#forth piece of this au puzzle

[kankuroplease]

KisaSaku warm up because I need to draw more of my favorite multisaku ships~

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Kinda Dark/thriller, sterek au??

Corrupt deputy Derek hale and Genius Sheriff’s son Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles keeps trying to convince his dad that a bunch of random crimes are connected. His dad wants to believe him but there isn’t a lot of evidence that suggests Stiles theory. And no “gut feeling” doesn’t count.

Storming out of his father office after another argument over the series of crimes which stiles believes has ramped up and has a higher body count. He gets to his jeep and it just won’t start, stiles is frustrated and tearing up. It’s late and starting to rain and stiles really doesn’t want to go back in and ask his dad for a ride but also doesn’t want to walk home.

When one of his father deputies, Derek Hale offers him a ride. Stiles hesitates to agree, he’s never really spoken to Derek— no matter how much he’s wanted to. Stiles has definitely noticed the tall, dark, and handsome deputy even since he’s started working at the station— he feels like prey under Derek’s eyes. In the end he agrees due to the heavy rain. He calls a tow trunk and climbs into Derek’s Camaro. They end up stopping at a diner and stiles unloads his connected crime theory onto Derek. He knows something is up with these crimes but he just doesn’t have the last price of the puzzle. Derek looks smugly pleased with himself.

Derek drives stiles home and insists on walking him to his door. Derek warns Stiles to be careful and that he will personally look into Stiles theory. Just as derek gets back into his car to leave he asked to see stiles again. So they exchange numbers.

They text back and forth for awhile, before Derek informs stiles that he thinks he caught the prep behind the crimes. Stiles heads down to the station that night, pretending to just drop dinner off with his dad. As he leaves Derek gestures to a criminal in lock up. Theo Raeken.

He was originally one of Stiles suspects but after looking further into the crimes and his rap sheet, Stiles ended up crossing him off the list. Stiles ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and heads over to talk to him. But the moment stiles makes eye contact with Theo, he goes insane. Throwing himself at the bars separating them, screaming his name and other profanities.

A few officers attempt to stop him, while Derek and his dad pull stiles out of the station. His dad checks in with him to make sure everything is okay before asking Derek to drive him home.

Stiles ‘subtly’ asks Derek on how he was lead to Theo and why he arrested him. Derek just says that he didn’t have anything concrete on Theo and wanted to interrogate him. Stiles pointed out why he crossed Theo out of his suspect list, derek gives a small hum, and tells stiles he just wanted to double check. They end up talking the entire ride home and when they arrive, Derek asks for a date and stiles agrees.

The next morning when his father shifts ends they meet up for breakfast. His dad ends up telling Stiles that Theo escaped custody sometime last night, and to be extra careful becuase Theo seemed fixated on him. Stiles brushes him off.

Later that day stiles gets texts from a random number.

This behaviour amps up over the following weeks, including gifts being left in stiles apartment, pictures of him being found and so on. His dad believes that it’s Theo stalking him but Stiles isn’t sure. Stiles begins to spend more time with deputy Derek as a result. He ends up falling fast and hard for Derek. Feeling completely safe with him during this hard times.

I’m not really sure how to end it but I’m thinking that stiles end up finding Theos body at one point, or maybe his phone at Derek’s house. They end up going in a date and back to Derek house for a little dessert, and a few hours later stiles wakes up and finds that last piece of the puzzle. The one connecting the all the crimes and the perp. Coming to the realization that it was Derek all along, while Derek is standing behind him. Derek let out a small chuckle, cooing at stiles shaking form. Holding stiles chin between his fingers and leaning down for a kiss. Telling stiles that he never gotten away with it without his help.

I also can’t decide if this is mafia hale family and spy on the inside Derek, or serial killer Derek or killer werewolf hale family and spy on the inside Derek. Or if he is still a werewolf in this au. I’m leaning towards werewolf because it just gives it that extra horror/ predator vibes.

Also up to you guys if stiles car wouldn’t start because of coincidence or because of Derek.

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

ji changmin x gn!reader

1.3k words, est. relationship au, hurt/comfort, minor fluff but more angst?, a bit of silliness, mentions of work pressures, neck kisses, intimacy, mentions of playful biting, pretty much not beta'd or proofread (past my bedtime; written in an hour)

a/n: @kimsohn saw some of the goofiness first <3 ily (*breathes in deeply* idk what im doing guys. anyways, this belongs in the category labeled "i get yappy and sappy when im existentially exhausted")

In the dark, the clock on top of the oven screamed “3:22AM” in angry, red light. You stumbled past it, vision blurry and footsteps as quiet as you could make them against the hardwood. Your bones ached to the marrow and you could feel the blood throbbing violently in your skull; you could not sleep.

It had been three hours of tossing and turning before you completely gave up and slipped out into the kitchen. Usually, it wasn't too difficult for you to fall asleep, but alas, there would always be exceptions.

You managed to find the opened bag of tangerines on the kitchen counter, the orange, wiry mesh already torn from the last person who'd grabbed one to snack on. As your eyes grew accustomed to the dark, you dug your nail into its skin and began to peel it open.

Through your daze, you just barely registered the sound of the bedroom door opening—footsteps followed after and came closer; they weren't trying to stay quiet like you were, as there wasn't any reason to anymore. Hands patted you down from your shoulders to your arms until they could settle comfortably around your waist; his body slid flush against your back like a puzzle piece, still warm from being in bed. Hair tickled the underside of your jaw as he nestled his chin into the crook of your shoulder, the ghost of his breath fanning across your skin like a caress, relieved.

“Did I wake you?” You murmured, forcing yourself awake a little as you felt him lean more of his weight against you.

A low hum. “Bed got cold.”

The corners of your mouth tilted upward as you stuck a piece of fruit into your mouth—it was summer; the bed couldn't have been cold. Juice spilled over your tongue in a comfortingly sweet tang, and you went for another. “Sorry, love. Do you want some?” You asked, holding onto a piece of tangerine.

“Mm-mm,” Changmin hummed, shaking his head with a slight movement. You felt his arms give your body a squeeze. “Are you okay?” He asked, voice small.

You shoveled the remainder of the tangerine half into your mouth, hands reaching for another one to keep yourself busy as you chewed, then swallowed. “Tired.”

“Is it the thing?”

Just the thought of the thing—the project you were given charge of at work—made you wish the ground would swallow you up. Your hands stilled on the orange.

The project was the first you were given a manager role for, as they thought it appropriate because you came up with the idea, but it seemed to only be an excuse to overload you with every Herculean task they could think of. You were practically chained to your cubicle desk until day's end, only leaving to go to the bathroom and attend another god forsaken meeting. Where home was supposed to be for rest, you were often slumped over the dining table, stressing yourself silver.

The thought of Monday… no, you couldn't think of Monday. You'd gone so long working on this thing—how could they make you loathe an idea that you proposed?

At your lack of an answer, there came a small breath against your neck. His thumb gently rubbed your side back and forth, the ebb and flow of the tide. “I'm sorry, baby. I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm proud of you.”

“It does mean something,” you countered quietly, and moved one of your hands to place it over his that rested over your stomach. “I'm just—I hate it here sometimes.”

The two of you seemed to sigh at once, your chests raising up then deflating in tandem. It made the knots in your shoulders loosen for just a moment, and you could release some of the strain keeping you tight and awake.

“One more,” he coaxed lowly. “In—”

You both slowly pulled air up through your nose to fill the caverns in your chests.

“—Out.”

As all things came and went, so too did this breath.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips pressing something sweet against your throat.

You were too tired to cry, but you might have just then. Sometimes it was just a project, but other times it was everything to you. It was born from your two hands, your brains, your back, your bones. Plenty of blood, sweat, and tears had seeped into every proposal and presentation, but you could never tell if it was enough. Would it ever be enough?

Changmin's head shifted as you snuck another piece of orange past your lips. “Remember,” he said, “when we were in college, and I let you text girls on my Hinge?”

Your mouth sweetened into a smile at the memory. “It was only because I let you text the guy who'd given me his number.”

“He was so lame—he clearly just wanted you to go see that new Stephen King movie so he could hold your hand.” You could feel him roll his eyes in the dark, though his voice remained syrupy with sleep.

You held back a snort. “That's the point, hon. If I remember correctly, the pick-up lines I used on those girls actually worked.”

“Crazy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. You chewed on the next piece of fruit, swallowing it down before speaking again. “At least one of us has game.”

You felt the light pressure of his teeth against your shoulder, and you let out a surprised laugh. You didn't jerk away though—awfully used to your partner's strange language of affection—but you did push back against his forehead in lighthearted reprimand. “We talked about the biting.”

“Yeah, and you said you liked it.”

It was a good thing you didn't have fruit in your mouth. You warmed the slice of orange in your palm as you let the heat leave your cheeks and your neck. He could undoubtedly feel how flushed you were, and he seemed to preen at it.

“Gotcha,” he said smugly, and the smile on his lips molded against your skin as he left a kiss behind your ear. He nuzzled his nose there, too, fingers dancing along your side.

“I love you,” he said next. These words were quiet again. “I hate seeing you like this.”

You knew he meant the state he found you in—hunched over in the dark, eyes glazed over, and dread thrashing in your ears to fill the silence. The laughter that lit up your face just now had been his doing, his attempt at easing all of that burden.

You laid your head against his. “I love you, too.” You hated feeling this way, but some things had to be done. You had to see this one through, and you would.

“Don't run yourself ragged for this,” he said, as if reading your mind. “Can't let you lose yourself.”

The corners of your eyes prickled, your vision going blurry again. Your chewing slowed and you finished the last of the orange in your hands to clear the way for him to grab your fingers to intertwine them with his. He rocked your bodies slowly, dreamily—he was the gentle swaying of the waves beneath the raft you laid upon—and he was keeping you above water.

“Senior year of high school—” a miniscule break in his own voice, “—when college decisions came out… you didn't speak for so long, didn't eat. It was so quiet, and I—I didn't know how to help you.” Back then, the two of you were only labeled as best friends; you still hadn't decided if what you had back then was what you had now, but it was love in some form of the word and feeling. You supposed in every phase of knowing Ji Changmin, what you felt for him was love. “Can I help you now, please? How can I help you?”

You sucked in a breath and it came out trembling. “I'm just tired.”

“Yeah.”

“Just—that’s all. Just be here with me.”

You could feel his slight nod that turned into a tuck into your shoulder. Your pulse fluttered beneath the brush of his lips, his hands tightening around you. (I'm not going anywhere, not without you.)

In a night quickly dissolving into daylight, he held you and held you and held you.

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @gluion @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @kflixnet @bjnet

[maknaeswrld]

a life eluded | l.mh, h.js

wc: 6.5k

genre: soulmate au; reincarnation au; fluff; angst; poly!minsung x reader

cw: pov hopping; anxiety/panic attack mentions; food/eating mentions; Bee (I still feel like they need a warning); all soulmates are gn (they/them pronouns) for sake of future storytelling; past life memories in italics; please please let me know if I missed anything🫶

if you’re new here, start from the beginning: a life forgotten

Soulmates can be a painful thing. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop yourself from running away. 

Riley had left you with a hug, two phone numbers hastily written on a paper towel, and a promise to meet up soon. You and Lia counted off ten minutes before leaving as well, hopefully giving you enough time for Riley and any possible companions to be long gone.

You thought the idea of reaching out to them would scare you, but the more you looked at the numbers, the more you wanted to talk to them. You assumed Bee was the one that had yelled at your soulmates, drawing their attention off you long enough to make a break for it. 

They’ve been looking for you for a long time.

Riley’s words found themselves on repeat in your head, not letting up even slightly. How could they have been looking for you if they’d never met you? They couldn’t possibly have known you. But they still noticed your absence. Enough that it weighed on them, caused them to seek you out even without knowing who you were.

They’ve been searching for their ‘missing piece’ about as long as I’ve known them.

Their missing piece. Not a burden, not a hitch in all of their plans, not some unforeseen unfortunate circumstance. You were included in their future long before you even knew of your past, they’d been attempting to seek you out for far longer than you’ve been avoiding ever finding them. In their minds you were the final piece of an extensive puzzle. Their final piece.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were typing both numbers into your phone and creating a group chat. 

Y/n: you didn’t tell me which number belonged to who so i just made a gc, I hope that’s alright.

Unknown Number: Who are you and how’d you get these numbers?

Unknown Number: shut up Bee, I already warned you about this. sorry Y/n, I was rushing a bit, this is Riley and the other number is Bee’s :)

Bee (Changbin’s soulmate): WAIT!!! YOU’RE MINSUNGS THIRD?! THE ONE THAT RAN AWAY EARLIER?!

Riley (Bang Chan’s soulmate): Bee istg

Y/n: uhhhh yeah, I suppose that’s me

Bee (Changbin’s soulmate): I would’ve run away too, those idiots are so loud

Riley (Bang Chan’s soulmate): you are actually not allowed to talk, I think the only person in existence that can rival Bin’s loud ass is you. the both of you together are my eternal migraine

Bee (Changbin’s soulmate): SHUT UP WE AREN’T THAT BAD

You couldn’t help the laugh that wells up in you at their banter, after that you fall into an easy rhythm talking with them. They understand you in a way you’re not sure any of your friends ever have. 

It didn’t take even two days messaging back and forth for the three of you to make plans to meet for coffee, Bee going on about how unfair it is that you met Riley already. You thought you’d be nervous, you spent the whole morning getting ready waiting for the nerves to hit. These were the soulmates of not just two international idols, but close friends to your soulmates who were in the same group. Everything about the situation should be sending you into a spiral of anxious thoughts, but instead you felt more at ease than you do going to dinner with Lia. 

“You look hot, where are you off to?” Your neighbor asked as you were locking the door.

“Coffee with some friends.” It felt too natural, the way friends rolled off your tongue. You hadn’t even met Bee yet.

“Be safe babes.” Your neighbor smiled, entering her own apartment. You weren’t close with your neighbor, but you always looked out for one another. Living alone wasn’t always safe, so having someone who would notice your absence was always a comfort thing for you.

The coffee shop decided on was a twenty minute walk from your apartment, you spent the whole time thinking over everything. When you had found out about your soulmates, one of your biggest concerns was the fact that there were others like you, soulmates of idols who knew who they were supposed to be with and couldn’t get to them. Or worse, that there were friends of yours, people who were the soulmates of the people you knew you had some cosmic bond with, people important to you that you’d never get the chance to remember. 

Due to Stray Kids popularity, you got to have your memories with your soulmates members, the memories of how close you were to each of them as well in every lifetime, but knowing they had soulmates, that you likely were very close to their soulmates, that you couldn’t remember them, devastated you.

And now you were meeting two of them for coffee. The memories with Riley had already started to slowly trickle in after the short time you spent with them in the bathroom, you knew more would start engraving within your deepest memories after more time spent together. The two of you were close in every lifetime, it gave you hope that everything would work out in this one as well.

“Y/n!! Run!!’” Riley laughed, hand holding tightly on yours as the two of you sprinted away from the lady chasing the two of you with a broom. 

“Get out of here, street rats!” The lady called after you. 

After several twists and turns to make certain you were securely away from any possible danger, you both sat against a wall to catch your breath. You started giggling, causing Riley to look at you as if you’d grown two heads. 

“What are you-?” Riley trailed off as you produced two small pieces of bread you’d managed to snake while Riley distracted the mean lady. Riley’s eyes lit up before laughter filled the space coming from the both of you.

You each enjoyed your pieces of bread, savoring the taste and the feeling of something on your stomachs, just sitting in comfortable silence with one another. 

You’d shared your whole lives running the streets, keeping each other alive and moving, and you always thought it’d just be the two of you, until Riley found Chan and your lives got thrown upside down.

You stared at the sign of the tiny rustic looking cafe. It was the type of place you’d go to every day if you knew it existed. Now that you did, you couldn’t imagine not regularly spending time there. You knew deep down, if all went well today, you’d be spending a lot of time there with Bee and Riley.

A bell jingled above the door as you pushed it open.The whole place radiated comfort and you felt at ease instantly.

“Welcome in, I’ll be right with you!” A cheery voice called from what you assumed to be the kitchen.

“Y/n! We’re over here.” You found a table in a small nook surrounded by books where Riley and Bee were sitting, drinks already ordered. “We didn’t know what you might like and Sage already knows our usuals, but we were waiting for you to get food.”

Before you could take one of the open seats between the two, a short person with a bright smile, freckles, and long hair brushed to a shine seemed to dance toward you, hands wiping at their apron, they reached one out for you to shake. 

“I’m Sage, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Their grip was firm despite the dainty tinkle of their voice.

“Y/n.” You smiled in return.

“What can I get ya, Y/n?” 

You order your drink, you, Riley, and Bee also putting in your orders for food, and just as fast as Sage had appeared, they’d disappeared back into the kitchen. Taking your seat at the little table, you took a deep breath before looking up, only to find Bee and Riley already staring at you.

“So like, when are you gonna finally meet your boys? OW! Fuck Riles, what was that for?!”

Riley pinned Bee with a pointed glare. 

“Are you avoiding your soulmates?” Sage asks, gently placing your cup in front of you and taking the last seat at the table.

You turn beat red at the accusation. “Not exactly.” You mumble.

“Totally is. They found each other young so they’ve had five years together already and now this one seems to think they’re going to ruin everything, even though Min and Ji already know about them and have been looking for them.” Bee stated, sipping out of their own cup. “OW! Fuck, why are you guys always attacking me!?” This time, Bee glared at Sage instead of Riley.

“Because you make yourself an easy target. Listen, Y/n, if there’s one thing I’ve learned while owning this shop and spending way too much time people watching, it’s that no matter how hard you try to fight it, you’re meant to be with who you’re meant to be with. That's just the reality. If you were going to ruin their lives just by them finding you, you wouldn’t be their soulmate. Simple as that. Min and Ji have been in here a few times with Chris and Bin, they’re good ones, I guarantee you could never regret letting them in.”

“Your parents made a good choice with your name.” 

Sage grinned, gently lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s a fun name to live up to.”

With that, Sage disappeared into the kitchen once again. 

“They’re right though. I don’t think you could ever regret letting them in.” Riley smiled, reaching over to squeeze your hand.

“Sage doesn’t know the boys are idols, do they?”

The way they called all of them by names Riley or Bee would refer to them as instead of any full name or stage name struck you as odd. Either they didn’t know or they were the bands inner circle, that thought making a strange sense of insecurity rise up your throat.

“Nah, Sage doesn’t really do technology and only really listens to the radio their grandfather had is his restaurant. They know next to nothing about the idol world, which is why the boys like coming here so much, it’s peaceful and off the beaten path.”

You nodded, sipping your drink. You could understand that, especially with the boys being idols with soulmates, a quiet coffee shop with next to no attention on it is the perfect place to be able to have uninterrupted time together.

Shifting in your seat to look around the small shop more, you found yourself wondering what your soulmates thought of the cozy shop and its somewhat eccentric owner. What were their regular orders here? Did they like having a regular order or did they change it up? You found yourself wanting to know how they decorate their rooms, if they like to read, what they like to watch. You wanted to get to know your soulmates personally in this lifetime, not just what you know of them from every life passed.

A few weeks ago, a few days even perhaps, that would’ve terrified you. You would have found yourself thinking of Jisung and Minho, and these thoughts plenty, but you always shut it down knowing it was fruitless, you wouldn’t get the answers anyways. But now that was different, now they knew you, now they wanted to get to know you just like you wanted to get to know them. Now everything was different, and the two men you love of your memories have a chance to become the men of your present if you so chose. 

While losing yourself in the thoughts, zoning out the conversation happening between the shop owner and your fellow Stray Kids soulmates, your eyes landed on a gorgeous trellis made of wood and covered entirely of vines and flora, reminding you painfully of the arch and altar at your wedding to the two men in one of the very first lives you had a memory of.

“Do not fret, Y/n. No one is going to show up to ruin your marriage tonight, and even if one were to try I am almost positive Changbin and Bee would stop them before you even knew about it.” Sage smiled at you over your shoulder in the mirror, helping you lace up the back of your outfit. 

“My father disowned me because of this wedding, it isn’t entirely implausible for him to not try and put a stop to it.” You sighed, worrying your fingers.

Sage pulled the straps a notch tighter than they needed to go, causing you to yelp and stare at your friend incredulously. “None of that.” Was all that was muttered before you were released and spun around, Sage’s hands finding their way to your shoulders. “Now, you are going to get out there, you are going to marry both of your incredible soulmates, and you are going to let your very oafishly protective elders stop anyone who threatens a bond as beautiful as the one you share with Minho and Jisung. Do you understand me?”

All you could do was nod, tears already welling in your eyes, as you pulled Sage into a tight hug. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“Oh goodness, have the waterworks started already?” Bee teased, leaning casually on the doorframe. “You look great, Y/n. And if you’re ready, so is literally everyone else.”

Squeezing Sage one last time, you smoothed out the non-existent ruffles in your clothes before exiting the building, finding Chan holding a bouquet and waiting patiently leaning against the outside of the tiny cottage. When he looked at you, the emotions welling in his eyes were all you’d ever wanted to see from your father, and while a part of you wished he would have accepted your soulmates, you're more than grateful for Chan stepping up to such an important role.

“Are you ready?”

“More ready than I have ever been for anything.”

And with that, you were led out into the field, to the altar put together with wildflowers and plants, to your soulmates eagerly awaiting you to join them, to the life you’d never regret despite what your father anticipated. 

Because standing there under the floral arch, Jisung’s hand in one of yours and Minho’s in the other, you knew you could never regret them in anything for even a moment.

Minho watched as his lover paced incessantly back and forth in the cutie dorms living room. 

Bee and Riley had informed them that they were in touch with Y/n, their third soulmate, and that they were going out with you for lunch today. Riley refused to tell either boy where they were going, knowing Jisung would show up without hesitation and that Minho would just to avoid leaving Jisung alone in any way.

“What if they decide they don’t want us?” Jisung finally spoke the words that had been weighing on both boys since you disappeared a few nights prior, and even more so since finding out you’d been in touch with Changbin’s and Chan’s soulmates.

If you were in touch with the other soulmates, you could have found Minho and Jisung easily at any point. If you were in touch, one of them found you that night, which means you were likely mere feet from Jisung, as he had been with Riley. There were questions flying through Minho’s head at the same rate as he could see them in Jisungs eyes, but he had to remain calm for his lover, if they were to both spiral, no one would be able to calm Jisung.

“They’re not going to decide that, Sungie. They just found out they have two soulmates, you can’t tell me it didn’t take us a while to process that one too. They’ll find their way to us when they’re ready.” Minho pulled the smaller boy into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to the crown of his head.

“What if they’re never ready, Min?” The youngers voice was soft and shaky, Minho felt his heart break at the sound.

“We can’t think like that, Ji. Y/n is having lunch with two of our family at this very moment, if they were never going to be ready they wouldn’t have agreed to that.” Minho tried to ignore the shiver that ran up his spine at saying your name aloud for the first time in this lifetime, he tried to ignore the peace brought to him just by your name alone. His hold on Jisung tightening, his head burying in the youngers neck. “We’re going to be okay.” He promised, ignoring the persistent what ifs echoing in the back of his head.

What if Jisung was right? What if you were never ready? What if you never chose them because of who they are in this life? As much as Minho wanted to negate those thoughts, memories of lives that turned out exactly like that made him question if this would be one of them. 

His hand tightened around their wrist, trying to pull them back to him. “Why do you keep running away?!”

“Because I have to!” You cried, finally turning to Minho, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I have to.” Your voice breaking on every word.

“You don’t have to. You can stay with me, we can figure it out.”

“Figure what out? Minho, soulmates are not the end all be all. As much as I would love to just run to you, run away from everything but you, I have responsibilities. I can’t just do what I want, not in this lifetime. We’ve found each other, awesome, great, we’re still in two completely different worlds. You’d be better off trying to find the one missing from our memories, you’d have a chance to have a life with them, to be happy with them. Do that Minho. Find our third soulmate, forget about me, and be happy. Because I can never be, that’s just not how this life played out for me.”

“You’re telling me that despite everything, you’re not choosing me?”

“God why do you have such selective hearing?! I don’t get a choice Minho. I never did! I was born into the fucking mafia, people don’t get to just walk away from that simply because they found their soulmate. 

“Soulmates are a weakness just waiting to be exploited, you’ll live your whole life constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly in danger, because of me. Is that really what you want for yourself? For whoever we’re missing? Is that the life you’d choose for someone else? Because I wouldn’t choose this life for anyone and I am begging you to leave Minho. Get out while no one knows, get out while there’s no chance for them to know.”

“But I’ll know.” He hated how broken his voice sounded even to his own ears. “And you’ll know.”

Your eyes searched his, looking for any sign that he would listen to you, that he’d walk away and never look back. But all you found was a horrifying sense of finality.

Minho wanted to take it away, let you be free of this world you were forced into. He wanted to take your hand in his and never let go, no matter the danger that came with it. 

He watched as your face morphed from the helpless near tears girl into a cold and emotionless woman, and it terrified him that you had been forced to learn to shed all resemblance of emotion within a blink. 

“I will not ever choose you over my family in this lifetime, Lee Minho. Your life isn’t of importance to me and if you’re so keen to get yourself murdered trying to talk me into leaving with you, then so be it. I won’t come to your rescue.” Saying the words felt like driving a knife right into your own heart and twisting, the look on his face as his grip loosened on your wrist only adding to the immense guilt. 

Ripping your arm away from his grasp, you turned on your heel, head held high, tears threatening your lashes, and left him standing there.

Jisung felt like he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was pace around like a lunatic, and every now and again stop to stare at his hands. The hands that held you, the hands that let you go.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the way your eyes lit up, the way your smile outshines every star and sunrise he’d ever witnessed. He could hear the perfect harmony of you and Minho singing together, the way you didn’t miss a single syllable in any of his rap parts.

Jisung thought finding you would bring him peace, completeness, the sense of warmth he already knew with Minho, and for those few minutes he had you, you did. 

Now, Jisung figured just knowing you were nearby, knowing you were close enough that maybe he would run into you again would ease the pain in his chest at the memories flashing through his mind, but when Riley informed him that they were on their way to get lunch with Bee, and you, and refusing to tell him where they were going, he felt his heart shatter all over again. His breathing growing uneven at the idea of you being close enough to enjoy lunch with two of his closest friends, and yet nowhere near him. 

So Jisung paced. He walked back and forth and back again until he was dizzy, trying to rid his body of a pent up energy he had no idea what to do with. If he stopped, he assumed he’d collapse into a full blown panic attack, if that were to happen Minho would have to calm him down, and if Minho has to focus on keeping Jisung level headed, he won’t be able to grieve your absence too. 

Jisung knew he was spiraling, knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself out of it this time, but he had to pretend he was okay, he had to let Minho spiral if he needed to, which means he can’t. 

He tried to distract himself. He thought of Minho, of the way he curls into him in his sleep. How Minho nudges his hand, silently begging him to keep scratching his scalp when Jisung gets distracted and stops for any longer than five seconds. The memories of how the late afternoon light filters across Minho’s features, making him look like one of those beautiful paintings Hyunjin talks their ears off about. 

But within these thoughts of his incredible soulmate, flitters in you. The way you had a habit of playing with Jisungs hands, he wondered if you’d still do that in this lifetime. He fell into thinking of the way you would stick your tongue out and furrow your brows when you focused too hard on anything, from washing dishes to sewing up a stab wound. He wondered why he had memories of you sewing up stab wounds, and which lives those were from, what you were like in those lifetimes outside the flits of memories he was gifted from the short amount of time he got to be by your side in this one.  

No matter how hard he tried, everything kept coming back to you. Trying to distract himself by thinking of his other soulmate would lead to memories of him coming home to find both of you curled up together, fragments of time stilled in his mind of the two of you, smiling at each other, at him. He knew he would lose his mind if he were to be forced to remember you in every single way and never get to experience any of it outside of those few minutes he had on the street.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Your voice was like a melody to his ears, despite the harsh words echoing from it. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be here.” He countered.

Despite the racing of his heart, the familiarity of you, he had a job. One that required getting through you at any cost. 

“Whatever it is you were sent here for, think very hard, is it worth the cost of your life?”

Jisung didn’t really put a cost on his life. He was raised and trained for one thing only, to carry out orders by any means necessary. And, as if you could sense that in him, you shifted your relaxed stance just slightly, preparing for an attack, but softened your features. 

“There is more to life than what you know, little one.”

At the nickname, he lunged, but it was as if you knew exactly what to expect, perrying and gently placing your hand on his arm, sending the both of you headlong into forgotten memories and lives. 

Coming to, Jisungs guard flew up. He didn’t move, didn’t attempt to attack you, but he shut down every possible emotion you could try to gather from him.

“I can show you a better world. One where you’d be in control of your own life, where you’d have an answer to what is and isn’t worth the cost of it.” 

Your words were gentle, everything about you seemed to be gentle. You softened your stance, returning to the relaxed position, no longer planning to attack him or counter any attacks from him.

“If you give me a chance, I could give you the world.”

“I think I want to meet them.”

Riley shot up from their position sprawled across your couch, Bee’s mouth dropping open in shock. 

“Are you serious?” Riley asked, searching your face for any sense of unease or dishonesty.

You’d been spending endless hours with the two, they’d quickly become your closest friends, aside from Lia. You’d also come to spend a lot of time at Sage’s cafe, quickly learning they are very much a piece of your many lives as well. You were still unsure of how exactly Sage fit into the grand puzzle of lifetimes spent with the same friend group, but you knew they did. Your suspicions only confirmed with Riley and Bee’s agreeance of having Sage within their past lives memories as well.

“Y/n/n, I need you to be so for fucking real right now, do you actually want to meet them?”

You’d seen Bee get serious about stuff before, they weren’t all jokes all the time, but the way they were staring at you at that moment, you knew you had to give the complete honest truth. Bee was protective, and while that insane protective streak has since expanded to you as well, you knew without a shadow of a doubt they’d evescrate you before you had a chance to even think about hurting Minho or Jisung.

“I’m terrified of it, that hasn’t changed. But maybe you’re right, maybe it will work out.” You smile at your friends. “I think I’m ready to risk finding out.”

It didn’t take even twenty whole minutes to get a meeting set up, Riley and Bee dragging you to your room to get you dressed and ready. 

“Is it really a good idea to do this now? I mean, it’s really fast, don’t they want time to like, I don’t know, prepare or something?” You’d been rambling the whole time Bee sat on your lap to hold you in place while fixing your hair. 

“No. Because ‘giving them time’ only gives you time to back out and the last thing we need right now is Ji going into another spiral because he thinks you don’t want them.” You could practically hear the roll of Bee’s eyes as they finally got off you, surveying their handiwork. 

Huffing, you accept your fate as Riley forces an outfit into your arms and shoves you into your bathroom, pulling the door shut.

After getting changed and taking in your appearance, you had to admit, Bee and Riley were good. You’d looked hot, almost to the point of it feeling like it was too much. Taking a deep breath and hyping yourself up in the mirror, you open the door to find Bee and Riley lounging in the hallway, both looking up upon hearing the door open, Riley grinning and Bee letting out a piercing whistle as they take you in, high fiving.

“You’re gonna knock 'em dead, babe.” Bee winked.

You blushed, but couldn’t help the smile stretching across your lips.

“Alright then, let’s do this.”

Not every life went smoothly, not every meeting was practically gold and rainbows. But this one was. Childhood friends and also soulmates is nearly unheard of, most people couldn’t fathom growing up with the memories of every life before the current. But you had met Minho and Jisung at the ripe age of five, Jisung was the baker's son, your mom was looking for work, and you and Jisung were forced to spend hours upon hours every day together.

At first neither of you really understood the full depth of your shared connection, but when you both met Minho, and shared all the same memories with him as well, your young minds didn’t have it in them to care. 

Growing up, the three of you would learn the full extent of what happened, but you never had the disconnect from the memories, having your past lives almost completely integrated with your current. 

“I wish we could find each other young in every lifetime. It made everything so much easier.” Jisung muttered into your hair. You hummed in contented agreement, fingers massaging Minho’s scalp.

“Unfortunately, that’s not gonna be the case Sungie. Some lives will be easier, some will be harder, there may even be some we never meet at all. But at least in this one, we’ll get to love each other for far longer than we went without.” Despite his words, Minho’s voice was a purr and you knew without a doubt that all three of you, whilst scared of what future lives may entail, were perfectly at peace in that one. 

Riley and Bee had never spent so much time away from the boys. 

From the very moment Changbin found Bee, they were a permanent fixture within the group. Bee helped 3Racha write and produce, they were in the studio almost as much as the group, and if they weren’t there, they weren’t far.

Riley, from the moment of finally accepting Chan at least, was never far either. They would always be around, making sure all of the boys were eating, weren’t overworking themselves, taking in enough fluids. 

To put it lightly, the gap of their absences was almost painfully noticeable in the weeks they seemed to all but vanish. Ever since their lunch with Y/n, it’s been as if the two were ghosts in the skz household. 

Jisung knew they were still around, the lack of moping from either of his fellow producers was proof enough, but he hadn’t seen a glimpse of them for days, maybe even weeks. 

He felt as if his world was fracturing. Minho was working tirelessly on new choreography, Bee wasn’t around to help him with songs, Riley wasn’t around to make sure he was drinking water, all of his members were enjoying their break before the next comeback, and he was exhausted. Jisung didn’t know how to get out of his head, and he wasn’t sure who to ask for help from. 

He knew if he kept the pace he was at, he’d inevitably spiral, and that wouldn’t be any good for anyone. Jisung had decided to hide away in his room and sleep, it was the best answer he could come up with, but just as sleep was threatening to finally overtake him, his door burst open, a downright giddy Changbin standing in the threshold.

“I’m about to take a nap, tell me about it later.” Jisung groaned, turning his back to his friend before his friend could say anything.

Changbin, not having any of it, stomped over and ripped the blankets away from the smaller boy, lifting him out of bed, carrying Jisung to the bathroom, despite his protests, and threw him in the shower.

Before Jisung could complain, yell, or even get a thought in, Changbin turned the water on, drenching him in seconds. 

“Y/n wants to meet, get cleaned up and ready to go in ten.” The older boy said before leaving the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and leaving an absolutely dumbfounded Jisung to slowly register the words, excitement growing with his understanding. 

````

Weeks. Minho had been trying to get the choreography for the next comebacks title track down for weeks. Everything he came up with didn’t feel right, and when it did he didn’t think it looked right. 

Hyunjin and Yongbok had offered to help, they’d even stayed with him, learning new dances, so Minho could see how it looked with multiple people, for a fresh perspective. But nothing was right. No matter how much Yongbok would swear he thought it flowed well, no matter how easy Hyunjin picked it up, nothing was right. 

Minho knew, deep down, it wasn’t the dances that were off, it wasn’t his choreography at all. He knew it was nothing to do with anything related to music that was wrong, but the only thing he could translate the misconstrued emotions to was dance. 

He created new dances every day to give his body and mind something to do, something to take away the wandering thoughts and memories. He’d rather tire himself to exhaustion than remember how it felt to have you by his side. 

Minho had come to the conclusion that you were not going to choose them, and he couldn’t blame you for it at all. His hopes were up after he’d seen his only hyung work things out with his soulmate, but not everyone could find it in themselves to be with an idol. Being an idol was hard enough, dating one was a whole other demon of its own. 

Despite knowing he has Jisung, despite being overwhelmingly worried about his lover, Minho simply needed to mourn the lover they never had a chance with. He needed his time to accept the fates cruelty upon their lives this time around, and then he’d help Jisung accept it as well. 

So he kept dancing. For weeks.

Minho had always found solitude in an empty dance studio. The way the mirrors would be completely empty save for his figure, the silence filling a typically boisterous room, there was just something peaceful about a place meant to be filled being empty.

He was stretching, preparing for hours of working out kinks in his newest routine completely unbothered. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. They were on break, all of the boys were off doing who knows what, and they were supposed to be relaxing leading up to their busy season. Yet Minho was in the empty dance studio, all by himself. 

He was lost in thoughts, already hacking away at the parts he wanted to rework, mentally trying to decipher how to fix them, when the door to the studio was nudged open. His eyes shifted to the door in the mirror, finding his only hyung standing in the doorway, a small smile gracing his features. 

“You might want to put your plans for the day on hold.” Chan said without even greeting him. 

“Why’s that?” Minho asked, being unable to stop the quirk of his brow. 

“Because we have lunch plans. Are you sweaty?” 

Minho shook his head, “Just got here, I was stretching.”

“Great, put on street shoes and let’s get out of here, we’ve gotta meet Bin and Ji at the dorms.” Chan smiled, moving to grab Minho’s bag for him. 

“What’s the rush?” Jisung hadn’t mentioned any lunch plans with the other producers, but to be fair he and Jisung had been somewhat distant from one another lately.

“It’s a soulmate lunch. Me and Riles, Bin and Beebee, you and your soulmates.”

Minho nodded his agreement, very used to soulmate lunches, working on lacing his street shoes when he froze in realization. 

Him and his soulmates.

````

To say you were nervous would be a gross understatement. You were downright jittery.

Bee and Riley were positioned on either side of you, both steadfast pillars of comfort bringing an almost overwhelming sense of security. You would be okay, because how could you not be with them by your side?

You’d agreed to meet at Sage's cafe for lunch, it was mutual ground and low foot traffic. Perfect for essentially a first meeting with your two idol soulmates and, from your understanding, Bee and Riley’s idol soulmates as well. 

You were ready to bolt. Ready to full on leg it home and lock your door, never to come out again. Despite the peace of knowing three of your closest friends would be there, meeting them was still an absolutely terrifying concept.

The what ifs a plague playing on repeat. What if they don’t like you? What if you ruin everything for them? What if their fans find out? What if, what if, what if. 

But with every bad what if, there was also a good one. What if you fit in seamlessly? What if they don’t care about their fans finding out? What if they are as scared and excited to finally meet you as you are to meet them? What if, what if, what if.

You knew you could bolt. You knew that Bee and Riley talked big, but if push came to shove and you needed an out, they’d have your back and get you out. You knew you could turn on your heel and walk the opposite way and they’d text their soulmates an update, and that yours would more than likely be devastated.

It was the fact that you could that kept you from doing so. The idea of Jisung and Minho waiting for you, the mental image of them deflating after hearing you’d change your mind, the thought of them being upset due to your actions, pushed you forward, kept you walking, and you knew no matter what you walked in on, you wouldn’t be able to back out now. You wouldn’t be the one to break the loves of your every lifetime. 

Seeing the familiar shop, your heart was in your throat. There would be no turning back, no changing your mind. In choosing to meet them, you chose to give them the ball, everything would be up to them, and the closer you got to the cozy shop, the more you realized you were truly okay with that.

You were never actually nervous about meeting your soulmates, you were giddy about it. 

As you pushed the door open, letting the familiar sound of its little bell notify Sage of your arrival, your eyes found your soulmates in record time, both sat at the table under the trellis covered in flora and vines. Your breath caught at the smiles gracing both of their faces, and you knew.

Even though soulmates can be a painful thing, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to run away from yours again. 

a/n: ahhhhh it’s almost overrrr😭🥺🥺 this was gonna be a lot angstier and then it just, wasn’t. and idk what that’s all about but I like how it turned out lol. I dragged my feet on writing this part for actual weeks and then wrote like, 5k of it in two days, so I hope it was good haha! thank you so so much for reading, please let me know your thoughts!!🫶🫶🫶

taglist: @starlostastronaut @mariteez @tired-of-life-86 @skizmee @elisiexoxo @cutiespaghetti @httpswilloww @sundownimup-1 @lolareadsimagines @rockstrhanji @quokkampi @kayleefriedchicken @vivirantshere @ciellebys

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Secret Secret Chapter 3

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

Masterlist | Next Part

The next morning, you walked into the building with a pleasant smile, but the receptionist barely even looked at you. You considered the fact that he wasn’t judging you anymore as a win, but the indifference made you pout the entire elevator ride up.

The rest of the morning went by pretty smoothly. You weren't sure if your workload was on the lighter side because it would get harder once actually on tour, or if they were taking it easy on you because you were new, but either way you found yourself nearly done by the time noon rolled around. You were about to go make your way down to the cafeteria for some lunch, but as you passed by the stylist rooms, you spotted a lone figure.

The other stylist noonas must have already gone off to eat lunch, but Maya still remained at her desk. She was leaning against her desk, a forgotten half-eaten apple next to a pile of papers she was sorting through. She looked busy, so you quietly continued on. But her presence reminded you of the promise that Changbin had made the day before, and when you got to the elevators, you found yourself hitting the button for the practice rooms above instead of the cafeteria below.

You were second guessing yourself when you found an empty hallway, shuffling past the first few doors when a quick glance through the little glass windows showed empty rooms.

Maybe everyone had gone off to have lunch.

You had gotten to the end of the hallways when you finally spotted movement, making your way closer until you were pressed up against the door. The room inside was partially hidden from your point of view, but you spotted two men inside as they moved to the sound of music you couldn’t hear through the soundproof walls.

Even being unable to hear what they were dancing too, you were mesmerized by their movement, the fluidity and ease at which they danced along, and even the way they moved around each other like two pieces of the same puzzle. When one of the men suddenly stopped, hand jerking back and forth as if they had just forgotten the next move, the other pointed at them with a wide smile, shoulder shaking, and you could almost hear the laughter from the sight alone.

"Can I help you?"

You spun around in surprise. There was a man standing directly behind you, not only close enough for the scent of alpha to wash over you, but also close enough that you should have definitely heard them coming. That you didn’t hear him at all meant he was either the quietest person on planet earth, or you were just that distracted by the ongoing performance from inside the practice room. You felt your cheeks get warm at the realization.

"Oh, uh. No. Right, sorry."

You stepped to the side, assuming he wanted to get into the room. He just tilted his head at you.

"Who are you?"

You gave him your name without a second thought, but he obviously didn’t react to it. Not that you expected him to. The cold stare he continued to give you made you feel uncomfortable, so you took another step to the side, hoping to edge your way around him and back towards the elevator.

His hand darted out to grab your wrist, stopping you in your place. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just looking for someone," You told him with a harsh tone. It was one thing to be in your space, but the physical contact was drawing the line.

You gave a small tug to your still restrained arm, but he didn’t budge. Your heart rate began to rise, fear curling in your stomach.

"Who were you looking for," The alpha asked, his voice holding a strange sharpness to it. "How did you even get up here?"

You were close enough to smell the harsh edge to his sweet scent, the tightness in his brows, the way his eyes darted behind you in worry. You realized that this wasn’t just some random alpha looking to bother an unsuspecting individual. You thought back to what it must have looked like to him, creepily watching the two boys from the door window in an abandoned hallway. He probably thought you were a fan, at best. You felt your muscles slowly loosen at the realization that you weren’t in danger.

"I’m a staff member " You explained, thinking it would be enough of an explanation.

His eyes darted back to yours in surprise. "Staff? For who?"

"Stray Kids."

In hindsight, you understood the sudden shift in his face. The confusion quickly dropped into anger, and the grip on your wrist rightened.

"I know all the staff members for my group, and I don’t recognize you. Why don’t you tell me who you really are?"

Fuck.

"Look, it’s not like that. I’m new, I’m the new translator. I’m just here to introduce myself to the members." You reached up to your chest to grab your staff card, the one you had been given yesterday, only to realize you had left it on your desk. "My staff card is at my desk downstairs. I can go get it for you-"

"And let you wander the building by yourself? Do you think I’m stupid?"

Your heart dropped as the once sweet scent of maple syrup turned sour, burning your nose. Your pleading was doing nothing to convince him of your innocence, and he looked seconds away from dragging you out of the building himself. Even with the scent blockers and the pheromone perfume, you began to worry that your distress would start to become noticeable, and your eyes burned at the thought of losing either your dignity or your job because of a simple mistake.

He narrowed his eyes at you, gaze darting down to your neck for a split second before the elevator down the hall suddenly dinged, the noise echoing in your head.

As if the heavens themselves were answering your prayers, both Changbin and Chan stepped off the elevator, followed by an unfamiliar face. The leader paused at the sight of you and one of his members, bodies so close together your chests were practically touching, but Changbin seemingly didn’t notice anything was wrong. He waved at you with a smile.

"Hey, you made it! I was starting to think you weren't going to show. I see you've met-" You saw the moment he got close enough to smell the bitter scent in the air, step faltering. "Minho, dude. You're stinking up the hallway."

Minho dropped your wrist as if he had been burned, and it took biting down on your tongue to keep yourself from yelping at the sudden sensation that entered your numb hands. You subtlety tried to shake it out from behind you, giving Changbin a smile of your own.

"Hey, I didn’t want to interrupt any real practice, so I figured I’d check in during lunch," You said, lying through your teeth. You had completely forgotten.

He hummed, still giving Minho a warning look. "We actually just got back from getting some food. I see you met Minho."

Minho gave you a slow blink, and you noticed that as the air once again filled with sweet maple syrup (which mixed deliciously with Changbins own smokey campfire scent, but you were trying not to think about that), there was a hint of regret to it.

You also realized you were still standing way too close, so you stepped to the side, nearly hiding yourself behind Changbin.

"Yeah, I was just explaining to him that I’m the new hire. Just ... wanted to introduce myself."

Changbin placed a hand against your shoulder, squeezing it softly. "Hmm, he wasn’t too mean to you, was he? He tends to be a little intense to new people."

are you okay?

"Its fine, I’ve learned not to hold peoples first impressions against them." You told him, patting his hand.

im okay

"Remind me to introduce you to Maya when she’s not mad. I swear, she’s normally a total sweetheart."

Tropical breeze and lemonade filled the air as the other two joined you. You gave a strained smile to Chan, who was too busy having a stare off with Minho to notice, and then turned to the last male of the group.

"Hi," You introduced yourself with a quick bow.

The omega gave you an awkward smile. He had boyish good looks framed by soft bangs, but his eyes were calculating as he introduced himself as Kim Seungmin. He gave a curious look to Chan and Minho, who were staring each other down, only looking away when Changbin clapped his hands together.

“Right, you’ve already met Chan. Lets go introduce you to the others!”

Changbin opened the door to the practice room, allowing a blast of music and the sound of laughter to fill the hallway. He held the door open, signaling for you to enter, and you nervously shuffled in without waiting to see if the other boys would follow. Once inside the room, you realized that there were 4 boys in the room, not just two. The blond-haired duo were still dancing, although they had now been joined by a dark-haired man in an oversized hoodie, enthusiastically trying to pull off the worm.

You paused at the sight, a laugh escaping your mouth before you could stop yourself.

You immediately clapped a hand over your mouth in regret, and while the three dancing men didn’t seem to hear you over the sound of the music, the last individual did. He was sitting off on the sidelines, much closer to the door, and he looked up at the sound of your laughter.

He blinked at you in confusion.

Minho pushed past you, grabbing a phone from next to the lone duck and turned the music down. The other three boys let out noises of complaint, but once they noticed you, they all drew quiet.

A hand from behind led you forward, and you only had a split second to recognize that the man standing next to you wasn’t Changbin, but instead Chan, before you were bombarded with multiple new scents.

"Guys, this is the new translator." He introduced you to them, his hand still warm against your back. "Be nice."

The mix of smells was hard to differentiate, but as the one on the floor suddenly stumbled to his feet, the air shifted enough that you could tell he was a beta.

"Um, hi! Im Han. I mean, my names Jisung, but you can call me Han. Han Jisung."

The blond next to him bowed, raising his head to give you a blindingly handsome smile. "Hi, my names Hyun-"

"Wait, did you see- how long have you guys been there?" Han interrupted to say.

"Jisung, relax. She’s not the first person to see you do something stupid," The blond who never got the chance to introduce himself said exasperatedly.

"But I’ve never embarrassed myself in front of someone so pretty before!" His cheeks went red as he seemed to realize what he just admitted.

"Wait, are you saying im not pretty?!"

Chan sighed from beside you. "Guys, I said be nice."

"Yeah, to her. Not to this asshole."

"Oh my god, Hyunjin. You're very pretty!" Minho exclaimed.

"Thank you!"

"Now shut up!"

Hyunjin pouted, and Han had decided to hide his still red cheeks behind his hands, which only left the other blond and the brunette next to the door. The first introduced himself as Felix, giving you a tired smile, and the latter waved at you from the ground.

"Im Jeongin, but you can call me I.N.," he said.

"Or Innie," Changbin piped up.

"Or Baby Bread," Seungmin joked. You assumed it was an inside joke from the way Jeongin groaned in annoyance.

"All right, that’s good enough on the introductions. We have to get back to practice, so if you need to go to the bathroom, go now," Chan told the group.

The others let out protests, but you werent sure if its because your meeting was being cut short, or if it was because they had to get back to work. Some of them dispersed around the room to various belongings settled against the walls, Hyunjin immediately pulled Felix back into their silly dance competition, and Chan turned to you with a strained smile.

"Im sorry about them, they ... well I was going to say they usually arent like this, but that would be a lie." He sighed. "But Im glad you got to meet them."

"I still have a couple of other staff members to meet up with. Mostly just the wardrobe and makeup stylists. Changbin offered to introduce me yesterday-"

Changbin seemed to magically appear at your side. "We can go after practice is done. Do you think you can wait 2 more hours?"

"Well, I could probably finish up my work for today by then," You said, giving him a small nod and a smile. "Do you want to meet up here?"

"Nah, Ill come get you. Most of the stylists work on that floor anyways."

"Right."

As Changbin and you talked, from across the room, Minho called out for Chan. The leader turned slightly, but he hesitated to go. You could tell he wanted to say something, but it probably wasnt something he could bring up with his members nearby, and you werent sure you wanted to talk about it right now. You didnt want to think about the tension that still lingered between you.

So before he could ask you to talk later, or invite himself to your tour that afternoon, you bowed to the two boys and then said your goodbyes to the rest of the room.

Only a handful of them said goodbye in return, the other half occupied.

You made your way down to the now mostly empty cafeteria, deciding to get something to go and eat while you worked, since you had used up your lunch time talking to the group. With a moment of thought, you grabbed a second plate.

Once back onto your floor, you weaved past people who had gotten back from their break, the noise startling from the silence you had experienced before. As you passed by the room where Maya usually worked in, you took a second to wave at the blonde haired girl you never got the name of, and walked over to the messy desk.

"Maya?"

The girl in question looked up at you with a confused look, eyes widening when she recognized you.

"I noticed you didnt have time to get lunch earlier, so I brought you some food," You said. "If you want it," You quickly added.

Maya pouted adorably. "Oh my god, thank you. You didnt have to do that."

"I wanted to."

She accepted the plate you offered her, and after a second to properly place it on a free space so it wouldnt fall off, she jumped to her feet and gingerly wrapped you in a surpringly warm hug. The smell of honey and feeling of love surrounded you.

"Thank you, so much. And I want to apologize, for the way I treated you yesterday. I know it isnt an excuse, but I was tired, and so I wanted the conversation to end, and I knew if I was snappy it would scare you off-"

"You dont have to explain yourself-" You cut her off with a giggle. She joined you.

"But again, thanks. i want to make it up to you, both the being mean and the food." She looked down at her watch. "I dont have time right now, but maybe we can get coffee someday? Get to know each other properly?"

Her soft smile was contagious. "Of course. I'll see you later."

As you made it back to your desk, you found yourself pleasently calm and relaxed. The betas scent did wonders for your omega, even hidden as she was, and you could barley even remmber the earlier panic and distress that you had felt.

That was until Changbin dropped by to get you.

It was almost 2 hours exactly on the dot that he appeared next to your desk, leaning against the edge to look over the words on your screen. You laughed at the bewildered face he made.

"Is that Japanese?"

"Yup. Its for the announcement of your world tour. I have to translate it to english next."

"Wah," Changbin shook his head. "Thats so cool. Just how many languages do you speak?"

"Hmm, how many do you think I speak?" You teased, watching him closely.

Changbin's eyes darted from the computer screen to your face, brows coming together for a second as he considered your question. He titled his head to the side, and strands of dark hair fell right in front of his eyes. On instinct, you found your hand darting up to brush them out of the way, hand bumping into his own as he moved to do the same.

"Five."

You both jolted at the sudden voice that came from behind Changbin, and you nearly groaned audibly at the sudden recognizable scent that hit your nose. You had been worried that Chan might have tried to tag along, but you didnt even think Minho showing up would be a possibility.

Apparently, Changbin hadnt either.

"Hyung? I thought you stayed back with Felix to work on something."

Minho shrugged. "I told him we could work it out later. He didnt argue."

You both stared at the alpha as if expecting him to elaborate more (perhaps explain what he was doing there), but he didnt. Changbin let out a cough which then turned into an awkward laugh.

"Right. Well, I promised you a tour-" Changbin held out his arm to you, and you took it with a giggle.

"Thank you, kind sir."

He beamed, and Minho watched you two with a blank face as you made your way passed him. You pretended not to notice as he followed the two of you as you made your way down the hallway, close enough that you could hear his footsteps, which made your omega want to bare their teeth.

Changbin also didnt react, which made you wonder if the alphas behavior was normal for him, or if he just didnt want to bring it up.

You decided to ignore Minho in exchange for trying to learn the names of the four makeup stylists Changbin introduced you too, as well as the the other two wardrobe stylist (as you had already met Maya). Most of them were busy when you were introduced, and while they all gave you a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, you figured most of them wouldnt remember your name either.

One makeup artist did capture your attention from the way she flushed when she noticed Minho. Her name was Minji, and she was apparently Felix and Hyunjin's makeup artist. She had acted fairly normal and almost playfully with Changbin, so you wondered if she had a crush on the dancer for her to suddenly get so shy.

Minho didnt offer anything more than a nod to her as he trailed behind you two, and you found yourself thinking she could do better.

"Thats everyone. Of course, theres also Maya, but you already met her."

"How come you have 4 makeup stylists, but only 3 wardrobe stylists?"

Changbin paused outside the elevators. "Hmm, well the makeup artists have designated members they work with, but wardrobe kind of all have to coordinate the entire group with each other. Having less stylists makes it easier for them."

You nodded your head. "I guess that makes sense."

The two of you got on the elevator when it arrived, and you gave an unamused look to Minho as he casually followed, leaning against the opposite wall to you. Changbin gave the alpha an equally unimpressed look.

"Hyung, what are you doing?" He asked.

Minho raised his eyebrows. "Im not doing anything."

"You're being wierd."

"I dont know what you're talking about."

Changbin let out a sigh. "Minho-"

"I wanted to apologize," Minho interrupted, crossing his arms, and to your surprise, began pouting.

"Apologize for what?" Changbin asked in confusion.

"Not to you!"

You flushed under the sudden combined weight of both mens gazes. The elevator opened, and a random staff member you had never seen before entered, two floors before the lobby. The elevator was suddenly filled with silence, and realizing how awkward the conversation would get if you stayed, you ignored the boys until the moment the doors opened.

You turned to Changbin with an apologetic smile. "Thanks for the tour Bin. I'll see you later."

The rapper stuttered, and you heard Minho call out to you, but you booked it out to the lobby and practically slammed through the front doors.

Neither of them followed you.

-0-0-

Hands against your waist, lips pressed softly to your cheek. Your head felt heavy. Arms moving to lock themselves around you, chest pressed against your back. There was a presence in front of you, eyes soft and loving, but there was a voice whispering softly in your ear from behind.

"Tell us what you want"

You woke up with wet cheeks, your chest aching. You took in a deep breath, but it felt like someone was sitting on top of you. With your head still fuzzy, half asleep, you pushed yourself onto your elbows. You felt like you had just lost something important.

When you slid into Sooyoung's bed, she only cracked open one eye. "You okay?"

"Nightmare," you lied.

You didnt know how to explain to her that you had a dream so full of hope and love that it hurt you to wake up and realize it was just a dream. You didnt know how to explain that you couldnt even remember what the dream was about.

She hummed, pulling your head down so your nose pressed against the crook of her nose. It smelled like freshly made croissants, a strong but homey scent. The calming protection and reassurance of her alpha had your omega placated, head clearing and chest relaxing as you breathed in.

But you still found yourself wishing the scent was different.

[sadlynotthevoid]

Guys, GUYS. AU in which the deal happens but instead of the canon regression and switch, og!Cale is reborn as Clopeh's half-brother.

As a little kid, he doesn't realize how strange is to have constants dejavu's and sensations about things he has never seen before. He thought it was what the adults called 'intuition'.

Then, after he's brought to the duke's place, he remembers bits and pieces.

First: the voice and a deal.

Second: inconnected flashes of scenes that look like war.

Third: the son of a bitch of his brother killing his family.

Forth: He used to be Cale Henituse.

From that day on he starts to get back his memories. Not in order and not fast, but slowly collecting the pieces of the giant puzzle that was his past life.

But he can guess the overall story. He knows what he has to do.

He has to plan how to stop the war from happening, which means going against the royalty of Paerun and his new biological father, who lives in the same roof as him. All of that while trying to hide and overcome his past life's hatred and negative emotions.

Cue Not-Cale-Anymore working in the shadows to sabotage his new kingdom and trying to stay away from his crazy brother.

Because, that brother of his? He's nuts. His father is not that bad. Honestly, he has sense and if there's a chance, he can count that the guy will take the pacific route. So he only has to create the chance.

(And solve the growing lack of meal of the kingdom. Which he was going to do anyways. He doesn't want people to die from hunger. He is— He was a lout, not a monster.)

Clopeh in the other side is completely obsessed with a child's dream and has the consideration of a blind elephant. If there's something on his way, he won't hesitate to crush them. Not matter whose lives he has to step on.

Or at least that's what his pat future self was. He wonders if there's a way to prevent that personality. He can only hope his already crazy brother doesn't go crazier.

In Roan, crown prince Alberu wonders who has been writting him these letters and why they insist that he has to meet someone named Cage.

Cale already denied being him. And since they know each other enough, he has no reason to doing so.

Meanwhile, Cale didn't even think on telling Alberu he knew who did it.

[justatypicalwizard]

Until The End Of The Night | Ch 4

-3 am.-

✦ College!au, characters in early twenties, support!reader, slight angst to happy ending

✦ Synopsis: after over three years abroad you come back to continue your education. Despite gaining new friends and living a great life in Europe nothing feels better than home. You are quickly sucked in the everyday drama and everything would be just as you left it if not for Bakugo. Three years ago you two shared a moment, a short and meaningful moment that no one knows or should know about. That is until the situation gets out of control.

✦ Warnings: smut

✦ Word count: 3k

✦ Chapter: Stubbornness leading to a fall, unspoken words and a dam undone after three years.

Masterlist

Miruko’s legs were spread, arms resting on the back of the chair. Her stance, persona and confidence matched the glass palace of her agency like a puzzle piece, like a core and a foundation at the same time. She was rightfully the queen of this see-through beehouse.

Your conversation was not too short, nor too long. She valued both of your times, at the same moment asking you about all the important matters. Did you work with Bakugo earlier? Yes? Great, then you know what to expect. What are your goals and how will you execute them? You can write them all out into a nice spreadsheet? Fantastic, that’s the involvement and care about details that she seeks. Are you planning on staying in the country after you finish college? Depends on your work offers? Not the classic approach but what she needs are young and fresh minds that don’t beat around the bush. Either way if you prove yourself, there’s a big chance you’ll have a place in her agency after university, she likes to keep her employees.

Bakugo was dismissed earlier than you. It only took him a few strides to disappear out of your sight. Not that you could really turn your head to trace him between the desks and busy coworkers. Your full attention was on Miruko, who now layed down the terms and conditions.

It was nice to feel a routine sink into your bones. The weekly plan, term-long goals and your personal aims all threw you into a whirlpool of work but at the same time put your mind at ease. In between lectures and the agency you met with Mina and Denki, occasionally Kirishima. The only thing you had to swear was not to get too drunk, scout's word. You will have all the time in the world during college break, but now you have to be on guard. Mina pouted and Denki tried to spike your drinks a few times but they mostly understood.

One of the few things that posed a problem right now was the lack of a certain someone. You wondered, tapping your nails on the flimsy wooden desk. The chair squeaked under your ass as you scooted closed to the edge of your workplace.

Ever since the start of your work for Miruko and with Bakugo, you started to keep track of all the changes to his gear. With surgical precision you prepared lists of replacements and alterations that have been made for his gauntlets. Each and every time, like a little cog working in a huge clock, you marched to Bakugo’s workstation and left the file of papers on his desk, with specific places to put his comments. And every time you got them back, all filled out with concise tips and evaluations. To your utter shock and fear everything went smoothly. Too smooth for a Bakugo-related job.

The man himself never met you. His presence was visible, from his neat handwriting on the spreadsheets, through every new scratch on the gauntlets, to emails the two of you sent back and forth. But his person was lacking. The blonde vanished as soon as you entered the agency. You heard the booby secretary talking to her colleague about how he shrugged her off this morning but he’s just such a tough nut to crack. You picked up his hero name, Dynamite, on others’ tongues, turning your head slightly to throw a glance at the person. He was there, but at the same time he wasn’t. You wondered why.

It could have become too peaceful for you to accept if not the one ick that he sported ever since the beginning of your cooperation. You asked Bakugo multiple times, through emails and texts, to come take off measurements for your own use but he never did. Too busy, don’t have time, use the ones that are in the system. The blonde brute always brushed you off and that problem grounded you back to earth. There’s always something off when it comes to work with him, guess this is the plague that he decided to treat you with this time.

And so days passed on without much excess. Laying in your bed, with the lights out, forcing sleep on yourself, your mind betrayed you. Was it possible that you got what you wanted? You were using him to your own advantage, not sparing the time of your day to try and repair what has been broken, and actually getting off with it. Was it really going to be that simple? Forgetting him and pushing him off to the sideline in your own little race for glory.

Of course it wouldn’t. No matter how hard you wanted to let it slip, how hard you tried to bury it in the depths of your mind, the touch of his lips came back. Or at least the reminiscence of the kiss, because the thing itself has been scraped from your memory like an old sticker that you forgot about in the corner of the rear window. You know it was there but what exactly was the picture?

You tried to remember what his touch was like. Was it harsh, did he grab and squeeze on the soft parts of your body? Or maybe he was delicate. The latter, giving it was his first time. But did he really tell you the truth? Why would he lie about something like that? Usually, people did the opposite, hiding their virginity, too embarrassed to open themselves truthly.

And you would groan, trashing on the bed, turning from left to right. You were alone in this sea of thoughts, dragging a huge fish that was your heart to shore and letting the sharks of anxiety and regret bite at it and tear off pieces. You really hated Hemingway for writing that book, gave you too much food for thought.

Bakugo avoided you, it was as plain as a pikestaff, and as always, his actions spoke volumes. Over time you grew more accustomed to the thought of letting go of his words, whatever it was he tried to tell you at the lab. The man wasn’t exactly a master of rhetorics and it was stupid of you to value what he says above what he does. You should focus on the ignorance and never ending games that he put you through rather than his empty confessions from three years ago and mysterious lab riddles. Maybe this way it would be easier to forget, to forgive yourself for that stumble, to accept that Bakugo and you meant nothing.

It has been easier this way up until the point when once more the one and only forced himself into your mind and life in a drastic manner.

You were sitting between an elephant with a hoover pipe instead of a trunk and Denki who played the flute, listening to a lecture about something important that you couldn’t exactly make out. The letters on the huge blackboard seemed like a different language. It was going on forever, you felt like you lost a few days in that seat but the man at the centre just couldn’t stop talking, and you couldn’t stop listening.

Suddenly an annoying chime cut through the air and you saw the lecturer take out his phone. He answered it and began to climb the widening stairs of the grand room. He walked and walked and walked until he was right in front of you.

Denki was still playing the flute, now matching the demonic tune of the phone that didn’t stop ringing even after the lecturer picked it up.

“It’s for you.” The man said, handing you the device. Unsure, you brought it to your ear and…

Oh that freaking alarm! Blindly, you pawed your sheets in search of your phone. Five more minutes, you just need to swipe up and the alarm will ring in another five minutes. Yet, when you unglued your eyes to grace yourself with a few more minutes of sleep, you saw that it was not the alarm, it was indeed a phone call.

The fat letters read: M Agency Office.

It was nearly 2 am.

Rubbing your face to shake off the sleep you picked up. What you expected was the voice of boobie-the-secretary, instead it was the boss herself.

“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour but we need you at the agency right now. Can you get here? Do you need a lift?”

“I can come.” You muttered, already pulling on some random pair of pants. What the hell has happened?

The place was dark and abandoned. You were stupid to think it was boobie calling you at this hour, even if it’s usually her at the entrance office. She couldn’t be here, not at this hour. You shouldn’t be either.

After multiple twists and turns in the see-through maze that now gave you a view of the city at night, you found Miruko in her office. She gestured for you to sit, taking a place herself. Her eyes were slightly puffy, sleep-deprived, back slouching and cracking when she rested it in her throne. That’s the reality of pro-heroes, lack of sleep and a multitude of problems.

“I don’t want to keep you here longer than necessary. I will get straight to the point.” Your head bounced back and forth, like a puppy following its master. “Bakugo had an accident. He’s getting discharged from the hospital right now. Nothing deadly but he’s gonna need some time to recollect before he gets back to work.”

A lump nested itself in your throat. Bakugo had an accident. How bad was it? Not deadly, okay, but what did she mean by time to recollect, how severe, what happened exactly? You wanted to ask so many questions but in reality, couldn't even swallow properly for fear of Miruko hearing it.

“We examined what was the reason for the accident. From the quick research it came out that your alteration to his gear was at fault, it seems to be poorly measured. And now I want to ask you, did you measure him yourself? We really don't want to be looking into it more than necessary. Your thruthfulness would save us a lot of time.”

You blinked a few times, your eyes growing wider and wider, not leaving Miruko’s face. Suddenly, you looked to the side, afraid of her, as if she could turn you to stone with her stare.

The measurements, the measurements were wrong. Bakugo had an accident because of you, because of your faulty work. What did it mean to you as a wannabe support? They say high risk high reward but an accident due to poorly put-up gear? That’s not a rookie mistake, that’s not a common thing, that’s a very bad strain on your page. That will be opinion making, that will be career breaking.

You felt a twist in your guts. You sent so many emails, so many texts, asking him to come and give you those damned measurements. He never agreed, he always slipped past your due dates, shrugging you off like an annoying fly buzzing next to an ear.

Gripping the armrests you locked back at Miruko, breathing in a solid dose of air to tell Bakugo off, to spill what shitty attitude he had. You will tell her how he put personal life before work, how he avoided you and refused to cooperate on such an important matter because he was bitching about a past fling you had. You will tell her that, as much dread as you feel right now, it was still him asking for trouble, he brought that accident upon himself by not listening to your demands! And just when you were about to start your rant, realisation hit you and you deflated like a forgotten balloon after a party, your lungs collapsing into a hiccup.

You weren’t any better. You know how Bakugo is. What exactly stopped you from going to look for him yourself. To find him at work, at the uni, in the dorms, anywhere! Oh yes, it was your pride and fear. You were too proud to be seen searching for him, to let it get to his ears that you were the one reaching your hand first once again. You were too scared to see him, too comfortable in your little pit of despair, too caught up in forgetting to remember that you had duty to him. You put your personal prejudices before work.

“I’m sorry, I should have pushed him more.” It came out in a whisper, as tears or regret and shame started to roll down your cheeks. “I asked him multiple times to give me the measurements, he refused, but I should have pushed him more.” The longer you talked the quieter. You weren’t even exactly speaking to Miruko, more like to the pen laying in front of her.

It was quiet, the air-conditioning shut down, the buzz of lamps non-existent. Just you, your breath and sorrow.

“I understand.” Miruko tried to gain your attention but she surrendered seeing that you will most probably not look at her face again tonight. She knew fear well, could smell it in the air. Right now you were frightened and she didn’t want to deepen it more than necessary, turn the blade already sheathed in your guts. But she had to tell you one more thing.

“As much as I dislike it, given Bakugo’s attitude, I cannot let this situation slip. It must be put down into your work history. That doesn’t mean I kick you out, you still have a place here and you still work with Bakugo, at least for now. Today nothing much changes but… You’re a smart girl, you know what it means.”

You do, so you nod your head. Then you go home, then you go to bed, then you don’t sleep for the whole night feeling like emptiness that weighs thousands of tons.

The morning is dizzy, you feel tired but unable to fall asleep. Or maybe you did fall asleep for a bit? No clue. You make yourself black coffee, a bitter one that will not irritate your stomach. And you sit on your bed, thinking, looping on the events of last night. They play in your head like a movie but you lack comprehending.

Mina sent you a text asking where you are, why are you not at the lecture? You try to reply, you really do but the messages don’t feel right. I’m feeling sick, have a headache, nearly lost my job, can’t stop thinking of Bakugo, help. They were not lies at least, but none of them felt like sending.

Before you had time to properly think of a response, which would take you long, she was already calling.

“Where are you, you left me on read?” There was commotion in the background, multiple footsteps crossing the university halls and voices talking over each other.

“I-I’m home” You muttered. “I think I need some help.” It came out by itself, you didn’t really think.

“Be there in ten, don’t move.”

It was not only Mina who popped through your door. Denki and Kirishima were also there, worry written all over their faces. They looked around your room, at the semi-mess that you made last night. Unmade bed, clothes from the office scattered on the floor, your hair ruffled. It was not bad but it was not like you, not like school-week you.

“What happened?” Her pink head was right in front of you, kneeling between your legs, clutching your palms. The boys, even Kirishima with his gargantuan posture, shuffled quietly to the side giving Mina as much space for action as they could. They feared that if they breathed too loud you would fly away through the opened window like a leaflet in a townsquare.

“Bakugo had an accident. My gear was at fault. That was because he refused to let me measure him and I made all the changes with the numbers from the system. And he didn’t want to come to get measured because we are fighting.” The words spilled out of you as if you opened a dam, one that was closed for years.

“Why are you fighting with Bakubro?” Kirishima couldn’t resist, too caught up, too caring.

“Because on the bonfire night, the end of school one, we had sex and now he is somehow angry because of it, I don’t understand.” Letting the truth out felt weird. It gave you the sensation like you lied to your friends for the whole time, and deceived them somehow. It wasn’t emancipating at all.

“You and Bakugo had a thing?” Mina was shocked but she held her composure for your sake.

“I wouldn’t call it a thing, I don’t know. We just went away and we talked and one thing led to another. Then he was… He was nice, you know, real sweet. He gave me his v-card but didn’t explain anything. Then I went abroad and ever since I came back he has a problem with me. And now it escalated into work issues and I hate it!”

The pink haired patted your back looking back and forth between her boyfriend and Denki.

Later on, when you were taken care of and sleeping off the awful night they talked, asking each other whether the other one knew about you and Bakugo. Denki shook his head, sparing everyone backhanded jokes right now. Mina bounced on her feet asking why you didn’t tell her about something that huge. Kirishima assured her that it’s Bakugo we’re talking about and she agreed. You could never know when it came to him.

Everyone agreed that it was unexpected, shocking, weird maybe? No, not weird, rather changing everything. Now, when they will look at one of you, they will think about that intimacy shared, those things unspoken, they will seek the hurt on your stubborn faces. They will know that you were Bakugo’s first and that something's wrong with it, maybe with him? There’s an elephant in the room and no door big enough to lead it out peacefully.

You want to be in a Taglist? DM me or leave a comment.

Taglist: @rayleeya @chocoyanchan @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @sofilsword @bri-mercado-00 @nijoll

[dianesdiaries]

scorched earth| Homelander x Y/N

Synopsis/AU;Homelander becomes a madman after Vought decides they have the better facilities of taking care of Ryan, realizing the pain and abandonment he went through Ryan would believe his dad left him to face. In a fitted rage, he destroys the Vought building one by one, taking a life every minute it takes to return his boy. Y/N is assigned to the special forces team responsible for 'cleaning up his mess', and ensuring that nobody gets hurt. By the time special units have reached the building, Homeland's already taken a liking to toppling down dominoes.

TW: lots of violence in this one! I didn't really know what to write but I thought it would be a cool idea to see homelander go cray cray again lol

NOTE: this is short but I feel like would make a rlly good part 2 lmk!

I searched the premises top to bottom, looking for any signs of imperfections left behind in his massacre. God knows what he had in store for the rest of the world, and not one person has a single clue what could've led to this trajectory. I watched as bright stars peaked in the sky, cameras and vans swarming the building like bees to a nest. My gun slinged along my arm as I slowly watched the stars get closer, and closer..

It was bodies.

The sound of bones mushing into pavement made my stomach hurl. But when it rains, it pours. Dozens of civilians began falling from the sky, bouncing off the concrete in sync to the sounds of blood curling screams arising amongst viewers. I know, I was assigned to special forces for a reason. But he's lost his damn mind.

"All units, Move in! NOW! RIGHT FUCKING NOW! I SEE ONE MORE BODY DROPS ITS GONNA BE YOU!" The chief demanded, his coffee splattered across his long tattered coat in a fuel of rage. Hoisting into gear, I took one last look at the pain behind me. News vans scampered back and forth across the roads looking for a way out, avoiding the bloody trouble Homelander had flung into their direction. But something was wrong. I began to sweat, and it didn't stop. Drops of water began covering into my helmet vision, tactical gear cooking my body as the temperature increased. Metal scraping against brick made my ears squeal, quickly retreating into the building for safety. Red lasers danced across the city scape, quickly sawing whatever came into its way.

The building couldn't be any more worst than outside. Scarlet red painted the walls like an artists' touch, the main floor wiped of human life. I was assigned no other job but to simply talk to him, my guys in route watching closely as we made our way to the elevator. Quickly, I swiped my feet at the feeling of someone's touch, backing away in terror. There lay A-Train, who once was the world's fastest man quickly turned to nothing but broken bones. He crawled gently towards my ankle, pleading with his eyes as he winced in pain. "Send a paramedic team in, now. He's still got time" I demanded, the group of SWAT enforced men looked at me puzzled. "You're going up there, alone?..." one brave suit asked, I couldn't see his face but his tone ensured everyone was equally as terrified. I could see right through the supes facade, Homelander didn't scare me not one bit. I nodded my head in approval, the boys quickly sweeping to A-Train's rescue as they steadily carried the poor runner out of the building. I stared at the hopeless elevator entrance ding open, inhaling deeply as the doors closed behind me. Soft elevator music hummed in my ear, steadying my heart beat to a soft thump. I had to be prepared for the worst of it all, he could cut me into two pieces by the time the door opened and nobody would know until it was too late.

39,40...41.....42..........42.....

The elevator came to a holt, its bright led numbers flickering as the music came to a stop. My feet jolted below me, holding steadily to the railing as I waited in silence. He knew I was here. He knew someone was coming. My heart roared through my chest as I struggled to catch my breath, what the fuck was I thinking taking this job?

distress fled into my body, watching the doors pry open to the grip of ruby-red gloves. I fled to the ground, covering my head with my heads, watching the door opening wider. And wider. His cold distilled blue eyes emerged from the peak, analyzing me through the small crack. Homelander demanded, "Take off the helmet and let me see your face", watching my hands unravel from fetal position as my breath quivered. Slowly emerging from my helmet, I took the might of speaking up. "Homelander, I know your stressed... I'm not sure what happened, but.. we can work through this-". In the blink of an eye, the metal doors tore as gracefully as paper, falling into the ever abyss of the metropolitan below. My pupils constricted at the sight of him, his face was dim in expression and yet said so many things. His once "all American dream" blue suit covered in the blood of his coworker's, his hair a frilled mess, mania scampered in his eyes to the sound of his laughs. The dazed man grabbed my neck in a grip, and pulled me towards the gravel of the roof. I could feel my heart drop into my stomach, watching him edge closer and closer to the end of the building. "Homelander, wait.. Homelander please d-don't do this! Listen, okay? I'm Y/N, now you know me. Just tell me what happened, I'll listen!", pleading for my life as my gear scraped across the floor. The crazed supe held my head against the edge, a thousand feet of death kissing my eyes in return.

"They took my son. Away from me. My son is gone. you're going to tell me where he is. Or you can go say hi to your friends for me" he said, my hands pushed in denial as I screamed at the force of his body swinging me back and forth. "Where is Ryan! Goddamnit-where is he!" Homelander roared, his eyes holding threat in a bright neon red, I could feel my life draining from me in the moment. I had to think quick. I could keep my job, and do as I'm told. Or, I could save my life. I could do what I was good at. What Butcher taught me best. Rationalizing.

"Listen- look, okay? I can help you find Ryan, but you got to let me go! Without me, not a single fucking person at Vought would tell you his whereabouts. Besides, what they did to you.. Could be happening to him as we speak. Y-You want that?", my words could be playing with fire. But I had to give it a shot. Homelander laughed in mockery of my bravery, hastily letting go of me as he clapped and laughed in rejoice. The man's madness made me sick to my core. I could feel fresh acid forming like a lump in my throat, but I had to keep composure. I couldn't show I was scared. He would kill me without hesitation. He paced back and forth in thought of my offer, hands on his hips as I tried to catch my breath and pushed up against a corner of the roof. The screams from below echoed like the gates of hell, I could tell it was riling him up. "I have an idea, but.. We need to do it my way. You understand? No diverting, no nothing" I exclaimed, he looked across at me as blood dripped off his icy blonde tips stained a muck brown. "We leave. Now. Before they find out you were responsible for this, we can pinpoint it on another supe and you get Ryan back. Homelander- if this gets on the news...", I carefully stared back into his cold gaze, gulping at the words stuck in my throat. "You might not ever see Ryan again if Vought finds out you did this" I said.

The supe almost took that as a challenge, raising his eyebrow at my comment. "Really? And what makes you think I'll listen to you?" he chuckled, approaching slowly as I backed my heels into the ground. He towered carelessly over me, crouching low to meet my gaze. The smell of death reeked off his clothes, his teeth blinked brighter than the sky filled with mourning souls. Without thinking, the man lifted me carefully and began to back away from the building, I could feel our bodies lift off the ground and up towards the clouds. It calmed me, to know that I was able to do something perfectly for once. The one moment that could've possibly ruined my entire life, I saved myself. But I couldn't save the others

"Before we go.. You want to see something cool? I've been meaning to do this for a while" he chuckled, stopping in position as we levitated above the downtown metropolitan. The feeling of course hot beams almost burned through my suit, as I watched the Vought building explode into an array of flames. The building's base was untouched, Homelander squealed in laughter watching people rush onto the streets like ants. "They had what was fucking coming for them. And they knew it. Nobody to blame but themselves, right Y/N? I mean, you have to agree. We're friends now. And you!-You Are going to get me my boy back", his head shook vigorously as if he agreed with his own sentence, looking at me for the approval of his message. I understood that he was setting me up, but two can play that game. "We need to see Butcher. Now. He'll know what to do" I explained, my eyes refused to watch the city below. I had nowhere to look but right into his eyes. And I prayed that he could feel the hatred feeling through my body. Effortlessly, the dazed supe began to track throughout the clouds, elevating so the bare naked eye could barely see us through the cotton-field of clouds.

[dominicdelagol2]

Planning to try out Auctober again this October! Feel free to join in and draw for each prompt! List of prompts and their context below:

1: Red Instead - Instead of the blue puzzle piece as displayed by Autism $peaks, we light it up red instead!

2: Special Interests - Anything you love the most in your life!

3: Music - Music is always nice to listen to, especially video game music!

4: Comfort Food - Food is yummy. Fast food is even yummier because why wouldn't it be?

5: Stim / Verbal Stims - Stims include making mouth noises and waving your arms back and forth for comfort!

6: Stim Toys - Fidget cubes, spinners, squeezable toys, etc. -- they can be fun to use!

7: Sensory Euphoria - Some things can make you most happy, whether it's eating chicken with queso dip, seeing a light-filed city during night time, store candles with a good food-like smell, you name it!

8: Hyperfixation - One particular thing you're focused on so much! It can be the periodic table, a video game series, painting, anything you can think of!

9: Info Dumping - Wanna know what one thing is? Then you'll wanna be ready for a detailed explanation going at least 200-pages long!

10: Neurotypical Expectations - Neurotypicals expect an awful lot from autistic people. For all we know, some random guy might expect you to know how to build an aircraft carrier! Of course, that's just me haha

11: Jobs...? Where? - Obviously, there are TONS of open jobs available, but whatever jobs ARE open, workers and its managers expect you to work, and work, and work, and work, and work, and work...without considering your overall health at all, nor giving you a long-enough break to help you catch your breath physically and mentally.

12: The Outside World - Outside is scary. No matter how safe you are, there's a tiny chance something bad or worse will happen. Society can even expect you to be "normal".

13: Social Anxiety - It's hard enough making friends, let alone be an extrovert. Chances are, one could have sociophobia!

14: Self-Advocacy - Nothing about us without us! Seriously, neurotypical adults have talked about autism and didn't include autistics in the conversation. (got that from one of my Auctober 2023 drawings)

15: Self-Care - Self-care is important! Make sure to brush your teeth, eat and drink healthy, exercise and whatnot!

16: LGBTQIA+ - Autistic people are more likely to be LGBTQIA+!

17: Rainbow Infinity - Rainbows are a whole spectrum of colors! Same with the autistic spectrum--all sorts of different experiences!

18: Au-DHD - ADHD, but "A" is replaced with "Au" as in aurum, which is Gold in Latin. ADHD can mean one is hyperactive!

19: Too Much Energy - The energy builds up too fast and you just have to exercise to tone it down! Of course, the energy could vary, sometimes being suddenly energetic when you just need to sleep.

20: Out-of-Nowhere Info/Fact - Say you're doing a simple job like vacuuming. All you have to do is move the vacuum on the floor as you hold the handle, thus cleaning the floor. Simple, yes? Well, surprise -- some guy sucker punches you with random information such as "Hey buddy! Vacuums use more electricity when you turn the vacuum on and off rather than letting it stay on!" (I've actually been told that one time, and the info sounding unconfirmed to me, it just left me in a long mental stasis of confusion) Like, when did anyone ask for a detailed fact about something that's SUPPOSED TO BE SIMPLE? I don't have time to comprehend an entire page of info, I just like to keep things SIMPLE as you neurotypicals tell me to my face.

21: School Experience - Experience can include elementary school, middle school, high school, college -- You can explain a particular event or two during any of these time periods!

22: Routine - A little something every day or now and then to stay consistent! Daily tasks can included 3 meals a day, staying productive or such!

23: Unmasking - Unmasking is not easy. Defending yourself from the unpredictable world, trying to blend in with society -- it's exhausting! Let the autistic community just be what they wish to be already.

24: Autistic Viewpoint - How do you view the world as an autistic?

25: America (Derogatory) - This one might not need an introduction -- America, the "Land of the Free" and the "Land of Opportunities", sure likes to screw us all over! Police are too paranoid, justice is a load of baloney, daily gun violence anywhere and everywhere, dangerous bigots normalizing the R-slur, then you have big and popular figures here smearing the autistic community into a negative light...and the list of bad things never stops growing! A very cruel country, like not even cartoon villains are this mean-spirited! How is the autistic community supposed to exist in peace when the USA is basically nothing but trouble? Happy 4th of July, I guess...

26: Comfort Media/Games - A TV show or video game is always nice to play and keep calm when times get tough out there!

27: Fancy Wording - A series of five-dollar words can arrive rather than a simple "yes" or "not" to suffice. Sometimes, fancy words such as Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis can be fun to learn about!

28: Gold - Gold is part of the periodic table, atomic number 79! Light it up gold instead of blue for Autism Acceptance! 'Au' as in Aurum, and autism!

29: Neurodivergent Community - There's all sorts of Neurodivergent people worth seeing! They all have different experiences!

30: Autistic Pride - Autistic and proud!

31: FREE SPACE -- Explain any topic you wish!

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 5

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: There will come a day when I will sit down and write an alluring synopsis for this series. But that day hasn't come just yet lol. Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 2.9k

Masterlist

Chapter 4

--

As her initial days at the Kim estate unfolded, Y/N found herself not so much in captivity as in an odd limbo. Though technically a "guest," her freedom was limited by the subtle yet unmistakable presence of guards who followed her every move—to the visible annoyance of Taehyung, who seemed to bear the brunt of this duty.

Namjoon, the orchestrator of her current predicament, was conspicuously absent, his presence dwindling to nothing more than brief sightings at long corridors or fleeting shadows behind closed doors.

This absence gnawed at her, feeding a growing unease about what might be going on—was there some new development involving her brother? Was the standoff between their clans escalating in ways she couldn't see from her gilded cage?

The estate was too quiet. Here and there, people would appear—agents, staff, and other unidentified figures who seemed to have urgent purposes and places to be. Their steps were brisk, their conversations clipped and hushed, hinting at a larger narrative playing out just beyond Y/N's reach.

No one ever seemed to so much as glance in her direction. She was part of the scenery, a fixture within the ornate walls of the mansion, which allowed her a certain degree of observation she wouldn't have possessed otherwise.

Y/N quickly found herself attuned to the rhythms of the house. She began to memorize the patterns of the guards’ patrols, the shifts changes, and the locations of the surveillance cameras—each detail a potential piece in the puzzle of her eventual escape, should the opportunity arise.

Her days developed a routine that brought a semblance of stability. Mornings were spent in the vast, sunlit atrium where breakfast was served promptly at seven. The meals were quiet, the food exquisite yet eaten with the mechanical motions of someone whose thoughts were elsewhere. Afternoons allowed for time in the extensive library, where Y/N pored over books with titles ranging from political treatises to ancient warfare.

Walks in the garden were permitted in the late afternoons. These were her least confined moments, though still shadowed by Taehyung. It was during these walks that she carefully counted steps, noted blind spots, and committed the timing of guard shifts to memory, all under the pretense of leisurely strolls.

One quiet afternoon, Y/N was absorbed in a book, sipping tea in the plush setting of the drawing room, with Taehyung lounging beside her.

The picture of absolute boredom, he sprawled in his bergère chair, idly swiveling his head back and forth to the ticking of the clock when suddenly, the calm was shattered by the doors bursting open.

Two young men marched in with confident strides.

"Taehyung-ah, there you are! We’ve been looking for you," one of them called out, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious room.

"Come on, let's go," urged the other, his tone impatient.

"Can't," Taehyung sighed heavily, nodding in Y/N's direction as she sat immersed in her book.

"Aish, still on babysitting duty, I see," grumbled the first, and with that comment, Y/N's patience snapped. She closed her book with a definitive clap, her eyes lifting slowly to assess the source of her interruption. Her jaw clenched as her gaze fell on two faces that weren’t linked to particularly fond memories.

"YN, this is Jimin," Taehyung introduced, gesturing towards the platinum blonde who had escorted her from the depths of the basement upon her arrival. He sat down next to Taehyung.

"And that’s Yoongi," he continued, nodding towards the man with piercing eyes who had struck the hell out of her a few days prior.

"We’ve met," Y/N responded icily, her gaze fixed on Yoongi. She subtly ran her tongue over the small cut on her lip—a lingering souvenir from their last encounter.

"Yeah, sorry about that, by the way," Yoongi said with a nonchalant shrug as he picked up a tangerine from the table and began peeling it, "you know the drill, orders are orders."

Uninterested, YN turned her attention back to her book.

"So, they really have you following her around all day?" Jimin's question, laced with curiosity, sliced through the room's previous tension. Y/N couldn't help but feel a flicker of offence at their casual disregard for her presence.

Taehyung nodded, a hint of resignation in his voice. "And nights too," he added, rolling his tired eyes slightly. "Guess that's my punishment for the whole capture thing."

"Yeah,” Yoongi chuckled, “I heard that was quite a scene."

"Shut up," Taehyung shot back, not quite able to mask his irritation. Though the physical mark of his black eye had faded, the embarrassment of the botched operation lingered like a stubborn stain.

It had all been planned meticulously, expecting her to be passed out in the SUV almost the second she stepped off the plane. Everything was supposed to go smoothly. What could some frail boarding-school girl possibly do, anyway, right?

But she clearly hadn’t gone down without a fight.

"To be fair, everyone has their strengths," Y/N suddenly commented, her voice even and calm, eyes still fixed on the page of her book, not even granting them the courtesy of her gaze. She turned a page deliberately, then added, "It’s just a shame yours isn’t your job."

At her words, a stifled giggle escaped Jimin, who couldn't help but appreciate the sharp jab. His laughter, however, was short-lived. Without missing a beat, Yoongi delivered a swift slap to the back of his blonde head, a clear reprimand for his lack of decorum.

"Punk," Yoongi muttered under his breath, shooting a glare at the younger boy, who rubbed the back of his head, still smirking slightly despite the admonishment.

Jimin shifted his focus. "Hey, by the way, did you end up finding a proper room for her?" he asked, turning towards Y/N with a curious gaze.

Yoongi leaned forward slightly. "Right, where did they stash GI Jane?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh shit, you haven’t heard?" he said with a smirk, "Namjoon had her moved to the attic."

The boys exchanged a knowing look.

Yoongi whistled softly, "You’re joking."

“I wish,” Tae replied.

Then, with a sly grin, Jimin added, "Well, someone’s going to be happy about that."

The three of them chuckled together, sharing a moment of amusement that. Y/N didn’t quite understand what they could possibly mean, yet she felt little inclination to probe further.

“Alright,” Yoongi suddenly said, rising to his feet with a glance at his phone. “I’d love to stay and have tea with you ladies, but I’m afraid I got some business to attend to,” he added, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “You know the drill, ord—”

“Orders are orders?” Y/N interjected, her eyebrow arched in defiance.

Yoongi paused to look at her, a hint of respect flickering in his eyes. “I like her,” he stated to his friends, before heading towards the door.

« Wait, are you going to the vault ?” Taehyung asked, suddenly up on his feet like a puppy eager for a walk.

“I am,” Yoongi confirmed. “You’re not.”

“But Hyung—” Taehyung started to protest.

“You’ve got a job here; can’t leave the girl alone, can you?” Yoongi cut him off, nodding towards Y/N.

Taehyung paused for a moment, before quickly turning his attention to Jimin, who already knew what was coming. “Jimin-ssi,” he began tenderly.

"No.” Jimin cut him off,

“-Please, » Taehyung insisted, "I’ll be super quick.”

But Jimin didn’t look convinced. “It’s gonna take more than that,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a content smirk.

Exhaling in frustration, Taehyung negotiated, “I’ll take your training shifts for a month.”

“Four,” Jimin countered without missing a beat.

“Three?” Taehyung bargained.

“Deal,” Jimin agreed finally.

Grinning triumphantly, Taehyung leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on Jimin’s head before hurrying out the door. Y/N watched the scene from the corner of her eye, slightly taken aback by the easy camaraderie among the boys, a stark contrast to the rigid hierarchy and stern discipline that characterized her own clan.

The room settled into an uneasy silence after Taehyung’s departure, the echo of the door shutting marking a palpable shift in the atmosphere.

Y/N returned her attention to her book, the quiet only disrupted by the occasional rustle of pages turning. Jimin watched her for a moment before finally breaking the stillness.

“It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” he commented, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he nodded towards the cover of the book in her hands.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Subtlety isn’t my forte,” Y/N responded without looking up, her voice even and composed.

Jimin chuckled softly, the sound lightening the mood. "What a refined way to make a point," he mused, settling more comfortably into his chair.

“Everyone loves a good escape story,” she remarked, “Vengeance and all.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Jimin frowned in amusement, “Picking up some tips?”

Y/N finally looked up to meet his gaze steadily, "Ravens don't need tips when it comes to revenge," she countered, her tone lightly mocking. "Besides, had it been the case, I would've opted for something a little- bloodier,” she added thoughtfully. “Some Greek tragedy, perhaps."

Jimin's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered her words, a flicker of intrigue passing over his features. The idea seemed to both alarm and amuse him.

"Now, if you don’t mind," Y/N concluded, turning her attention back to her book with a definitive air.

However, words from their previous encounter lingered in her mind, unresolved. Distracted, it seemed the words she was reading might as well have been in French. After a moment, she gave in, her eyes drifting from the page to meet Jimin's once again. Her gaze was intense, laden with unspoken questions.

"What is it?" Jimin asked, noticing the change in her demeanor.

She wondered whether she should bring it up. "You said something," she began slowly, recalling the unsettling moment before she’d been dragged to meet Namjoon. "Back in the basement."

"I remember," he acknowledged, his voice steady.

The memory was sharp in her mind: his grip firm on her, fingers pressing into her jaw uncomfortably. "You may not remember my face," he had said, "but I certainly haven't forgotten yours, little bird."

She drew a deep breath, maintaining her composure. "I might have been playing a part down there, but my answer was honest," she stated clearly. "I don’t remember ever meeting you before."

“I’m not surprised,” he replied, a slight smirk appearing as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

Y/N's eyes, sharp and ever observant, caught a glimpse of something on his forearm. The fabric of his slightly rolled-up sleeve had shifted just enough to reveal it—a mark all too familiar to her.

It was the raven scar, the very same that marked the completion of the rigorous initiation within the Park clan. It was unmistakable, a sign of trials endured and loyalties bound.

He noticed her stare and followed her gaze to his arm.

"Y-you—" Y/N began, her voice faltering.

"I’m not a spy," Jimin quickly interjected, reading the suspicion in her eyes. "If that’s what you’re thinking."

"But- that’s—" she managed to say.

"I know what it is. » Jimin paused casually, “I did have to do it myself, after all." He nodded towards her own arm, acknowledging the similar mark that she bore. "Just as you had to do yours," he added, locking eyes with her.

Y/N unconsciously ran her finger along her own scar, tracing the line that symbolized so much more than just membership. She stared at him, clearly confused.

“Listen," he continued, “if you need to know anything, it’s that, far as I’m concerned, this ,” he casually pulled aside his collar to reveal the tattoo of the Kim clan emblazoned on his skin “is the only true mark of allegiance I bear.”

"But you..." Y/N began cautiously, glancing around as though fearful of being overheard.

"You can say it out loud” Jimin said casually, “it’s common knowledge around here.”

"You used to be a raven, then?" she asked directly.

Jimin smirked, mischief coloring his expression. "Well, kind of,” he confessed. “I guess I never technically completed the induction."

YN's brow furrowed in confusion. It was unheard of for Raven pledges to back out. In fact, it- never happened. You either got in, or you died trying. Suddenly, a memory clicked into place.

"The farmer boy," she murmured aloud, her voice tinged with realization.

His eyes met hers, and he flashed a knowing smirk. "In the flesh."

She remembered now. She must have been twelve at the time. A pledge, no older than 15, had vanished on the night of his induction. The clan had sent a whole militia to search for him, but the boy had disappeared without leaving a single trace. They assumed he’d somehow gotten himself killed.

"You didn’t have blonde hair back then," she observed.

"Yeah, well, a fugitive does what he must to survive," Jimin replied, running a hand through his platinum locks. "But I reckon it suits me, don't you agree?"

YN, still contemplating, ignored his remark. “They never did figure out what happened to you," she noted.

"It’s simple, really. I just made a break for it—headed south- well, as far south as my busted shoes would take me,” Jimin explained, “Ended up in Seoul.”

His voice took on a reflective tone as he thought back to those early days. It had been a daily struggle, filled with petty thefts and back-alley skirmishes. Things were rough, but nothing compared to the grim fate that awaited him up North.

That was until a significant encounter had changed everything. He vividly recalled the moment a black-haired boy with a distinctive tattoo on his neck had noticed him during a street fight, knife in hand, moving as if it were merely an extension of his body. The boy, though slightly younger than Jimin, had watched him defend himself with a calculated interest, a smirk slowly forming on his lips.

Impressed, he had approached Jimin immediately after the scuffle, casually extending an unexpected offer for food and shelter against some- off the books labor.

“And just like that," Jimin snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up with the recollection, "my new chapter began."

“So, you’re telling me the Kims just— took you in?” she scoffed in disbelief. “Do they even know you’re a northern traitor?”

“Are you kidding? It’s my edge," Jimin countered with a hint of amusement. "They don’t get trained fighters like me on every street corner, not to mention my knowledge of the Park clan can always come in handy, especially in times like these.”

YN's expression hardened slightly at his words.

“So, you're a snitch” she shot back sharply, her disdain clear. “Surprised you didn’t join the rats. »

 “Oh, come on, give me a break,” Jimin rolled his eyes at the insult. “Like you’re one to talk about loyalty? Didn’t you take off right after your fa—”

“I didn’t take off,” she snapped back, cutting him off sharply. Clearly, he had touched a sensitive nerve.

“What would you call it then?” Jimin pressed.

“I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering as she caught herself, the raw edge of her emotions nearly breaking through. She quickly regained her composure, straightening her posture as she held his gaze. “I don’t owe you any explanation,” she stated firmly, though Jimin noticed the white-knuckled grip she had on her book.

Jimin nonchalantly picked up his cup of tea, the steam curling lightly above it as he spoke. "Rumor has it you didn’t even make it to the funeral," he remarked, taking a casual sip. The observation was pointed, and he watched closely as Y/N's jaw clenched.

He had caught wind of it. After all, the news had echoed through the underworld back then, a tantalizing piece of gossip for those in the know. Park Sanghoon, the formidable leader of the Park clan and Y/N's father, had taken his last breath. Of course, his only son Jaebeom had been there to take over the operations; still, his daughter’s abrupt disappearance at such a critical juncture had been nothing short of an oddity.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken words. After a moment, Jimin set down his cup and met her eyes with a level gaze. "I would say I’m sorry,” he started, pausing deliberately, “about his passing, I mean."

YN's throat moved visibly as she swallowed, her face a mask of controlled emotions.

"But I’m really not," Jimin continued, his voice dropping slightly. "And I have a feeling you’re not that sorry either."

At his words, Y/N shot to her feet, her movements sharp and sudden, fists clenched at her sides. Her body radiated animosity, but a trace of something else flickered in her eyes.

"You don’t know shit," she spat before storming towards the door.

Jimin let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t just walk off on your own,” he called after her.

“Call the cops,” she snapped back, her voice echoing as she strode through the hall, her back stiff with defiance, "see what they have to say about it."

--

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Some of you may be wondering when our second lead will appear... Well, fear not, for the smell of fresh kookies is coming from the kitchen I'm cooking in today.

Chapter 6

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

@loumin908

[conteststarribbon]

another oc ramble... vague part of backstory for peacekeeper / aa player oc. warnings for harm and/or mutilation (some self-inflicted and some left ambiguous as to the cause of it), implied memory loss, mentions of death. Takes canon and runs with it! (mildly fucked up au with no name, suggestions welcome)

It thinks back, to the first memories.

Not the scattered memories of the ashes of those who were laid to rest so long ago and then dug up from the Sea, not the rusted yet only slightly chipped memories of the one this vessel was made for, now a barely conscious spectre dragged back here by force that accidentally pulled in so much more than just what was Its own...

Nothing but Its own memories of rebirth.

-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-

They were without any real thought, It was unable to sense or communicate (or do much of anything, truth be told...), needing to begin the process of reacclimatisation after almost a thousand years of being nothing, of not being at all.

Awareness came in waves, back and forth and back again, eventually settling into a puzzle of fragments held together by fine dust.

The dull ache that should've been a sharp pain. The chisel slamming into Itself, carving out fingers, a fortunately hazy memory. Every crack and chipped fragment scattering ashes, memories, stardust-

Everything coalesced back into Itself, once It put Itself back together. Returning, replacing, restoring what was taken away by the Fracture with what the Sea had blessed It with.

(It didn't know the name back then, only knowing it as the chaotic, blinding, painful light that took everything and everyone away. It only remembers bits and pieces of the world Before, fragments of fragments stolen from the ashes residing in this shell, the glue that kept It together.)

An unknown amount of time passing, the passing of the torch into Its own hands, now free. Grasping, clawing, grabbing at the handle, much like the desperate attempts to bring back those who were long gone done by the creator of the unfinished vessel.

(Everything he held, touched, connected to - the marks remain, even after so long.)

It gave Itself a mouth.

(Nascent cries releasing themselves on instinct, mixtures of lost languages pleading, begging, praying. The taste of sea salt, ashes and blood.)

Then came the eyes.

(Searing, pulsing, burning light of old enchantments sparking back into existence to be dulled by time no longer. The twinkling of distant stars, the much closer flicker of a bonfire belonging to Its future mentor.)

The ears.

(The crashing, humming, whispering of the waves, it felt like home. The sound of multitudes of voices vocalising together in unity, but not harmony.)

-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-

It completely ignored the present during Its reminiscence, almost like It was back there again.

Every memory past this was built on those first moments, that reaching past the fog, haze and static of returning to existence as something completely new and imperfect and despite it all, successfully changing it, refining it, polishing it...

[nhularin]

Forever, always

PAIRING soulmate!jake x soulmate!gn!reader GENRE fluff, soulmate au SYNOPSIS In this tale of destiny, two souls longed for that extraordinary connection. WARNINGS none WC 421 words

Once upon a time, in a realm where destiny weaved its intricate tapestry, there existed a profound concept called soulmates. People believed that somewhere in the world, their perfect match was waiting to be found—a person who would complete them and ignite a flame in their hearts.

In this tale, two souls, separated by distance and circumstance, yearned for that elusive connection.

Fate, ever the whimsical orchestrator, set its plan in motion when Jake found himself in the coastal town for a work assignment. As he walked along the pebbled beach, the sun kissing his glistening skin, he felt an inexplicable pull towards an old bookstore nestled in a charming alleyway

Unbeknownst to him, you, a passionate reader and keeper of forgotten stories, were the proprietor of this bookstore. Your eyes widened with surprise as Jake entered, your gazes locking for a fleeting moment that felt like eternity.

As you crossed paths amidst the rows of books, your souls recognized each other instantaneously. It was as if you were the other half of a puzzle, each piece finding its perfect match. Time stood still as your hearts whispered in sync, a symphony of connection reverberating through your beings.

"I have found you" he whispered breathlessly, scared that the image he's seeing is only a creation of his doubtful mind

You spent hours lost in conversations, your souls intertwining through shared dreams, passions, and vulnerabilities. You laughed and cried, bared your souls, and discovered a depth of understanding you both had never felt before.

Days melted into passionate conversations, where you bared your souls, entwining your dreams and aspirations. You conversed on moonlit terraces and explored rain-soaked streets, blissfully losing yourselves in the wonders of each other's company.

Your bond deepened, like saplings growing roots and intertwining beneath the surface. Love blossomed beautifully between you two, unveiling the extraordinary connection your souls had always yearned for.

But as with all things profound, challenges arose. Life threw obstacles in your path, seeking to test the depth of your love. Insecurities bared your teeth, attempting to sow seeds of doubt. Distance tugged, but your love was anchored in unwavering devotion.

And so, with whispered promises and souls aflame, you ventured forth, hand in hand, heart in heart, ready to traverse the peaks and valleys of life's grand tapestry. For in each other's arms, you found a love that transcended the boundaries of mere mortals—a love destined to transcend time itself.

"You and me" he had said, grabbing your hand gently

"Forever, always"

[mama-qwerty]

A Dark Discussion

From the Knucklesverse au. Dark is Dark Enerjak - a shriveled piece of nastiness who only wants to get his power back.

Check out the Knucklesverse guide for more deets.

~~~~~

The ancient echidna sat curled in the corner, watching the goings-on around him. The younger echidna—the younger hims went about their business, chatting and sparring and socializing as though he wasn't there.

That was fine. He sat in his corner, apart from those who shared his face. Or at least a younger version of it.

They were all Knuckles, but none were like him. He was truly unique. Truly different. For he had tasted power, true, unadulterated power and knew what it was like to be a god. Unlike the rest of these weaklings. These poor imitations of him.

They had potential, though. Some more than others, of course, but they all had the potential to be great. To be powerful. To rule those who were weaker, and bend them to their will.

If only they wanted to pursue that power. It made him angry. Frustrated. Why didn't they want more? Why were they content in their pathetic little lives, living as mortals and doing such benign, boring things? Satisfied with simply guarding that which held immense power? He didn't understand it.

But that didn't mean he stopped trying to convince them otherwise.

The youngest of the batch was closest. A little freak of an echidna who possessed an unimaginable amount of power that seemed to keep him alive. Or some semblance of alive. The boy looked over a jigsaw puzzle one of those humans had brought on their last visit. He furrowed his brow, violet eyes flicking back and forth as he searched for the proper placement for the piece in his hand. The boy chewed on his lip, and a smile spread when he found the right spot and placed the piece. He wiggled in place, happy at his success.

The old echidna sneered. Such pathetic goals.

"Boy," he called, and he made sure his voice sounded weak and broken. It was easier to play on someone's sympathy if he sounded as old as he appeared. "Boy! Come here, please. I wish to speak with you."

The child looked up in surprise, glancing over his shoulder at the others. He wasn't supposed to talk to Dark—the rest of these weaklings always made sure to keep him separate—but they were off, distracted by other things at the moment.

A perfect opportunity.

"Come, boy," he said, and forced a smile to his lips. "Come sit with an old man."

Slowly, the boy stood, making his way over. He kept shooting glances over at the others, especially the tallest of the bunch. But for now, they were all undisturbed.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you, Grandpa."

The old echidna held back a sneer through sheer will. "Really boy, do I look like I could hurt you? Do I have any weapons? What harm could it do to keep an old man company?"

The younger echidna seemed to think this over, before moving closer and sitting before the elder. "What do you want to talk about?"

Dark smiled, leaning closer. "You are a special child, you know. You have so much potential. You could do such great things if you tried."

The boy cocked his head to the side. "Whadda ya mean? What things?'

"You feel that power inside you? From the Great Emerald?"

"Yeah?"

"You could pull more of that power out. It's yours for the taking."

The child furrowed his brow. "Why would I wanna do that?"

Dark adopted an innocent expression. "You want to be good, right? Stop all who are evil and hurt people?"

The boy brightened. "Yeah! I wanna stop bad guys!"

The older echidna smiled. "Then you'll need to be more powerful. You'll need to be stronger. And all you have to do to be powerful, is use more of the power from the Great Emerald."

The boy turned and looked up at the Master Emerald hovering over the Sanctuary. He bit his lip. "I'm not supposed to. Wachowski says that would throw chaos out of balance."

Dark waved a hand. "What does that boy know? His universe is dominated by those humans. He's different from all the rest of us. He doesn't know what it's like to feel real power."

The boy lowered his head, looking conflicted. Dark could tell he wanted to, but the warnings and weak claims of ‘it’s not for us!’ those other echidna had planted in his head were preventing him from doing so.

"Think of all the good you could do in the world, son. And besides, that power is meant for us. We are supposed to harness it, and use it when we need. It's not bad if it's meant to be, right?"

Excitement blossomed in Dark's chest. This was the closest he'd ever been to possibly regaining the power he'd lost. Step one was to get this freak to pull the power from the Great Emerald. Step two was to get him to funnel that power into Dark. Step three . . .

Well. Step three would be when the fun began.

"Lil Z, ye know ye're not s'possed t' be here."

The smile and excitement faded in Dark at the voice. That blasted pirate. What a time for that fool to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

The boy turned, a big smile spreading at the sight of the pirate.

"Dread! I'm gonna be a good guy! I'm gonna--"

"Aye, you will be a good guy, some day," the pirate said, his eyes flicking to Dark before moving back to the boy. "But t'day I think Boom be lookin' for ye. Somethin' about cookies, I think."

The boy's face lit up, and he leapt to his feet to hurry off toward the tallest of the echidna. Once he'd run off, the pirate turned back to Dark, the smile fading from his lips.

"Ye fillin' the boy's head with lies, old man?"

Dark smirked. He wasn't afraid of this pirate. He wasn't afraid of any of them. He knew them too well. They would posture and 'threaten' but never actually do anything.

"I'm telling the boy the truth. He could be more powerful than you lot let him. He could use that power inside him, inside the Great Emerald, and do wondrous things. Just because you all are too cowardly to tap into that power doesn't mean he should be."

The pirate stared down at him, his face like stone. Dark stared back. If one of them flinched in this little stare down, it wouldn't be him.

"Ye think ye're so smart."

Dark's brow furrowed.

"Ye think if ye get t' Lil Z, he'll lift ye back up t' where ye were in yer universe. Give ye the power ye so crave."

The older echidna's muzzle wrinkled in the beginnings of a sneer.

"You have no place to pass judgment on me, pirate," he snarled. "I've heard how you were in your world. Selfish. Greedy. Ready to throw any and all allies to the sharks if it meant you got what you wanted. Don't stand there all sanctimonious and act like you wouldn't step over any one of these other fools if it meant you could regain that power you were seeking."

Dark was expecting the pirate to flinch, but to his surprise, the other echidna didn't. The stony look on his face was still there, only now his eyes narrowed.

"Aye, I made mistakes. I was selfish and greedy and double crossed everyone who stopped being of use t' me. Ye're right about that. Didn't think nothin' of it at the time, was just how I be. Thought that was always how I would be. But that ain't who I am no more. That big gem up there cleared me head. Made me better. And I know what be important now. I know that power ain't for us t' take. Ain't for us t' use."

The older echidna clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes with a disgusted 'feh.'

"Oh, how noble of you," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "Then you're a fool just like the rest of them. This power is something we're destined to control. It's our birthright. We are the guardian of the Great Emerald, controller of chaos, and we alone are meant to wield that power as we see fit. Why should it remain free, untapped, and unused? It's there! Right there for the taking! Why am I the only one who seems to understand what it is we're meant for? What we're capable of?"

"We Knuckles be capable of much more than ye seem t' understand," the pirate said, shaking his head. "Having power ain't the end all. It's what ye do with that power. I went mad from the Prism Shard. All that power went t' me head, and jus' made me want more. There ain't no end t' that, it be like fillin' a bucket with a hole in it. The more ye get, the more ye want, and the cycle continues. It don't fill ye, jus' leaves ye empty."

A wicked smile curled Dark's lips at that. This echidna was just as foolish and righteous as the rest of them. A naive fool who was more interested in 'taking the high ground' than doing what needed done. He'd stand here and give his little moralistic speech, patting himself on the back for being so much 'better' than Dark, then wander off feeling so damn proud of himself.

They were all so predictable.

"Then you're just as weak and cowardly as the rest," he spat, settling back against the wall. "All bluster and no bravery to back it up."

The pirate moved faster than the old echidna expected, his sword tip digging into Dark's chin.

"Ye seem t' have me confused with one o' the others," the pirate said, his voice low and dangerous, a sly grin on his lips. "See, I ain't like them. I know what I be capable of. I know what power feels like. I have done things that many o' them would think was, well, not very nice, if we're being honest. So ye don't scare me. Ye don't tempt me. Ye be nothing t' me."

Dark liked to think of himself as unflappable, as someone who wouldn't feel anything but contempt and revulsion toward these other echidna. They weren't like him, they were so weak and had no idea what true power and force felt like.

But this echidna . . . he was different.

"I like t' think I be a different man than I was when I first arrived here," the pirate said, that grin widening. "But there be some things I cannot abide by. So I give ye one warning. If I ever, ever see ye speak t' that child again—hell, t' any o' the ones ye consider 'weak', I will split ye from yer guts to yer gizzard in a heartbeat." The grin turned into an absolute jeer. "Be I clear?"

Dark swallowed. He looked into this echidna's eyes. Normally, he'd think this was just a scare tactic—a few of the others had done the whole 'stay away from the others' posturing before, and it was about as effective as a little slap on the wrist.

But this one?

He meant every word.

Which made Dark smile.

"If you did that, what would the others think?" he asked, his voice soft and dripping with sugary innocence. "The horrible pirate, who claimed to be reformed and so different now, brutally murdered one of their tribe for the crime of speaking to the others. I suppose he wasn't as reformed as he claimed. Maybe he's just the same horrible, selfish, brutal person he was before he came. Maybe he doesn't belong here after all."

The pirate's brow furrowed, and his smile faded. But the look on his face never really changed. There was no shock, no doubt, no conflicted expression.

The look in his eyes, though. That changed.

It became harder. Sharper.

He leaned closer to Dark, his voice the sound of sharp gravel.

"Then I will leave. But at least I will know in me heart that the others, that the boy ye tried t' trick, will be safe from ye. That ye won't be here tryin' t' hurt them." He pulled back slightly, and gave a little nod. "Aye, that will soothe me heart and let me sleep well at night, knowin' all that."

Dark's smile faded. This wasn't going the way it should. Not at all. This echidna, he should have been simply threatening, doing that whole selfless 'I'll die protecting those I love' thing that seemed hardwired into a Knuckles. (At least these Knuckles. He'd never felt such a thing.)

But this was backwards. The pirate wasn't claiming to sacrifice his life for the others, he was threatening to kill for them. To sacrifice his own place in this blasted pocket dimension for the others' safety.

This pirate was playing Dark's game, and he was better at it.

"You sound sure of yourself," Dark said, and he tried very hard to keep his voice steady. He'd been thrown for a loop, and it was unnerving.

"And ye sound like ye're questioning me sincerity," the pirate said, his smile turning more into a smirk. "A very dangerous tactic when dealing with a legendary pirate captain such as meself. Would ye like t' push me a little more? How sure are ye of me virtuous nature?"

Dark sneered. He'd have to watch out for this one. He wasn't as stupid as he seemed.

"Enough. Remove your sword, pirate. You've made your point."

The pirate snarled, digging the sharp tip in for another second, before pulling it back as he stood.

"I hope I have," he said, sheathing his sword before crossing his arms before him. "I'll be watching ye."

Dark gave him a little smile. "And I'll be watching you."

The two held their gaze for a long moment, before the pirate threw him another snarl and turned away.

Dark watched him go, brow furrowed. That was certainly an . . . interesting exchange.

~~~

Like this? Check out my snippets for more. Reblogs are appreciated!

[hauntedjpegcollection]

delicate

wc: 9511 au: college au ch: benny, maran, xavier, benji

He’s self conscious in the bathroom, staring at himself. Runs a hand back and forth over his jawline—newly soft and somewhat sensitive. It’s been…well. It’s been a long time since Benny has shaved all his scruff away. The former Air Force technician was shockingly trim about it, considering his appearance looked so slimy and lazy on the every day to day. He liked it like that—never wanted anyone to think he put time or effort into his appearance. Even though he did. Even though his hair was constantly greasy because he was always fucking with it, always running an embarrassed hand back through the pale mop.

Benny likes having facial hair and grooms often. It feels like another layer, another puzzle piece to his fucked up appearance that gave people the wrong (or right) impression. He runs his hand over his jaw again. It’s bareness feels cold and foreign. He had decided to shave not necessarily on a whim, but because he was attending a conference soon. A major one. Where he’d actually be speaking. And Benny…

It was hard enough to get people to listen through the stutter.

Sometimes, he thought if he looked like Xavier people wouldn’t mind it. Wouldn’t even notice. Maybe they’d find it endearing; that big wolfy smile and handsome features, freckled cheeks and green eyes. But instead, he looks like…Benny. Tattooed, disheveled. Crooked teeth, eye bags, ugly. Stutter. Benny. There had been a small semblance of control in the decision to make himself look more, what? Professional? Clean? That’s what he’d thought when he’d started, anyway.

Now Benny looks in the mirror as his pale, bare face and lets his head drop. Tattooed hands hold onto the ceramic sink while he looks at the pale fuzzy hairs he’ll have to clean away.

—

Benny manages to avoid Xavier and Lark easily enough.

His room is the only one in the apartment that has a connected bathroom (sole perk of being the guy navigating the somewhat illegal housing). He can hide easily. Mope in his bed, regret his life choices, sip from his flask and ignore the ever present academic calendar that is burned inside his skull.

But he cannot avoid Maran. And he wouldn’t want too anyway, but there’s not much of a choice when the man bursts into his bedroom later that day. A literal burst too, with him. Always is some sort of explosion of movement and excitement when it comes to Maran. Benny likes that. Usually. The door knob hits the wall and he spins quickly to say “sorry” to the inanimate object before turning back to Benny.

“Xavier and I sent in something to this cereal company like four months ago—and they finally sent us back the decoding ring for—”

As Maran gets closer to the bed, he stops talking. The sentence dies midway on his tongue, jaw becoming slack. He stands at the edge of the mattress, staring down at Benny, who looks up with flag eyes. He’d shoved his way into a nicely sized sweatshirt, hood up, even though that couldn’t really hide his new shameful mistake. His blond hair peeks out in little wisps. Slowly, and with a heavy groan, Benny hefts himself off the bed. He pushes past Maran with his shoulder to close the door. Probably a little harder than he needs to.

And then when he turns, Maran is much closer than he expects. Makes Benny jump, hands shooting up to curl around his boyfriend’s biceps.

“Fuckin—shit, Maran—you s-scared me, God damn,” he rambles, thumbs brushing back and forth over the attractive swell of defined biceps. Maran’s in one of those silly graphic t-shirts that has the Japanese lettering of a video game across the chest. It’s been run through the wash too many times, so the yellow is faded to a nice, pastel butter color. It hangs a bit loose, the collar yolked a little (perhaps from Benny’s own hand, if he spares a thought to it).

He looks so pretty in these shades, Benny thinks, eyes dropping to the safety of his chest. And he’s so warm. He’s so warm all the time. Little ray of sunshine. Fucker.

He jumps again—this time, it’s traitorously closer to a flinch—when Maran’s fingers brush over his newly bare jawline. Those fingers drop like they might have bothered and Benny’s quick, nasty insecurity causes his cheeks to warm. They turn a painful, embarrassing red. He rolls his eyes and snorts, pushes himself past Maran again to throw himself back onto the bed. On his stomach, face to the pillow. He can practically feel the slow crawl of the blush to his ears.

Only, Benny is surprised for the third time when the heavy weighted sensation of his boyfriend settles over him. Maran never lacks a want for physical attention—when they’re together, it’s almost rare that they’re not touching. Even simply. Sitting together, a leg thrown over one another’s lap. Out with their ever expanding friend group, an arm slung around shoulders or a waist. Benny likes to be touching Maran so people know (he needs people to know). And he figures Maran likes being touched.

But now, warm hands are sliding under his sweatshirt and tucking around Benny’s waist and it’s him being touched. Him being held.

It makes Benny’s face hotter. The bite of embarrassment ebbs to a more pressing tug of arousal, right where he has that silly spider tattoo. It makes his stomach tense and his breath come out in a short, annoyed huff. Sometimes, he feels like he is too easy in Maran’s hands—but it feels nice. It feels so earnestly nice to be touched so simply and brought to a simmer so quickly. He scrubs his hand back to shove the hood down from his head. Blond hair springs up in a messy fashion, limp and buoyant at the same time. He tilts his chin just slightly over his shoulder, not really seeing Maran so much as sensing his presence right there.

“You g-going to tell me about th-the cereal toy?”

“You shaved,” Maran says, his voice shockingly low and spoken directly to the shell of Benny’s ear. The arousal slips back to icy humiliation and the sudden change makes him anxious and even further annoyed. He pulls such a classic Maran move—begins wriggling on the bed incessantly, shoving his way onto his back—includes a few exaggerative huffs and groans and sighs. Then he’s on his back and Maran is still on top of him, rested prone, their whole bodies lined up. Hands have gone from his waist to his shoulders—and he’d like to focus on those hands, honestly.

Because Maran has nice hands. He has freckles on his knuckles. He has long, deft fingers, but broad palms. They’re not as rough as Benny’s, but they’re not delicately soft either. They’re warm and comforting and familiar. Benny’s entire existence would often narrow right down to wherever those hands are touching him—but Maran is staring, with such darkly lidded eyes it makes his stomach flood with feeling again. The whiplash aggravates him, sours him to moodiness. He glowers up at his boyfriend, his blue eyes thin slits.

“Don’t.”

“Ben,” Maran sighs his name out and the heat crawls from his lower stomach down his thighs. It travels up his sternum. To his throat, to under his jaw, where his teeth clench together. “You look pretty.”

His narrowed eyes pop unexpectedly wide. The blush darkens the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, his ears, his throat. Benny refuses to think of this as a compliment; it has to be condescending or patronizing. It has to be unkind in some way, a rude little dig. It has to be mean, because he’s never genuinely been called pretty in his fucking life. And even if he had, he’s not sure what feeling to associate with such a compliment. He blinks nervously, his hands anxiously looking for a place to sit. They don’t go anywhere but hover by his sides.

Maran isn’t mean. Sometimes, that almost sets Benny on edge, because he doesn’t understand a world that doesn’t operate on some level of cruelty.

“Stop fucking with me,” he mumbles, but all the ice and edge from his voice is gone and instead, it truly is just a soft and nearly whispered plea. Maran leans in. He’s smiling his pretty smile—just enough of a split to his lips to show teeth, to put dimples in his cheeks. Benny doesn’t understand how that compliment could apply to both of them. Maran is pretty—Maran is so gorgeous sometimes it feels too good to be true. Benny shifts more, his frustration clear, but his hands finally settle around Maran’s hips.

They kiss and it’s soft and sweet to start. A simple press of their mouths together, arms winding around each other to get closer. Benny feels Maran’s leg pressing between his own, their hips aligned and the friction between them hot. Their mouths open into the kiss, tongues meeting and the kiss somehow stays soft despite that. It’s slow and building until they’re rolling on the bed, kissing but also touching, appreciative gropes along biceps and thighs and sides and shoulders. The kissing makes them breathe harder, makes their chests heave together. The blankets on Benny’s bed get tangled around them.

And Maran starts to move his kisses lower. His mouth brushes Benny���s jawline and then his throat, leaving a trail of compliments and warmth. His sweatshirt is pushed up to expose pale, tattooed skin, Benny’s stomach flexing under the soft touch of finger pads over his ribs and sides and hips. Maran kisses his sternum, brushes his tongue around a pert nipple and makes Benny inhale sharply. His hand grips behind Maran’s neck, squeezing hard and eliciting a moan that could have been from either of them.

A series of loud knocks to the door makes them both jump. Maran’s hand lands on his stomach, resulting in a loud wheeze from Benny and a hurried apology and then Xavier is yelling loudly—

“You guys coming to trivia night?”

His skin feels flushed icy where air met the trail Maran’s tongue was making down his body. The freckled palm over his pectoral is radiating a heat that sinks into the very core of him. Benny twists until he’s braced on his elbows—for a moment, a knee is grinding against him and making him snap teeth on his lip. Xavier has better hearing that he lets on, and he’s always mopey when he remembers Benny and Maran do more than just stand around each other, holding hands.

There’s another tentative knock.

“Yeah,” Benny yells out. “Yeah, sure, wh-whatever, we’re coming.”

“We are?” Maran asks, surprised. His hand is still curled around Benny’s chest appreciatively. He smiles without shame, a dopey slant to him when Benny raises an eyebrow down at it.

“I sh-shouldn’t keep you locked in my room all night,” Benny says, pushing up further. Maran becomes leaden, looks like he might argue, big and pouty like. But I like being locked up, Benny can imagine him saying in that breathy, flirtatious way. That would go straight to his dick and Maran wouldn’t be locked up for just one night. But sometimes Benny feels selfish for the way he’s consistently dodging social gatherings, trapping Maran in his pale, spindly hands and keeping him from everyone else.

So instead he manages to get himself out from under Maran, who sprawls back on the bed in a bratty way, arms crossed over his chest. It makes him snicker as he crosses to the door and yanks it open to stare at Xavier—who stares back, with big, surprised eyes.

“What?”

“Did you shave?”

Benny slams the door shut.

—

Xavier does so well at trivia, Benny starts to think their group is going to be disqualified.

It turns out to be unnecessary, because Benji shows up a third of the way through. Then Xavier seems unable to figure out the answers to anything, his eyes continually wandering to Maran’s best friend and then lower, to the black jeans he’s wearing. More so the rips in the knees and the particularly large one at the inner thigh that Benji either hasn’t noticed, or doesn’t really care that much to hide. He looks exhausted, constantly plucks his glasses off to rub at his eyes and soon, Xavier completely loses the lead and then drops out entirely.

So then it just becomes their friend group at an over crowded bar—which Benny is only fine with if he’s had more than a few beers.

“I didn’t know Xavier liked geography like that,” Maran comments, sucking the small straw in his drink. It comes up mostly dry, so he fishes at the ice and crunches it between his teeth.

“Do you wa-want another one of those?” Benny asks, chin to Maran’s shoulder, finger pointed to the fruity drink he’d picked up as a favorite from Matilda. She sits in the corner of the bar with Lark, the two of them with their heads bent together sharing headphones so they don’t have to endure the bar music. Sometimes she smiles in a way that is unguarded and meant just for Lark, who moves closer as if he knows that and doesn’t want a single other person seeing it.

“Depends. Want me to drive us home?”

Benny snorts, presses a kiss to Maran’s temple and then lower to his cheek and then bends himself around to steal a kiss on the mouth as well. I love you for that, Benny wishes he could say. I love you. Instead he tilts Maran with a hand around his throat for an even deeper, messier kiss as a way to say yes, please and thank you, instead of what he really wants.

“Jesus, let him breathe.” Xavier’s moody voice makes Benny finally unwind from Maran, who sucks in a gasp of air, which only encourages Xavier’s stormy glare. He’s wandered back from wherever he and Benji had just been—likely a cigarette, shared between them outside away from noise and people as is some sort of tradition for them. Benji trails after, looking considerably less tired, as if Xavier was a little battery pack he slides into his social meter whenever he’s forced from his apartment. Or Xavier’s bedroom.

Seems to be where they mostly spend all their time, not even fucking.

“Maran’s DD’ing fo-for me tonight, just showing him some appreciation,” Benny purrs, massaging hands on his boyfriends shoulders.

“Maran?” Benji snorts, brows furrowing. “He doesn’t—Yeow!”

“Xavier probably wants a beer!” Maran says, standing from his side of the table to crowd near Benji, who rubs furiously at his shin.

“Oh, dude, how did you know?” Xavier asks, face splitting into a grin even as he bends slightly to watch Benji rub at his leg.

“I’ll be back.” Benny takes the garish pink zip up that Maran had been wearing and yanks it on. It’s not his color, but it makes Maran’s eyes go slightly shiny, his grin falter into something more lusty than affectionate. All for some Kirby sweatshirt he’s had his whole life, holes nearly forming in the elbows. Benny gives his own lewd grin back, throwing a vulgar gesture at Benji who returns it with a sneer and a jerking hand at his hip.

—

Benny stands at an opening in the bar, phone illuminated in his hand until the bartender will notice him. He’s in no rush, unlike the gaggle of girls beside him who keep huffing at their lack of attention, adjusting straps on their shoulders and discussing the merits of Donna Tartt and Celeste Ng. It’s a funny conversation to be privy too, because Benny has an e-reading app open on his phone.

Nomi had showed him because he’d bristled at the idea of anything connected to Amazon and Jeff fucking Bezos; but this was something different and didn’t even require payment. She’d also downloaded PDF’s of almost every book he’d sent her on a list and walked him through putting them on. Benny was half convinced she was guilty for what he figured was a very obvious crush on Maran; and he was also convincing himself that the free books were the reason Nomi’s crush on his boyfriend didn’t bother him.

He flicks a flinger to get to the next page, chewing absently on the string of Maran’s hoodie. He’s read this one before, but it’s comforting to know what’s going to happen next; the fallen son of an Imperial Galactic Archon, forced onto the streets and then into the gladiator’s ring. He flicks his finger again, hip cocked on the bar, wondering if the frazzled woman behind it will ever get to him, or if Xavier will forever be stuck with a low grade buzz that fizzles out because he’s mooning over Benji again.

“Hi.”

The main character wins all his fights, of course. He’s the son of an Archon. He’s trained with Legionnaires his entire life; everyone both hates and reveres him and his life is lonely because of it. He saves a mans life during the games and that man becomes his best friend…

“Hi?”

“What?” Benny looks up with a frustrated line between his brows. A stranger has squeezed himself in beside the girls, putting him far too close. He’s an inch or two shorter than Benny, but stands in a way that suggests he doesn’t think so. Back straight, shoulders in an even line. He holds a totally full beer almost like it’s a prop. Benny blinks at it. Ironically the brand that Xavier was drinking.

“I asked what you’re reading,” the stranger says, leaning closer so Benny can hear him better over the music that follows trivia. He frowns harder, tilting his phone slightly so the man can’t see his screen anymore. “Oh, sorry. I’ve just never seen anyone reading at a bar before.”

Benny gestures with his chin to the girls and says, “Th-they’re talking about Octavia Butler right now.”

The man glances behind him, as if suddenly aware of the proximity when their backs must be bumping together every few minutes. At least the girls have finally gotten their drinks. No sign of the bartender. Sorry, Xavier. Benny goes back to looking at his phone, eyes scanning quickly to find the sentence he’d left off on.

“Right, but—I—uh, well. I’m more interested in what you’re reading, that’s all.”

“Why?” Benny glances back up with a suspicious sneer. He’s not drunk enough to deal with people right now. He’s not even buzzed, he’d only had a few beers and it was spaced out over agonizing questions pulled from a mock Jeopardy website. The pretzels and pub cheese had all but sobered him up. And if Maran was willing to drive, he’d liked to at least have a few more beers—and why the fuck was this guy talking to him at all?

“I could buy you a drink,” the stranger says, giving him a wide and charming smile. “In exchange.”

Only then does it click that he’s being flirted with. At a bar. Someone’s trying to pick him up at a bar by asking what he’s reading and offering to buy him a drink. Benny’s face loses its nasty expression, going blank because he’s so genuinely startled. He can’t really remember the last time a man approached him like this—he’s certainly never gotten anything as innocent as what are you reading?

Maran’s pink sweatshirt must make him look so much more disarming than usual. His tattoos mostly covered. Bare face placing him closer to twenty one than twenty six. All he manages are a few blinks at the hopeful expression staring back at him.

Then arms are winding around him from behind. Benny would have flinched at the sudden contact if the brown hands lacing themselves across his stomach weren’t so obviously Maran’s. He’s tugged back, breath leaving him in a rush as he connects with a solid, delightfully warm chest.

“What’s taking so long?” Maran’s breath whispers against his ear, turning his legs utterly boneless. Benny doesn’t answer, because he finds it hard to think, a shiver running from the nape of his neck down. One of Maran’s hands has flattened and runs suggestively down the front of his thigh to stick possessively into his pocket, the other still splayed across his lower belly. The spread of Maran’s fingertips highlights how broad his hand is, covering so much space.

Benny blinks rapidly, still standing there holding his phone up as if he might read another chapter.

The man in front of him goes terribly red. He mutters something awkward and quickly leaves (the girl behind him sighing in relief to be able to take up more space for their late night bar book club).

Maran slinks his way forward, transferring hands to Benny’s shoulders until his hands turn to arms resting instead, fingers toying with lanky blond hair at the nape of his neck. His expression is smugly mischievous, eyes hooded and lips tilted with rakish pride. He seems, if possible, even more beautiful in that moment, under dim amber bar lightning, with his freckles and his proud smile and his possessive, shining eyes. Benny finally puts his phone away, coming back to himself in time for the bartender to slide up and ask him what he’d like to order.

“Nothing,” Benny replies, yanking Maran’s hand and dragging him toward the exit of the bar.

—

“Did I do something wrong?” Maran’s playful voice indicates he thinks the opposite, but he’s asking because he loves the attention (and he gets that attention, that sole attention, very frequently, especially if he lilts his voice just like that).

“Did I do something wrong,” Benny sneers in a mock annoyance as he continues tugging the other man through the parking lot. He scans the area, finds it mostly packed with vehicles but otherwise empty of people besides the two of them. Just the way he likes it; alone with Maran, the way the night would have gone without the trivia. Gravel crunches underneath their feet and the farther they get, the softer the noisy bar becomes. “Dr-drive me fucking insane sometimes, Maran.”

He finds Xavier’s massive beast of a truck at the far end of the lot where light is only just touching, red, rusty and ugly. Finally, he shoves Maran behind it.

“This isn’t your car,” he notes curiously, patting Xavier’s truck as if it’s a familiar animal companion. Benny reaches out and yanks the truck’s door open, finding it thankfully unlocked. Maran stares at him with big, pretty, utterly confused eyes. The look makes arousal swell in Benny’s lower stomach, fine pin prick needles of heat between his hips—no one should look so devastatingly sexy when they have no idea what’s going on.

“No,” Benny steps closer, pressing himself to Maran, who connects with the side of the truck with a soft exhale. Because they’re the same height, everything lines up perfectly. And the way his expression lights up, Maran must feel the hardness against his hip, from Benny, whose been turned on since that first touch around his middle in the bar. “Easier to hide behind. Just in case we get caught.”

“Caught?”

“Caught.” Benny’s hands slip underneath Maran’s flimsy graphic t-shirt. It’s cotton soft and worn thin from age, the design on the front nearly faded. It’s dark navy and Benny is still wearing that silly pink sweatshirt, the colors clashing as his hands sink further, cup warm ribs, thumbs running across skin appreciatively. He feels the shiver on Maran’s skin, the dance and flex of his muscles. He’s so soft it should be illegal, inviting teeth and nails to leave marks on him.

“Oh. Oh.” Maran’s smile goes crooked and pleased, his own hands lifting to touch Benny’s shoulders. He curls fingers into the soft pink fabric, tugging at it playfully. His cheeks have flushed with color that Benny can barely see, with how dark it is back where he’s found them a slice of privacy.

They crash together to kiss and it’s not gentle; Benny’s near angry with it, thinking about those warm arms around him, the possessive touch across his lower stomach. Maran is panting by the time Benny’s mouth moves to his throat, his hands jerking at the novel pink sweatshirt. All the while, Benny’s own palms are moving south, groping Maran’s waist and hips and then he finally pulls back. His chest heaves as his knuckles brush across the Maran’s zipper and those beautiful, brown eyes fall down to stare at them.

“I’m going to suck you off,” Benny says decisively, lowering himself to his knees. The gravel crunches underneath them painfully, but he finds it easy to ignore, staring up at Maran, whose mouth has formed a cute little ‘O’ shape. Benny’s own mouth pools with saliva, desire and something furious mingling inside him.

“Out here?” Maran’s voice is stretched thin, breathy from the kissing. Benny responds by popping the button on Maran’s jeans. They’ve tented with an obvious erection and the other man shifts back and forth, either from nerves or because he’s desperate for some sort of friction there. It never ceases to satisfy Benny how quickly Maran can get hard just by kissing. Just by feeling their bodies together, tongues touching, breathy panting against each others mouths.

Benny leans back, the gravel making his knees and shins prick with more pain. He runs hands slow and firm up and down Maran’s thighs, but gets no closer than that. He tilts his head, strands of pale hair falling and framing his cheekbones. He stares up at Maran with an almost bashful expression. His lips tug into a sweeter sort of smile, something wanting and dripping with desire.

“Please?”

“Hah—fuck, Ben—wasn’t going to say no, swear it—but,” Maran’s hands look almost shaky as they cup Benny’s cheeks, tilting his face up further. His thumbs brush a clean shaven jaw appreciatively, like the novelty hasn’t worn off. Benny could get used to shaving if it scrambled Maran’s brain this badly. “Can you say that again?”

His lip curls in satisfaction, eyes narrowing to mean slits.

“Please, Maran,” Benny says, leaning forward to flatten his tongue against the exposed brown skin of a hip bone. “I want it so bad.”

“Oh!” Maran’s head crashes back against the truck, that vowel pulled long and hard. One of his hands lifts from Benny’s face to shove at his shirt, to raise it, to expose more of his beautiful torso. It’s such an erotic image, Maran standing there, pulling at his shirt, his jeans unbuttoned and straining with an erection. Benny feels inspired by it, by the filth of it all, like a scene from a clip on a website that gives your laptop viruses. He laughs and the feel of his breath makes Maran’s skin dance—and then his tongue points and drags, tasting as much as he can.

It becomes something hurried and languid all at the same time. Benny’s hands are frantic as they tug at Maran’s jeans, yanking them to mid thigh, but his kisses stay hungry and slow across his stomach. One of Maran’s hands fists into blond hair, then pets apologetically, then twitches into a harder grip when Benny requests it (whispers it, longingly, hold me harder, to Maran’s smooth skin). His shirt keeps slipping and theres a desperate energy about the way he continues to hike it up, like he wants nothing more than the best view of Benny—

Benny as he pulls Maran free of his boxers and Benny as he runs an appreciate and hungry tongue from base to tip and Benny spitting into his hand just to make it messier and then Benny laughing against a warm, hard cock when it makes Maran’s dark eyes dilate harder in the near full dark of the parking lot.

“I love these,” Benny murmurs, pressing kisses to freckles that dot Maran’s shaft.

“No, they’re—” Maran’s voice cuts off in a strangled way when those kisses turn more open mouth. Unhurried in their unabashed appreciation. His head shakes back and forth, his hand still desperately keeping up his shirt. “They’re weird, Ben.”

“They’re sexy,” he argues, shuffling closer. The sound of gravel is almost louder than Maran’s sharp, incessant inhales. He’s feverishly hot, hips gyrating forward, his other hand still firm in Benny’s hair.

Maran holds in moan after moan, when Benny begins in earnest. He’s always preferred other methods of getting men off; he likes hand jobs, rubbing messily together in bed, reliable mutual masturbation, just sex usually. It’s not that he isn’t good with his mouth—by the sounds Maran’s holding in and the way he throbs on his tongue and his one leg keeps twitching, Benny figures he’s doing a very good job.

But its so intimate, in a way that he’s not usually good at. No bad experiences cloud his feelings for it; it isn’t the vulnerability that he necessarily avoids. But it’s different—feeling Maran in his mouth is different. Tasting him like this, sucking appreciatively, running his tongue in happy circles, memorizing the way Maran jerks or sucks in a breath or bites off a whimper when pressure or hand placement or tongue placement changes. Benny becomes greedy for all those differences, all the ways Maran is wholly his in that moment.

He pulls away panting, hand jerking a steady and needy rhythm. Maran’s cock is slick with his spit, with pre-cum, is shiny at the tip in a delicious sort of way. Benny almost leans back in, but he pauses, eyes watery at he stares up.

“Next time,” he pants. “On my face. Next time.”

“Ben.”

“Right, but probably easier if you do it in my mouth this time. We’re in a parking lot, you know.”

“I know—I know we’re in a parking lot—can you—tighter.” Maran’s voice cracks around the word and Benny complies with a fist at the base of Maran’s cock, his mouth quickly swallowing down the rest of him. Maran’s hand cups the back of his head, fingers scrabbling desperately. His whole body jerks, once and then twice and he throbs harder on Benny’s tongue which is suddenly coated in all that Maran flavor.

He’s greedy for it, swallowing even as his messy hand darts down to the front of his own jeans.

When he pulls away, lips sore, he rests his forehead to Maran’s stomach. He’s unkind to himself, jerking a painful erection quickly. The orgasm builds up agonizingly behind his lower stomach, making him whimper-moan into Maran’s skin and then two hands are cupping his head and tilting it and he’s being looked at as he finally cums onto the gravel in front of him. Benny hadn’t even really been thinking when he’d fumbled himself out of his jeans like that; he’d just needed some sort of relief, it’d been so good.

They look at each other, the breathes heavy and loud. Benny’s hand becomes even more filthy, but Maran doesn’t seem to care when he bends and starts jerking him upward. They collide together once more, against Xavier’s shitty truck and kiss again. They laugh between the kisses, adrenaline from their obscene public affair draining and making them insane. Benny gets his fill of Maran’s tongue, the taste of his cum and his spit more intoxicating than alcohol. And he shivers head to toe when between each kiss, each messy, tongue filled kiss, Maran is saying I love you, oh fuck, I love you, Ben.

And then between that sweetness, he finally withdraws to pant, “Where’s your car?”

Benny grins ear to fucking ear.

—

Maran is more nervous about it than Benny expects him to be.

He acquiesces only because a good point is made; they can go back to Benny’s—their usual—but it’s the end of the night and Xavier and Benji will be there soon (because there’s rarely a night ended that Benji returns to his own apartment if Xavier’s sexless bed is an option). If Lark isn’t home, he’s guaranteed to be soon, crawling in late with Matilda trying to hold in her laughs—unsuccessfully enough that she’s probably not holding them in that much. The entire apartment is overly large considering the under the table price for it, but not so large that the walls aren’t too thin. That they might get interrupted, because Xavier pouts for Maran’s attention.

So they end up at Benji’s. At Maran’s—sort of.

He stands with arms awkwardly crossed over his chest, hovering in the door frame to his own room as Benny takes it in.

It’s a strange reminder that Maran was never meant to be a permanent fixture here in America. He was visiting for fun, for the Summer, to be with Benji as he drags himself toward the finishing lines of his semester. Maran’s room is as temporary as he was supposed to be, with a little corner of the room dedicated to clothes in a foldable mesh dresser. A TV that was clearly either discounted or found out on a curb, with a game station connected to it and a sprawling stack of cases beside it. A collection of two beat up skateboards lean against the wall.

There were plants lined up on the windowsill, a pop of color in an otherwise mostly barren room. They were so lovingly and obviously tended that it made Benny’s heart tumble around in his chest. And the bed wasn’t even a bed at all, but an air mattress that hadn’t lost it’s air just yet. Blankets and pillows were piled atop, as well as a little stuffed creature that Nomi had bought Maran a few weeks ago.

Benny’s heart begins moving again, a rattle inside his rib cage. Such a small place, so undecorated, so unlike Maran didn’t feel right, but he was drawn to the bed none the less. It was like a beacon and Benny goes to his knees and lets his upper body fall into it. Theres the automatic slight give of an air mattress and then Benny scoops the blankets toward himself, rubbing his face into them, sighing loudly. It smells like Maran—something slightly citrus scented and laundry and this boyish sort of smell. Benny inhales, open mouth, groaning into the blankets, sagging until his legs extend behind him, laid out half on the floor.

“It’s not as nice as your room,” Maran says from behind him.

Without looking, Benny hooks a leg around Maran’s ankle and yanks until the mans stumbling into the bed after him. He’s ungraceful about the fall, mostly catching Benny on his shoulder and huffing as he lands. The air mattress gives a a groan, but somehow manages both men in it. Benny tilts his head from the blankets he’s all but buried himself into so he can get a look at Maran, on his side, next to him.

“I wanna st-stay here more often,” Benny says. Maran’s nose crinkles, brows furrowing.

“Why?”

“I think I could sleep for hours here.”

It’s true enough that he closes his eyes and enjoys the warm blankets, the sound of a rattling and possibly dying aircon unit, his own breathing. But a stretch of silence makes him open his eyes and Maran is staring at him. Staring at him in the dark comfort of his modest little temporary room, staring on his side, with a hand slightly lifted like he might lean in and touch. His plush lower lip trembles, his eyes shiny enough that Benny stops just staring as well and leans in.

Their lips find each other, much gentler this time around.

—

Benny hadn’t been lying. He could have dozed right off in that bed, which was a rarity for a man that survived off pure sludgy black coffee and only slept four hours at a time to begin with. Maran’s bed had been inviting, not because it was nice. But because it was Maran’s. He could lay there and envision Maran making a comfortable nest of those blankets, holding that little stuffed animal, dozing off as wind from the window played with the plants. Benny could have slept, just like that.

So instead of fucking in the bed, they’re on the floor.

Because Benny has no interest in sleep just yet and his entire body buzzes with that sort of electric hum that Maran makes him feel. Bone deep and waspy, his whole circulatory system running on adrenaline and hunger and desire.

He’s on top of Maran, who lays on the floor, knees spread on either side of his hips, forehead brushing against the man’s chest. His hands fist against the floor underneath him, low moans pouring from his mouth. Maran’s hand remains busy, fingers even more busy, lubed as they are and between Benny’s thighs, the other hand running appreciative and never ending paths across Benny’s side and stomach and chest. He breathes just as hard, as if he’s the one being teased and that puff of air tickles Benny’s cheek as he slides himself forward. He shoves his face into the crook of Maran’s neck, eyes twisted shut.

“Is it good?” Maran asks in a hoarse voice and the question seems so ludicrous when pleasure keeps making Benny’s thighs twitch. When he’s dripping precum onto Maran’s pretty, brown stomach.

It’s the enthusiasm, he thinks, more than any technique. It’s the fact that Maran’s wrist never seems to tire, that every once in a while, their erections brush together and make it even better. It’s the way Maran keeps experimenting with a new twist or a shy addition of a another finger. It’s the position, on the floor like this, Maran underneath him. It’s passion, probably, it’s the fact that Maran’s voice sounds like he’s the one being finger fucked, that’s how much he’s enjoying himself.

It’s enough to make Benny straighten angrily and reach for Maran’s hand, pulling it away and then pinning it to the floor beside his head. The slipperiness of it, and the shine on his fingers does something to Benny, something obscene and nasty, as if he isn’t already filthy types of aroused. But it Maran’s blissful smile, the way his eyes have gone glassy and pretty and his chest heaves and the way he looks pinned like that. Just as much spread out as he usually is, when Benny is the one fucking him, but just different.

“I want you.” It comes out more growl than he intends, but the tone has such an effect on the man underneath him, makes him go weak and submissive and even prettier in his desperation.

“Yeah,” Maran breathes out, his free hand touching Benny’s collarbone, sliding down, cupping around his pectoral. His pupils have blown so wide, his eyes are black with desire. His loopy smile dimples his pretty, freckled cheeks. “Yeah, Ben—I—yeah.” His words skip and then go high when Benny’s hand finds his cock, the position awkward to line himself up, the mad scramble to feel him, to be fucked by him making Benny shaky with it.

He likes it like this. Benny likes bottoming and he likes being in charge and he likes looking at Maran, whose smile turns to a pathetic, slackened pleasurable expression at the penetration. His hands go so quick to Benny’s waist that it almost hurts, the way they clench onto him as he grinds hips down lower and fits himself snug. The stretch, the burn, the sudden fullness makes his head go off hinge, fall back and his mouth open as he breathes hard and enjoys himself. Enjoys Maran and his sweet little thrust up.

“Predictable,” Benny groans, head falling forward to watch Maran’s hands creep up his torso, cup once more around his chest. Those brown hands flex and massage and Maran looks satisfied and smug about it particularly when it makes Benny huff out a sound too close to a whimper. His skin feels hypersensitive to the touch.

“You feel so good,” Maran whispers in reply, in a fever pitched voice. His throat is sweat slicked, his cheeks ruddy with splotches of color that make him beautiful. Hands move from Benny’s chest to his sides, then around, cup his ass in a way that encourages more back and forth grinding. Benny falls forward with it, hands on the floor once more. It feels so good it makes spots of color pop in his vision, this never ending friction of heat and Maran. Maran’s hands and his cock and his sweat slick body beneath him and the sounds he keeps trying to hide and the way he holds him even tighter, remembering Benny’s plea for harder from earlier.

They find a vicious sort of rhythm that Benny commands entirely. Their foreheads touch and slide together and Maran stares at him with arousal wet reverent eyes. He pets back sweat slicked blond hair from Benny’s face, attempts to pull them in for a kiss—but Benny claims his hands and shoves them down once more, his mouth a wicked cut of a smile.

“Ben,” Maran protests in a whine. Benny’s hands tighten, to a painful point where bones almost grind that makes Maran gasp and that pain makes his pupils darken once more. His body shivers, hips thrusting in adjustment and nearly making Benny snap his teeth. He’s so close to an edge he’s been dancing toward it for minutes now, just looking at Maran, just feeling him stretch and fill. It became a painful build up, a nervous energy in all his limbs, a tightening in his stomach that felt unbearable.

“Maran.” Benny’s tone makes Maran’s eyes snap wider, his hands clasping back around Benny, shaky with want. He pants, open mouth wet and pretty and kissable. Benny doesn’t kiss him. Instead his hands trail from the floor, to his shoulders, then slink around his throat. He brushes his thumb back and forth, making Maran whimper, making his head fall back, his eyes go needy. His pulse is a wild drum against Benny’s palm. He gives a small, mean squeeze.

“Are you close?”

“Yes—yes—Ben—ah,” Maran seems to forget his penchant for holding back, seems to forget that he usually stuffs a fist to his mouth, or bites his hand, or his lip until his moans die in his throat. In that moment, he’s loud, he’s nearly crying it out, his back briefly arching off the floor, his hands grabbing harder. Benny might even have bruises. He wants bruises. He wants to bruise. The rhythm that was already a brutal, fast, mean thing gets harder and so does Benny.

His grip tightens. And tightens. And he leans himself down until Maran has to accommodate by lifting his hips up, by thrusting up, to keep them going, forced into giving Benny more and more and what he wants.

“Cum in me?” It’s a question but not a request, but Benny makes it sound sort of sweet, even as his hands are tightening more. Maran’s eyes are watery to the point of tears, collecting and rolling down into the wispy hair at his temples. It’s not even a request, though his voice is lilted as if it is, as if he’s asking—its a demand and Maran knows it, can see and feel it, in the way Benny’s hands go meaner. Just the way Maran wants it, the way he used to try and angle for it, before he even really knew he liked it like that.

The vision of Maran bearing his throat for the first time, bashfully whispering for Benny to grab him there, as tight as he could, threatens to undo him entirely.

And then it’s Maran’s arms winding around his middle and their bodies jerking together, the slap of their skin and the sounds Maran makes as he cums and he’s choked at the same time that really make Benny come undone. Warmth spills inside him, Maran’s body a searing furnace underneath him and palms drag across his back, leaving angry scratches that he’s going to love the next day.

Benny’s own orgasm makes him shiver, hunched over, legs painfully sore. His temple brushes Maran’s, his cum a thick pool across his boyfriend’s torso. He shakes with the aftershocks of sensation that jolt his limbs. He feels drained and blissful and not altogether present, his mind fuzzy at the corners. His hands feel painful as they unlock from around Maran’s beautiful throat. His stomach muscles pulse, his chest heaves; he’s so spent for a moment, he can only lay there.

Then he raises and regrets it.

Maran looks the more fucked of the two of them. He lays there, hands trembling on Maran’s thighs. His expression is slack, his wet eyelashes fluttering as another tear trails down his cheek. Maran licks his lips slowly, coming to himself just enough to smile at Benny. His hand brushes from a pale, tattooed thigh to the cum on his stomach and then—in a gesture so devastatingly disgusting and erotic and somehow cut—he rubs it into his skin. Rubs it into his fucking nipple, his debauched face sweet and pleased.

Benny can’t find his voice—Maran’s fucked it out of him—so he jerks forward and captures him in a kiss.

He wants more somehow. More than either of them can give, but he wants it. He wants Maran to cum in his mouth so he can kiss him, so they can trade spit and semen and nastiness. He wants them to slide together, tacky and sticky and disgusting. He wants to fuck Maran till he’s crying, he wants Maran to do the same for him. He wants him in ways that don’t feel good and pure, he wants to be obscene and vulgar, he wants them fucking in public, in bathrooms, behind bars. He wants to bite and leave marks and kiss and fuck, fuck and fuck and he wants, the entire time for Maran to be whispering exactly what he whispers then.

I love you, Ben, I love you, that felt so good, it feels so good with you, I love you. I love you.

They kiss until breathing becomes difficult and then Benny has to pull away and hold Maran’s cheeks and spread those kisses to other places while Maran’s laughs in a dry, raspy way. He’ll wear the proof of Ben in a series of bruises around his throat that neither of them will figure out how to cover from their friends.

—

They do end up in the bed. The air mattress, that is. After a shower that they spend far too long in, even after the water starts to go tepid instead of hot. They crawl onto the mattress together, pillows and blankets being rearranged. Benny, who feels greedy, lays on Maran, head to his chest. He lays there, listening to his heart beat, enjoying the dying aircon in the corner of the room. He enjoys the pass of headlights across the wall every now and then, through the flimsy shutter curtains that Maran has pinned up.

Maran’s thumb brushes across his chin, in a soothing repetition. It makes Benny feel close to sleep.

“It’s growing in already,” Maran comments, his voice still crackly at the edges. Benny lifts his head, blinking drowsily. It makes Maran grab him by the cheeks, hold him still. The tension in Maran’s arms feels oddly familiar; Benny often looks at him and finds him so cute it feels almost necessary to rip him to shreds.

“I’ll sh-shave again in a month or two, if you want,” Benny sneers, tilting into the palm on his cheek. He closes his eyes, enjoys the affectionate petting. Sometimes, he feels spoiled by Maran, who never seems to shy from touching him, in all these small gentle ways. He could get used to it—fuck, maybe he is used to it.

“You just…” Benny’s eyes crack open when Maran doesn’t finish the sentence. His teeth indent his lip. His brows are upturned, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“What?”

“Oh, Ben, fucking hell,” Maran laughs and even that is edged with a bit of rasp. “You’re just—you’re so cute right now, yeah? Like, it’s unbelievable how cute you look. I mean, look cute all the time, but right now? I’m so in love with you.”

“Fuck off,” Benny laughs, snapping teeth at the hand on his cheek, his face burning hotter and hotter. It doesn’t deter Maran, not even a little, who yanks him upward, closer. And they fall asleep cocooned like that, their faces nearly pressed together, Benny’s wet hair leaving a spot on the pillow.

—

The night doesn’t end there for Benny, because he wakes up with a cramp in his leg so painful it makes him gasp. Sits straight up on the air mattress, a hand landing in Maran’s stomach and making him ‘oof’ and roll onto his side, mumbling. He rubs jerky hands down his calf, swearing to stretch more the next time he decides to fucking power bottom. Maran makes pawing motions at him, half asking if he’s alright in the sweetest, sleepiest voice.

Benny responds by taking Maran by the face and kissing him, darting his tongue into the other mans mouth and eliciting a laugh. It doesn’t even fully wake Maran, who snuggles back into the blankets, sighing out to himself as he blindly searches for the stuffed animal (a creature that Benny genuinely cannot decipher) that was gifted to him.

He finds Maran’s shorts before he finds his own and jerks them on. Benny yawns into his fist as he leaves the room, remembering the apartment itself to be rather small. He’ll scrounge for a small bite and drink some water until his leg stops twitching and then crawl back into bed and sleep with his nose pressed under Maran’s arm.

The plan is solid until he closes the door behind him and finds Benji sitting on his dilapidated, run down couch. The television is the only light source and makes him incredibly eerie, his eyes like an owls, staring at him.

There is a moment where neither of them say anything, where the low sound of the tv is the only noise filling the living area. Benny stands there, in nothing but Pokemon printed soft shorts, staring at Benji, who hasn’t changed from the clothes he’d worn out to the bar. Then, for a man who had given a blowjob in a parking lot earlier that day, an odd amount of embarrassment floods his system, making his fingers twitchy and cold.

Benny clears his throat and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the bedroom.

“You didn’t hear all that, right?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Benji groans, tossing his head back. He sits in a terrible position, a leg half up, the other sprawled, his shoulders hunched. “No, I didn’t. Christ.” They blink at each other from that, Benny feeling a chill from the entire lack of clothes other than those dumb shorts. He reaches up to scratch idly at his ear and then uses that same hand to point.

“You’ve been hanging out with Xavier too much.”

At mention of the red head, Benji’s expression shutters entirely. It goes carefully blank and then quickly back to it’s usual glare. His brows tilt in, his eyes swinging back to the television, then to the floor, then to his wringing hands in his lap. He seems to notice them doing it and suddenly stops by shoving them underneath his thighs. Benji being here at all strikes Benny as odd—since the entire reason they’d come to this apartment was because Benji usually trailed after Xavier every time. Instead, he was here. And he was looking like…well, that.

Benny contemplates leaving him then and sticking to his original plan. Finding bread or crackers and eating over the sink and then drinking a glass of water and returning to the sweet boy sleeping on an air mattress. Instead he sighs and holds up a palm.

Benji stares at it, confused. Benny doesn’t wait, or explain.

He does return to the boy on the air mattress, but only because when he opens the door, Maran sits up slightly. It’s too dark to see his expression, but he makes a tired gesture and flops back onto the make shift bed. Benny crosses and kneels to kiss him once more. This time, its a real kiss, a gentle one that coaxes Maran to roll back over and hug the stuffed animal to his chest. It’s so fucking cute that Benny grinds his teeth together.

Then he turns, pats across the ground and finds his jeans. And his pack of cigarettes.

—

He’s still wearing those stupid silly shorts as they stand outside and smoke together. He’d shoved his combat boots on, no socks and yanked his hoodie on as well. So he looks ridiculous, but he puts the time closer to four in the morning, so it doesn’t really matter. At this point, no cars roll by to light up Maran’s room, or bother them as they stand.

The atmosphere is unsurprisingly melancholic. Benji stands with a hand in his pocket, the other holding his cigarette, the street light next to his apartment complex flickering here and there. Benny lets the silence linger, because he isn’t entirely sure what to say.

He wants to ask why Benji didn’t go back with Xavier, but the question makes no sense. Everyone knows they spend all their time together. But Benny gets the sensation that neither Xavier or Benji are as acutely aware of that. Instead, they stand there, in their moody silence, smoking cigarettes down to filters and then Benny suggests a second.

“Tryin’ to quit,” Benji says, but doesn’t turn down the second.

“Oh, me too, promise,” Benny says, laying a hand over his chest. Benji snorts, rolls his eyes, lets Benny lean forward and light the cigarette for him. It’s true that one after the other is a little too much for just standing outside, awkward as they are, but Benny—he feels something in his chest sometimes when he looks at Benji. He blames Maran. Of course he blames Maran, who seems to have cracked open his ribs and poked and prodded at his heart until his iron shell started to crinkle like tinfoil. Of course Benny was fucking nicer now because of Maran.

But he also thinks of that tiny room, this spare area for Maran to temporarily be (and Benny doesn’t really like thinking of that too much, shoves that part out) and of Benji, who must have cleared the space for him. Of their friendship, which seems so solid and pure even when they’re bickering and nearly at each others throat, wrestling onto the floor to solve problems.

“Xavier was askin’ where you two went,” Benji says.

“He can keep his greedy fucking hands to hi-himself. Always trying to steal my boyfriend.”

“Knew they’d get along,” Benji says on a rough inhale of his cigarette. He breathes it out through his nose, head tilted slightly away to watch a street cat dart across the pavement. It sinks low to the ground and stares at them, with big, shining eyes, reminding Benny of Benji in the dark apartment.

“Xavier gets along with everyone.”

“Does, doesn’t he?” It’s too soft a statement in Benji’s rough spun voice. It’s so quiet it’s almost lost on the night breeze. He’s staring again, elsewhere and Benny thinks of telling him. Just saying, you know he’s in love with you, you fucking idiot, he’s stupid for you. He thinks about it, but he also isn’t sure there’s a good way to do that. A proper way to do it and Benny, for once, feels incredibly aware and a little more than scared that something delicate hangs in the balance. That Benny should let this one figure itself out, because he knows people putting their hands into Xavier’s business makes him flighty and weird. He thinks Benji might be the same.

So he shoves him the shoulder instead, snickering.

“Oi? Dickhead?”

It makes Benny laugh and so he tosses the half smoked cigarette onto the ground to stomp down. Benji waits for a moment, takes one lass greedy tug and then follows suit. They turn toward the door to the apartment complex. And Benny bumps that same shoulder with his own, hands in his pockets. The both smell like nicotine, but Benny covets that slight orange smell about him, because of Maran.

“He gets along with you best,” Benny says, stomping his way to the front door. There is enough of a delay when he opens the door for Benji’s hand to follow suit and push it wider, that he knows it’s momentarily stopped him in his tracks. Benny lets that be enough said.

[jamiesfootball]

more Leverage au nonsense-

after messaging back and forth with @izzyspussy and noodling on it a bit, I've figured out how to slot Nate (Ted Lasso) into the Leverage AU.

He is this universe's Sterling. Sort of.

Nate, gifted fucking Nate, had a plan when he was younger. He wanted to do something with football. Not play - he was never any good - but he could... manage, maybe? There was something there, something in the intricacies of the play and the people and the rules of the game that called to him.

Football was always his chess; chess never had enough moving pieces to keep him interested.

Then life happened. He went to university, and under pressure and wanting his father's approval, he studied finance. Which was fine, since he figured he could always pivot into one of the football clubs from there, and he'd still be near the sport he loved, but then life happened again and again and again and before he knew it he was working for the IYS London Branch under the financial auditing department. It was nothing he ever wanted as a job, but it supported his love for his actual passion for football and puzzles and whatever niche interests he curated that month.

Not to mention, a lot of the club owners worked with IYS, so occasionally he'd get comped seats! He even got assigned to work on the accounts of Rupert Mannion - the Rupert Mannion.

And then Rupert Mannion got divorced and shortly thereafter his ex-wife disappeared.

After that things got a bit... odd.

See Nate wasn't just an audit specialist - he was the audit specialist. He's who you turned to when things got funky. He had a mind for patterns, and for understanding the people who made them.

Rupert Mannion got divorced, and then suddenly people he knew - people Nate had worked with regularly for years - started having...strange things happen to them. So Nate did what Nate does - Nate followed the money.

Nate found Ted.

No one was more surprised than Nate when he found Ted Lasso, the ex-IYS investigator who disappeared a while ago. The one Nate had worked with a handful of times when one of Ted's American clients had business 'across the pond.' The one who always sent him Christmas cards, the printed kind with a photo of himself, his wife, and his growing family. Nate didn't get a card last year. Nate heard rumors of what happened with his son, how Ted disappeared off the map after all of that, but those are just rumors, and Nate never put any stock in those.

Nate goes to Ted to hear it from the man himself.

Ted trusts Nate. He likes this bright kid who was always so nice when he had occasion to visit, who showed him around to all his favorite restaurants and indulged Ted when he wanted to catch a museum that 'had nothing to do with what anything that'd been stolen.' Nate was always a good egg.

Ted tells Nate everything. He tells him about how he's been helping people that don't have anywhere else to go, and how he's teamed up with some of the people they used to chase, and how they're aiming to put a little good in the world.

But that's not what Nate hears. Nate hears that Ted, a good man, has changed sides. He's the one directly responsible for Nate's clients' misery. He's responsible for why IYS has had such a bad quarter, that four of Nate's coworkers have been let go just in the past few weeks.

"Roy Kent," he tells Ted, hoping to wake some sense in him. "You're working with Roy Kent. Do you have any idea what that man has done? What he's capable of?"

Ted gives him a sad, knowing smile, "I know enough."

"He's a bad person, Ted."

"Well on that I'll have to disagree."

Nate doesn't understand it. He doesn't understand why Ted would throw everything away - and for these people. And he knows these people. Ted was not as clever as he thought he was when he covered his tracks. Rupert Mannion's ex-wife, who got an astronomical amount of money in the divorce and somehow still wants more? The thief Keeley, who's stolen millions of dollars in art and statues - pieces of history that civilization will likely never get back? Roy Kent, who even the mafia considers a liability to have walking around breathing? Jamie Tartt - this new kid with a reputation that isn't nearly as bad as Roy Kent's was back in the day, but it was getting there. Even though he bafflingly seems tied to cyber crime these days--

--Nate cuts himself off mid sentence.

Before he leaves he tells Ted, sincerely, that he's glad to see he's doing okay. Really he is. But he does not condone what Ted is doing.

The team is understandably livid to hear that Ted met with an IYS agent and told him everything. Ted's only defense was, "I didn't think it would go so bad. Nate's always been a straight-shooter. Not a blind-spot to be found in that guy. Still, I think it'll work out. He's a good person who's had a shock. Maybe just give him some time."

Nate has a mind for patterns, but also for names, and he'd seen one of those names before, or something like it, in a place it shouldn't have been.

James Tartt. Paid a tidy little sum by Rupert Mannion for security work. It's neither a common or uncommon name, and it takes very little work for Nate to run background on the guy. He's not the young hitter Nate was thinking of, but he's older and he's got a kid who'd be the right age.

The plan is in motion before Nate recognizes he's made one.

Because from Nate's perspective, these people aren't solving anything. These people are part of the problem. No one made them choose to be thieves, no one made them decide to hurt people and call it justice. No, there's a right way and a wrong way to do things, and if Ted's chosen the wrong way then Nate has to stop him.

It's not until he's watching on the TV as the Crown and Anchor goes up in a loud fiery explosion that his knees give out.

His supervisors applaud him for bringing down Ted Lasso.

Interpol hires him, offers him a better job. Field work. No more sitting at a desk and crunching numbers. It's bittersweet, how well it suits him to be in the thick of things, to be chasing down the people who are actually bad people. To be putting some good in the world.

Maybe if he puts enough good into the world, he can make up for the good he took out of it.

It's not all sunshine and roses. The longer he's at Interpol, the more he realizes how complicated things really are. How there are agents who work alongside him who don't really play by the rules - or any rules. How there are just as many shady backroom deals being done at the top as the bottom.

Everyone at Interpol knows Roy Kent, by reputation if not by experience, and they tell Nate stories that make his gut churn. The more he learns, the sorrier he feels for the man he never knew -- he never stood a chance.

Nate does his job, what's always been his job: he studies the patterns and the people.

Nate learns that in one of the web of lies is a pit of vipers, and that the leader of that web is Rupert Mannion. The man who put a hit on his ex-wife shortly after she divorced him. The man Nate tried to help when he took Ted down. The man Nate sold Ted's life for.

Nate has changed. Nate is not on the good side he thought he was. A good man died, and there was never, ever going to be a price for that that Nate could live with. Nate is irredeemable, now, in his own eyes.

He could really use some advice, but there was only ever one man who answered his calls.

Numb, he goes home to his apartment. On the wall is a framed print of Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night that he got with Ted on one of their museum jaunts. On his table is a takeout menu for A Taste of Athens, a place he hasn't been back to since after the funeral, when he realized baklava would forever taste like ashes in his mouth.

On his counter, neatly stacked with the rest of his mail, is a Christmas card he's never seen before.

It looks like the kind of thing you'd find at a gift shop in an airport. Bright pink graffiti letters spelling out 'Happy Christmas' over the image of a local pub. A familiar local pub. It's the pub around the corner from his flat.

Nate grabs his coat.

[sanguinesorcery]

@}~ Shout-Outs ~{@ and such

An expansion to this post from earlier, since I was at work when I reblogged it and I loathe writing on mobile Tumblr, app or not. So! Because I reblogged that from the source, I chose a small handful of partners I've kept in relative contact with or who have influenced me greatly while being here thus far to absolutely annoy gush over. So here we go!

@uramii || @red-man-of-mustache

Pasta! You're one of my favorite people here! Not only were you instrumental in my developing this whole lore for Tumblr consumption years ago, you've done nothing but show me kindness and indulged my dumbest ideas. It means a lot to me we've been friends all these years, even with that one period of absence, and it means more that after that you'd still welcome me back and continue to enable me in the best ways of course. I probably would not have found the drive to come back if it wasn't for your influences. I'm forever obsessed with our story together and I can't wait for it to develop more. We've always meshed super well, I think, and our writing styles have always bounced off one another incredibly easily. I continue to look forward to our future roleplay partnership and friendship together!

@dragmirc

Bunyip! Fifteen years is a long time, buddy. How have you put up with me this long! Most people would have ducked out by now but you've not only stuck around, but kept the most upbeat attitude I've met in a person. I probably wouldn't be here on this blog if it wasn't for you to begin with. You held my hand and told me to keep going when everything crashed and I felt like it was all for naught, and this whole thing was going to never see the light of day again. Thank you for pushing, and thank you for being supportive in all the other ways I needed. I'm super happy to have been the enabler for once, and it's been an absolute joy to watch you finally feel like you can stretch and work out your own ideas and interpretations without restraint. I'm always looking forward to our interactions, even with your weird schedules, and our bantering shortforms have me in absolute fits, no matter how long or short they are. It's also really nice to have another geologist nerd I can scream at, I hope your current dirt analysis is going well. 'lil golden shit' still lives rent free in my head, thanks for that.

@obraveyouth

Rinni! I have known you for about as long as it takes me to finish a bag of chips. Which is actually about a month. It's a really big bag of chips, okay. But, I feel like we've already been friends for so much longer than that! To find out we have a lot of the same tastes in a lot of things makes everything super fun, and I love that you are always asking me things to vomit details on you like the doofus I actually am. It really helps me keep my lore-weaving up to date and I'm always happy to see your interest in it and its deeper dealings. I know we've only just started interacting, but it's always such a delight to see what you have developed, and I love your personal interpretations! They add a flavor that makes your Link truly unique and super fun to read and write against. I can't wait to keep writing with you!

@askganondorftobadragmire

Lightning! We always said worldbuilders just find each other. And that is super true in our case, isn't it! I absolutely love what you've done with the world of your AU, it's been a delight to learn and understand all the neat little details you toil over. The fact that you were super nice right out of the gate sold me to wanting to keep talking to you, and I'm happy I did! I know we don't talk a whole lot outside of casually projectiling details back and forth, but I'm always happy with our pokings regardless, it makes me happy to see you around. I'm having an absolute blast mashing our worlds together. They fit in so nicely, it's like puzzle pieces falling into place. It's super fun bouncing ideas around and what little is actually planned, I'm excited for! It's great fun to tell a story with you, and I'm looking forward to our future shenanigans for sure.