pierced nipples under his control, sore and swollen and so, so sensitive. He massages slowly, never breaking eye contact with your reflection.

“You know who they belong to now, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“They’re yours,” you whisper, barely audible. Tears clinging to your lashes as you force yourself to look at his red eyes that seem to be holding you in place.

A low growl escapes his throat, satisfied. “Damn right they are.” And then he’s guiding you down to your knees - still in front of the mirror - because he wants you to see exactly what happens to bad little girls who let another man mark their body.

He doesn’t even have to say it - you sink to your knees for him like it’s instinct. Like your body already knows what to do when he gets like this. Your knees press into the hardwood floor, cold against bare skin, as Sukuna stands behind you, gaze fixed on your reflection. His fingers thread through your hair, slow and firm, guiding your face toward his belt.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he mutters, voice rough, thumb dragging across your cheek. “You’re gonna watch yourself while I fuck your mouth - see what it looks like when someone who owns you uses what’s his.”

Your fingers tremble as you reach up to undo his belt, and he lets you, watching the way your hands shake with anticipation. When you pull him out, thick and hard, already leaking for you, he even got a special tattoo just for you. A black thick line at the base of his cock. So that way your pretty little mind knows where to stop everytime.

“Open,” he commands, and you do, lips parted, tongue flat, eyes wide, flickering to the mirror and up at that toothy grin of his.

He slides in slow at first, letting you feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, but the second your eyes flick up in the mirror - watery, pleading, already so full of him down the column of your throat, his control cracks.

His grip tightens in your hair.

“You’re gonna choke a little,” he chuckles, voice a rasp as his grip tightens around your hair, roughly shoving the full length down, ignoring your choking gags as you tap his thigh for air, nails digging into the skin. “But you’ll take it. You let another man touch what’s mine, so now you’re gonna earn me back.”

He starts moving - hips rolling slow but deep, the kind of pace meant to leave a bruise in your throat. You gag, whimper, spit starting to drip down your chin, but your eyes stay locked on the mirror like a good girl, watching yourself get undone.

“Look at that,” he snarls, fucking deeper. “Suguru ever see you like this? With tears in your eyes and cock in your throat?”

You make a wet, broken sound around him, and he grins.

“That’s right. He didn’t. And he won’t.”

He pulls out with a wet pop, letting you gasp for air, tears streaking your cheeks, spit clinging to your chin. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over the vanity - hands pressed to yet another mirror, cheek against the glass.

“See those piercings?” he murmurs, grinding his cock against your ass. “They’re cute. Real cute. But you know what they’re missing?”

You sob out a weak “W-what?”

“My fucking bite marks.”

And when he pushes in, rough, hard, and possessive, it knocks the air right out of your lungs. Your pierced nipples brush the cold mirror, sending sharp little zings through your chest, while his hands anchor hard around your waist, pulling you back to meet every punishing thrust.

“Keep your eyes up,” he growls when your head starts to drop, hands reaching for some form of stability, silent looks into his gaze to slow down because the words refuse to escape your throat. “Wanna see your face while you cry for me.”

But he doesn’t let up. Why would he? Not even when you’re shaking. Not even when you’re babbling his name, your voice cracking between broken gasps. He fucks you until your legs give out, until the mirror is fogged with your breath, until your thighs are sticky, your skin bruised, and your pretty new piercings ache under the press of his chest.

You’re a mess, hair all tangled, makeup smeared, barely able to hold yourself up as he stays buried inside you, one large hand stroking over your hip like he’s trying to soothe you. As his cum threatens to spill out of your pulsing walls. His forehead rests against the back of your neck, breath hot, voice low and full of gravel when he finally whispers:

“Next time you want something pierced… you come to me. Got it?”

A weak nod in response, a soft, fucked-out “yes” falling from your lips. Before he's picking you up in his arms.

Neither of you hear the soft chime of your phone from where it sits charging on the nightstand, screen lighting up with a new message.

💜 Geto 💜: How are the new piercings? Did your boyfriend like them? 😊 I remember you mentioned needing a job while you’re in school - turns out I have an opening. Just desk work lol :) Message me if you’re interested.

Taglist: @the-proper-possum

[bellaxgiornata]

Life Worth Living |Chapter Three|

Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader Word count: 5k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Murdock Masterlist]

tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor

a/n: Finally a chapter that gives y'all a little breath from all the suspense. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kmc1989 @let-it-go-and-live-again @paracosmic-murdock @fries11 @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @frenchtoastix @1988-fiend @daisy-the-quake @energerstar @lilianashomaresparza

Unlocking the deadbolt and the door lock on your apartment door, you reluctantly swung it open to find your neighbor, Matt, standing just outside in the hallway. His hand slowly fell back to his side from where it had moments ago been knocking against your door as your gaze immediately began scanning him over. You noticed that his dark hair was mussed and the gray t-shirt and black sweatpants he was wearing were rumpled, as if he’d either just gotten out of bed or pulled his clothing on in a rush. The red glasses that he often wore were currently missing this evening, allowing you to take in the entirety of his face finally. 

The soft hazel of his eyes held your attention for far longer than you cared to admit as you studied the different flecks of color visible in them. They were creased in concern as they darted around your general direction, never focusing long in one particular area. That odd sensation you felt whenever he was near you was still there–the sensation that you’d noticed when you’d been back in your bedroom and he’d first begun knocking on your door. You could feel it running over your skin now in something like a light tickle as you studied him in return, noting that worried downward curve of his lips.

You hated to admit it, but he was attractive. There was something about him that just drew you to him–but whatever that something was, you weren’t certain you were ready to explore it. Not after him anyway.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked.

His voice broke you from your thoughts, drawing you back to the present. Clearing your throat, you realized that you’d been standing there in your doorway just quietly staring at him without so much as a greeting. Heat crept over your cheeks in faint embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him. Trying to steady your voice after that horrible dream you’d just had, you added on, “I just have nightmares. On occasion.”

“That was the screaming?” Matt asked, his eyes finally landing somewhere along your cheek.

You didn’t like that he’d caught that–your screaming. The amount of nightmares he must’ve overheard you having when you’d only moved here just over a week ago was certainly abnormal, and you didn’t want him asking questions any deeper than he currently was now. Because you were just a normal woman living next door to him–nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t need to be thinking anything otherwise about you. 

“Yeah, I uh, just had a nightmare,” you repeated awkwardly, your hand still gripping the door. “I accidentally knocked my lamp over when I woke up. Still adjusting to the new apartment and I was a little disoriented, you know?” you quickly half-lied. “Besides being incredibly embarrassed that you heard all of that, I’m fine. Really.”

Matt’s head tilted a bit to the side, his eyes noticeably narrowing at your words as they dipped down towards your chest. That strange tickle along your skin increased before you saw a muscle twitch in his cheek.

Something was definitely going on right now, and you had no idea what. It was driving you insane. Was he doing that? Or was it a reaction you were having to him?

Before you could ponder the question too much further, you spotted a cut along his left temple, on the opposite side of his face as that nasty bruise he’d had this morning. But that cut hadn’t been there when you’d run into him at his office, and you couldn’t help but stare at it. Where did he get it from in the hours since? 

“You’re bleeding,” you pointed out.

Matt’s lips twisted into a puzzled frown, his eyes raising from your chest to focus on your face. “I am?”

Your hand rose up in the space between you both, your fingers about to gently touch the left side of his face and brush back the hair along his temple to point out the cut for him, but you abruptly froze. The gesture seemed far too intimate–not something you should be naturally trying to do with a neighbor that you’d only briefly interacted with on three separate occasions now. That wouldn’t have been typical, appropriate behavior for someone. Dropping your hand back to your side, you found yourself grateful that he couldn't see what you’d foolishly been about to do.

"There’s a cut on your left side, near your temple,” you told him instead, your eyes fixed on the injury. “It's–it doesn't look too bad, but it probably should be cleaned up and bandaged." 

Biting your lip, you watched him gently raise a hand up towards his face. His fingers lightly touched the cut before he winced at the contact.

"I, uh, fell on the pavement earlier," Matt told you sheepishly, his hand lowering back to his side. "Didn't realize there was a crack in the sidewalk and my shoe got stuck. I tripped." He shrugged in an offhand way, one that seemed too practiced to be believable. "I'm pretty clumsy, I get injured often. Kind of comes with being blind." He let out a laugh, gesturing towards his eyes, but you continued to study him closely, feeling as if he sounded way too flippant. "I can take care of it in a bit,” he continued, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright after I’d heard the screaming."

Standing there observing him in the hallway–still very aware of the weird sensation passing over your skin in soft, uneven flickers–you felt your stomach nervously twist at his blatant concern over you. You didn’t exactly know what to feel about it. No one had ever shown you genuine concern before–you’d always just fended for yourself. And you’d long since come to realize that he had no idea what it meant to truly care for another person. 

At the thought of him, your dream resurfaced and a shudder raced through you. That all too familiar prickle of fear raised the hair on the back of your neck, your breathing growing a bit uneven.

He’s not here.

Raising a hand, Matt nervously scratched the back of his neck in the growing silence. He glanced towards the ground as he shifted his weight on his feet in front of you. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have bothered you," he apologized. "You don't know me that well and it's late and I'm making you uncomfortable. I'll just–"

"No," you shot out quickly, cutting off his rambling apology. 

He paused, eyes darting back up towards your chin as his brows raised at your blurted interruption. Standing there gripping your door tighter, you had absolutely no idea why you’d just responded like that. The word had just flown right out of your lips.

"No, you're not–I mean it's not," you spluttered. 

Stopping, you paused to take a breath in order to give your mind a chance to form a coherent thought. Matt stood there watching you patiently, but the strange way his attention on you made your skin tingle wasn’t helping you to think clearly.

"You're not…making me uncomfortable," you finally managed. "I appreciate the gesture. Checking on me, I mean. It's very kind of you to make sure your weird neighbor that woke up screaming from a nightmare is alright."

Matt shifted forward on his feet again, leaning a little towards you with a gentle smile on his handsome face. That odd fluttering in your stomach returned just before the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

Why did he have to be so damn attractive?

"I don't think you're weird, Olivia," he said softly. "We all have our demons."

Unable to resist, you huffed out an amused breath at his words. He didn’t even know the half of it where you were concerned.

Eyes shifting back to the cut along his temple, you chewed your lip in silent indecision. If he couldn’t see the injury, how well could he bandage it himself if you just let him go back to his apartment? He’d already been kind enough to check on you, would it be absurd to invite him in just to give him a quick bandage? Normal people would offer something like that, wouldn’t they?

"If you want to come in, I can clean up that cut," you offered hesitantly, uncertain of the suggestion still. "I might have a bandage in my first aid kit for it." Pausing, your hand tightened on your apartment door while you hoped that you hadn’t come across too forward–or as if you were implying anything else than first aid treatment. "If you want, I mean. You certainly don’t have to," you quickly added. 

A warm smile spread across his lips before he nodded. "I would like that, actually," he replied. "Thank you." He held up his hand in the space between you both, one brow quirking up onto his forehead as he tentatively asked, “Would you mind guiding me in? I left my cane back in my apartment when I hurried out of the door.”

Slowly you reached out, gently taking him by the wrist and guiding his hand to your forearm. His fingers gripped gently around the bare skin, his thumb just once lightly sweeping across the delicate skin right over the pulse point along your own wrist. It almost felt like static electricity passed from his thumb to your skin at the touch and you tensed instantly. Eyes flying up towards his face, you caught the way his mouth very faintly twitched in response before his tongue darted out between his lips. 

Had he just…felt that, too? Or was this all just you?

Eyes running over his face, you attempted to make sense of why this man always elicited such a strange reaction from you, but then his head tilted to the side a bit, a small smile drawing over his lips. You realized a second later that you’d just been standing there with his hand on your forearm while staring at him again instead of guiding him into your apartment.

Quickly turning your head away from him, you winced at how ridiculous you probably appeared to him. Clearing your throat, you lead him into your apartment, shutting the door behind him after he stepped fully inside.

“Right, so, I’ll just lead you down the entry hall to my couch in the living room,” you told him, guiding him straight towards the piece of furniture. “Then I can grab my first aid kit.”

Once you’d gotten him settled onto your couch, you hurried off to your bathroom for the first aid kit you kept under the vanity. You grabbed a wet washcloth to clean the blood from him before you stepped back out into the hall, making your way down it to find him still seated on your couch where you’d left him. 

As you lowered yourself onto the cushion beside him, you tried to shake off the strange sensation still passing over your skin. Setting the first aid kit onto your coffee table, you turned towards him with the wet washcloth in your hand.

“I’ll need to clean the cut off first,” you said, eyeing the injury. “You’ve got blood dried along it.”

Leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees, Matt shifted so his gaze was facing forward, giving you easier access to his cut. 

“Do whatever you need to,” he replied.

Very gently, you grabbed his chin in one hand, tilting his head at an angle better suited for you. That brief flicker of something akin to static electricity felt like it momentarily passed over your fingertips before it disappeared, leaving you struggling not to focus too hard on the rough stubble and warm skin beneath your fingertips. 

With his face positioned where you needed it, you released his chin before brushing away the soft brown hair from his temple, your fingers holding it back and out of your way. Matt’s eyes fluttered closed beneath your touch as he leaned just marginally into your hand. You registered that subtle movement, swallowing hard before focusing on gingerly wiping the dried blood from his skin instead of trying to make sense of it. 

“So you know I’m a lawyer,” Matt said, breaking the growing silence. “What is it you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a programmer,” you answered him, remaining focused on your task. “I don’t do anything exciting, exactly. I create programs for companies to help with data storage among other boring things.”

“What uh…what made you choose that?” he asked curiously.

Pulling the cloth away from the now cleaned cut, you removed your hand from his hair, watching as it fell forward along his forehead. It wasn’t a deep cut, nothing remotely serious. Something you could have easily helped him with in another way–but you weren’t doing that. Not anymore.

Because you were normal.

“I don’t know exactly,” you admitted, setting the washcloth onto the coffee table. As your fingers searched your first aid kit for some ointment, you continued. “I guess I liked the idea of creating things. And programmers, in the right company, can make a decent living–though New York City is still expensive.”

Matt grinned at your comment, a faint breath of laughter falling out of him. “Yeah, you’re not wrong there,” he agreed. “But you work from your apartment, don’t you? Doesn’t that ever feel…isolating?”

Dabbing the ointment onto his cut, you found yourself so focused on your task and the conversation that you’d forgotten about the strange sensation along your skin. Though it was still rolling over you in gentle waves–almost in a comforting way.

“I don’t mind it,” you told him. “I like the quiet and the familiarity of my own space. The freedom to work from anywhere in the country, allowing me to move whenever I need a change of scenery. Gives me a certain sense of freedom, really.”

Shifting on the couch, you turned and began searching for a bandage that you could use. Your fingers sifting through the items in the bright red bag, you continued to speak, unaware that you were rambling on far past simply answering his initial question.

“I don’t usually like being surrounded by people, anyway,” you confessed. “I’m much more comfortable working in a space without countless co-workers or upper management watching everything you do. Observing you every single day. Monitoring you.”

As you’d brushed away the hair from his forehead with your pinky, your hands holding the bandage just above his cut, you paused. Realization dawned on you about how much you were oversharing, your face slightly heating. He didn’t need to know all of that.

“Sorry,” you abruptly apologized. “I didn’t realize I was babbling incessantly.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Matt quickly countered, a smile drawing itself across his face. “I like listening to your voice. It’s calming.”

Focusing on applying the bandage over his cut, you noticed that sensation across your skin growing a bit warm now. Somehow that made it even more distracting than it usually was.

“Thanks?” you said with an awkward smile. “I’ve uh, never been told that before.” 

Smoothing the bandage across his temple, you finished taking care of his small injury. Hands dropping back into your lap, you shifted a little away from him on the couch. 

“All done,” you said, voice a bit quieter now.

Matt turned on the couch, positioning himself towards you more fully. The warm smile on his face was now fully visible, his gaze focused just somewhere above your left shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he replied, gesturing a finger towards the bandage. “I appreciate the middle of the night medical care.”

Trying to bite back the smile on your face, you shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I appreciate the middle of the night safety check-in.”

An amused chuckle rumbled out of Matt before he reached a hand out in your direction, his palm somehow easily finding your knee. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and something about that simple and unfamiliar gesture had you stiffening on the couch. 

“Anytime,” he assured you, his hand releasing your knee. “But I should probably let you get back to sleep. It’s late.”

With a resigned sigh, you nodded in response. “Right,” you muttered half-heartedly.

Matt’s head tilted at your tone, his brows furrowing together as the smile slipped from his face. “Something wrong?” he asked.

Shaking your head, knowing that he couldn’t see the gesture, your thumbnail dug into the fabric of your sweatpants, toying with the cloth nervously. The last thing you felt like doing right now was going back into your bedroom and falling asleep again. Not after that nightmare.

“No, nothing,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “I just doubt I’ll be falling back asleep anytime soon. It’s not a big deal. Stupid, really.”

A moment of silence passed between the pair of you, your fingers still fidgeting with the fabric of your sweatpants. The thought of falling asleep and seeing his face again was far too much for you right now.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable,” Matt began hesitantly, “I can stay for a bit? To keep you company?”

Lips parting in surprise at his unexpected offer, you sat beside him in shock on your couch. He was offering to stay here for a bit? At this hour? Despite the strange Skin Tingle as you’d begun calling it in your mind, you found yourself tempted to accept his offer. His presence felt comforting and safe. But how absurd and childish would it look for a grown woman not wanting to be alone after a nightmare? And how would that not make him begin to wonder what was really going on with you?

“Honestly, I don’t mind,” Matt continued when you didn’t respond. “I can go into the office a bit later tomorrow morning if I need to. That’s the beauty of working for yourself,” he said with a grin. “It might upset Foggy for an hour, but I really don’t mind. It would actually make me feel better to make sure you’re really alright.” He cleared his throat before he sent you a hesitant, friendly smile. “If I’m not intruding, of course. I–I’m actually enjoying your company.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you considered his offer while trying hard not to focus on the last thing he’d said. The thought of being alone wasn’t a pleasant one, and he was offering to keep you company–quite insistently.

“I suppose if it’s not putting you out,” you answered him slowly. “And if it really won’t affect your work tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any problems.”

“Really,” Matt said, settling back onto the couch with a charming smile on his face. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay, well I–I’m just going to grab the broken bits of my lamp from my bedroom and toss them,” you told him, rising from the couch. “There’s like three pieces, it shouldn’t take me more than a moment.”

“I’ll be fine right here, unless you’d like some help?” he offered.

“No, it’s not a big deal,” you replied sheepishly, embarrassed that you’d even broken the damn lamp. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Hurrying down the hall to your bedroom, you stepped inside to see it in the same state you’d left it in earlier. Your sheets were still half thrown onto the floor from where you’d woken in a fit, and the bedside lamp was still broken in three pieces along the floor. Carefully stepping over to that side of the bed, you began collecting the broken pieces, making sure not to cut yourself in the process.

“So you said you don’t particularly enjoy being around a lot of people,” Matt called out as you began to make your way back down the hallway. “Can I ask what drew you to the city then? New York City seems an odd choice for you if that’s the case.”

You headed into the kitchen, tossing the lamp and its broken pieces into the garbage before glancing over at him on the couch. His arm was slung over the back of it, his head turned slightly towards where you stood in the kitchen. Unable to resist, a small smile tugged at your lips at the sight of him sitting there.

“I don’t,” you admitted. “Like being around a lot of people, that is. I lived in Anchorage, Alaska for a few years before I actually came here. I just wanted a change, I guess. Though Anchorage isn’t technically small–it’s actually the most populated city in Alaska. It’s certainly not New York City, though. But everything out there is sort of…secluded. It’s kind of what drew me there initially. The idea of getting lost somewhere.” 

Clearing your throat, you realized you were once again spilling far too much information to him. Instead, you stepped over towards an open shelf and pulled two glasses down. 

“I haven’t done much grocery shopping yet, so my hostess options are limited, but would you like some water?” you asked, attempting to change the subject a little.

“Yes, thank you,” Matt answered.

Brief silence filled your apartment as you filled up two glasses with water. Carrying them back towards the couch, you slipped one glass into Matt’s outstretched hand before taking a drink from your own. Your mouth felt incredibly dry as you attempted to navigate this personal conversation about yourself. 

“The coffee table is about a foot and a half in front of you,” you said, lowering your glass from your lips before sitting back down on the couch. “If you’d like to set your glass down.”

“Thank you,” Matt said, smiling as he leaned forward to do just that. As he once more sat back against the couch, his unseeing gaze landed in your direction again. “What was Alaska like? It seems a very unlikely location for one to just end up in.”

The ghost of a smile swept over your lips as you looked down at the cup in your hands, your fingers running over the cool glass beneath them. In your mind, you could easily recall the place you’d called home for a few years. Part of you missed it already.

“It was…beautiful,” you began, voice quiet, almost reverent. “I’d been traveling briefly right before having moved there,”  you told him, fighting hard to keep the memories attached to that period of time buried deep. “But I’d never seen any place like it. The mountains are massive. They tower behind Anchorage, just always in the distance, always standing so tall. I’d never seen anything quite like them before. And the forests…” 

Your voice trailed off as your eyes fell closed, remembering the forests. There’d been many times you’d disappeared in them for awhile just to escape from your own thoughts.

“They’re wild,” you continued softly. “Countless different types of spruce trees, cedars, and birches. Moss literally coats every inch of the forest ground like a green blanket. Everything is just so incredibly green and full of life.” That faint ghost of a smile was still drawn over your lips as you pictured Anchorage in your mind. “You could look up and spot bald eagles or magpies in the sky. There were always moose and their young on the side of the roads, or cutting through backyards in the city.” 

Opening your eyes, you noticed Matt’s had closed at some point while you’d been speaking. He looked as if he’d been trying to focus on imagining everything you were explaining himself. 

“You paint a beautiful picture,” he said quietly, his own eyes slowly reopening and focusing back in your direction. “It sounds like you loved it there.”

Exhaling quietly, you nodded your head. “I did,” you told him. “I loved hiking the trails, being out in nature. Tried a few outdoor activities, but I never got into the fishing or hunting out there–not really into the idea of killing things," you said quietly, an edge to your words.

Beside you, Matt’s expression softened. “So why’d you move out here?” he asked.

You hesitated for a moment at the question, uncertain with how honest you wanted to be with him. But with how you’d gotten to know his friends, Karen and Foggy, you had a feeling that Matt was someone you didn’t need to completely hide yourself from.

“Figured maybe…I’d feel less lonely,” you answered, giving him a weak shrug. “There’s only so much comfort trees and mountains can bring someone.”

“Did it help?” he asked curiously, his brows lightly drawing together. “Do you feel any less lonely since you’ve moved here? Surrounded by buildings and people instead of moose and trees?”

Pausing for a moment, you considered the question. That night you’d spent out with Karen and Foggy while they drank returned to you, a tiny smile curling your lips upwards at the memory. You’d had fun with them. Real, genuine fun. Something you didn’t think you’d felt before.

“I’ve been here one week and made a few friends already,” you responded. “So, yeah, I’d say so.”

“Good,” Matt replied, a warm smile crossing his face as his eyes creased at the corners. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Matt noticed the change in your breathing as soon as it gradually began to slow. You'd been steadily growing closer and closer to falling asleep as you sat beside him on your couch for the past half hour, narrating the late night movie for him that you'd both settled on watching. Despite the way your voice had eventually gotten a bit more slurred from exhaustion, Matt couldn't help but find himself focusing so intently on it.

He'd been honest earlier with what he’d told you–your voice was calming to him. Soothing in a way he hadn't experienced from anyone else before. He couldn’t help but want to continue listening to you speak, unsure why exactly your voice sounded just marginally different from anyone else's. As if there was the faintest pitch hidden in there that he couldn’t quite place. An odd, calming note that he’d never heard in someone’s voice previously.

You were a curiosity to Matt.

At first, he'd started paying attention to you after you’d moved in across the hall because he'd overheard the late night screaming coming from your apartment. He’d caught it that first night you’d been there. But then your late night terrors continued after that. Matt caught the sounds of them when he was heading back into his own apartment, undressing from his night out on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Or the noise of your panic had sometimes managed to even draw him straight from his own sleep, causing him to bolt wide awake at the shrill, scared sound. On occasion, Matt had even noticed the acrid tang of fear barreling across the hallway from your apartment, the pungent scent forcing its way into his own space periodically at different hours of the day. It was such a strong smell that Matt was incapable of ignoring it.

There was something off about you. Something different. And clearly something was troubling you–something he got the sense that you were hiding from. But he wasn’t going to push you to open up about it. Not yet, anyway. But that didn’t mean Matt wasn’t going to try to find some way to unravel your secrets.

But the nightmares and the strange tone in your voice wasn’t all that had Matt curious about you. He’d noticed it the first time he’d met you in the hallway with Foggy, and it had only become more evident to Matt tonight as he’d spent time in your apartment with you. Carefully rising from your couch, Matt turned around and gently grasped your sleeping form by the shoulders, that odd noise still humming in his ears. Even as he lowered you slowly down onto the couch, helping you to rest in a more comfortable position, he could still hear that peculiar sound.

Whenever Matt was close enough to you, he’d grown aware of the faintest humming that appeared to emanate directly from you. It was soft, almost imperceptible to his own sensitive ears, but he always heard it whenever you were near enough–and tonight was no exception. It was as if your body itself was vibrating somehow, creating this oddly unique and relaxing version of white noise in his ears. Or the gentle buzz of a handful of bumblebees. In all his years with his senses, all his time navigating the city, Matt had never come across another human being that actually made a sound. A sound that was something other than the usual noises of one’s body–heartbeats, breathing, grumbling stomachs, blood pumping through someone’s veins.

No. This was something else entirely. Something uniquely and frustratingly you. Something Matt desperately wanted to understand even more after his night here with you in your apartment.

Reaching his hand out above your sleeping form, Matt ran it along the back of your couch in search of the blanket he knew was there, the sound of the movie continuing to play on your television behind him. After a few seconds, Matt’s fingertips brushed over the plush, soft material. He took a moment, gliding his fingers back and forth over the silkiness of the blanket, appreciating the feel of it. The corner of his lips twitched before he removed it from the back of the couch and draped it over your sleeping form that was currently fast asleep on the cushions. He’d let you get some sleep for now, aware of how much your exhausted body clearly needed it. 

But as he maneuvered his way around your couch, heading towards your apartment door, Matt couldn't help but wonder about you. You seemed kind and genuine, perhaps a little awkward, but not someone who appeared to carry any ill-intent. So why did you seem so constantly filled with fear? What sort of nightmares plagued you so frequently that it woke you screaming and accidentally breaking lamps? And what the hell was with that faint vibration you emitted, or the weird way you reacted when he'd grabbed your wrist earlier?

Who were you? What secrets were you hiding?

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[disassembly-required]

So I know it's common for folks to headcanon Khan was always obsessed with doors, and that obsession was more or less an arbitrary passion he had... but I can't help but feel there's a really important detail that, when considered, suggests otherwise?

In episode 4, when Khan is showing the contents of "Nori's kooky insane ramblings" closet, one of the things he quotes Nori said was "build doors against the coming sky demons"

I feel this implies

a) building doors to protect from the murder drones (that she apparently had an intuition about) was Nori's idea

b) Khan, on some level, believed this was a "kooky insane rambling" and not something he took seriously

(important to remember Nori had some level of memory loss/disorganized cognition when she was recovered from the lab; Khan didn't know the significance of her history there, and Nori wouldn't have been able tell him everything, only these ominous bits and pieces that didn't entirely make sense.)

Therefore, c) Khan likely didn't even start building any doors before the murder drones came, since in the exposition intro, the workers were otherwise just living casually, not hiding away in the outpost.

So I'm led to believe perhaps... when the "sky demons" were real and they killed Nori, Khan felt responsible for her death because he didn't listen to her. He didn't build the doors.

And perhaps that's where his obsession stems from, that fatal mistake he never wanted to make again. And we can say it's pretty maladaptive, since he became so preoccupied with doors, he was more emotionally invested in them than Uzi. But in his mind, he must have thought his life's work WAS all for her, to keep her safe, where he failed Nori. Khan also became way too comfortable in his maladaptive coping, feeling SO sure behind his doors, he would never have to actually face a murder drone ever again.

All that said, it also puts his actions in the pilot into a bit of a different light, when he abandoned Uzi. I don't think Khan was simply frightened seeing a murder drone and acting cowardly. I think he was having a flashback and a panic response. I mean, Uzi's appearance takes after her mother, yeah? It must've reminded him of Nori being attacked, which is.. even more harrowing with the heavy implication N was the specific murder drone who killed Nori. Even if Khan didn't actively know it or recognize him, looking at N's face filled him panic. He was being brought back to Nori's death.

I think there's a few different reasons he may have chosen to close the door. I don't think it was done in a sound mind "this is clearly for the greater good, only losing one drone instead of the whole colony" thought process. I'm sure that was part of what he was weighing the best he could possibly process. But I think another reason may have been the fact that he already felt like he already failed Uzi, and by extent Nori once again, and he ....didn't want to see it happen again. Whether he didn't believe Uzi's gun was strong enough, or believed he wouldn't be able to aim, or believed wouldn't even have a shot at all before N attacked him too, ultimately he must've felt like the scene would play out the same (we are left to wonder if Khan tried to fight back when it was Nori...) and he didn't want to see Nori (through Uzi) die again.

Which sounds awful of course, but PTSD will do that to you. You'll make terrible, impulsive decisions because your mind is trying to protect itself from further damage. Had Uzi actually died, I think the regret would have hit him like a truck and destroyed him. I don't think he would have stood by a decision he made during a panic attack.

Anyway I got a little sidetracked re: Khan's trauma, but my main thesis here was: doors was Nori's idea. Khan didn't listen until it was too late. Then his entire world became doors.

[rodolfoparras]

Cw: 18+, single dad Price, top Male reader, one night stand, age gap, widower! Price

Summary: In which Price happens to hook up with his son’s boyfriend

Thinking about single dad Price who’s been single for many years but gets encouraged by his friends to try the dating scene. After finding no luck on dating apps, he tries going to a gay bar.

At first it's the same old story, men who just want him for the night, not much different from the men from the dating apps and he’s just about to give up when you show up.

He hadn’t planned to talk to you at first and you hadn't even tried to approach him but you had gotten your drinks mixed up and thus a conversation started up.

From the low light of the bar he could see that you were much younger than him, and for a second Price thought about cutting this conversation short because Price knew boys like you, boys who thought they could take on the world boys who didn’t even know what they really want.

But he didn’t want to cut the conversation short, and found himself intrigued by you. Besides you’re the only normal person that approached him tonight so why not?

The two of you spoke about anything and everything under the sun. He had even let it slip that he was a single dad who hasn’t been in the dating scene in a while but you didn’t seem to mind it at all, only giving him a soft smile in response as you continued to listen to him.

But every word exchanged, every time your gazes met, every accidental graze and touch Price had realized you were just his type.

And suddenly Price wanted you in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone since his late wife passed.

But you didn’t seem that much interested in having sex, instead you continued to sit with him at the bar, and talk to him.

Price thought it must’ve been because of his age, why would you want to hook up with an old man anyway?

But if Price has learned anything from the dating scene it’s that sometimes you have to take the first step and see where it leads you.

So he downed his drink, cleared his throat, and asked you if you’d like to come home with him.

You’d been surprised at first not expecting those words and Price almost took your hesitance for rejection but you quickly spoke up again, ending any doubts in his head, and only asking if he’s sure about it

Price felt heat creeping up his neck, ears and cheeks but nodded eagerly, pants growing tighter as the two of you walked to his apartment.

When he first stepped foot inside he thought you’d push him up against the wall rip his clothes off and crash your lips onto his, truth be told if you were to do that he wouldn’t mind it but instead you hung your jacket up and put your shoes to the side and looked around the apartment , with a curious look in your eyes.

Price tried to scramble his brain for something to say. It had been so long since he brought someone home, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say anymore but all of sudden his thoughts are cut off by the sound of your voice “Is that a picture of you in the army?”

“Hm? Oh yeah” Price nodded in response as you inspected one of the pictures hung on the wall.

It had been one he’d taken with the rest of tf141, a keepsake for when he went into retirement.

“You were a captain?” You said, voice full of wonder as you continued to inspect the picture.

“Been plenty of things kid, I spent many years in the army” Price shrugged in response and walked closer to you, so that your shoulders were brushing up against each other.

“I always wanted to enlist but never passed the physical test,”

"Yeah?" Well it’s not all what it’s cut up to be, I got a bad knee and ptsd from the years spent serving”

“I’m sorry” you said, and turned to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be,”

Your gaze dropped down to his lips, as your arms snuk around his waist

“Price,”

“John” he corrected and leaned further into your embrace.

“John, can I kiss you?” You said, hand cupping his cheek and stroking flushed skin.

“Please” before he knew of it you crashed your lips onto his and he lost himself in the feeling of finally being kissed, in the way you tasted, the way your sweet cologne engulfed his senses, the way you licked into his mouth as if trying to memorize every nook and cranny.

It didn’t take much before you were stumbling into his dark bedroom, but instead of ripping the clothes off of his body you were gentle as ever as you slipped pieces of clothing off of him, all while trailing kisses all over his skin.

But it didn’t end there because you were gentle as ever as you pushed him onto the bed, and ever so careful as you crawled up the mattress and pinned him down under your weight and Price couldn’t help the butterflies that swarmed his stomach.

You spent the night taking him apart with your hands and mouth, having him perched on your lap as he worked himself up and down on your cock, or having him sobbing into the sheets as you fucked him into the bed that his wife and him used to sleep in, even having him screaming -crying enough to make him worry that the neighbors’ would complain in the morning.

When he woke up the next day you weren’t with him in bed but you had left a sticky note saying you had to rush home for whatever reason.

Luckily you had left your number on it but Price didn’t have the courage to call.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and he’d forgotten about the young man that had given him the world in just one night until one day you showed up at his front door and introduced yourself as his son’s boyfriend.

[sunday-bug]

Congressman Barnes is trying to pass a proposal regarding military PTSD healthcare and when the reader doesn’t understand why it’s so personal to him he has to explain more about his past than he’d like to

platonic Congressman!Bucky x reader aide blurb for this one ☺️

"I just don't understand why you're working so damn hard on this particular proposal, Congressman. You're putting all your eggs in one basket here," you say, gesturing to all the paperwork and research strewn across Bucky's desk.

Bucky huffs and sits back in his chair, locking eyes with you and crossing his arms, glaring sternly.

"Sorry, sir, there are just a lot of other proposals we need to get through," you clarify, holding up a large stack in your arms.

"Well, they can wait. This one is important," he asserts. "Set the others on the filing cabinet. I'll get to them when I get to them."

You press your lips into a tight line, not wanting to cross a line, but also knowing that you are responsible for helping Congressman Barnes meet his deadlines. You put the stack of policy proposals on the filing cabinet and sit in one of the chairs across from Bucky.

"You'll need to get through them by the end of the week, sir," you stress, wringing your hands in your lap.

"I said I'll get to them when I get to them," he grumbles, brow furrowing in frustration before going back to work on the proposal he's spent way too much time poring over.

"What's so important about this proposal anyway?" You ask, exasperated with his stubbornness.

Buffy huffs again, clearly annoyed with you, "You really don't know much about me, do you?"

"Sir?" You swallow, not sure what he means by that.

"What do you know about me? About my past?" He stares at you, waiting.

You don't say anything, just shrug slightly, a flush heating your cheeks from embarrassment.

"I... I took this job because you were the first person to hire me. I just needed steady work, sir," you explain quietly, barely making eye contact with him. "I should have, um... researched more about you. I apologize."

Bucky's gaze softens a bit, like he realizes he was coming on too strong, "No, no, it's okay. I'm... I'm sorry. This is just important to me. That was rude." He sighs deeply before standing up and walking around his desk to sit in the chair beside you.

You look up at him, still a bit wounded.

"I'm a veteran," he explains. "I went through... a lot, frankly, that we don't have to get into, but healthcare for veterans and PTSD policy is extremely important to me. It's part of who I am, and I want to fight to make sure that anyone else that's gone through Hell and back is able to come home and seek refuge... find peace... just be."

You nod, reaching out to touch his clothed arm gently, "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know. I understand how this is near and dear to you now. It's a worthy cause, absolutely."

"Yeah, it is," he agrees stoically, gazing out the window with a wounded expression.

"And sir..." you start, swallowing, not wanting to overstep, "if you'd ever like to tell me more about it, I would love to listen. I know I'm your aide, but I could also be a friend if you need one."

His eyes flit back to you and he gives you a soft smile, "Thank you, but some of the things I've seen... the things I've done... it's too much for you to hear about." He stands up and moves back to the chair behind his desk.

"Whatever happened, you're a good man, Congressman Barnes," you nod curtly. "You can spend your whole life ruminating on the past or you can do your best to affect positive change for the future. I can see what you're doing now, and I think you can feel it, too."

Bucky looks at you again, but this time his eyes have widened a bit, "Thank you," he says, quietly tacking your name on at the end.

"You're welcome, Congressman. I wouldn't work for someone I didn't believe in."

-the end-

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