#how to build a gang sheet

[sugawhaaa]

☆[HAN ONE-SHOT]☆

🐾•{ four months and two weeks }•🐾

Warnings//genre:: SMUT, hybrid, breeding, mating, riding, no foreplay

Pairing:: sub!hamster!hybrid!Han x dom!fem!reader

A/N:: Gang this is so short I'm sorry. Also sorry my inspo and motivation is like nonexistent so I haven't been writing at all lately 😭

Skz masterlist:: 🐾

Taglist:: @yukichan67 @kbunzzi2oa @annafeebou

🎧::

Han has always been your snuggle bug, always up for cuddling up in your warmth, because it's in his nature. Hamsters like to burrow and cuddle up in the bedding, so naturally, Han likes to burrow into your body, snuggling into your chest or your neck, and he likes to cuddle up against your body and in your bed sheets. It's gotten to a point where you don't have separate beds, you have separate rooms but he sleeps in your bed at night. It was something you became accustomed to quickly and you enjoyed it.

One night though you notice him tossing and turning a lot before bed and when you woke up in the morning you noticed that Han wasn't beside you like usual, nor was he in the room which was strange for him considering hamsters are so clingy, especially him. You quickly get up and search for him only to find him in his room, curled up on the little bean bag chair in his room, his nose and ears consistently twitching.

"Jisungie, are you okay?" You come over to him, squatting down beside him.

"I-I think I'm..." His face burns red as sweat drips down his nose and builds along his hairline. "In heat..." he swallows hard before meeting your eyes, his eyes frantically searching yours for something. Understanding? Concern? Hope? He suddenly felt his eyes watering, the overload of emotions and hormones breaking through. "This morning I woke next to you a-and I couldn't hold back..." He looks at you with guilty eyes and your heart shatters at the sincerity in his eyes. "I started..." His eyes jitter around your face again, searching for your reaction.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," You wrap your arms around his head and upper back. "I know how hard these times are for you, I should've known...has it already been five months since your last one?" You feel kind of bad for not being able to track his cycle better. Hamsters have a different breeding cycle that is a little more like humans. Instead of going through heat/ovulation every spring for weeks on end Hamsters go through heat every four to five months.

"Four months and two weeks so...yeah," He looks down at your chest quickly before blushing. "Can you...Help me? Like you always do?" Part of him felt guilty for always asking for some sex during heat but the other side of him craved you like a drug and he knew you didn't mind, if not enjoyed it, so he asked.

"Of course, wanna get back to bed?" You smile and he nods. He follows close behind you as you walk back to your bedroom. The two of you quickly toss off your nightwear and crawl into bed, Han beneath you. His heats are very different from many other hybrids, to Han it's not entirely about mating and breeding it's about the sexual release, so he doesn't mind being on top or bottom: Heat to Jisung is almost like being in a full body sub-space. He bites his lip as he watches you crawl on top of him, his ears flicking quickly in interest. "Want me to ride you?" You ask just to be sure and he nods.

"Please..." He looks up at you desperately. You then push him down gently by his chest, getting him to relax against the pillows.

"I'll take care of you, baby," You say as you slowly sink down on his cock. During heat, he's extra sensitive so you need to do everything slowly and cautiously. He lets out a choked whine before latching onto your body, holding your hips, and burying his face in your upper chest. He takes heavy, shaking breaths as he holds onto you. You slowly begin to grind on him and he lets out a whimper.

"Feels good," he whispers between choked moans. His hands creep up to your back, rubbing it comfortingly. "I love you so much, you're so good to me," he murmurs before leaning back, watching you as you ride him, a small grin spreading across his lips as you lift yourself a little and back down. "Yes," He moans as he throws his head back. "Please keep going," He whines even though he knows that you had no real reason to stop.

"I won't, don't worry baby," you kiss his forehead before resuming your bouncing motion on him. "Not until you've let out all this frustration," you tuck his silver hair back and he looks up at you with those doe eyes, twinkling with love and need. His ears tuck back as he looks up at you but as you continue to ride him his ears perk up again.

"Fuck you're so beautiful like this," Han moans before biting his lip, breathing heavily again. "You'll make such beautiful babies," he smirks softly, laughing at himself. "Sorry if that's weird it's just what I'm thinking," he whines before tossing his head back again. "I-I think I'm close," He warns as you feel his cock twitching inside you, nudging at that tender spot. "Oh please please please," his mouth begins to hang open as his brows furrow, his body now drawn forward from the overwhelming sensation. "Oh my god, I'm gonna cum!" He cries out as his nails dig into your skin. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine baby," He lets out one last dirty remark before coming undone.

His body folds forward by instinct, wrapping his arms around your body as his cum warms you up from the inside out. "Oh baby," his lips quiver as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

"Shh, it's okay," you pat his head as the warmth envelops your body. He lets out little sobs from the overwhelming experience, his body trembling in your arms. He mumbles a bunch of incoherent lewd words as he nuzzles into your chest. "You did good baby," you stroke his hair back. Jisung can't help but smile as he cuddles into you, the rush of feel-good hormones taking over his body.

"I love you," he murmurs as his eyes flutter shut. "My mate,"

[l0vergirlwrites]

how do i know it’s true? ; steve harrington

synopsis: to steve, nothing involving the upside down could really surprise him after everything the gang & him have gone through… that is until you get taken by vecna—that’s the worst thing steve has ever witnessed.

warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma, mentions of fem!reader having a dead dad, blood & injuries, anxiety, possibility of dying, demonic possession sorta??, general angst & vecna (yes, that creepy dude needs his own warning). but don’t worry, there’s fluff scattered in between.

note: this fic is inspired by the blue nile’s “the downtown lights” (let’s pretend it came out before season 3 plz) & phoebe bridgers’ “garden song”!

for a moment, everything was fine.

well, your definition of fine was watching your friends climb up a makeshift rope of bed sheets from the upside down gate in eddie’s trailer. you couldn’t help but let out a few laughs at their reactions when they landed on the mattress eddie had placed beneath the gate as a landing pad.

this was your normal now; casually going in & out of dimensions to solve supernatural puzzles & attempt to save the day all while wondering if you were ever going to finish your algebra homework (you secretly knew you wouldn’t ever find the time).

steve, being the helpful man he’s known to be, was kneeled on the ground with his hands cupped so he could hoist each person up towards safety despite his abdomen aching in pain from bat bites. he truly was your hero.

when it came to be your turn to climb, you couldn’t help but run a hand through his hair.

“chivalry sure isn’t dead, huh?” you ruffled his locks of brown & amber, feeling your heart beat a second faster when he smiled & scrunched his nose cutely at your action.

“definitely not when it comes to you” he winked smoothly, feeling pride in his chest when you grinned wider at him.

“okay, time to hop on up miss”

gripping onto the rope of sheets, you felt a pit in your stomach start to build, but steve tapping the back of your jean covered thigh snapped you out of it.

“i gotcha, don’t worry” he assured with a determined look in his eyes.

like hell he was ever gonna drop you.

so with a nod of your head, you lifted your left foot onto steve’s cupped hands & felt him push you up.

but then everything went black.

at first, you thought your nervous system may of just forced you to shut your eyes in fear of going head first & falling upside down through the gate (you still could not fathom the physics that explained how it worked), but to no avail, all you saw was black.

soon enough, you couldn’t feel the rope.

you couldn’t hear steve or your friends talking.

you couldn’t feel steve.

now, you were starting to panic.

just as you were about to scream, you felt something sharp on your neck. a long nail dragging across your skin too softly to break the skin. the hairs on your arms stood up, goosebumps littered your body, & all you could do was freeze.

“i think you know why you’re here,” a chilling voice whispered into your right ear, making you cringe as you felt the creatures warm breath fan against your skin.

vecna had you trapped. fuck.

“you know, living with the guilt you’ve harboured for so long must be quite exhausting—isn’t it?”

no, no, no, no. this can’t be happening.

“knowing that if you had kept your mouth shut, your anger controlled, that maybe—just maybe, your father would still be alive”

in a flash you were transported back to that haunted day, back to that road trip that your father forced you to go on. you never had a good relationship with him to begin with, so being stuck in a small space for seven hours wasn’t your ideal way to spend a weekend.

it was a few months after your parents finally divorced after years of fighting, screaming, family dinners that were unsuccessful. your father had wanted to bond, to atone whatever trauma he had inflicted upon you as a young child from refusing marriage counselling (or counselling in general) to work on his behaviour.

but as expected, he was too prideful to admit he was ever in the wrong.

which leads you to that moment in the car.

he blamed you for whatever wrong turn he had made a couple miles back, & since you were the one holding the map, it began a screaming match that festered into a tug of war. you tried to get him to let go of your wrists, to let you lead you both out of the barren forest covered dirt roads so you could ge to wherever the hell he wanted to take you to, but he wouldn’t budge.

however, one wrong move changed it all.

it was when you elbowed him the eye accidentally, causing him to yell in agony & involuntarily push his right foot harder on the gas. he wasn’t paying attention to his speed, nor the way the steering wheel was turning.

one minute you were on a dirt road.

the next you were upside down on a rocky ditch that was at least thirty feet from where the dirt road was.

your vision was blurry with blood from a cut on your forehead. your right ankle aching & smushed tight between your car seat & the concaved passenger door.

your father, who hadn’t worn his seatbelt, was partially through the car’s windshield, body covered in glass & blood & you couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

you stayed like that for hours, with the car alarm blaring in your ears until a first ranger showed up as your saving grace.

but your father didn’t survive. & you still believed it was all your fault.

“wouldn’t it be nice if you could let it go? atone for what you did? stop the guilt from eating away at you?” vecna’s voice boomed in your ears.

you were paralyzed in fear, praying this moment would be over.

*~*~*~***~*~~*~*~**~*~*~~*

“you got a good grip, y/n/n?” steve asked after you stilled for a moment, left foot still in the palms of his hands, waiting to be boosting upwards.

you stayed silent. frozen.

steve called out your name again as your grip loosened on the rope & your body began tipping backwards. he quickly reacted, catching your limp body in time before your head smacked the ground.

his heart stopped when he saw your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“no… no, no, no, no! shit! please, not you—not you” steve yelled, his hands cradling your face & occasionally slapping your cheeks gently with hopes you’d snap out of it—hoping vecna would let you out of his grasp so steve could make it better.

“steve? what’s going on down there?” robin yelled, her voice echoing into steve’s ears but his heart was constricting & his chest felt really heavy.

“he’s got her—he’s fucking got her & she’s not waking up!” steve yelled again, tears brimming his eyes in fear because he could lose you right now.

brushing your hair out of your face frantically, steve continued tapping your skin. “sweetheart, you gotta wake up. it’s steve—i’m right here. can you hear me? c’mon—come back” he croaked as the minutes went on, drowning out the panicked voices in the gate above him.

“what do i do? what do i do—“

“steve! what’s her favourite song? we need her favourite song!” dustin yelled repeatedly, trying to wake steve up from his own panic mode.

it clicked—how could steve forget?

music.

“holy shit. that’s it. favourite song, favourite song…” steve began to feel hopeful, scouring his mind through a rolodex of memories until he found the one he was looking for.

“the downtown lights by the blue nile! the cassette’s in my glovebox! hurry!” he yelled with a heartbroken plea, his eyes not leaving your face. “c’mon, baby. wake up”.

steve didn’t care that he was crying now, but he wasn’t gonna give up on you. while the others were searching through the glove compartment of steve’s b&w & eddie’s stash of cassette tapes in case, steve just started to sing the song in hopes you’d hear him.

“sometimes i walk away, when all i really wanna do is love & hold you right…”

his voice was cracking with nerves, failing to stay completely steady as his chest hurt & his hands were trembling against your skin.

“there is just one thing i can say. nobody loves you this way,” he held back a sob, his heart clenching at how your eyes continued to roll back. “it’s all right. can’t you see, the downtown lights…”

~*~***~~~**~***~*~~***~**~*~

steve learned your favourite song early on when you started dating, around mid october after starcourt fell, where you invited steve over for a sleep over since your mom went out of town for a weekend.

he knew you hated sleeping in your house alone after the events of the summer, so he didn’t mind keeping you company. you both had sprawled out on your living room couch, coffee table filled with pizza, pop, & your favourite treat (which steve picked up on his way over as a surprise). the movie on the tv had become background noise by the time you both had finished eating, bodies turned to one another underneath the blanket you two shared.

“so, when am i gonna get a room tour, hmm?” steve asked as he brushed some hair away from your forehead, fingers tucking some starnes behind your left ear as you looked at him as if he had hung the moon. “got any embarrassing posters on your walls?” he teased, earning a gentle shove into his shoulder.

“shut up. i’ll show you under one condition, harrington”

“i’m all ears” he said eagerly, scooting closer to you on the couch.

nervously, you raised your left index finger to your lips & tapped them, eyes flickering between steve’s brown ones & his pink lips. he watched you closely, getting an idea of what you wanted (which made his stomach roll with butterflies).

“ahhhh” he dragged with realization, “y’want me to kiss you? is that it?” he teased, making you feel smaller than you really were under his gaze.

but before you could turn away or back out, steve was cradling your cheek & bringing you closer to him. his breath fanned your skin, noses lightly brushing against the other.

“i really wanna kiss you too” he mumbled with a smile before leaning further to close the gap.

you hummed in delight when your lips pressed to his, fingers fisting the material of his sweatshirt because it felt so good. steve could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears as he continued to kiss you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek to make you melt under his touch. the longer his lips meshed with yours, the more your body had moved to practically sit on top of his, chests just touching as your arms trailed up to wrap around his shoulders.

“steve” you breathed, pulling away with a pant but still staying close.

“was that too much?” he asked concerned, chest rising up & down as he looked at you with care.

it was you who kissed him next, one that lasted a few seconds before resting your forehead against his. “no—it was nice” you exhaled with a smile, arms tightening around him when you felt his left hand resting on your lower back, rubbing up & down soothingly.

you both hadn’t realized that the movie was over & the channel had switched over to music videos. playing softly in the background was a song you had a deep spot in your heart for. turning towards the tv with a tiny gasp, you smiled harder when you saw that it was the blue nile.

“that’s my favourite song!” you whispered excitedly, turning back to steve when he tapped your cheek.

“what song is it?” he asked since he hadn’t heard it before.

“the downtown lights” you replied sheepishly.

“there is just one thing i can say. nobody loves you this way,” you hummed along to the lyrics with a small smile.

steve watched you, admiring how your face looked with the tv glow casting on your features. he thought you were just the best thing ever.

turning up the volume with the remote in his hand, steve listened intently to the lyrics, right foot tapping against the carpeted floor to the beat. “it’s sounds pretty—just like you” he said, smiling brightly when you chuckled at him.

“that’s so cliche. but thank you”

“cliche but true. & you’re welcome”

~**~*~~*~***~**~~**~**~

after steve let the memory replay in his mind, the cassette tap for the band’s album landed by his feet with a walkman & a headset.

“finally!” steve yelled more so to himself, brushing away a stray tear on his cheek to grab the items

first he put the headphones over your ears. then he attached the tape to the player & forwarded the tape to the song’s track number. turning the volume up, steve’s hands resumed their spot on your face to hold you, to coax out of the horrific trance you were in.

“hey, can you hear me? it’s steve, your steve. you gotta wake up, okay? you gotta come back to me” he begged, his hope growing thin as the seconds went on.

“everyone’s here—dustin, lucas, max, robin, nancy, eddie—we’re here. we want you back. we need you. i promise i won’t do anymore stupid impressions or be an idiot—i’ll be whatever you want me to be” steve continued to ramble, praying that you were listening, that you were coming home to him.

“i-i love you. & i can’t do this without you” he cried to you, not caring if any of his friends heard his love confession in the moment because you were still limp in his arms.

he could vaguely hear the yells of his friends trying to talk to you too, trying to lead you back to reality. but all steve could focus on were how your eyes continued rolling into the back of your head.

it wasn’t until the song was about to restart on a loop where steve felt your arms twitching, your chest raising up & down rapidly. before he could even blink your eyes returned back to normal, lips letting out panicked breaths as you scanned your surroundings, hands about to push steve’s away until realized it was only him.

“s-steve?” you asked wearily, voice feeling small & fragile after the return to hell you had just experienced. “what… i-i don’t understand…” you were at a loss for words, confused & scared.

“it’s me, honey—i’m right here. it’s okay,” before he could finish, you were hiding your face into his chest, hands gripping the jean jacket he wore so tightly in fear that this was another trick. that maybe you weren’t safe & vecna still had you.

you sobbed hard, breaths becoming strained with each cry that tore through you. every time you closed your eyes, you were back there again—back in that god forsaken car with bloody vision & your father dead. back where vecna told you your worst fears.

“god, i was so worried—ohmygod” steve rambled assurances, cradling your head close like he was in disbelief too, making sure that you were really back in his arms.

the headset was still secured to your head, downtown lights continuing to play from the foamy speakers into your ears. the song calmed you down a bit, made you feel grounded. but it was steve’s touches, the smell of his cologne, & his soft whispers that called you home—back to reality.

“is this real?” your broken voice asked, needing to make sure it was really him.

steve pulled your head back to hold your face in his hands. he smoothed away the sweat, the baby hairs, the tears, & splotches of dirt off your skin, giving you the kindest look you’ve ever been given.

“yeah, i’m real. i’m not gonna hurt you. i gotcha, yeah? won’t let anything hurt you again, i promise” he swore with honour, his own lip trembling when your eyes continued to well up with tears.

leaning into his touch, you sniffled before letting out a breath of relief. “i could hear you calling for me… behind all the music, all i heard was you—you brought me back”

you couldn’t decipher the look on steve’s face at your words, it was filled with too many emotions to list off your tongue at the moment. he just felt immensely lucky that you’re still in one piece & breathing.

“i love you” he pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling a shaky breath when one of your hands pressed against his chest to feel his heartbeat. another reminder that he was really here.

that was the most intimate thing steve’s ever felt.

“i love you too” you mumbled back to him, pulling him in for another bone crushing hug to say all the words you wanted to in the moment.

steve got the message loud & clear.

[system-to-the-madness]

Ice - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 2 582 Warnings: kidnapping, injury, war Summary: After kidnapping the Avatar at the Northpole, Zuko has an unexpected encounter with the person he was longing to see the most A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part Two of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you), Part One is here Dividers: original by @thecutestgrotto edit by me (colour only)

Zuko sat on the cold ground of the ice cave, his gaze absentmindedly pointed towards the cave’s exit, where a snowstorm kept raging on.  If it weren’t for that storm, he long could have gotten the Avatar back to the ship, the Avatar, who lay unconscious and tied up on the floor just a few feet away. But instead, he was stuck here, in this ice dessert.

How had people ever thought it would be a good idea to build a life up here, so far North? There was nothing here but freezing cold sea, ice and snow. Sure, he knew the territory of the Fire Nation was not necessarily more inviting; most of it was rough stone and dusty ground.

But it had not always been that way. Hundreds of years ago, there had been blooming gardens and tall forests, thriving on the nutrient rich ash the volcanoes spit out. When Fire Lord Sozin had declared the war, the gardens and fields with flowers had been neglected until everything had died or been paved over. Once beautiful parks had been turned into training centres for soldiers. The forests had been cleared to access the iron in the ground and to use the wood for firing up the engines.

Zuko vividly remembered the images in his schoolbooks about the “sacrifice of meaningless aesthetics for the great cause of uniting the world underneath the banner of the Fire Nation”. It had never seemed quite right to him, but he had known better than to question his ancestors’ decisions. Maybe that was why he enjoyed the trips to Ember Island so much: Because there was still nature there.

The storm outside carried snowflakes past the entrance, and in his slowly but surely sleepy mind, he was certain the white, glimmering crystals arranged themselves to your likeliness. A few weeks ago, the idea that his sleep deprived mind taunted him by recognizing your face in all kinds of unrelated patterns, clouds, stars, waves, had terrified him. Now it was almost comforting, imagining the snowflakes to form that face that had burned itself into his memory.

He hadn’t seen you since he had broken you and the Avatar out of Zhao’s prison. While he had run into the Avatar’s little gang of run-aways, you never seemed to have been around. Maybe you had split from the group, maybe you had recognized that betraying your Nation by helping their number one enemy was not the best choice in life. And while Zuko wanted to be satisfied with this explanation, he couldn’t help that empty feeling in his chest that told him that he might never see you again. If you had still been traveling with the Avatar, he could have met you again, but if you had left, the chances of finding you were close to zero. Sure, he knew what you looked like and what your name was. But unlike the Avatar, you wouldn’t stir up as much attention, which meant people wouldn’t notice you, the same way he barely had taken notice of you before getting you out of that cell. Which again in turn meant that when people didn’t notice you, nobody would be able to point him towards where you were.

Zuko shook his head. Was he seriously considering searching for you, someone who, without a second thought had betrayed their nation? He had captured the Avatar; his path was set. He only would have to get him onto a ship now and sail back to the Fire Nation. There he would hand over the boy to his father, who would welcome him home with open arms, and make him his right-hand man, as Zuko had always dreamt of being. He would get to sleep in his bed again, cool, silken sheets wrapping around his body and would get to eat all his favourite foods again.

Still, he knew that your face would haunt him forever, the way you had stood over these guards who you had defeated. The same way your cry would always haunt him, when he had burnt you. He hadn’t meant to, and he wished he could tell you that he hadn’t intended to hurt you. But he never had gotten the chance.

After he had been knocked out on the escape from Zhao, he had woken up in a forest, on a pile of leaves. The Avatar had talked to him, about old friends from the Fire Nation, but Zuko’s entire focus had been on you, who had sat curled in on yourself next to the Avatar. A stripe of orange cloth, doubtlessly from the Avatar’s clothing, had been wrapped around your left arm where Zuko had burnt you in his clumsy attempt to save you from the attacking Fire Benders. You hadn’t looked at him, but even from where he had been laying, it had been obvious, that you had been exhausted. Your eyes had seemed sunken in, you had looked sickly, and even from the distance Zuko had been able to see that you were shaking.

When the Avatar’s words had driven rage into Zuko’s blood, and he had tried attacking the boy, the two of you had simply disappeared. The Avatar had grabbed you as if you didn’t weight more than a small child even though you were taller than him, and together you had disappeared in the branches of the tall trees and Zuko had been left to wonder when or if he would ever get to see your eyes again.

When or if he would ever get to see you look at him with anything other than shock, fear or hatred.

Zuko was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the Avatar struggling against his restraints. So that little bastard was awake. Quickly Zuko jumped to his feet.

“Welcome back,” Zuko said, glaring at the small body wringing on the ground of the ice cave.

“It’s good to be back,” the Avatar responded, and before Zuko knew what had happened, he was thrown backwards against the wall behind him, his back forcefully knocking into the ice, making pain shoot through his skull and stars dance before his eyes.

As quickly as his aching body allowed, Zuko scrambled back to his feet, chasing after the Avatar, who had made it outside already, trying to wriggle across the snow.

“That won't be enough to escape,” Zuko hissed, pulling the Avatar up by his shirt. He wouldn’t let that kid escape again. He was the only way Zuko would ever get to go home; he needed the Avatar.

A familiar sound above him alerted Zuko even before the Avatar exclaimed: “Appa!”

No, no there was no way. He wouldn’t give up this chance. He had learnt from the past run-ins with the Avatar’s friends. They wouldn’t best him this time. Not now, that he finally had the Avatar so tightly in his grasp, not now, that he was so close to finally going home.

The Sky Bison landed a few meters away in the snow, and the Water Tribe girl jumped down from the beast’s back. But for a moment, just a short moment, Zuko’s attention was on something entirely different, someone different. From behind the saddle of the Sky Bison, a familiar pair of eyes stared at him, familiar hair whipping in the wind. So, you had not left the Avatar’s company, you just hadn’t been close by during the other encounters the group had had with Zuko since your escape from Zhao.

Zuko felt a weight fall off his shoulders. You were here, and you were okay. Even just from the short glance he gave you, he could tell that you were in far better shape than the last time he had seen you in that forest. You seemed to have recovered well after the strain of your imprisonment.

His attention focused back on the Water Tribe girl, who was glaring daggers at him in the dark, moon-lit snow desert. Pushing the Avatar aside, Zuko lifted his hands, ready to fight.

“Here for a rematch,” he challenged. There was no way he would make it home with the Avatar without defeating his annoying, little girlfriend and the others first. Even if it meant fighting against and hurting you again, he had to do it. He couldn’t let you – or anyone else – stand in his way, not when he finally would get the chance to go home.

“Trust me Zuko, it's not going to be much of a match.”

He wanted to scuff at the girl’s words, but before he could, he suddenly was lifted into the air. He only had a moment to realise what was happening. They were surrounded by snow; snow was just hard water. He had challenged a Water Bender while she was in her element and he in the one that was furthest from his bending skill. Which, objectively speaking, was an awful idea. But still, how was she so powerful that she could just throw him around like this? Had he lost so much of his skill? And if he lost this match, they would take the Avatar back with them, would take his only way to go home. He couldn’t let them take that from him, not again. Not after all these years he had spent chasing after the Avatar in the desperate hope to finally go-

The next moment he crashed into the ground, and everything turned black.

Zuko crashed into the ground and a moment later Sokka had already reached Aang, cutting his restraints with his boomerang.

“Hey, this is some quality robe,” he shouted, holding up the cut rope to show you, while you and Yue stayed seated on Appa’s back.

“We need to get to the oasis; the spirits are in trouble,” Aang explained while he undid the rope that tied together his ankles, before running over to Appa and floating himself onto his usual position between the Sky Bison’s horns, while Sokka came running back to settle down in the saddle next to Yue.

Concerned, your eyes flickered back to the Fire Nation prince. He was laying motionless in the snow where Katara had dropped him. You sure didn’t like him, and he had tried kidnapping Aang on more occasions than you could remember. The world would certainly be a better place without him in it, trying to chase all of you down the whole time. But he didn’t deserve being left behind in the snow desert like this. He was unconscious, and who knew for how long. You couldn’t just let him freeze out here.

You were about to speak up, when Aang’s voice sounded over the harsh wind.

“Wait,” he said, making you look at him. His eyes were focused on the unconscious boy laying in the snow. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“Sure we can,” Sokka disagreed. “Let's go.”

“No, if we leave him, he'll die,” Aang responded stubbornly.

 “We don’t know how long he’ll be unconscious for,” you added. “He might freeze if we leave him.”

Aang jumped off Appa, and down into the snow, grabbing Zuko and Air Bending them both back onto Appa’s back.

“Yeah, this makes a lot of sense,” Sokka complained sarcastically. “Let's bring the guy who's constantly trying to kill us.”

Appa took off with a slight growl and Aang dropped Zuko right into your lap, startling you.

“Let’s tie his hands at least,” Sokka whined, holding up the rope with which Aang had previously been tied up.

Rolling your eyes, you shifted the unconscious Prince out of your lap. He was kind of pretty, you thought, as you watched Sokka tie him up. The scar that covered half of the left side of his face was the trace of a bad burn, far worse than the handprint he had left behind on your arm, but it did little to lessen his beauty. The truth was, he had a beautiful face, soft features. If his hair hadn’t mostly been shaven, he might look almost gentle.

Quickly you chased the thought away. Sokka was right, Zuko had tried to kill you and your friends on multiple occasions. You shouldn’t be thinking about him as casually as this. But he had also saved yours and Aang’s life, even though if things had gone according to his plan, you probably would not have escaped. And still… you had a feeling there was more to his story than you were aware of at the moment.

Everything was hazy around him, the ground swaying underneath his body, soft, uneven movements. His wrists hurt, he realized, but his body felt too weak to even try to struggle against the rope that bound his hands. Being unable to move at all, he kept his eyes closed, listening to his surroundings instead. There was the rushing of wind, and the distant sound of people talking, of young people talking. Where was he? What had happened to him? The material he was laying on seemed to be leather, and the swaying was too soft to be that of a boat. Was he on an animal’s back? The ground seemed surprisingly even, not bent as it would have been had it been the saddle of an ostrich horse.

A searing pain shot through his head. Maybe thinking wasn’t the best way to solve the question of where he was right now. So instead, he carefully blinked open his eyes. Above him, the night sky opened up with thousands of stars glimmering in the dark, only a few clouds occasionally interrupting the seemingly endless abys of sparkling darkness. The sight was dizzying, making his head spin. And then suddenly someone leant over him. Zuko still felt so out of it, that he didn’t even flinch as the face appeared above him, the face that had kept haunting him in the past weeks as he had tried catching up to the Avatar.

“You better stay down,” you warned him, but the words barely registered in Zuko’s mind that was too preoccupied by processing just how beautiful you looked above him. The light of the moon reflected in your eyes, making them shimmer like a deep lake in which he only would have been all too happy to drown. Night wind whipped through your hair, pulling at your strands and blowing them over your face. A cut ran across your cheek, red and fresh, the blood barely dried.

A wave of anger shot through Zuko. Who had dared touching, dared hurting you? But then your voice pulled his focus away from the small wound again.

“Stay down,” you repeated.

Zuko’s eyes focused on your lips, the way they formed around the words. Soft looking, smooth lips, that made him wonder if you had ever kissed anyone before. Certainly you had. He couldn’t be the first to notice just how beautiful you were. And you weren’t just beautiful. You were a warrior, you knew how to handle yourself in a fight, you didn’t give up easily and pushed through hardship, no matter how exhausted you were. This much he had learnt from the short time he had spent with you during that prison escape. And you were stubborn and clever and if the look in your eyes as you watched him being barely able to keep his eyes open was anything to go by, you were also kind and sensible. You were perfect.

That was his last thought before he fell unconscious again.

Next Chapter (11. Oct. 2024) | Masterlist

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...): @ghoststookourlifes @ashcal99 @4acoffee @pxrplewalnxt @toomuchboredd @banished--prince @oddobsessionbutotay @makik0 @joysflower @hamdehlesmis @mitski9328373 @angstylittleb1tch @lovecalll

[yourmomsawh0r3]

can I get something from Tyler Owens x f!reader where she is kinda new to the gang and they all got a hotel and split with two to a room to save money and its like a thunder storm and she is kinda afraid of thunder and it like gives her a panic attack and he calms her down?

remeber to drink water <3

you’re so sweet, ofc! sorry it took so long to write :)

Panic Attack

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

Tyler had noticed Y/N from the moment Boone introduced her to the group. She was new to the crew but fit right in, laughing at Boone’s jokes, bantering with Kate, and managing to keep up with Javi’s never-ending stories. Now, they were on the road, and to save money, the four of them decided to split rooms in a small roadside hotel. Y/N ended up paired with Tyler, which left her a bit nervous but also kind of excited. She was getting to know the group better, and maybe she’d get a chance to know Tyler a little more too.

The evening was filled with laughter and stories in Boone and Javi’s room, the air light and carefree. But as they headed back to their room, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Tyler glanced over at Y/N, noticing the way her expression changed, just for a second, before she tried to cover it up with a small smile.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes soft with concern.

She nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, totally. Just… not a huge fan of storms.”

Tyler gave her a reassuring grin. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t get too bad tonight.”

But as luck would have it, the storm only got worse. It wasn’t long after they’d gotten ready for bed and were settled in, one on each side of the room, that the first crack of thunder roared, shaking the entire building. Y/N flinched, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly. She tried to focus on her breathing, but the sound of the rain pounding against the windows and the thunder booming closer made it hard to keep calm. Each flash of lightning seemed to bring the storm closer, and her pulse raced.

Tyler noticed the tension in her body and sat up, watching her. “Hey, Y/N…” he said gently, his voice cutting through her panic.

She looked over at him, her eyes wide, trying to keep her composure. But he could see how scared she was. Without another word, he crossed the room, sitting down beside her.

“Do you want me to stay here for a bit?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, feeling a little embarrassed, but the sound of another clap of thunder had her nodding before she could think. “Yeah… that would be… nice,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Tyler sat closer, reaching out to take her hand. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, his thumb brushing soothing circles over the back of her hand. “It’s just a storm. It’ll pass soon.”

She tried to focus on his voice, letting the warmth of his hand steady her. “I know… it’s just… something about the noise. I don’t know why it gets to me,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tyler nodded, giving her a gentle smile. “Hey, no need to explain. I’ve got you.”

As the storm continued outside, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. She buried her face against his chest, letting his steady breathing calm her down. His presence felt grounding, his touch warm and reassuring. With every boom of thunder, Tyler held her a little tighter, murmuring soft reassurances in her ear, keeping her focused on him instead of the storm outside.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Just focus on me, alright?”

She nodded, feeling her heart rate slowly start to settle. Tyler continued to talk, his voice soft and steady, sharing random stories and memories to keep her distracted, his hand gently rubbing her back.

Eventually, the storm began to ease, and her breathing slowed as her panic faded. She pulled back a little, looking up at him with a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Tyler,” she murmured, her voice filled with relief and warmth.

He smiled, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Anytime.”

As she relaxed, her head resting on his shoulder, she closed her eyes, feeling safe in his arms, grateful that this night, at least, she didn’t have to face the storm alone.

The storm had quieted to a gentle patter of rain against the window, but Tyler hadn’t moved an inch. He kept his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his other hand tracing soothing patterns along her back. Y/N leaned into him, feeling her nerves finally starting to ease, her breathing falling into rhythm with his. She hadn’t felt this calm in ages, and definitely not around someone new. Yet, with Tyler, something just felt… right.

Tyler looked down at her, his eyes soft, as he whispered, “You good?”

She nodded, her voice coming out in a shy murmur. “Yeah… better than good, actually.” She paused, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Tyler. I know it’s silly being scared of a storm.”

“Not silly at all,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “Everyone’s got something. And hey, you handled it pretty well.” He offered her a small, warm smile that made her heart skip a beat.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the quiet hum of rain setting a soothing backdrop. The dim light of the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, and Y/N found herself getting lost in the depth of his gaze, something magnetic pulling her closer.

“Want me to stay until you fall asleep?” Tyler asked, his thumb still gently brushing against her shoulder.

She hesitated, feeling a little self-conscious, but then nodded. “If you don’t mind…”

“Not at all,” he replied, settling back against the headboard as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Tyler shifted so they were both comfortable, his arm still around her, his presence solid and reassuring.

They lay there in comfortable silence, and Y/N could feel her eyes growing heavier. She felt safe, warm, and unexpectedly at home in Tyler’s arms, his steady breathing and gentle touch lulling her toward sleep. But as she shifted a little closer, she felt his fingers gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Her heart raced, a different kind of nervousness fluttering in her chest. She looked up at him, finding his gaze already on her, his eyes dark with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

“Tyler…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the unspoken question was clear in her eyes.

He leaned in, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “Is this alright?” he murmured, his voice soft, his gaze searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

She nodded, her breath catching as he closed the small distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both gentle and electric, igniting a warmth that spread through her entire body. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. His hand rested at her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him, letting herself get lost in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, both a little breathless, he pressed his forehead against hers, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Maybe I should volunteer to help you through storms more often,” he whispered, his tone playful yet full of warmth.

Y/N laughed softly, her heart full. “I might just take you up on that,” she replied, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her again.

They lay together in the quiet, wrapped in each other’s arms, and soon Y/N drifted off to sleep, the storm outside now just a distant memory. Tyler held her close, feeling more content than he had in a long time, already hoping for another night like this.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor-The Present (Harry Styles au- Mafia!Harry x reader)

Chapter Seven

Synopsis:- y/n gets back glimpses of the past and tries to piece them together with the help of her once best friend, Oliver, who's somehow sure that she's going to find a way out of the mess she's in. Meanwhile, Harry fights with his own emotions to make a decision. He has to choose one. The love of his life or the gang.

Word count: 7.2K

Warnings: Blood, violence, smoking, alcohol, gang related talk, guns, fighting, killing. Smut. Spitting, oral(f receiving), fingering, praise, dirty talk.

A/N:- Here it is finally, the last part to Traitor-The Present! If you're new and wish to check out this story, you can read the whole series right here. Please like and re-blog to support me. Happy reading:)

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y/n wakes up with her heart racing out of her chest. Her dream had finally shown her a little more. It was just another glimpse, but now she knew Harry wasn’t lying. She really was there with him that night and she was trying to kill him. She had the same question Harry had, why?

The only person who knew the answer to that was herself. She felt so angry, she wanted to pull out her hair and scream at her brain for letting her fall into this mess.

"We're here."

Oliver had driven her to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. There no other buildings, people or even trees, around it. All that she could see was stretches of barren land surrounding the warehouse. Oliver opens the door, motioning for her to get out. 

"W-Where are we?", she asks him.

"Your place to stay for the night. Harry wants to keep you here until he figures out what to do with you.", Oliver says, keeping his hand on her arm as he ushers her to walk. She realized how exhausted she was. It was like she could crumble to the floor any minute.

"How nice of him.", she mutters, and Oliver gives her a look, opening the door of the warehouse and rushing her in, before closing the door behind him.

"A few men will stand guard outside, to make sure you don't escape, but no one's going to come inside except me.", Oliver takes a small key out of his pocket. "I'm going to remove your cuffs. Harry's order was to keep you in cuffs, and not give you an ounce of water or food, but I'm not so evil."

She sighs in relief as the handcuffs click and they're removed. She rubbed her bruised wrists and looked around at the little space. It was so dark. Not even a single light bulb. She figured it was a place where they held people hostage. There were a few sheets in a corner and a pillow.

"There's a toilet there.", Oliver points out, and she crinkles her nose. Everything was so small.

"Why couldn't he just kill me already?", she mumbles, and opens the tap, washing her face with the cold water.

Oliver prefers to ignore her and looks outside the window, before pulling down the shades. "So? Do you have a plan?"

"Unless it involves you getting me out of here, no.", she says, tying her hair up into a bun, and then laying the sheets on the floor. She sits over the sheets although they didn't do much to stop the cold from spreading through her body.

"Why do you care, anyway?", she snaps at Oliver.

"I told you why, already.", Oliver sighs, crouching down to meet her eyes. "I will take a bullet for you, Reagen. Even if you don't know who you are."

The name didn't sound so foreign anymore.

"I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you.", Oliver says, as she wraps her arms around her knees and looks at him. "I can't get you out of here. Harry will know in an instant, he has eyes everywhere. He'll just have both of us killed. But you're a fucking warrior, Reagen."

A warrior? She didn't feel like one. "Make a plan, you have time. Be smart, don't get killed."

She opens and closes her mouth, then someone knocks on the door. Oliver looks through the keyhole before opening it. "No one saw me getting the food, perimeter's going to be covered soon. They're on the way from Marco's now."

"Good job, Sam. Keep guard.", Oliver takes the parcel from the other girl's hands. "Yes boss."

He shuts the door and hands y/n the parcel and a bottle of water. "Food and water."

"Won't you get in trouble if Harry gets to know?", she asks, but opens it. She was starving.

"Nah, he won't know."

He cracks a small smile as she gulps down the bottle of water. The food was some sort of flavored rice with meat. It was delicious.

She wanted to tell him about what she remembered from the dream, but she still had some trust issues. So she thought to keep it to herself, for now.

Oliver took the empty container and bottle with him. "I won't be coming inside now. If it's urgent, knock on the door three times, alright?"

"Okay.", she nods. "Oliver?"

He turns back, and she gives him a small smile. "I can see why we were best friends. Thank you."

"Treat you with respect is the least I can do for everything you've done for me, Reagen.", Oliver says, and goes out, locking the door.

y/n wipes her tears, sitting there alone in the dark. She had to think like Reagen, even though she didn't have the memories back. Oliver was right, she had to be smart and get out of this mess. She had no will to live but she wasn't going to die in the hands of these horrible people.

_____________________________________

Harry was angry.

All he could see was red, wherever he looked. He had been through enough crap and he couldn't take anymore. His whole childhood was a nightmare. After he had killed his father and put his childhood behind him, he should have just lead a normal lifestyle of a doctor. But no, he met the gang, and he loved doing their side jobs. They were the only people who recognized his various talents and coached him with more.

Then came Reagen. Harry still remembers the memory of meeting her.

Harry was going through some files of Dante's, able to access them because he had hacked into their system. He had no idea who Dante was, or what he did to their gang, all he was told, was to hack into some important files. Harry couldn't even figure out if those were the right ones, he was new to all of this. 

"Is it done, Harry?", Luke Alexander asks him as he walks over to where Harry was sitting beside two other guys, who were also typing away on their computers.

"Yes, um, is this the one?", Harry asks, as Luke leans to see. Harry tells him about the details in the files, and Luke grins, patting his shoulder. "Nice job. Reagen will be delighted, that's some good information there."

"Thanks..uh what exactly did Dante do?", Harry asks Luke, and the older man sighs, running his hand over his salt and pepper beard. "A lot of horrible things. You don't want to know. Can you transfer all these files to this drive?"

Luke gives him a pen drive and Harry nods. "Sure."

"Luke! There's a problem.", he hears someone shout from the door way. Luke patted Harry on the back before he left. Harry was a newbie to the gang, so he hadn't met Reagen yet. Luke was whom he communicated with. He joined the gang as a doctor, so that's what he did. He took care of members who came back from missions injured. When he got bored, he made hacking chips, sorted through files, and did the technical work for the gang since he was good at that sort of thing.

But Harry had a lot of pent up anger, and he wanted to get his anger out by fighting, or punching something other than the gym bag. He thought he could go on missions if he joined the gang, but they don't take just everyone. Only people who have experience. 

Soon, he hears people shouting and gearing up to go on a mission. Luke was shouting orders. Harry finished copying the files, kept the pendrive safe, grabbed his medical kit and joined the others.

"What's going on?", he asks one of the guys.

"Reagen called for backup. They think she might be in trouble."

Harry nods, and hopes no one sees him going along, but Oliver saw him, who was throwing guns into their truck. "Where are you going? We have Abbot with us.", he says. Abbot was another doctor in the gang, he was the one going with them on missions because of his experience. He can fight as well. 

"I can help.", Harry tells him. Oliver narrows his eyes at him, thinking. "I really want to. I'll stay safe and help anyone who gets hurt. Please."

"Fine, your own death wish. Get in."

Harry let a small smile escape before he got in the truck with the others. He hears loud explosions and gun shots as they reach the location. Everyone runs out holding their weapons, to different directions into the old building. Harry followed Abbot's lead. They helped their people who got wounded, and got them out of trouble.

Abbot and Harry were helping a guy who got shot in his abdomen, and was losing blood quickly. Harry suspected it might have pierced an internal organ. 

"More lap pads.", Abbot mumbles, gloved hands covered in blood, as he holds pressure. Just as Harry turned to grab some more lap pads, he saw a guy holding a baseball bat, right behind Abbot. 

"Abbot watch out!", Harry yelled, and one of Abbot's hand moved to his gun and fired a shot at the guy before he swung the bat. "Fucking prick.", Abbot curses, turning back to his friend, bleeding out. They both hear a scream coming from down the hall. 

"I'll go check that out. You should take him to the truck, quick.", Harry tells Abbot. 

"Stay safe.", Abbot tells him, and Harry nods, getting his bloody gloves off before walking towards the scream. Harry threaded carefully, trying to figure out from which direction he heard the scream from.

"On your knees, hands in the air!"

Harry freezes as he hears it from behind him. He does as told, as the man has a gun pointed at him. "I might make your death less painful if you tell me why that bitch was here.", the man seethes, pressing the gun to Harry's forehead.

"I don't know anything.", Harry said, staying still, his heart beating fast. 

"Well then I just have to-"

Harry closes his eyes and flinches as hears the gun shot, but the bullet didn't go through him. Harry opens his eyes slowly, and sees a girl looking down at the now dead guy in disgust.

"Looks ugly with or without a bullet through his fucking forehead." She looks up at Harry. "You okay?"

Harry had never seen someone so strikingly beautiful. Long hair falling down her shoulders, beautiful eyelashes hiding her striking eyes. She was wearing a wine red dress that hugged her curves, exposing her collarbones and smooth legs. Red heels covered her feet. 

"You're wondering why I'm dressed like this.", the girl says, eyes going around the room to check for other threats, her arms held out, still pointing the gun. That wasn't Harry's first thought, but now that she mentioned it, he nods. 

"Well my idea was to seduce that ugly lame excuse of a man while I try to get some files we need." She lowered the gun, eyeing Harry now. He was curious to know about what went wrong, he could see how any man would fall for the woman's charm. Now she stood in front of him with messy hair, a busted lip and bruised knees, but he still thought she was the most attractive woman he's seen in his life. 

"You're injured.", is the first thing he says. She chooses to ignore his remark. "You would be dead, just like him with a fucking bullet through your head if I didn't get here when I did. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I um, I'm the doctor with the gang.."

"I know, you're the newbie right? Doctor by profession, hacker by hobby.", she says, sighing as they hear a gunshot from a meter away. She would usually run towards it, but something drew her to the doctor. She wanted to know more about him. He had an air of mystery lingering around him.

"I can do a lot more than hacking and saving people.", Harry mumbles.

"Is that why you're here on a mission? We don't send newbies out unless it's an emergency, which this wasn't. I almost had it under control. I told Luke just to send a few men.", she mutters to herself, wincing as she looks down at her ankles in the heels. "Bloody hell."

"Reagen Jones.", Harry understands who she is finally, putting everything together. 

"One and only.", she gave him a crooked little smile as he finally walks away from the dead body. "Now come on, Doctor, let's get you to safety. I can't risk getting my people hurt."

"It's okay when you're hurt?", Harry asks, following her as she walks out of the room, looking left and right bringing her gun up again. "I've had worse, doc.", she whispered and her head snapped to the left as she heard footsteps but it was only Oliver.

"He fled. We checked the whole place, no traces of him, or-" He gives Harry an annoyed look. "You know what.", he tells Reagen. She sighed, shaking her head. "I should have been more careful."

"Don't blame yourself, it was dangerous. You did good.", Oliver said, squeezing her shoulder. "Go to the car, I'm gonna look over once again. This guy getting in your way?" 

He looked at Harry like he was an annoying child. Reagen let out a small laugh, and Harry wished he could hear more of it. "He's fine. Be careful, Olie."

Oliver nodded, walking past them up the stairs to the next floor, shouting orders to their men. "Why did you join the gang, doc?", Reagen asks Harry as they walk out of the ruined building. Harry thought he would be fazed after seeing men groaning in pain on the floor, bleeding and some of them already dead, but it didn't affect him as much. 

"My father tortured my mom when I was little and he'd beat me up. He was an alcoholic, good for nothing, never a father to me. He abused my mom, and one day when I wasn't there he-"

Harry stops talking as his fingers curl into his palm, eyes blazing in anger. Reagen turns back to look at him, and he releases a slow breath. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it.", she says, nodding towards the car. A man was already opening the door for her. "Ride with me."

Harry got in the backseat with her, watching as she wrapped herself in a jacket, closing her eyes for a moment as she let her head rest. Harry thought to remain quiet, even though he had questions. What if he wouldn't see or get to talk to Reagen up close like this again?

"You tried your best to protect your mother, doc. You made sure your dad got what he deserved. I'm sure your mom's still looking down at you from above.", Reagen turned to look at him. Harry wanted to believe her. He should have killed that asshole before he got a chance to do that to his mother.

"I'll talk to Luke about putting you on missions, it'll help with releasing some of that anger.", she says, and his eyes light up. "You will?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Killing your father was out of pure torment, but in some situations like today, we might be forced to take lives. Are you up for that?"

"Yes.", he answers immediately. "I thought killing him would feel better, but I still stay up at night without being able to sleep. I need to get it all out. I want to learn to defend myself, I couldn't when my father hit me. Will you teach me?"

Reagen didn't mingle with newbies, neither did she interact with anyone other than close people in the gang. They made sure her orders were carried out. But there was something about this boy she couldn't shake away. "Sure. What's your name?"

"Harry.", Harry answers. "Harry Styles."

"Harry?"

Romania enters the room to talk to him. Harry was sitting on the chair behind his desk, cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other hand. Romania had just been back from Marco's place, and she looked alright, except for a bruise on her arm. She was pressing a cloth to hold pressure to it.

"We think we got a lead on Tony. Hans went through Marco's files. He's planning to meet Omar next week.", Romania tells him. Harry was not interested. Yes, Tony was their number one enemy and he was the one person he wanted to tear apart with his own hands, but right now, he could only think about Reagen, or y/n, or whatever she calls herself.

Harry played their stupid memory game hoping that she would get her memories back eventually, or at least make her drop the act if that's what she was doing. But Harry was clear about that now. It wasn't an act. Even the intimate moments they shared didn't bring her memories back. He felt so hurt.

"Um, Harry?"

He looks up at Romania. "What happened?", he asks, nodding towards the blood seeping into the cloth she was pressing to it.

"Oh, fucker got a cut on me before I shot him down, could you take a look at it?"

"Sit."

Harry gets up to grab his medical kit. Romania sits on the edge of his desk, studying her friend. "Are you thinking about Reagen?"

Harry nods, washing his hands before snapping on some gloves. "I get it, you were close to her. But, you agreed to let her go if this also failed.", Romania reminds him, as Harry grabs a pair of scissors, cutting through her sleeve so he could see the injury. Harry only wanted to cut open the cloth that covered her arm, but she used her good arm to shrug off the rest of the material, leaving her upper half in just a bra. Harry focuses on the injury, much to Romania’s dismay.

"She's too dangerous! What if Tony gets to her?"

"I'm aware, Ro.", Harry mutters, pressing on the broken skin making Romania flinch. "Don't tell me you had a change of heart and you're not going to kill her.", she says.

Harry grabs a bottle of antiseptic. "I'm still deciding."

Romania rolls her eyes, hissing as he cleans her wound with the antiseptic. "She's a vicious monster, that's what she is. First, she brought you under her charm, then she planned to kill you, take our money and destroy our empire. I don't know why you trusted her in the first place."

Harry didn’t say anything, he reached for a needle and some surgical thread to close the cut with some stitches. "It was all part of some big plan. As much as I'd love to know as well, she's not going to remember, Harry. At least let me have my way with her. I'll have her in the basement for one day and she'll start singing like a bird-ah!"

Harry sows her skin together, looking up to give her a glare. "You will not touch her. I can do that too, but it's not fair to torture something out of a person who doesn't remember anything about it in the first place."

"She's playing you, Harry.", Romania sighs. "If you don't kill her, you're going to let her win. If her ties are with Tony, then we're pretty much done for. She is banking on you. She knows you can't kill her. She'll get away, Harry. You've assigned Oliver to her! Don't you remember how close they were? He'll let her escape!"

"I trust Oliver.", Harry finishes the stitches. He grabs a bandage to lay over it. "You're done.", he says, taking his gloves off.

"Thank you.", Romania mumbles and reaches for him. She moved her hands up Harry’s neck, weaving one hand into his Harry. "Harry, I'm telling you this because I care about you. I know your emotions are messed up because of your last month together again, kissing her, fucking her-"

"-Romania.", Harry warns.

"-You wish you could go back to that.", Romania continues, stroking his bottom lip with her thumb. "The truth is, you don't need her. There are so many better women who will be loyal to you. Who'll die for you, who will do anything for you.” 

She got so close, her breasts were brushing against Harry’s chest and almost popping out of her bra. But, he didn’t feel anything. The only thing he could think of was how good Reagen could make him feel.

“Oh fuck, Harry..”, she moans as she lets her head hit back against the pillow, her hands in his hair as he laps his tongue over her clit.

She tasted so sweet, so juicy. So gratifying was her flavor that he wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled her closer to his face, burying his mouth in her delicious folds. The sting of his scalp as she tugged on his hair, letting out beautiful sounds as he pleasured her, only made him more excited. 

“You like that, baby?”, he looks up at her with a grin, her juices dripping down from his lips. 

“F-Feels so good, Harry, please, please..”, she begs, her hands pushing his head back down as her breathing gets heavier with her release being close. He flicked his tongue across her and inserted two eager fingers into her slick center. Her moan rose to a pleasure filled shriek, and he felt her walls close tight around his fingers. 

“Let go, darling, come on, coat my fingers and my mouth, I want every bit of it, give it to me..”, he hums against her skin and watches her unfold with awe. She looked divine. Murmurs of his name leaving her lips, eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

She lay sprawled with a content smile on her lips and he pressed little kisses to her skin, starting from her stomach and finally reaching her lips. “Where’d you learn that? It was like, out of this world, good, you know?”

“Wait till I’m inside you, love.”, he whispered, stroking some of her hair back from her forehead, still hovering over her. She grins, moving her hand to stroke his rock hard dick, making him groan. “Oh yeah? Show me then.”

She gasped as he slid into her easily moistened sex, letting out a loud moan. “You feel that, darling? Feel how you fit around my cock?”

She wasn’t able to answer as he grunted, pulling his hips back only to plunge them forward, fucking her with hard, deliberate thrusts. She opened her legs wider and relished the feeling of his shaft ramming so deeply. 

“Tell me how good it feels, baby.”, he pants, moving a hand to squeeze around her right breast. 

“S-So good, s-so fucking good.” His thrusts get faster and she grabs his shoulders, her mind going blank with pleasure. “Who do you belong to?”, he asks.

She might be the one that makes grown men quaking in their boots in the outside world, but when she’s with Harry? She just wants him to take control. To mark her up and to make her cry out of pleasure. He loved the way her body would react to his touch. He takes pride in knowing that he’s one of the very few people she trusts. 

Harry moved his hand on her breast to her jaw, his fingers pressing her mouth open. “Answer me.”

“Y-You. I’m all yours, Harry.”, she managed to say and opened her mouth further, sticking out her tongue. “Want me to spit in your mouth, baby? Such a dirty girl.”

He leaned forward before collecting his spit and aiming it inside her mouth, landing it on her tongue. She moans, swallowing it. “Good girl.”, he praises, bringing his lips over hers for a kiss. She kissed him hungrily. His tongue entered her mouth as his cock penetrated her. 

“I-I’m close..”, she whimpers, biting down on his lip. 

“Me too, sweetheart, c-can’t hold on much longer. Y-You feel so fucking perfect.”

They hold each other through their highs, and continue to do so as they come down from it. “Harry?”, she whispers, kissing his cheek.

“Mm sunshine?” He looks up at her, giving her a tired, lazy grin. 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Romania’s face coming inches closer to his face and his lips made him jerk back to the reality that he wished was just a really bad nightmare. Five years and the memories he had with her were still so painful to remember, etched into his brain like he wouldn’t ever forget any detail.

“She’s done so much to you, Harry. Let the whore rot in hell.”, Romania seethed.

Harry tangles his hand in her hair, leaning down making her think he was going to kiss her, but he yanks her head back by the grip on her hair, making her hiss in pain. “Shut the fuck up, you jealous bitch.”

She grins despite the pain, one snap of his wrist and she would be dead. 

“Get out before I kill you.", Harry mutters, letting her go. The only reason why he hadn’t done so already was because her father was important, and she did her job decently. 

“Yes sir.”, she hums and hops off the chair. “You have to do something about her soon though.”

Harry picks up his whiskey glass again, emptying it down his throat before taking a swing from his cigarette. Even though Romania annoyed the crap out of him, she was right. Harry had to put Reagen behind him, or he would never move on. He had given her enough of his time. It was time to end it all.

"I'll do what I need to do.”

________________________________________

y/n couldn't sleep. She racked her brain trying to remember things about her past life, that might be the only thing that could save her. She didn't know how long she's going to be here, or how long Harry wants to keep her here. The only plan she could come up with was making a run for it, but she knew it wouldn't get her far. Someone would chase her down, or they could just fire a bullet at her.

Her thoughts shifted to Harry. She was supposed to be mad at him, supposed to forget him, but she couldn't. Everything around her was lies, but she couldn't believe that the time she spent with Harry in these four weeks was a lie. It wasn't, right? He did deceive her, and he was playing her when she thought she was playing him, but whatever happened between them was real. Their feelings were real. That beautiful ring he had picked out, that was for her. Why couldn't she remember their memories together?

y/n wipes away her silent tears as she stares up at the ceiling in the dark. Pitch dark. Eventually, her tired eyes took a break.

y/n wakes up to Oliver shaking her awake. "So? You have a plan?"

The usually composed Oliver appeared a bit distraught. She was going to bring her hands up to rub her eyes, when he handcuffs them behind her back. "Hey!", she protests.

"Shh, there are a lot of people outside.", Oliver mutters. "And I'm supposed to have you in handcuffs, sorry. Bad news, Harry decided to kill you, he's on his way now."

"Oh great.", she says, not surprised. "Tell him to just hurry it up."

Oliver glares at her. "You still don't remember anything?"

She shakes her head.

Oliver's eyes scan her face.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Oliver. You've been good to me, thank you.", she gave him a small smile. Oliver shakes his head. "I still believe in you."

Just then, they hear knocks on the door. Oliver gets it, and Romania comes in, her heels clicking, head held high. "There she is."

She crouches down, and y/n grunts in disgust, trying to pull away when Romania strokes her hair. "Hey darling, how are you"

"Get away, bitch.", she muttered, and Romania giggles. "How sweet. The once almighty Reagen is now at our mercy. Are you sure you want that to be your last words?"

"Romania, what do you want?", Oliver folds his arms across his chest.

"Oh nothing, just came to say goodbye to her. If Harry has any difficulty pulling the trigger, I'll do it for him.", she says, running her manicured nails across y/n's cheek. "I don't understand what Harry sees in you."

"You're never going to get him.", y/n answers back, and Romania's eyes darken in anger, her hand moving to wrap around y/n's neck, choking her. "You can watch from your grave, Reagen. Harry will see clearly once the filth is removed. You will die today, your chances are all over."

"That's enough, Pelt.", Oliver snaps. Romania lets her go and she coughs, trying to breathe. Romania stands up. "Looks like Harry's here!"

The white cedan was pulling up outside. Romania walked out to greet him. y/n watches as Harry steps out, he was wearing a black shirt, with black pants and boots. The top few buttons were undone, so she could see half of his butterfly tattoo, and other ones. The silver cross chain hung from his neck, rings decorating his hands.

His eyes fall on her as he reaches the door. "Give me a minute with her.", his deep voice rumbles to Romania and Oliver. They both stepped out, and Harry comes in, closing the door.

"Harry.", y/n says softly, flinching as she tried to sit up against the wall. "Sleep well?"

Harry crouches down just like Romania had, so he can meet her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, do I even know you anymore?", y/n whispers. Harry's eyes soften as he reaches a hand out to fix her hair after Romania's assault. "You know me better than anyone else, y/n." He chuckles to himself. "Guess I've got used to calling you y/n."

"Nice acting by the way, couldn't tell yesterday. Made me a total fool."

Harry sighs. "Everything I did was for you-"

"-No, it was for you.", she cuts him off.

"Wouldn't you do the same thing if you were in my place?", Harry asks. "I lived holding on to the thought of having you back with me for five years, Reagen. I loved you that much."

He looked so handsome. His gorgeous eyes, his pink lips and his brown curls. She wanted to run a hand through it. "J-Just get it done with Harry, whatever."

Harry takes her face, his thumbs wiping her tears away, his own eyes watering. "Please, sunshine. Don't make me do this. Please tell me you remember something."

y/n hated to break his heart, but there was nothing she could do. "I-I'm sorry, Harry.", she croaked, and he pressed her face to his chest. She took in his comforting, masculine scent. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her. Then everything would feel alright. Everything they've been through flashes through her mind as he presses his lips to her forehead.

He pulls her away, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. " I promised you a long time ago that we would find your mom. I know you don't remember, but just know that I will find her."

Her mom? She thought she didn't have a family. Reagen didn't have a family, right? Then her painting comes into her mind. The painting Harry was absorbed in. The woman she painted, whom she thought would be her mother. She's real?

Harry didn't allow her time to ask more questions. He presses his lips on to hers, kissing her one last time. This was a different kind of a kiss, not one that leads to something, but a hard, painful one. It felt like he was putting all his emotions into that kiss, letting it all flow into her.

She was wondering about what to make for dinner when she heard the door. She looked through the peephole first, seeing Harry and smiled, opening the door.

"Hey there.", she smiles, her heart skipping a beat as his stressed, grumpy face split into a smile. "Hi. I hope it's not too late, wanted to show you something."

"Of course not, come in."

She let Harry inside and locked the door. "I was just gonna start dinner. You're not going before tasting my signature pasta."

Harry follows her into the kitchen, not being able to trap his smile. "I'd love to try some."

She enjoyed his company just as much as he enjoyed hers. She's been spending a lot of time with Harry every day, ever since he joined her during her training. She's used to talking to people only about gang work, but Harry? She talked to him about everything.

They shared a lot of likes and dislikes, he was funny, sweet and charming. He was also a big asset for the gang.

"So? What'd you make?", she asks him, moving around the kitchen to get the ingredients while he leans on the slab, looking at her.

He pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to show her a chip.

"Your new creation, doc?"

He nods. "Press this button here before throwing it and everything within a 2 mile radius of where it lands will be destroyed."

She doesn't question the working, knowing by now that it's no joke. She raises her eyebrows. "Impressive. I'm sure it'll be useful, keep it safely."

Harry nods, putting it back into his pocket like it was harmless. "You okay, Harry?", she asks. Harry usually got into destruction mode when he was anxious, frustrated and angry. He only told these things to her.

He sighs, nodding slowly. "Just one of those days, I guess."

She squeezed his arm. "It's okay, by the end of the night, you're gonna be feeling better."

"I'm already feeling better. Being around you..I don't know what it is.", he admits.

She smiles, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Yeah? Tell me more, I'm liking the sound of this."

Harry chuckles, amused by her. "Put me to work boss, wanna help you cook."

"You wanna cut the peppers?"

"Sure."

They spent the entire time chatting as they cook together. Then Harry wanted to show off his pro chef skills, wanting to flip the mushrooms in the pan. Of course some of it went flying out and she scolded him while he laughed, apologizing with a soft kiss to her temple, making her smile.

She then brought a spoon to his lips, wanting him to taste the sauce. She watched his face as lips wrapped around the spoon, letting her feed it to him.

"Mm, that's really good." Harry smacks his lips together and she grins. "It is?"

He nods, giving her a side hug as he offers to continue stirring the sauce. "How are you so good at everything you do?"

She blushes, leaning to his side. "I try." She looks up at him. "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads." He pulls her closer. "Thanks, sunshine."

"Sunshine?", she giggles at the nickname.

He nods, smiling back at her. "Trust me, you can be terrifying if you want to be, but I love this side of you. The happy, care free side of you. You're healing me, you're helping me cope with everything I've been through and the first thought I have when I wake up in the morning is about you. So yes, you're my sunshine."

Her heart melted as she turned him around so he was facing her and she wraps her arms around his neck. Harry dropped his head to her forehead, keeping the spatula away to move his hands to her hips.

“Can I kiss you?”, she asks, swiping a thumb across his bottom lip.

Harry smirks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Only if you want to.”

“And you don’t?”

He grins, closing the space between their lips as he moves a hand to the back of her neck. She felt like her soul had returned to water, like every part of her that came from a dead star became alive. He tasted so sweet, his hand pressing against her skin, his breath fanning over her face. 

“Oh I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”, he whispers against her lips before kissing her again.

That was their first kiss.

Harry's lips pull away from hers, just as the memory fades away. "I love you, and I'll always love you.", he whispered.

"I love you too, Harry.", she spoke without a tremor now. Almost like the kiss had given her some strength, her fear was melting away. Harry got up without another word, and started walking away.

"Harry!", she calls.

"I'm sorry..I-I can't.", he heard her mumble, before he kicked the door open instead of just unlocking it. Harry walks to Sania and says something to her that splits her face into a grin. "Yes boss, I got it."

"Harry, come on! I asked you first!", Romania whines.

He chose to ignore her, and got in his car again. The car drives away. Great, now she's back with the lunatics, and Oliver.

"Get up and come out, it's easier for us to clean the mess outside.", Sania was coming to her, and grabs her up by her shirt, making her grunt. "Shouldn't get the warehouse dirty!"

Her mom. Her head was aching, as something was trying to come through. Somehow, it was connected to her mom. That night, betraying Harry, killing him, she didn't want to do it.

"Perfect! Is everyone ready to watch the death of the great Reagen? Remember that this is what happens to Traitors!", Romania's voice irritates her while she scans the place. There were around eight men along with Sania and Romania.

Sania points the gun to her forehead. Before she could pull the trigger, y/n jumped up into the air, and kicked her straight in the chest with how much ever strength she could muster. She grinned, that felt good.

"Grab her!", Romania says, taking out her own gun, and all the men rush to her. y/n didn't think, she only fought. It was like muscle memory. She was stronger than she thought. Even with her hands cuffed, she was moving through the men, kicking, and swiftly moving around them, dodging their knives and blades.

Then someone grabbed her around the middle, and she growled, struggling against their grip. He was strong.

"I have her! Romania, shoot!"

It was Oliver. But she felt one of his hands fiddling with the handcuffs, and so she stopped struggling in his grip and with a click they were off. Romania came to her with the gun, Oliver let her go, and she pounced on her like a tiger, sending her down to the ground. Her gun fell out of her hands, and she grabbed it quickly, aiming it at her heart, and she pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The shot was fired. Romania gasps, shuddering as she looks at her chest, soaking blood into her clothes. "You deserved a slow painful death, this will be quick, so be thankful.", she spoke, and she didn't even know where that came from. y/n didn't talk like that. Must be Reagen, she thought. Was she such a badass?

“And remember, Harry was always mine.”, she adds as the life fades away from Romania’s face.

One of the men came at her with a blade, and she ducks down, punching his stomach and grabbing the knife out of his hand as he falls forward. She slashed him with it, and he fell with a thud. Men after men, she took down with the gun in one hand and the knife in the other but she was unscathed. She was fighting like a monster. She took out all her rage and anger out on them.

Next, she was up with Sania. The one whose betrayal hurt more than others. The one she thought was her friend. All the color was draining from Sania’s face and she joined her hands together in apology. "P-Please Reagen, I made a mistake. Please don't-"

She stuck the blade into her stomach in rage. "I thought you were my friend!”

She thought she might feel something as she fell dead in front of her, but she didn’t. She was numb. After all, Sania was going to kill her. She deserved to die.

y/n was rushing on adrenaline, and she looked around at all the fallen bodies, like who's next?

There was a last man standing. Oliver. He put his hands up as she pointed the gun at him, but he was smiling. "So you did have a plan." "Shut up."

He shrugs. Oliver was good. He had helped her. She could trust him. So she lowered the gun. "Are you going to come with me? I have to get out of here."

"I'll be your driver, like old times.", Oliver nods, pointing to a truck. "We'll have to switch cars later, but for now, let's go."

They both get into the car, and Oliver drives away. "So, do you remember everything now?"

"No. Bits.", she sighs, bringing a hand to her forehead. "What do you know about my mother?"

_______________________________________________

Harry was looking outside the window, stuck in a memory lane. It contained so many little fragments of his life with Reagen. The moments he spent with her. Every single moment that he wished he could go back to.

And now, he had just given the order for her to be killed.

Harry's phone rings, it was Luke. Luke was an important player in their little game to get Reagen to remember. They all knew Reagen only had one weakness.

Family.

She would do anything for her family. She has gone to bounds and put her life in danger a million times to find her mother. That's why Luke had to play as her sick uncle.

"Hello.", Harry says into the phone.

"Harry. There's a problem.", Luke sounded breathless on the other side.

"What?"

"Romania and Sania are dead, so are some of our men. I don't know where Oliver is and I can't reach him. Angelo called me, said that Reagen attacked them. She's escaped, Harry. Looks like our old Reagen's back."

Harry's face breaks into a smile as he takes the new information in. Now that, was starting to sound like his old partner. The fearless, powerful, brave, Reagen, who looks beautiful while burning her enemies to the ground. The love of his life.

Harry didn't know if she was now his enemy, or his partner in crime, but he could figure it out. The thought of all of it brought a rush of cold air into his body, of excitement and anticipation. She was like his drug, his ecstasy.

His sunshine.

"What do you want to do?", Luke asks him.

Harry brings the lighter to the cigarette between his lips. He took a long puff from it, and released the smoke, before smiling wide.

"We wait. Reagen likes making the first move."

___________________________________________

Taglist- @livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar

(Drop a message if you want me to add your name to my taglist!)

A/N:- Let me know how you guys liked the last part! Left you at a cliffhanger;) I want to thank each one of you for choosing to read my story, it really means a lot to me. Thank you to everyone who liked my story and re-blogged it, I appreciate it so much.

Traitor-The Present has come to an end, now you understand why I named it like that. This is the story of the present. You still haven't read the story of their past.

So, do we want a sequel?

[dg-outlaw]

Why Jason and Bruce Will Never See Eye to Eye

At least, when it comes to Gotham.

The short answer: Because they each see Gotham through a different lens.

I thought about this after I read Absolute Batman #4 and how that universe's Batman is almost a fusion of Bruce and Jason. Absolute Bruce is an AU version that has the love and support from Thomas and Martha, the childhood tragedy of loss, and also the lived experience of being raised in Park Row without loads of wealth, but still chose to become Batman.

But going back to Prime Earth/canon Bruce and Jason...

For Bruce, it's one alley, one night, and one tragedy that set him on a course to becoming Batman. Of course, throughout the years he's learned more, grown, and understands the nuances of crime and corruption in Gotham, but it's still an outsider's view. He can have empathy and a desire for justice, but at the end of the day, the world he knows is Wayne Manor, his loving childhood with Thomas and Martha, the Batcave, fancy galas, corporate buildings, and near limitless wealth. Yes, he has slummed it as Matches Malone and has studied crime and how socio-economic poverty can lead to crime, but it's all cerebral and it's not Bruce's lived experience.

If anything, Matches is a perfect example of this. Just as rich, playboy, devil-may-care Bruce Wayne is a mask, so is Matches. It's a pretend, make believe persona he can put on and then take off once he's back home. Yes, he has a mission, an oath, etc. and he's fully dedicated to it, but at the end of the day there's still a hot meal from Alfred and a comfy bed with Egyptian cotton sheets waiting for him when it's all over.

For Jason, it's more than just one alley and one bad day. Patrols as Robin were probably a constant reminder of the all the things he had seen and experienced as a child. That alley over there is where he saw his first dead body, long before Robin was even an idea in his mind. Another alley is where he first saw someone having sex before he understood what sex was. That apartment complex is where Catherine OD'd that one time and the complex next to it is where his friend's older brother got shot in a gang-related shooting. He knows most of the names of the different people on the street corners, just trying to get by, as well as their violent pimps he knew to avoid. One of the girls once shared half a sandwich with him back when he was orphaned and on the streets. Her pimp said she was getting fat, but in reality she was starving and malnourished, but she took pity on Jason because she had been friends with Willis. And the list of memories goes on.

Yes, little Jason was a "good kid", and I have a rant for that, but those memories while on patrol probably gave him pause because that was his world and his history. Whereas, for Bruce, it was part of his job. He may know the names and the stories, but they're a step removed from Bruce and Batman.

Flash forward to teen Jason, the "angry" Robin who might've thrown a guy off a balcony. That little boy who lucked into the orphan Annie Cinderella story is now a bit more aware of the world and it's injustices, despite having a cape. Now, he sees those familiar places, but the dead body in the alley is one of his childhood friends that he used to play basketball with and who'd geek out with him over their favorite Saturday morning cartoon. The girl on the corner, slightly strung out and looking for her next John? That was his teen babysitter from down the hall. She used to watch MTV religiously and go on about that one guy from her favorite boy band, certain that she'd marry that guy someday because she had a collage of him on her wall. That dead-eyed man who appears to have just OD'ed in the empty apartment Robin and Batman are searching in for clues as to Sacrecrow's location? Jason's favorite English teacher who told him that reading wasn't girly and that he could read whatever seemed interesting to him. And the memories go on.

Task Force Z, Issue #6

That little boy, adopted by Bruce Wayne, was probably extremely grateful and often quietly anxious. Probably constantly afraid that he'd mess up and lose that golden ticket he'd found. So he did everything he could to be perfect; straight A's in school and perfect Robin flips just like Dick. But teen Jason started to see the reality of the world, like most teenagers do, and things changed. Things that Bruce could never understand.

I imagine Jason often asks himself the question, "Why me?" Why was he the lucky one and they weren't. Other than amusing Batman by stealing his tires and being another random orphan within Bruce's orbit, nothing about Jason ever said he deserved the brass ring more than anyone else. He just got lucky, then he died... and then came back.

If anything, Jason and Selina Kyle probably relate to each other the most. They know those dark, "scary" parts of Gotham and they not only see the scars, but they feel them because they share those scars with Gotham.

And that's why Jason and Bruce will never see eye to eye, especially when it comes to Gotham. It isn't the same for them, and it never will be.

[aventurineswife]

Hear me out

Like, hear me out

Its funny, its silly, its cute

Reader being suddenly scooped up randomly and brought inside from the rain, by none other than Arataki "Numero Uno" Itto. And the himbo just presents a soaked and bewildered reader like they are some sort of stray animal. And he goes "but its raining and cold, i couldnt just leave them outside!" when his friends just give him mixed reactions looks.

And the himbo might not have realized he actually likes reader (yet).

*sigh* himbos.

-Smooch Anon 💋

It's raining, raining, Ooh, baby, it's raining, raining

Summary: Caught in an unexpected downpour, you find yourself swept up by none other than Arataki Itto, who carries you inside to save you from the rain. Completely oblivious to how strange his "rescue" seems, Itto presents you to his gang as if he's brought home a stray animal, insisting he couldn't leave you out in the cold. While his friends exchange mixed looks, Itto remains cheerfully clueless, not yet realizing that maybe he likes you more than he thought.

Tags: Arataki Itto x Reader, Fluff, Friends to Lovers (slow realization), Himbo Itto, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort (mild), Using Both Kuki and Shinobu name, Might be bit OOC.

A/N: 😰BESTIE IMA NEED YOU TO CHILL WITH EM REQUESTS!!

The rain poured down in sheets, the sound of the droplets hitting the earth creating a rhythm that made the world feel distant, a blur of grey and blue. You had been caught off guard, as usual, by the sudden downpour. With no umbrella and no way of reaching shelter, you had begun to make your way toward the nearest tavern, hoping to wait out the storm in relative dryness.

As you trudged along, soaked to the bone, you muttered to yourself, cursing the rain. You had hoped it would be a quick shower, but it looked like it was going to be a while before you could escape.

Suddenly, you felt a strange, unexpected force wrap around your waist.

“Gotcha!” a voice boomed above you. Before you could even register what was happening, you were lifted off the ground with ease, your feet dangling in the air. The cold rain hit your face, but you were no longer on the ground, and you couldn’t help but let out a startled gasp.

Looking up, you found yourself staring into the bright, mischievous eyes of none other than Arataki Itto, the local troublemaker and self-proclaimed "Numero Uno" of the Arataki Gang. His grin was as wide as ever, showing off those sharp fangs of his.

“Wh—Itto?! What the hell are you doing?!” you stammered, your drenched clothes clinging to your skin.

“It’s raining, and you’re all wet! I couldn’t just leave you out here, right?!” Itto exclaimed, his voice booming in the otherwise quiet street. His grip around you was surprisingly gentle for someone as strong as him, but there was no mistaking the determination in his eyes.

With no room to argue, you found yourself being carried, like some sort of helpless puppy, into a nearby building. The door swung open with an enthusiastic kick from Itto’s foot, and you were gently (yet hastily) deposited onto a nearby chair, dripping water onto the wooden floor.

“Numero Uno to the rescue!” Itto said, puffing out his chest with pride, completely oblivious to the fact that he was standing in front of his friends, who had been watching the whole scene unfold. He didn’t even seem to realize how flustered and bewildered you were, still blinking in confusion from the sudden change in scenery.

Inside the Arataki Gang's hideout, a couple of familiar faces—Kuki Shinobu and Gorou—stared at you, their eyes wide and a little incredulous. Shinobu, as usual, was trying to hide her face behind her hand, clearly unimpressed, while Gorou had a confused, slightly awkward smile on his face, his ears twitching slightly.

Kuki was the first to speak up. “Itto... what in the world did you do?” she asked, clearly trying to suppress a sigh.

Itto, oblivious to the tension in the room, nodded proudly, putting his hands on his hips. “Well, you see, it was raining and cold out there, and I couldn’t just leave them outside, right? So, I did what any good Numero Uno would do—swooped them up and brought them inside!”

The moment those words left his mouth, the room fell into silence, the atmosphere thick with unspoken questions. You were still trying to process the sudden change of scenery, trying not to focus too much on the fact that Itto had just literally carried you inside like some kind of stray cat.

“Uh, I’m fine, really,” you said, your voice quieter than usual, still reeling from the shock. “You didn’t have to—”

But before you could finish, Itto grinned and waved you off, already rushing to get towels from a nearby chest. “Nonsense! Look at you—soaked through and looking like a drowned rat! It’s the least I could do!”

Gorou scratched the back of his head, exchanging a glance with Shinobu. “Isn’t that a bit... much, Itto?” Gorou asked, his voice filled with concern but laced with a hint of amusement.

Itto paused in his towel-fetching mission, blinking at his friend in confusion. “What? What do you mean ‘much’? They were all wet and freezing out there! I’m just doing the right thing, right?”

Shinobu, with her usual dry tone, added, “It’s just that you seem... awfully concerned for someone you just met. So concerned, in fact, that you decided to carry them here like they were your precious pet.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and you couldn’t help but blush, flustered. A pet?

Itto froze mid-motion, the towel hanging loosely in his hand. For a split second, his usual confident grin faltered. But then, with a shrug, he laughed it off, his voice more casual than ever. “Pfft, well, I mean... they didn’t have anywhere else to go! You’re welcome!”

Kuki raised an eyebrow, glancing at you, then back to Itto. “Are you sure you’re not just enjoying the fact that you get to be the hero? Don’t get any funny ideas, Itto.”

The big oni’s ears perked up as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes widening. “Whaaaat? Me? Funny ideas? Nah, nah, not at all! I’m just being a good guy! You know, the kind of guy who swoops in and saves the day! No need to overthink it!”

But despite his words, you noticed the small flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a hint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was the way he looked at you for a second longer than necessary, or the way he moved just a little bit closer when handing you the towel.

As you took the towel and started drying off, you realized that maybe—it wasn’t just about rescuing you from the rain.

Maybe Itto did care, just a little more than he was letting on.

And while he might not have figured it out yet, you had a feeling that you might just be his next big adventure.

[python333]

what's a noise to an eardrum? — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis you've been on a mission for a while, and instead of going back to your quarters after coming back, you head to ghost's.

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters simon "ghost" riley.

word count 2.2k

warnings ghost's pov, 2nd person pov [you/your/yourself], sleep deprivation, bad cliches, bad writing, might be ooc

note hey gang!!! i think i got all the warnings since this is pretty lighthearted considering what i usually post, so enjoy :) lmk your thoughts!

Ghost was sitting at his desk―in his own sleeping quarters, since it’s technically past curfew and he doesn’t need any trouble from recruits about him being in his office after hours, the annoying little shits―typing away at his computer, trying to get a report on his latest assignment done before going to bed.

He’s had a little bit of trouble sleeping lately. Not to say that it’s your fault, but it’s definitely your fault. He doesn’t necessarily need you around to go to sleep, but since you volunteered for a mission a week ago, he’s been a little on edge. Originally, it would’ve been Soap and a few other sergeants heading out to a small town in some country down in Central America, but you took the place of Soap after Price had explained the mission. 

It could technically be done by one person, he’d said in short, but it’s quicker to send out a squadron than a single soldier.

You weren’t the best sniper they had, but you had enough experience with it for Price to approve of you going with one other person to keep watch of you. The long duration of the mission was really to be blamed on how often your target had been moving, leaving you with little room to take any shots. It wasn’t too important of a mission, however―as long as you didn’t miss your target in the end―so Ghost is sure Price is glad that he only had to send out one soldier instead of around six or seven.

Still, despite how there was little to no chance of you coming out of this mission in multiple pieces, Ghost found himself worried; something he, admittedly, feels for a lot of the soldiers here. His worry for you is different, though. Maybe it’s an age thing. Maybe it has something to do with how he’s seen you grow over the years that you’ve been here, and how close you’ve gotten to going from a Private to a Lance Corporal. It’s a relatively low rank for someone in the 141, which only makes him―dare he admit it―prouder. A weird feeling lingers in his mind when the word proud comes to mind as he thinks of you, but he ignores that feeling, instead opting to focus on the report he so desperately wanted to finish.

Despite his usual sleep aversion, he finds himself wanting to sleep for once.

Just as he gets to the middle of his report, he hears a knock at the door. Before Ghost can even say anything, he hears the door open, and his head whips around to see who would decide that it’s a good idea to enter his room without his permission. Though, all of his confusion and building anger dissipates the moment he sees that it’s you. Fresh from medical, he can safely assume, seeing the various bandages and bruises on you, and that odd too-clean smell that’s sticking to you. You look so exhausted, it’s almost funny. Almost. 

You close the door behind you and Ghost turns his head back to his laptop. It’s not that he doesn’t want to look at you, but it’s a little harder to when you look so disheveled. He hears a few footsteps, then the squeaking of bed springs, and a sigh before the rustling of bed sheets. In the faint reflection of his computer screen, Ghost can just barely see you getting comfortable under the covers of his bed, seeming to fully disregard his presence. He doesn’t mind, though. He gets it; that feeling after being on guard for so long, not sure how much of it you can let down even though you’re back on base, and that strange structureless feeling where you wish you had bones but only feel like flesh. 

It’s odd, put simply. When Ghost thinks of the feeling, he thinks of the age-old question, if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? The feeling is like a constant questioning of what you’re experiencing, the wonderance of whether or not you can feel safe if the safest you’ve ever felt is a feeling lost somewhere beyond you. If you lose a feeling, was it ever felt? If you lost safety, were you ever safe, or, as Maslow would put it, were you always missing that basic need? Ghost knows plenty about missing safety. He knows that his mind blanks when he tries to think about the last time he felt safe before the 141. 

He knows that you know plenty about missing safety, too. Not a lot, because you never say enough to clue him in on just how much you’re missing, but he has his suspicions. Some are confirmed, others mere theories, but still―he knows you well enough. That’s why you’re in his room, not saying a word, just breathing heavily into his pillow and trying to garner warmth from his blanket. He can see you staring at him from the bed. He’s sure you want him to say something, and because it’s you that’s looking at him, he does.

“Back already?” Ghost asks dryly, drawing a small huff out of you. 

“Soap said y’missed me,” you reply, making Ghost scoff, “when he visited me in the infirmary.” 

“Too big of a mouth on ‘im,” Ghost saves the draft of his report, deciding to just save writing it for another time, instead closing out of the program and hovering his finger over the power button on his keyboard, “don’t know how y’managed to understand him.” 

You hum and sit up in Ghost’s bed, the blankets rustling again, and as Ghost’s screen goes black, he turns around to see you sitting up with the blankets wrapped around you like a jacket. He blinks at you, before raising an eyebrow at your position.

“Ruinin’ my blankets?” he asks, though sounding barely offended, “After walking in unannounced besides that little knock?”

“Ruin’s a pretty strong word,” you argue, “and it wasn’t a little knock. It was loud. Practically echoed off the walls.”

Ghost can sense your sarcasm from a mile away, but continues to play along, leaning back in his chair. You look a little more tired covered in blankets, he thinks, those dark circles under your eyes are a little more pronounced. He sees them a lot. Those darkened semi-circles that he used to think were just a part of you, some kind of skin condition, but later realized they were a product of your sleep deprivation. It would’ve been his first thought had he not always seen you with the bags under your eyes, but after going on leave with you―a few months ago, back to his small house, after you had admitted that you preferred staying with him to going back to your dingy apartment―and witnessing you getting proper rest, seeing those circles get a little lighter, he knew that it was more of a sleep issue. 

He’s gone through his fair share of sleeping problems. He still goes through them; everyone in the military does, he’s sure. Ghost used to think that he took the brunt of it, compared to the rest of the task force, not because of the missions but because of what came before the missions. He’s changed his way of thinking since then, has opened up his mind a little more beyond the idea of suffering more than someone else in a specific sense, but he still had that feeling that he took on the majority of nightmares. The word “nightmare” feels a little juvenile for him, but until someone creates a better word for the repulsive things he sees after closing his eyes and just barely drifting asleep, that’s what he’s stuck with. 

“You better hope y’didn’t wake anyone up with it, then,” Ghost hums, “I doubt anyone wants to be awake right now.” 

He sees a small smile grow on your face and small spots of blood arise from beneath the cracked skin of your lips. 

“Everyone here sleeps like a rock as far as I know,” you reply, before pausing, considering, “maybe except for the guys who came in a few weeks ago.”

“I’m sure they’ll be gone by next month,” Ghost tells you, his tone almost reassuring, “I don’t think they can handle any of… this.” 

“You don’t think they can handle your bullying?” you scoff, making Ghost huff out a small laugh, “Weak.” 

“Not everyone’s as strong as you, unfortunately,” Ghost hums sarcastically, getting up from his chair and walking the short distance over to his bed where you’re sitting. Automatically, you move so that Ghost can sit down next to you.

You’re both silent for a little bit. Ghost can see the few healing bruises on your face a little clearer here. Small dark yellows and reds on the sharper points of your face, the parts where the bone is a little closer to the skin, particularly your cheeks and a few over your jawline and near your chin. They’re a bad look on you, not because Ghost doesn’t think you can handle yourself, but because he knows that you can handle yourself, so the only way you could’ve gotten those bruises is if you were forced into a corner. He would consider that they were an accident, somehow self-inflicted, but he knows better than that. 

“Are you tired?” Ghost asks, even though he knows the answer.

“I haven’t slept in a few days.” There it is.

“And for the few days that you did sleep?” He thinks he knows the answer to this too.

“I don’t know if you can really call it that.” Bingo.

It’s not surprising to him. Not only has he been on enough missions with you to know how hard it is for you to sleep outside of the base, but he’s managed to get you to actually tell him about your sleeping struggles. He knows. He watches you subtly kick off your boots, letting them fall over onto their sides, as if you could read his mind and know what he’s going to request next.

“Lay down,” Ghost puts a bare hand on your clothed shoulder and lightly pushes at it, prompting you to lean back onto your side, settling into the bed with the blankets still wrapped around you.

Ghost doesn’t mind the lack of blankets he’s getting. As long as you’re the one hogging them, he finds it easier to go without them, strangely enough. He lays down onto the bed next to you, his head naturally above yours, and neither of you bother to change positions. He doesn’t attempt to pull the blankets from you, and you don’t try to move away from him, the both of you simply existing together in one small space with nothing interrupting you two. A thin layer of air, similar to the blanket covering you, seems to cover the both of you, not trapping you together but instead comforting the both of you. The air feels woven from Ghost’s thoughts, yarn strewn from his cerebral cortex, emotions run through an invisible loom to create the beautiful quilt that covers the both of you. 

Ghost’s hand comes up to thumb at the edge of his balaclava, and he pulls it up the tiniest bit, but then pauses to think.

He knows that if you just turn your head up the tiniest bit, you’ll see his face. The blonde stubble peeking out from under his skin, the small dent forming in the middle of his nose from the constant wearing of his balaclava, and possibly the most embarrassing of all, that small smile he wears that pulls at his already cracking lips that draws blood on occasion. Despite all of this, he pulls his face covering all the way off, and tosses it onto his desk. Your face doesn’t move an inch despite how obvious it is that some kind of fabric has hit the desk. 

He considers saying thank you, but Ghost doesn’t deem it necessary. You’re so close to sleeping that he doesn’t want to risk ruining your chances by talking to you. So, instead, he just brings his arm over your side and lets his hand reach up into the nape of your neck to toy with the small hairs tapering off there. They’re short enough that he’s essentially just brushing his fingers against the skin of your neck, but he assumes you don’t mind, considering how you continue to not move. You stay still peacefully, soft breaths leaving you as your body starts to actually relax.

So you weren’t lying about your lack of sleep, he thinks, his own eyes slowly closing, not that I thought you were, anyway.

Your breathing creates the perfect white noise to him. The vibrations emitting from your larynx that escape your mouth reach his ear canals, where they bounce off of his eardrums, and move down from his middle ears to his inner ears where the nerve endings that live there turn the vibrations into electrical impulses and are translated by his brain into actual sound. The translation sounds like more than just a simple sound, though; it’s like your breathing is translated into actual words rather than breathing, words like safe and guarded. Those small vibrations bounce around in his ears and turn into syllables, then eventually whispers, then firm speech. 

Those words are like music to his ears, as cliché as it is, and he cherishes every word he hears―more than he’ll ever let you know.

[rolledupprintingusa]

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[storiesbyrhi]

Part Two: All that is left is ashes

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 1375 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Early Evening, October 29, 1995

Four men barrelled out of Arcade Games and into a Camero. They chanted, “Fire! It! Up!” in unison.

Neil ‘T-Bird’ Hargrove got behind the wheel of the car, pulled out onto the road, cutting off a cab and barely avoiding a collision.

“You tryna kill us, T-Bird?!” Andy screamed from the back. Andy’s street name was Tin Tin because Neil said he had a head shaped like a tin of beans, and about the smarts of one too. He sat behind the driver’s seat, next to Chance. Nobody knew why Chance’s street name was Skank. Not even Chance. 

Riding shotgun was Neil’s son Billy. Billy went by Funboy. People avoided asking why because anything deemed fun by Billy Hargrove was not something they wanted to know about.

There was a moment of silence before all four men in the car laughed manically, returning to their chant. Neil slammed down on the accelerator.

A couple streets away, Steve Harrington had just finished voicing one of his great ideas. He stood in his hotdog stand uniform, nodding to himself. “You know, what this place needs is a good, natural catastrophe… Earthquake,”

“Tornado,” Robin Buckley suggested. She looked marginally less ridiculous in the uniform.

Hopper was watching her make his hotdog. She was, in his opinion, doing it wrong. “No, No. Buckley, come on. You got to put the mustard underneath first!”

“Maybe a flood? Like in the Bible?” Steve thought.

“Hey, hey. Lemme do it.” Hopper pulled the dog from her hands, taking over the allocation of mustard. “How ‘bout some onions?” Steve sprinkled some over it. Hopper looked at him. “What are you- Don’t cheap out on me.”

Neither Steve nor Robin had much passion for hotdog making. Hopper demanding to make his own was fine by them. Less work.

They all heard Max’s skateboard before they saw her emerge from the darkness.

“Hey, it’s Mad Max,” Steve greeted her affectionately.

Max took her usual place next to Hopper.

“How d’ya steer that thing on a wet street?” Hopper asked.

“Pure talent,” she replied sarcastically. “Hey,”

“Hey, kid,” Robin replied, getting a bun from the warmer.

“See, Max here is a genuine hotdogger… You hungry?”

“You buying?”

“I’m buying.”

The four of them were familiar, this scene having repeated over and over. Hargrove’s Camero speeding past them was familiar too, but far less comforting. They watched it screech around a corner.

“Bad people out on the street tonight,” Hopper said, not taking the bait. There was little that would compel him to chase after Hargrove and his gang, for countless reasons, but least of all the fact that they were Brenner’s soldiers.

The men had not been satisfied with smashing their way through Arcade Games, pinball machines, air hockey tables, and Pac-Man becoming nothing more than mechanical chaos. A timer counted down to the final second, then BOOM.

The explosion was loud, the soundwaves shaking the hotdog stand.

“Dammit!” Hopper growled.

“What was that?!” Max stood.

“You stay here. Steve, call it in for me!” and he was off running.

Eddie arrived home. The rain poured down as he looked up at the abandoned building. The crow told him yes, but it felt wrong. Something was wrong. Each rung of the fire escape ladder Eddie climbed hurt; each painstaking step up made him weaker.

It felt like hours, but within the minute Eddie was on top of the building. Trash was piled up everywhere. Sheets of plastic did little to protect whatever was being stored there. Eddie took no notice, just blindly followed the crow through an open door and into the belly of the beast.

There was more trash inside. And nobody home. All the apartments were empty. Each door looked the same, until he reached one marked with garish yellow crime scene tape. Eddie tore it down and walked inside.

There was barely enough light to see by, but Gabriel’s pure white coat shone. The cat meowed, immediately jumping from his hiding place and rubbing himself against Eddie’s legs. “Gabriel,” Eddie managed to croak out. He bent to pick up the cat. Gabriel panicked, forgetting what it felt like to be held. It had been a year and he’d never warmed to Max, though she tried. Eddie dropped the cat when it cried out, the sound reverberating through his skull.

Hiss.

Gabriel’s hiss. Someone had tried to pick him up. The cat hissed, scratched at the man. Dropped. Skittered away.

A smash.

Your jack-o-lantern beneath the huge window, smashed.

It wasn’t Eddie’s memory. He wasn’t there for that.

Still, he saw your face turn to a knock at the door.

You said Eddie’s name, confused why he’d not use his key. Maybe he’d forgotten it. He was forgetful like that. Suddenly, the men were everywhere. There were only four of them, but it felt like they were everywhere.

“Department of housing,” Neil Hargrove announced, holding up one of your petitions. “We’re looking to buy!”

“No code violations! No safety hazards?! Place looks great to me,” Billy announced, a mean grin on his face. “But… Let’s redecorate!”

Photo frames were broken. Sheets of music and poetry ripped. Records thrown against the wall.

The crow watched Eddie fall to his knees, gripping his head like if he held it tight enough, he might squeeze all the bad memories out of it. Because now it was memory; it was what Eddie remembered.

He walked through the open door, calling your name. Then he heard you screaming, struggling. The men all leered over you, tearing your clothes from your body.

They noticed him and quickly, before Eddie knew what was happening, Andy’s knife was thrown through the room and stabbed through his body. It made him entirely fucking useless. He couldn’t move to you. Couldn’t stop them taking turns.

You begged. You repeated Eddie's name so mournfully it sounded like a curse.

Eddie tried to get up, but the men descended. They held him up like Christ on the cross. The bullets didn’t hurt. He couldn’t feel his body. But he was awake. Eddie watched the men in the window as he was pushed backward through it, falling to his death.

Andy. Chance. Billy. Neil. Or, Tin Tin. Skank. Funboy. T-Bird.

Eddie sobbed and with every intention of using that window as a portal to death again, he stood and ran at it.

The crow cawed a command to stop.

Eddie couldn’t halt his forward momentum, but he could grab at the wooden muntin of the window. He swung like a child on the monkey bars, landing back into the apartment with a thud. Eddie’s eyes tracked the movement of the crow. “What do you want from me?”

The crow made a sad sound, and Eddie looked down at his hands. They were slashed open by the broken shards of glass embedded in the muntin. He watched as the wounds moved. For a horrifying moment, Eddie thought something had wormed its way into the cuts, but quicker than he could think that, there were no cuts at all.

Eddie let out a terrified laugh, then stood quickly, dizzy with the insanity of it all.

As Eddie moved to the threshold of the bedroom door, the voice was back inside his skull. You don’t have to do this. Eddie did it anyway. He went into the bedroom and looked around. This place hurts worst of all, doesn’t it? You were closest here.

“She’s not here…” He felt betrayed. The crow was meant to bring him to you, but you weren’t here. You weren’t anyway.

Like sobering up from a night out, Eddie felt woozy and overcome with a sick feeling. It wasn’t stale beer and hotdog in his stomach. It was guilt, distilled and top shelf.

“I should have… Should’ve been able to…”

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

Eddie went back out to the bird. It was perched by the window, eerie and omniscient. They regarded each other, a soul shared.

“This machine…” Eddie said slowly, looking down at his new scars, at his reformed body. Slays dragons, he finished in his head. 

The crow swooped to land on his shoulder, realisation dawning and a plan already forming.

End Note: This chapter is dedicated to readers of the comics. As always, thoughts, feelings, and streams of consciousness are appreciated. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

All Eddie Taglist (open):solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @em0220

[berrybaps]

Oc introduction time! Again :3

Meet iris! :D✨💕

More info after the cut!

°Information i have of her as of now✨

Iris is 26 years old!

She works at pigsy's noodles! helps with cleaning and even cook the noodles as well, maybe also bake a few of her desserts for costumers to help with pigsy's business!

Yes, just like lian, she has a skill for baking as well

Although being a good baker, she actually doesn't like sweets that much, she likes her food a bit more salty

Her favorite food are just any noodles (y'know where that started)

Actually more timid and soft spoken than lian, she only speaks when necessary

Iris wants to build a bakery of her own but due to the events that has been happening at the recent seasons, SHE CANNOT ☝️

Acts like a big sister to the traffic light trio :3

She's half filipino half chinese!

Lives in an apartment near pigsy's noodle shop

Iris started obtaining the abilities of a red panda demon as soon as she puts on that neck accessory that was given to her by her grandmother.

Unlike lian who can control her emotions very well, iris cannot! She's very emotional so it was harder for her to deal with her newly found abilities.

As you can see from the ref sheets, her original hair color is reddish brown!

Some likes and dislikes✨

Likes

I already did state this but she LOVES noodles, it might even be considered an addicti—

She likes to draw too, not as much as baking though

Probably loves listening to songs from Alex G—

She loves collecting anything pink that catches her eyes, so as soon as you come in her apartment, prepare to feast your eyes upon many pink trinkets and plushies she has—

Dislikes

She HATES being compared, she used to be compared to a lot of kids back in her childhood so the hatred feeling of being compared to has stuck to her til she was an adult—

Probably dislikes loud places. with her newly found abilities her hearing became more sensitive.

She dislikes cutting her hair, she will trim it if it gets ridiculously long though!

FINALLY got to post her as well, Iris is the main oc i have that are involved with the lmk gang so it would be fun to figure out how she'll fit in on every episodes of the seasons :3, I'll have to post more ocs in the future hopefully YES I HAVE MORE!!

Bonus : Lmk Edits of her! (She looks a little different from these cause these are old ☝️)

[wooattackrr]

The kingpin and his match

MDNI

wc: 1.3k (my lazy ass took 3 weeks and 2 shots to get this done)

author notes: my 2nd story! once again I struggled w the smut bit but you gotta push thru 😖

Jeonghan was the self-proclaimed king of the school, or so he thought. He revelled in making others squirm, taking pleasure in their fear. So when you walked into class on your first day, he saw an easy target.

You were quiet, reserved, and unfamiliar with the dynamics of the school. Jeonghan sensed vulnerability and pounced. He began with snide comments, mocking your clothes, your hair, and your accent. He thought it would be easy to break you, to make you cry or run away.

But you didn't flinch. You met his jabs with a calm, collected gaze, your eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. Jeonghan was taken aback, his taunts falling flat. He tried harder, pushing boundaries, but you remained unfazed.

One day, he decided to take it a step further, thinking that physical intimidation would do the trick. He cornered you in the hallway, his gang of friends snickering in the background. But instead of cowering, you stood tall, your eyes locked onto his.

"Jeonghan, I've had enough of your childish games," you said, your voice firm but measured. "Leave me alone, or face the consequences."

Jeonghan sneered, but you didn't back down. In a surprising move, you grabbed his wrist, twisting it in a precise motion that left him yelping in pain. His friends scattered, and Jeonghan was left alone, facing a fierce determination in your eyes.

For the first time, Jeonghan felt a spark of fear. He realized that he had underestimated you, that you were not a pushover. From that moment on, he began to notice the subtle ways you stood up for yourself, the quiet confidence that commanded respect.

Jeonghan's bullying attempts slowly ceased, replaced by a growing curiosity about you. He found himself wanting to know more about the girl who had stood up to him, who had challenged their so called “leader”.

It was the week of school camp, considering you had only transferred to the school 2 weeks ago your circle of friends consisted of your home room teacher and one of the lunch ladies who you had bonded with, simply from the way she warmed the frozen cafeteria cookies; quite embarrassing. You tried your hardest to use your so called “charm” on the other students, but nobody really wanted to share a cabin with the girl who had nearly broken the schools biggest jock’s wrist.

“This has to be a joke.” You said holding up the list of students who would be sharing a cabin for the next 3 days. “Hong Jisoo, Kim Mingyu, Y/LN and Yoon Jeonghan.” This just so happened to be your luck. You gripped the sheet of paper and ran to the cafeteria, this was a rant your lunch lady friend would not hear the end of. “Look at this! I can’t even comprehend how this fancy posh school with this stupid over-the-top architecture can’t fit in a little gender segregation!” But as always, the lunch lady stayed non-verbal and nodded her head in agreement.

The bus that would be taking students to camp arrived and you say next to your new friend Seungkwan. He and Jeonghan had some past and to say he was surprised you were able to conquer the conqueror was an understatement. “You know I never understood why they choose the rainiest days to do fun school activities like this!” Seungkwan continued to blab on about the topic as you zoned out, Yoon Jeonghan, of all people you had been chosen to share a room with him, the other two guys were cute and sure, Jeonghan had his good-looking moments, but you would need more than a prayer to get through these 3 days.

Once you arrived at the campsite your jaw fell in amazement. The beautiful architecture of the building was one thing, but the spacious cabins which looked like a miniature neighbourhood were absolutely amazing, the muddy, mushy terrain however, did not fit in with the rest of the place.

You walked with Seungkwan to your cabins. Thank goodness they were beside each other, you thought to yourself, but once you saw the list of activities you realised that it was fine and could’ve been worse, yoon jeonghan was still an aching problem. You entered your cabin and to your dismay, jeonghan was already there, he gave you a dirty look but quickly wiped it away when the camp councillor came in, “everything alright? Lights out at 9:30 PM.” She announced and then left the room with a smile, this was going to be hell. You set up your area of the room, staying close to Mingyu as the other two argued about who would be top bunk. When you were done it was already 9:15, you decided to check up on Seungkwan’s cabin, considering there was nothing but loud music and laughter coming from there, you opened the door and was met with welcoming smiles, “buh bye y/n, we’re in the middle of a karaoke night, it’s nearly lights out anyways” Seungkwan said jokingly, you nodded and went back to your cabin not so sure if he and his friends would be so keen on you invading their time together, screw all the teachers who came up with this cabin plan.

Once you returned to your place of residence, you sighed heavily, it was empty except for one person, Jeonghan. “You’re back I see. I would’ve called the councillors on you if you stayed any longer.” He said, you could hear the smirk in his voice, it made you feel some kind of way, you didn’t know what it was but you liked it. “Do you want your wrist twisted again?” Jeonghan stayed silent. “Thought so.” You said and climbed into your bunk, you learnt from Jeonghan that the other two had volunteered to help clear the forest in case lightening struck, apparently many other students had gone, you cursed yourself for not volunteering and unintentional putting yourself in this mess. The weather was nothing but horrible, you curled up in your blanket praying that Mingyu and Joshua would return to ease the tension in the room, you weren’t sure if Jeonghan was asleep so you grabbed your torch and walked over to his bed to see if he was awake or not, just as you got up, a large bolt of lightning struck causing you to jump and land on Jeonghan. Fuck. Turns out he was, in fact, awake. “Scared of lightning huh?” He said with a chuckle, you rushed to get up, thanking heaven that it was dark so he couldn’t see the blush on your face. “Who the hell stays completely still when a loud bang is heard” you said trying to put on a brave face, “I bet you flinched too.” Jeonghan got up from the bottom bunk of his bed and stood in front of you, he lifted his hand and placed it on under your chin. “I didn’t flinch.” He scoffs, despite the dimness of the cabin, you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Gosh, I can feel you blushing, pretty ironic for somebody who supposedly hates me, don’t you think?” Jeonghan said while closing the gap between the two of you. To say the tension in the air was immense was in fact an understatement. Jeonghan leaned forward, pressing his lips on yours, you froze in place not knowing what to do, until Jeonghan took both of your hands and brought them to his neck. “Rookie.” He let out in between the kiss.

“Jeonghan..” you let out with a soft moan, the two of you trying to keep your intimacy discreet by hiding under the thick blanket, “you know you gotta be quiet, hm? we’re still on a school trip, doll.” he said, thrusting in and out of you, each time more sensual and pleasurable, you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you felt your high approaching. “han.. ‘m gonna-“ and just like that, the cabin lights switched on, the two of you poked your heads out of the blanket to see your other two roomates you’d seemingly forgot about.

“Shit.” Jeonghan scoffed and sat up. “Seems mister kingpin has found his match.”

[darkbluekies]

Hedwig & Jerry drabbles: bleeding through at a sleepover

Female!yanderes x female!reader

Warnings?: Jerry being a black cat and pretends to be upset but she isn't, mentions of people in a gang, embarrassment, period blood

Jerry:

She wakes up by you shaking her hesitantly. You've been building up the courage to wake her up for ten minutes.

"Jerry ...", you whine quietly. "Jerry, please wake up."

"What?" she mutters tiredly.

"I ... I started my period and I've stained the sheets."

Jerry's eyes shoot open and she rips the blanket off the bed, staring at the dark spot for a few seconds. You want to die out of embarrasment. She looks at you, at your tearful eyes. A million thoughts are racing through her head. The entire house is filled with members of the gang, people who has nothing to do with this and should never get to see you in this vulnerable condition.

Jerry drags herself out of bed, her black t-shirt barely covering her bottom part of her body.

"What the fuck are you crying for?" she asks. "No one died."

"I'm so embarrassed ...", you whisper and sniffle.

"For what? That the boss will get to know what you did in his bed?"

You nod slightly. Jerry scoffs and rolld her eyes.

"I'll make sure that he won't know, so stop making a big deal out of it. Go change and meet me in the bathroom in five minutes. There's a tampon in my bag and a pair of extra underwear as well. Bring the one you're wearing with you and I'll dispose of it where no one will see. Got it?"

You nod. Jerry grabs the sheet and pushes out to the bathroom in the corridor. You do as she's told you and join her down in the bathroom. She's rubbing the sheets with cold water. You stare at her with shame in your eyes.

"Stop being such a pussy, Y/N", she sighs without looking away from the sheets. "It's not like you wanted to spill blood, it was an accident. Happens to the best of us. You should be grateful that you're bleeding, it's a sign that you're healthy. The boss won't know about this, so stop weeping and come help me instead."

You hurry over to her and take the sheet out of her hands. She yawns.

"I'm sorry", you whisper.

"Why are you apologizing?" she asks. "I've already told you that it's fine."

"But I feel bad. About everything. I know that you're tired and I'm sorry for waking you up to do this."

"What do you want me to have done? To have told you 'tough luck' and gone back to sleep? Are you nuts? You're my girlfriend, why wouldn't I help? If you go down, I go down with you. That's how I play."

Jerry stiffens and looks towards the open door. A tired man appears in the door frame and she hurries to cover you with her body.

"What's going on?" the man asks with a tired, raspy voice. "Stop making so much fucking noise. It's in the middle of the night."

"Thank you for that obvious information, go back to bed", Jerry mutters and storm over to him, to push him away, but he has already noticed what's going on. "You have nothing here to do, walk away and stop staring at my girlfriend, you perv. If you tell anyone about this I'll blow your brains out. Goodbye."

With that said, she slams the door shuts and locks it. You break out in embarrassed sobs and Jerry sighs. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and kisses your temple.

"Did you see how uncomfortable he was?" she chuckles. "I love making men uncomfortable."

She grins wider when you give her a small smile.

Hedwig:

She wakes up by you shaking her.

"Hedwig, please wake up", you whisper.

"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly and sits up. "Why are you crying?"

"I started my period ..."

You don't need to say more. Hedwig glances at the sheets and cups your wet cheeks, caressing them with her thumbs.

"It's okay, Y/N", she whispers reassuringly. "It was just an accident, alright? Everything will be okay. We'll figure this out."

She gets out of bed. You're wearing matching silk pajamases, hers in white, yours in pink. Hedwig turns on the lamp to see the damage. You feel your stomach turn. The house you're staying in is one of Hedwig's rich friends. The sheet must be more expensive than your entire lifesaving.

"I'll go find the maid", Hedwig says and taps your arm. "She will help. Wait here, sweetheart."

Hedwig runs out of the room and returns with a newly awoken lady in her thirties. She's wearing her pajamas and a new wave of shame flows through you. The woman reassures you that everything is okay and that she will take care of things.

"Miss Hedwig, why don't you take your girlfriend to the bathroom and clean her up while I change the sheets?" the maid smiles.

"Of course, thank you so much", Hedwig says and takes your hand. "Come with me, dearest."

She takes you into the extravagant bathroom and turns to you.

"What would you like?" she asks. "Should I tap you a bath?"

"No, it'll wake the others up", you say and remember how the rooms next to yours are occupied by Hedwig's friends. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be! It's okay, sweetheart. Take off your pants, I'll clean them."

She handwashes the silk pants and your underwear in the sink and hangs them on the side of the bathtub.

"I'll go get some new clothes for you", she says.

She returns with a nightgown and everything you need for you to be comfortable. You change into your new clothes and give her a hug. Hedwig holds you close and kisses your lips repeatedly.

"My beautiful girl, don't be sad", she whispers and nuzzles her head against yours. "It happens to the best of us and if the others find out I'll take the blame. It could have been me afterall."

"Thank you ..."

"Of course, Y/N. I'd take the blame for anything you done if you asked me to. Don't think more about it. You're in new clothes and you're secured, the maid changes the sheets. It'll be like nothing happened. Now, do you need something more? Are you hungry? Should we get something to eat?"

You shake your head and hug her tighter.

[libraford]

So I have a question about your outlining process for your books? How detailed do you get in your outlines?

I am trying to go back to a book I started 6 years ago but had to stop cause my daughter was born and yikes this outline is almost 40 pages long cause I got super detailed.

You're gonna hate this.

My initial outlines max at like five sentences. Really, sometimes it's not even an outline, it's a title page from Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Start thinking about the scenario that excites you the most. The situation you wanna put your blorbos in.

"The flower shop gang does a wedding."

Then add conflict

"The flower shop gang does a wedding, but the client is a bridezilla."

Then add details.

"The flower shop gang does a wedding, but the client is a bridezilla and a series of complications with the project creates friction between friends, and they have to resort to shenanigans to make things right."

Add another layer.

"The flower shop gang does a wedding, but the client is a bridezilla and a series of complications with the project creates friction between friends, and they have to resort to shenanigans to make things right. But little do they know that the venue is targeted for a heist."

Start with a broad strokes statement of the plot and then narrow it down. When you go through the outline you have, ask yourself questions like "is this part of the plot or is this character development?" "Plot or world building?" "Plot or magic system?" "Plot or in-world politics."

Then take that broad strokes description and add some Pratchett asterisks.

"The flower shop gang* does a wedding,** but the client*** is a bridezilla and a series of complications¹ with the project creates friction between friends, and they have to resort to shenanigans² to make things right. But little do they know that the venue³ is targeted for a heist."

*a demigod, a thief, and a jack of all trades (see character sheet)

** high-stakes celebrity wedding

*** beauty pageant queen, see character sheet

¹a volcano eruption in Peru cuts the orchid supply

²some magic nonsense, see world building section C

³a huge public garden that includes a hedge maze, but also a historical landmark- see map on page 10.

Like, I totally get having a ton of world building. I have a binder full of random info that fits into my fiction worlds. But for the sake of sorting out the plot and actually getting to the actual writing part- keep the outline vague.

At least that's what works for me. Truthfully, Damn Good Party started because I wanted to see my gang of losers steal copious amounts of cake at a wedding expo and see what happened next.

[persphonesorchid]

Connotations Of Sin - JHS (m)

Summary: At your lowest, you’ve been living on the streets for the past couple of months. When you decide to leave your only safe haven and find yourself lost in a mysterious fog, an angel stretches out a hand of mercy. Little do you know, black taints his once alabaster wings.

Genre: Fallen Angel Au | Angst, fluff, smut (mdni), horror (V lowkey, I swear)

Word Count: 30k

Masterlist

Please read these warnings carefully!!

Warnings: Homelessness, Kidnapping (? is it though??), Suicidal ideation, referenced and described abuse and murder of a child. Hoseok is his own warning. Mc gets drugged and then she gets sick... A bit of religious babble, mc has nightmares (one of which is actually kinda bad...), she almost dies at one point. Hoseok likes playing mind games, but they aren't serious (Honestly debatable...). Implied gang activity and violence. Hoseok contradicts himself a lot, he's really confusing. Smut: oral ( m and f receiving) soft dom Hoseok, i think Hoseok has an oral fixation (or is it ME, the author?????) unprotected sex.

Notes: Phew, welcome!! SO, it's finally here!!! I'm so excited to share this project with you alll! It was such a big project for me, and so much time and effort went into it. Believe it or not, this started out as a smut piece and it had nothing going for it at all. If you've been following me for a while, you'd remember that back in 2021 i posted a teaser for something similar. Tbh back then probably wasn't the right time to post such a thing lmao, i for certain wasn't ready to write it and it wouldn't have been written in the way it was meant to with my writing style back then. It's been a long journey of understanding the characters portrayed here, and a lot of work to get them right. Very big shoutout to @hwaslayer who's - as always - been there with me from the very beginning and has been the biggest help and motivator, please look out for her Ateez's Seonghwa fic that shares this universe!! I won't keep you any longer, but please be sure to leave feedback, a lot of effort went into this project and i'd love to hear what you think and answer any questions! Happy reading!!!

“You sure you don’t wanna stay here with me dearie? I know it ain’t much, but it’s better than being out in the elements.” Abigail takes your hands in hers, hands that – much like yours – are dirt stained and ruddy, but bring you comfort that you wouldn’t find elsewhere. Abigail – or Toothy as everyone else calls her – is a frail woman with wispy auburn hair and a gap tooth smile. Her hair had gone white in some places, the crows’ feet at her eyes can barely help you guess her age. Her eyes are blue and dull but still regard you warmly like she did when she’d found you wandering along the fourth avenue weeks or so ago.

The space where she stays isn’t much; a nook in an alleyway between two rundown buildings that people don’t bother to go into. She’d tried her best to make it into a space that’s comfortable enough, the roof made of termite bitten sheets of ply that’s at least a square and a half wide. An old, mildew ridden tarp thrown over it and held down by a couple pieces of rubble from the building across makes up the walls that offer shelter from cold wind and rain and as much privacy you could get out here. The floor made of giant trash bags Abigail had swindled from some place or another, covered with old sheets that’s definitely seen better days. Even though the sheets had long lost their softness and leave you itching, they kept your butt off the cold concrete.

You’re going to miss the stories she’d tell. You’d lay on the floor, the longest part of the tarp folded over the top, and stare up at the strip of night sky between the buildings, twinkling with the bit of stars you can see and listen.

She’d tell you of her life before she fell to rock bottom, how grand everything was. How, many years ago, she’d won the lottery by a stroke of luck, only to have it turn sour when her fiancé gambled it all away and she lost everything. She never did tell you what happened to him.

You’d miss walking the couple of miles to the river, armed with pieces of run-down bar soaps and plastic bags with the little clothes you owned in them bundled in your arms. Or the nights when it’s cold, you’d go down to the square with her and look around for things to burn and dump them into the steel barrel to keep warm.

There are days when there’s nothing, and Abigail would distract you from your stomach trying to eat at itself with another one of her stories and old cans filled with steaming boiled rain water. There are days when you’d sit with a full tummy, there’s usually one kind soul out there that takes pity on you both to offer as much as they could.

You’ll be forever grateful for Abigail, with her motherly affection and her warm hands. She never once asked how you ended up here too, she simply offered a hand when you needed it most.

You felt as though you lingered too long... this is the longest you’ve stayed in a place. The company was good, but you feel like there’s just so much you’re robbing Abigail of by staying with her. You know she would strongly disagree; she’d probably whack you with her busted up sneaker and send you to sit in a corner until you’ve apologized. It’s simply how you feel, if you’re not here, Abigail wouldn’t have to share the little of what she gets, you feel terrible enough that she gives you more than she keeps for herself.

“Don’t worry Abigail.” You smile, pulling one hand away to pat hers. Her fingers are bony and long, and lacking the warmth they did earlier in the day. “I don’t stay one place for too long.”

It’s a lie, obviously. You’d rather chew your leg off than go out there alone. Away from the safety this little nook had been for the past month, away from Abigail, who’s cared more about you than anyone has in a while. But you care about her too, enough that you’d leave to make sure that she eats well enough to survive and not give it all to you. She’d be better off.

Abigail narrows her eyes at you, the wrinkles of her face deepening as she frowns. She looks sad, you note, the blue of her eyes dark and stormy, but she says nothing, just squeezes your hands for a while before letting go.

You smile softly, and continue stuffing your clothes into an old backpack Abigail had given you a while back. You fold the dirty ones tight, setting them at the bottom, and the few clean ones you had that still smelled like your last bar soap at the top. You don’t have much, and you’ve gotten used to it – as hard as it was.

When you shouldered your bag and stepped out from under the tarp, Abigail follows, worry on her brow, saying that she’d walk you to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Oh!” She says, turning back to duck under the tarp. You hear the rummaging of her old pot wares, the clanking of the metal before she comes back and holds out a can to you. The label looks worn, peeling off in some places, but you make out the bright red ‘canned peach’ on the side. “I was savin’ this for when we go down to the river, but you’d better have it.”

“Abigail...” You sigh, guilt gnawing at your edges, “I can’t take this.”

Abigail purses her lips, smacking the can into your hand, “Yes, you can. It’ll hold you out for a little while.”

“Then what would you eat?” You outstretch your hand, offering the peaches back to her and she narrows her eyes at you.

“I can manage.” She says testily, and then sighs, softening, “Are you sure you’ll be okay out there?” She takes the can and tucks it into the outside pocket of your bag, “It’ll be rough ya know.”

“I’ll be fine,” You say, and then, you hug her. Truly, you’ll miss her. She pats your back gently, “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, we gotta look out for each other out here.” Abigail smiles, pulling away. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans, something she’d picked up at a donation shelter a couple of days ago. It’s got a few holes and it’s frayed at the ankles but she’d never complain. “If you fall into luck, don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

You both say your goodbyes and you try your best to not cry at the sadness that clings to Abigail’s form as she hobbles back to her little nook. You take a breath and pick a direction to walk in.

You think about going to the river first, to get a little cleaned up before you go looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. You’re already regretting leaving the comfort that Abigail provided. You know she wouldn’t blame you if you turned right around and dragged yourself back. You’ve already made your mind up, though – it’s better this way.

You don’t have a gauge on the time, but the sun’s getting quite low. It streaks the sky in orange and pink, hiding behind a fluffy white cloud as it makes its slow decent. You might be able to make it to the river and back before night falls completely if you hurry. So you walk, and walk, and it’s a long way past the street Abigail first found you, where the city meets a forest edge.

You once asked Abigail why she didn’t live closer to the river, you worry about her most days, taking her frail self through the streets for such a long walk just to get here. She’d told you that even though some of your street dwelling comrades are friendly, most aren’t, and would do the worst to get what they need. It’s too risky to be close to the river where all manner of folk pass to get to it.

You tuck your bag to your front and keep an ear out for anyone that may be in the area. You grimace as the twigs and stones of the forest floor poke at your feet. Your shoes were on their last, they kept your feet warm most days, but they’re biting holes into your last good pair of socks. The trees get sparse the further in you go, and over the tweeting and chittering of the forest critters, there’s the sound of rushing water.

You break out of the trees and stand on the little edge where the forest pauses and the soft wet dirt begins. The river is a bit wild today, rushing through the rocks as it makes its way from wherever it starts. You know there must be a spring somewhere deeper if you follow the river back, but you don’t have the time to as the setting sun makes the forest look darker already. You wouldn’t like to be out here at night.

You slip out of your shoes and socks, wanting to keep them dry and walk down to the bank. Abigail has a little spot between three large boulders where she hides things. The spot is covered with leaves and sticks, and you dig through it to find the old blue bucket. It’s missing it’s handle and turned over to keep things under it.

There’s a new pack of soap powder that’s already been opened, a little square plastic bowl that’s probably seen better days on a dish rack and half of a soap bar. You pull the bucket out of its hiding place, taking just a handful of the soap powder and tossing it into the bucket. You tuck the powder into a corner of the rock with the soap bar on top of it and carry the bucket over to the river.

You rummage through your bag to find the clothes that needed cleaning, and put them in the bucket with the soap. It takes a moment of scooping water from the river and pouring it into the bucket. All the while you’re wondering where Abigail scored the soap powder from. A lot of things are hard to come by, but some people make trades with the little they’ve got. You feel a little guilty as you watch the water and soap soak into your clothes, though you know she wouldn’t mind if its you – you’re the only two that know where she keeps her stuff hidden – but still.

The soap smells sweet, and fresh in a way you haven’t smelt in a while. With the sun long gone behind the trees but still lighting the sky a bit, you wash your clothes as quickly as you can. You throw the soapy water on the bank and not back in the river, and rinse your clothes out just as quick.

There’s no time to wait for them to dry, with the sun being as low as it is and the wind baring its teeth. So you wring them out and pull out the plastic handle bag you keep folded in one of your backpack pockets to stuff them into.

It’s completely dark out once you’ve put the bucket back and covered Abigail’s things again and made your way back out of the forest. You would’ve liked to take a quick wash, but it’s too dark and the water’s too cold now. You’ll come back tomorrow when the sun’s high and hot.

You walk in a different direction than the way you came, looking for the little park that Abigail mentioned once. Its completely dark by the time you get there, your feet aching from the long walk and your mind muddled with thoughts.

You would often remind yourself not to think too hard, as your thoughts would often lead you to a dark place you find difficult to crawl out of. You would often regret not having people close enough to call good friends, maybe then you wouldn’t be out here.

You didn’t have a difficult life; you grew up in a loving home with both parents making sure that you were happy and not too spoilt by the fruits of their labour. You know the value of things and you know well to act like your parents raised you with some sense. Your mother passed when you were ten, and your father remarried when you were sixteen. You couldn’t understand why, your father loved your mother so much and you thought it would just be you and him against the world. You understood that your mother wouldn’t want him to live the rest of his life overshadowed by her passing and forget to continue living. So when he introduced you to the woman he met on a business trip, looking happier than he had in six years, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that something was off.

Your mother had always taught you to see the good in people, to give them the benefit of a doubt. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled disgust in your step mother’s eyes when she would look at you. She was quite young, compared to your father, anyway, and as the years went by, he spoilt her. He gave her whatever she wanted when she wanted it as long as it made her happy and you could only watch from the sidelines.

Your father fell ill, and everything went downhill from there.

When he passed, your world shattered and crumbled, leaving you standing in the rubble grasping at the wisps of it slipping through your fingers. Things were okay, for a while, grieving the loss of your father and trying to move on and step without him. Then the news of his will came not long after he was buried.

Your father left everything for his wife, the house, his money, and as you’d found on the first night you were out here, the savings account your mother had set up for you.

You had nothing.

You’d always kept to yourself growing up, and never let anyone closer than you would allow. You were home-schooled – all the way up to your tertiary education – and had no friends to speak of. Your parents never spoke of their family, all you knew and had were your mother and father.

It’s been a while since then. A good long while. It was hard to adjust to having everything at the tip of your fingers to having it ripped away all at once.

The first week was hard. You’d worked odd jobs here and there to keep your head above the water. Sleeping in a motel every night wasn’t ideal, especially since you had to buy food and every thing else. The little money you had ran out quickly, even when you pawned the possessions you did own it wasn’t enough.

You’ve had time to adjust since then. You met Abigail and things were as okay as they could’ve been considering. You remember, she had been pestering you about why you were pacing around on that bridge when she found you.

The deep rushing water below it had looked inviting – an easy way out. No one would’ve missed you, anyway.

You take a breath in sharply, and it burns. Cold air fills your lungs with little pinpricks as night fully settles. You try not to think about anything more as you walk through the park.

It looks empty, large trees and neat grass fields and cobbled walkways. There are dark metal benches scattered about, a trickle of water you can’t pinpoint coming from somewhere.

You’d just stay here for tonight, and find somewhere you wouldn’t be in trouble to stay at in the morning. You’re pretty sure you’re breaking some law being who you are as you sit down on the bench. It’s uncomfortable, the metal cold and biting, but you’d just have to deal for the night.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out the plastic bag with your damp clothes, a jacket that’s still in good condition and the canned peach Abigail sent you off with.

You spread your clothes out on the back of the bench, and you’re hoping they dry properly even if the air feels a little damp.

With a soft sigh, you lift the circular pin on the lid of the can and pull. The peaches are cut into slices and swimming in a sweet juice, and with some guilt you pick a piece out. It’s sweeter than anything you’ve had in a while, and for a moment you feel like crying.

You feel tears burn your eyes and nose as you chew the fruit, washing it down with a sip of the juice that tastes slightly like the can. It wasn’t long before it was all gone, your fingers sticky with the juice and you stare into the empty can with a frown. You wonder about Abigail and if she’s okay right now.

Setting the can down near the foot of the bench that’s bolted into the cobblestone path, you lay back. The sky is fairly clear, with a little smattering of wispy clouds floating by and stars that twinkle in the distance.

Drifting off slowly, you try to find a comfortable position to sleep in – though there isn’t one with this metal bench. Your jacket thrown over you as a makeshift blanket.

You’re not certain how long you sleep for, but when you wake, its to a tapping on your shoulder. The air is thick with something as you breathe in, and a lot damper than it was when you’d settled.

“Ma’am.” A voice calls, prodding your shoulder again, “Hello, miss?”

You open your eyes and your blood runs cold at the sight of the man in uniform standing above you. You sit up, excuses dancing at the tip of your tongue before you realised you could barely see past your nose.

The officer is holding a flashlight, the beam directed somewhere off to your right. A thick fog had settled while you slept, swirling way past the officer’s head.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep here. This is a private park.” His words aren’t unkind, they come out gentle and a little pitying, as though he regrets having to do his job of keeping the riffraff out. He lets you gather your things, stuffing your still damp clothes back into your bag.

He takes a step back when you stand, “If you need somewhere to stay, there’s a shelter not far from here. Couple blocks that way.” He waves his flashlight behind you, towards the park’s exit, “Can’t miss it.”

You could barely see the guy, much less which way exactly he’s directing you to. You turn, squinting at the way you think he pointed. “Thank you... I’m really sorry about –”

“Don’t worry about it...just keep walking straight and you’ll find it.”

He motions with his flashlight again and you take two steps away before stopping and turning back, “Sorry but...the fog...which way...”

The man is gone, no sign of him having been there in the first place. It’s quiet, not even insects are chirping, you don’t hear any retreating footsteps. You stare at the spot he was just in, but didn’t want to linger lest he comes back and he’s decidedly less kind.

You hike your bag up on your shoulder, squinting to see through the fog as you walk towards the exit. The roads are empty, there’s the soft clicking of the traffic lights and the glow of shop lights and street lamps that make it a little bit easier to see. You still look both ways before walking quickly across the street, keeping straight like the officer told you.

It’s quiet, and honestly, it freaks you out a bit. You don’t think it’s that late, and even so, there should be people out and about. You don’t even think you slept for that long, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. There’s no reason for no one to be around, then again, you don’t know this area very well.

You walk for some time, the sound of your footsteps and your steady breaths your only company. You’re keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the shelter, staring up at the glowing signs and squinting to see through the fog. You passed a convenience store, a pharmacy and a pet shop, all closed and dark inside. You’ve crossed two roads so far; it shouldn’t be much more walking...unless a couple of blocks have two different meanings between you and the officer.

You stop for a moment, taking a breath that settles heavy and damp in your chest. You look back the way you came, look at the signs of the buildings across the street and the one you’re outside of. You can’t see much more than that unless you keep walking straight.

You’re beginning to wonder if he’d only said so to get you out of the park. You take a couple of steps forward and then stop, looking over your shoulder. Your brows furrow and the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end.

It’s said that the mind always knows when you’re being watched, a sixth sense to be aware when someone is staring at you.

You feel watched.

And it isn’t an ordinary feeling.

It feels off, like some primal switch just flicked up in your brain. Briefly, you think that this is how a bunny feels being cornered by a fox. Your heart suddenly kicks against your ribs and something in the back of your mind screams for you to move.

You press forward, the feeling lingers, and intensifies. You walk as quickly as you can, your once steady breaths loud and harsh in the quietness of the night. You try not to look behind you as your ears pick up on the sound of another pair of footsteps. They match yours, and you’re not too certain if it’s just really your own bouncing off the walls of the buildings. When you stop, they stop, and start back up again when you start.

There’s another sound below it. Something snarls like a dog somewhere in the distance behind you, but, like everything else about this moment in this fog, it sounds wrong. Like it’s coming from a creature that’s trying to mimic the sound of an animal.

You stop dead in your tracks, goosebumps rippling along your skin like a wave from the top of your head and downwards. You take a breath, and with one foot in front of the other – you sprint.

Your footfalls are loud in the quiet, and even through your panic you notice the change of the footsteps that mimicked yours. There’s two more with it that falls in rhythm, like a large beast running on all fours.

It’s running faster than you are, the pounding of its feet against the pavement is double the speed of your own. You feel like your lungs are about to burst, your legs burning, and the damp air becomes fire in your throat when you breathe.

Whatever it is snarls again, and it sounds way closer than it was before. You could almost feel the sound rumble through you, and something hot fans at the back of your neck. You nearly trip, stumbling over your own feet in an attempt to run faster. You round a corner blindly, hoping to throw whatever it is off your trail and smack right into someone.

With your momentum, you’d think that you would send yourself and the person sprawling to the hard concrete. The terrified scream you let out rings in your own ears, high pitched and shrill, as you bounce back, falling in a heap. There’s a sharp twinge in your wrist as you brace, and a stinging in your palm when you just barely managed to catch yourself.

“Shit!” the person exclaims – a man, if the deep timbre of his voice was anything to go by. “Are you okay?!”

The man crouches down and you scramble back, then remember that you crashed into him because you were running from something and the panic comes back.

“I—there’s ... Something’s following me! It chased me all the way here...It’s—”

“Hey, hey...it’s okay...you’re fine.” The man seems to look behind you. You could barely see his face, even with him being as close as he was; the fog just seems to get thicker. “It’s just us out here...”

His voice suddenly seems hesitant, and you wouldn’t blame him if he thought you were crazy.

You breathing is still erratic, heart still trying to pound its way out of your chest.

The man’s hands hover at your shoulders, and there’s worry in his tone when he speaks again. “It’s okay. You’re alright, nothing’s out here but us.”

He takes your hand – the one that’s not holding your weight – and presses it to his chest. You almost jump out of your skin at the contact, but his own heart is steady, beating a slow rhythm against his sternum. “Breathe with me.”

He takes a deep breath in, and you feel his chest expand as his lungs fill, you try your best. Your throat is burning, and every breath feels like fine glass is swirling at the back of your mouth. It takes a moment, but eventually, your breaths match his and the adrenaline seeps out with your every exhale.

Your brain finally registers the throbbing of your wrist and palm, and the ache in your sides.

“There you go.” You can faintly make out the smile that spreads across the man’s face, heart shaped and pretty white teeth. “Good now?”

You nod, just barely, and he releases your hand. There’s a shuffling and the sound of a zipper and then he’s holding a bottle of water out to you. You eye it with some suspicion, and he picks up on it.

“It’s just water, promise.” He says, wiggling the bottle a little. “The seal isn’t cracked or anything.”

You take your weight off your palm, wincing at the hot flash of pain from the movement. You right yourself a little, taking the water from him with your uninjured hand and a soft thanks.

“Oh...here...” he keeps the bottle steady in your hand with a palm under the bottom of it, and the other cracking the seal with a twist. He lifts the bottle to your lips and you take a sip, and then a gulp, “Easy, not too fast.”

The water is cool, and a blessing, you didn’t realise how thirsty you were. When you’ve drank at least half of the bottle, the man puts the cap back on and leaves it in your hold.

“Were you looking for something?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“The homeless shelter...I think I’m lost now, though.”

The man tilts his head, “There aren’t any shelters in this area...you’re on the wrong side of the city if that’s what you were looking for.”

You stare at him for a moment, “...Oh.” The officer really did just say it, then. You’re not sure what to say to the man and you glance around at the street that’s still teeming with the thick fog.

You’re not sure what to say to him, and instead, look around the street for any sign of the shelter even though he’d said there isn’t one.

“I think the fog’s lifting...” The man mumbles. The fog is clearing; it’s easier to see further down the street and the man in front of you. He presses his palms against his knees and stands, looking around for a moment before looking down at you. “There aren’t any shelters around...but...I can help you. If you want, I live a bit that way, and I’ve got an extra room...”

This is a bad idea.

He’s quite tall, on the lean side with long limbs. He’s wearing a long black coat, and his black, suede shoes look just as expensive as the watch that peeks from the end of his sleeve at his wrist. The white tee shirt he wears looks a little billowy, like it would swallow his frame once he takes the coat off. He turns a little and you get to admire the sharp cut of his jaw and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I won’t hurt you or anything. I just want to help.” He says, turning back to you. His eyes are dark, but kind as he offers a hand to help you off the concrete. “I’m Hoseok.”

You take his hand, and there’s nothing in the back of your mind telling you to get away. Nothing in his body language that shows ill intent, and you have to remind yourself that some people are simply kind.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him softly, giving him your name. His smile is soft as he nods, lips turned up slightly at the corners, eyes squinted just a bit.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. It’s a bit late, though, and you’d have to walk a long way to find the shelter...” Hoseok says softly.

You’re still holding his hand, and the warmth of it grounds you. You honestly shouldn’t, really, you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t follow random men promising kindness. He really looks like a good person, quietly waiting for your answer as he gives you chance to change your mind should you wish.

He doesn’t rush you, and briefly you wonder if he doesn’t have anything else to do. He was clearly going about his business before you tackled him, though that word should be used lightly considering you’re the one who ended up on the ground.

“Okay...thank you.” When you finally speak his smile broadens, showing pretty teeth and still holding your hand, he leads you in the direction he was coming from before. You feel a bit bad, turning his night on its head and probably inconveniencing him.

The fog is lighter now, the air not as thick with it as you follow along. Hoseok didn’t talk much, not once mentioning your pitiful state of dress, or asking any questions. You’re grateful, not many people would go out of their way to open their homes to someone without one.

The place he leads you to looks expensive and you feel out of place. The road winds and twists into a residential area with houses and three storey apartments. There are cars parked in driveways, neatly trimmed grass and hedges, a fence around every tree. Lampposts dot the sidewalk every thirty or so steps, casting their orange glows across every surface.

Across from there, the road veers off into a more commercial area, with fancier housing and shops and a tall, looming hotel. The streets are quiet, shops already closed for the night and you wonder what time it is. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, save for you and Hoseok making your way towards the hotel.

The doors slide open with a little mechanical whir, and you balk at the sheer size of the lobby alone. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bouncing their glows off of shiny surfaces. There are red and black lounge seats along a far wall, coffee tables of black tempered glass between them and the single seated chairs across. On the other side of the lobby is a little open cafe area, closed of course, with comfortable looking chairs tucked under tables.

There are two elevators, one of which you assume to be for staff. The reception area is a counter space of smooth looking white marble, though no one sits behind it.

Hoseok leads you to the elevator, pressing the button to call it down. You’ve let go of his hand now, as you take in the sight of the place. You wonder what anyone would think seeing someone like you in here. With your shabby clothes that’s seen better days, your dirty sneakers and backpack that looks like it’s moments away from just splitting apart.

There’s no one to see you, as the elevator comes down and opens with a ding. You catch sight of your reflection in the elevator walls, and grimace, regretting not bracing the cold river earlier. You definitely look homeless, your last bath was exactly two days ago, you look grubby standing just a little bit behind Hoseok. Anyone who would see you now would definitely turn their nose up at you and outright ask what you’re doing in their pristine hotel. Though, there isn’t much you can do to prevent that.

When the doors slide close you focus on the button panel, and next to it is a key card scanner and a button under it. The word penthouse is neatly labelled on the button in little black letters, and Hoseok fishes around his coat to pull out a key card. You blink, of course he lives in the penthouse.

The scanner beeps softly and Hoseok presses the button that glows a soft blue before the elevator lurches slight and ascends.

You fiddle nervously with your fingers in front of you, keeping your eyes on your shoes. There’s a shuffle and Hoseok turns to look at you, he’s smiling kindly again, something like pity woven into it and you feel a coil of shame twist in your chest.

“I’m sorry...” You say without much reason, glancing at him and then back down, “For the trouble.”

“No trouble.” Hoseok says softly, concern on his brow, his hand reaching out but stopping short, as though he’s not sure if he could touch you. You’re surprised he even want to. Heck, you’re surprised he’s doing any of this at all. “Really.”

“Do you usually take in random homeless people?” You ask, and his chuckle is light and teasing.

“Only the cute ones.” He says and then looks a little mortified, “Sorry. I’m kidding. It’s just...you looked like you really needed help...so I’m helping.”

“You’re very kind.” You murmur and offer a smile.

He smiles back, not as brightly as his other ones, it curls his mouth less, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods, “I try to be.”

The elevator slows to a stop, doors sliding open to a little well-lit hallway. On the other end of the hall is a wide pane of glass that overlooks the city lights, twinkling in a dance of their own making, and an emergency exit sign jutting out of the wall. You follow Hoseok out of the elevator towards the door which he unlocks with a password — the beeps loud in the quiet — the door opens with a soft thunk and a beep and he lets you walk in first.

The lights are on, as though he’d only planned to be out for a moment. You’re not too sure what to do with yourself now that you’re here, staring at Hoseok’s back unsurely as he takes his shoes off and tucks them neatly on a shoe rack.

He turns to face you, “I don’t mean anything by this, so please don’t misunderstand...”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

He seems to weigh his words carefully, “Do you want to take a bath?”

You flush, yeah, you surely look grubby enough for him to ask that. It’s warranted, so, you’re not upset that he asked. You’d actually love to, when was the last time you took a bath that wasn’t in the freezing river?

Still though, it’s embarrassing. So you nod silently, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking genuinely relieved. “You can leave your stuff here and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay...” You step out of your shoes, nudging them in a corner before you take your bag off and set it down. The clothes you have are still damp, stuffed in a plastic bag somewhere in the depths of your tattered backpack and Hoseok doesn’t give you a moment before he’s leading you through his home.

The chill of the grey tiled floor runs up your legs through your thin, threadbare socks. You don’t have much time to look around, but you’re aware you’ve passed an open space kitchen and living room, splashes of white, reds and black in the corner of your vision.

He lets you into the bathroom, “Use whatever you need. The towels and things are in the cabinet.”

You turn to face him, “I really can’t thank you enough.” You say earnestly, and he waves you off, turning to leave and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“I’ll bring you some clothes that you could use.” He says through the door, his voice muffled. You thank him again and his footsteps trail away.

You turn and glance around the bathroom, floor to ceiling glass panes makes up the furthest wall. Before it is a porcelain bathtub that could easily fit three people, on a raised platform of white stained marble, and that platform on another, creating a single step up in order to get into the tub. The colour of the platforms compliments the dark reflective marble floor. The undersides of the platforms are lined with what you assume must be LED lights, glowing a pale white along the bottom.

The same LEDs line the back of the large wall mounted mirror, giving it an ominous glow. Below the mirror is a dark granite sink with a faucet you’re not even sure how to turn on. The cabinet below the sink house only cleaning supplies, and you look around for the towel space.

The shower takes up nearly the whole wall it’s connected to, frosted glass and jets embedded into the wall.  

You walk over to the shower and realise that was wall beside it sorts of curve and you let out a surprised sound when you walk the short way towards the back of it. The ‘cabinet’ is more of a little walk-in closet, there’s a few fluffy looking bathrobes sorted by length and colour, and towels and washcloths stacked on shelves that match.

Under those are neat little space savers filled with bath oils and shower gels, sweet scented candles tucked into corners. Bar soaps and toilet paper on their own shelves at the bottom, unopened toothbrushes and what have you.

There’s enough room to turn full circle without bumping into anything if you step into it. But you look at your hands and decide to not touch anything until they're clean.

So you walk back out to the sink, frowning at the faucet with no visible way to turn it on; it’s just a sleek piece of metal that curves back into the basin. You look at it to and fro and wave your hand under it, startling slightly when water sprays from the faucet. You hold your hand away and it turns off after a moment. Now, your parents had money but it wasn’t anything like this.

You can’t imagine the cost of this place.

You find hand soap after peeking into the cabinet below the sink again, taking your time to thoroughly wash your hands clean. It’s hard to see the dirt go down the drain against the dark granite, but you’re grateful. You inspect your hands once your done, and finally allow yourself to touch Hoseok’s things. You take a towel down from the shelf, the one that’s at the top of the pile. It’s a nice pale yellow, and near the bottom right corner is a little blue butterfly embroidered into the fabric. After a little debate with yourself, you pull the washcloth that matches from its pile.

You set the towel on the closed lid of the toilet, and strip out of your clothes. You fold them neatly and set them on the floor along with your socks, stuffing your underwear into the pocket of your jacket. You step into the shower and pull the door shut behind you.

You turn the knobs and adjust the water so that’s it not too hot, and for a moment, you simply stand there. The water flows over your skin in rivulets, washing away the sweat and grime of the past two days. You try not to take too long, but made sure that you’re thoroughly scrubbed clean. You try not to use too much of Hoseok’s things, even though he’d told you to use whatever you needed.

You’re not sure how long you were in there, how long you stood letting the water wash away your tears as well.

When you step out, steam billowing put behind you, you wiggle your toes into the fluffy cotton mat under you, wrapping the towel around your form. It feels nice to be clean, skin feeling a little raw from the hot water. You tiptoe to the door and ease it open, and it pushes lightly against a bundle of folded clothes on the ground. Next to it, a pair of warm looking house slippers that you shuffle into immediately after drying your feet.

The clothes: a dark grey long sleeve crew neck tee that hangs just a little off one shoulder, a pair of boxer shorts still in it’s wrapping, and long fleece lined sweatpants that you have to fold at your ankles.

Near the door is a towel rack where you hang the towel you used to dry, and after taking a breath, you step out of the bathroom.

You walk back the way Hoseok led you, and the air is prickled with the scent of freshly made food and it makes you wonder just how long you took in the bathroom.

The kitchen is a wide space, between the area that makes up the entrance hallway is a kitchen island, and much like everything else you’ve seen, is a long, polished slab of dark marble. There’s a sink in the middle, sleek and silver and soft white light comes from the fixings above it. Across from that is a large refrigerator, an electric stove and more counter space. There are a few scattered appliances, a coffee maker and a small espresso machine tucked under a cupboard over them, and a blender with something or the other in it.

Hoseok stands with his back to you, he turns slightly, looking over his shoulder and startles.

“Oh – shit.” He laughs softly, “Hey, was your bath okay?”

“Sorry...” You apologize for scaring him and he waves you off, turning to face you fully. He scans your form but there’s nothing odd in the action, and he nods to himself at whatever he was looking for. “Oh, yeah. My bath was okay, thank you.”

“Dinner’s ready if you...oh...” he glances to the side, back to you and then to whatever he’s got going on the stovetop. “...This might be too heavy for you right now...” He murmurs to himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish, a little guilty about something he didn’t consider.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll eat whatever it is.” You’re not about to make him waste his food, or be impolite.

“Okay, well.” He presses a button on the stove panel, turning to the island. There’s the sound of a drawer opening and he pulls out a kitchen towel, smiling at you. He nods his head to the right, where, tucked to the wall is a modest sized wooden table. There’re two plates of what he’s made already there, and tall glasses of water. “Go ahead.”

You walk over to the table, pulling out the chair to sit. Dinner is creamy mashed potatoes, a hearty portion of steamed mixed veggies and steak that’s somehow done to your liking and already cut into pieces. Your mouth waters at the sight and it smells so good you could cry. Hoseok isn’t finished at the island, so you busy yourself with folding the sleeves of your borrowed tee-shirt up and out of the way.

When he comes over he frowns a little, “You didn’t have to wait, dove.” He takes his seat opposite you, “Please, eat.”

The random pet name flies over your head, not that you would’ve been bothered by it had you been paying attention. Hoseok was kind enough to open his home to you, let you use his things and now he’s feeding you. He could call you whatever he likes.

You murmur a thank you and dig into your food. The sound you make when you take the first bite borders on erotic, but your gracious host doesn’t seem to mind very much. There’s a pleased glint in his eyes and a small curl to his mouth as he watches you eat for a moment.

You’re too hungry to be embarrassed by the intensity of his stare, but you’re mindful to not choke or look like you left your manners somewhere at your feet.

The food settles in your stomach, heavy but it’s a feeling you welcome. You could barely remember the last time you had a full meal. The bite you swallow brings the odd feeling of it slowing down behind your sternum, and you take a long drink of the cold water Hoseok had set out for you.

The man himself barely touched his own food, seemingly content to watch you scarf yours down. He has his chin propped in his hand, a small curl to the corner of his mouth and a glint of something in his eyes.

“Thank you...for the food.” You stare at your plate, drizzled with gravy and what’s left of your dinner. You can’t meet his gaze and you’re not certain why, and the intensity of it is starting to gnaw on your senses.

“No need for thanks, little dove.” Hoseok says, and there’s a soft clink when he finally picks his fork up and it knocks against the round rim of the plate. “Just doing my good deed for the day.”

The pet name strikes you this time, no longer distracted by the delicious food and your rumbling tummy. The way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver racing down your spine, one that was decidedly unpleasant. There’s something in his tone, the way he stares when you raise your eyes to meet his, something in his beautiful heart shaped smile.

The fine hairs at the back of your neck raises, and you’re back to feeling like a bunny in a fox’s burrow. It was the same feeling you’d gotten earlier in the strange fog; the primal sense that you’re no longer the apex.

Something like a bell jingles in the back of your mind and grows louder until its a wailing alarm.

You should leave. Thank him for being so kind and get as far away from him as possible.

The look in his eyes unnerves you, but it’s something you can’t put a finger on. Just off the edge of his form something flutters, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, but it’s gone so quickly you didn’t have time to focus on it. The feeling intensifies; tugging, now.

You don’t think he’s blinked.

A shudder runs through you, rippling along your skin like a shockwave and Hoseok is calling your name.

“Are you okay?” there’s concern on his brow, his unoccupied hand raised in a wave as though he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. “Do you feel sick?”

“N... no. I’m fine, thank you.” You try to smile, but you’re pretty certain it looks as strained as it feels. He was almost done eating, though he’s paused to asses you with furrowed brows. You feel like you’ve missed something in the past minute.

“I asked if you wanted more food but you just blanked on me.” Hoseok sets his fork down and you feel like you’re losing your mind. The feeling from before is gone, and you’re not even certain if you felt it in the first place. Maybe you’re tired, or maybe the feeling of the comforts you’ve missed for so long is messing with your head.

Hoseok looks perfectly normal, there’s nothing flickering at his back or anything odd in his stare.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” You don’t feel certain, and if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment on it. You pick up the fork again, scraping up the little left of your food onto it quietly. You feel strange, as though the past two minutes moved by too quickly, or like they happened weeks ago and you’re struggling to cling to the details of them.

Hoseok is focused on his plate, and uncertainty at the hope that he keeps his eyes there blooms in your chest. You’re not sure why.

It’s awkwardly quiet for a couple moments, with Hoseok finishing his meal and you, playing with the folded ends of your borrowed tee-shirt. When he was done, he takes the plates and the empty glasses to the sink to clean them and you sit idly at the table.

He’s drying his hands with a dark kitchen towel when he’s done, settling at the edge of the island and facing you. The overhead lights glow against his form, casting shadows along his visage that makes him look sharper; menacing. It clings to his hair like a depiction of something holy, making his dark hair look russet in the gleam.

You go to thank him again, even though he’d probably wave you off like he’s been doing the whole time, but the lights are too bright. The glow of the lights swells and flood your eyes, you squeeze them shut, trying to dispel the ache that comes with it. You turn your head and it feels like you’re neck deep in mud, it takes too much effort to do something so simple.

Panic wells in your chest, sending your heart kicking against your ribs harshly. You take a breath, well, you try, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat and you choke on it.

There’s two Hoseoks when you peel your eyes open, and they neatly fold the towel they were using and put it down. For a minute, your vision settles, and the man leans against the island nonchalantly, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he watches you spiral.

“You should try to calm down.” He says softly, and you hate the way you cling to the sound of his voice when it’s very clear what’s happening.

“Wh...” Your tongue feels heavy, and the words you try to say are slurred and unintelligible. You move to stand, trying to get away even when your limbs feel like there’s a ball and chains at the ends of them. The world tilts on an axis, doubling as you make to your feet, you’re not sure if it’s leaning or you are.

Hoseok reaches you in a single step and a strangled sound escapes you. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you back into the chair. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing your body can’t handle.”

You can barely hear him, your ears feel as though there’s cotton in them, reducing his words to a muddled murmur. You can’t feel the way his fingers curl into the hair at your nape, but you notice the shift as he tilts your heavy head back to look up at him.

He’s smiling, you think. Pretty and heart shaped, all white teeth and sinister. And there’s that feeling again, as he says something you can’t hear, can’t focus, your eyes are closing.

There’s something dark and broken that flickers against the light above his head and shadows that dance at his back.

When the morning came and you didn’t wake, Hoseok wasn’t too concerned. He watched over you as once was his duty to another, tucked you into the sheets and the blankets and let you sink into the warmth of them. He sits in a chair at your bedside, simply watching the rise and fall of your chest and the pinch of your brow as sweat beads upon it.

Your body is fighting hard to flush out what he put in, and he admits, he may have given you a bit too much of it. It wasn’t his intention, but nothing can be done now but wait for you to come to.

When the afternoon comes and the first sign of your conscious shows in a weak attempt to rouse yourself, and a jumble of words that Hoseok deciphers with a well-trained ear it; was clear you weren’t fully there yet. Your skin was too warm, eyes not nearly focused enough, barely looking at him, and then the contents of your stomach come in a rush of bile and acid.

Hoseok tends to you gently, patiently, taking you to the bath and settling you in a way so that you don’t slip under and drown in your unconscious state. He cleans your mess, changes the bedding, puts you in a fresh set of clothes and lays you back to rest.

You stay asleep throughout the day, and Hoseok isn’t too concerned.

Humans are such fragile, foolish things. To him, you’re a porcelain doll, pretty to stare at and admire if it sits on the top of a shelf behind a case. Take it out of that case and it’s so easily broken. Hoseok is like a child in a sandbox of his own creation with too much power in his fingers. If he isn’t careful, he could shatter your form and lose you to the dunes.

The fear you felt the night before played you directly into his hands – never mind he had nothing to do with it – and Hoseok knows, you don’t have to be inclined to feel the weight of his presence. Your mind knew that something wasn’t quite right -- unconsciously or not --, and yet, you willingly followed.

Foolish.

Though, it was purely coincidental that you ran into him, he had been on his way to somewhere and wondering about the strangeness of the fog that rolled in out of nowhere. He hadn’t missed the weird quiet and lack of people either, it hadn’t been that late.

He doesn’t know exactly what you were doing in it, running around the way you were like a mouse in a maze. It’s something that sits at the back of his mind.

The morning of the second day brought no change; you were in and out of your drug induced sleep, and now, Hoseok was a little concerned.

::

“How much did you give her?”

There’s a squeak of leather as Seungcheol crosses his arms, when it’s quiet for far too long he gives Hoseok a look.

“A little.”

Seungcheol leans over your sleeping form, raising a hand to rest against your forehead. Hoseok would think you were dead if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“If it was a little, you wouldn’t have called.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head, the dark waves of his hair brushing his eyelashes.

“Well, she’s not dead.”

“Dude.” Seungcheol looks a little disturbed, straightening to stare at Hoseok with a displeased furrow in his brow. “You can’t just – humans have limitations.”

“I’m aware, Cheol. Thank you.” Hoseok grumbles, and he ignores the raise of Seungcheol’s eyebrow and the clear disbelief in his eyes.

“‘Course you are.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs lowly, he turns back to you, placing his hand on your forehead again until the tension in your face fades. “Don’t give her any more of that shit. She should wake up sometime today, maybe.”

Hoseok knows better than anyone the limitations of humans. Not that he acknowledges them, he hadn’t the need to in a long time, but he should be careful at least.

Hoseok leads the way out of his guest bedroom with Seungcheol following and closing the door gently behind him. Walking to the kitchen he could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head.

Hoseok takes his time, fetching a glass from one of his cupboards and the whisky he keeps stashed away for his more stressful days. “Spit it out.”

Seungcheol braces his arms on the other side of the island, eyes dark. “Hoseok. I normally don’t care what you get up to; it’s not my business.” He says, looking somewhere to Hoseok’s right. “You don’t fuck around with humans. Who’s the girl?”

Hoseok hums, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass with a contemplative stare. “Street urchin. No one anyone would miss or bother to look for.”

“So you just took her off the street?” Seungcheol frowns, but Hoseok could tell from the look in his eyes that he knows it’s not that simple.

“She came willingly.” Hoseok corrects, taking a sip of the alcohol he could barely taste.

He sets the glass down on the island and pours the whisky to fill half. Seungcheol is quiet, and Hoseok hates it. It gives his mind a moment to wonder, to open a box he’s kept locked and chained.

On most days, Hoseok barely knows himself. He remembers what he’s supposed to be – what he was – and sometimes, that part of him rears its head to fight with what he’s become. Wings dipped in gold and divinity at the end of his fingertips battle endlessly with the shadows that encased him.

A memory of a time he held something as fragile as glass in his hands, broken before he could properly hold it by someone who was supposed to keep it safe. The ache of it burns like a rash that never goes away, always there, only hiding under his skin until it flares up again.

“Just... don’t do anything stupid.” Seungcheol says after a while, watching Hoseok carefully.

“You and your moral compass.” Hoseok shakes his head, and just like that, the golden light is bundled up tightly and pushed back into the corner where he long hid it.

Seungcheol heaves a sigh, shaking his head, picking up his bag he threw on the island counter when he got here.

“I need you to do something for me.” Hoseok says, watching the light shine through the glass in pretty crystal shapes. There’s a furrow of Seungcheol’s brows, but he tells Hoseok to continue with a raise of his chin. “Keep an eye out for a fog.”

“A fog? Why?”

“She was in one the night before.” Hoseok sucks air in through his teeth, “and she wasn’t alone.”

Seungcheol hums, “Alright.”

Hoseok drinks the last of the whisky in one go and waves a hand at Seungcheol, “You can go now.”

“Thank you, Cheol. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Seungcheol grumbles and then raps his knuckles against the countertop. “I’ll be over here for a few days, gotta sort some things out. Call if you need me.”

Hoseok watches him leave, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he walks back to the bedroom where you still lay asleep.

He sits on the chair, watching the rise and fall of your chest, every minute twitch of your facial features. Restlessness tugs at his limbs as the sun makes its descent western sky, spraying the dimming canvas in hues of lilac and peach.

Something in the back of his mind asks what exactly he’s doing. There was no reason – there wasn’t a reason for him to take you in. A sprout of boredom, maybe, or something involuntary.

Hoseok stares out the window at the slowly darkening sky and the soft glimmer of early evening stars, until the sky is navy and darkness clings to the room.

Your mouth feels like someone’s stuffed cotton in it, and your throat feels like sandpaper when you try to swallow.

You haven’t opened your eyes, laying on what you presume is a bed, if the softness beneath you was anything to go by.

There’s not much that you remember, even as the fog in your mind clears little by little. You remember eating, you remember feeling strange like someone had shrunk you and shook you around in a jar of water. You remember the fear that quickened your heart and your breaths and Hoseok, standing above you like a malevolent God.

You remember the strangeness of his form, and even now your mind can’t comprehend it. You’re not even certain if what you saw was actually real and not an effect of whatever Hoseok had drugged you with.

Drugged.

He drugged you.

Your eyes open and the room is dark. The blankets are thick and heavy and they make you feel warm. There’s a window to your far left, curtains drawn back to show the city in all it’s glory.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing yourself upwards on arms that feel a little weak, and find – to your horror – the clothes you were wearing before aren’t what you’re wearing now.

You take a breath before the panic could set in. You could feel it rolling under your skin like a rumble of thunder before rain, and you try your best to stay calm. You need to find a way out of here.

The apartment seems to be quiet as you slide your feet out of the bed and onto the floor. You barely register the chill of it when you stand, sock-less feet making it easier to sneak over to the door without making a sound. You don’t know where Hoseok put your things, and you don’t have time to go looking for them.

The door isn’t locked, and doesn’t make noise when you push it open slightly to peek out through the little gap you made. You recognise the hallway, the bathroom is two doors down on the other side, and opening the door a little more, you poke your head out tentatively. 

You don’t breathe as you listen, but it’s so quiet, so much so that your exhale seems too loud, and there’s a soft ringing in your ears that set you on edge. Stepping outside the room, you contemplate your next course of action: You can bolt right for the door and get out, but risk making too much noise if Hoseok is indeed here. Or, you can slowly and quietly make your way over and slip out without cluing your kidnapper in on your escape.

Can it be called kidnapping if you were living on the streets?

The door seems miles away as you inch slowly towards the open kitchen and living room area. There are a few lights on, the same LED lighting strips run along the edge of the large pane windows and glows an ominous blue and the lights over the marble island had been dimmed. Both rooms seem empty and you couldn’t be more thankful.

Like a mouse, you skitter across along the hallway space that divides the two, down the little platform at the entrance and take one more step towards the door.

The door that seems further back than it was a second ago.

The stretch of space that was just an arm’s length away was now more than a hallway’s length. You stand still and stare at it, reaching an arm out in case you’re suddenly tripping balls but your hand swipes through air and falls limply at your side.

You look behind you and the rooms and hallway are just as they were, and turning back, the door was right where it was before. You could’ve sworn there was a handle on it. You place your palm against the cool, smooth surface where the handle should be and in the face of your freedom thwarted, you pinch your thigh.

You must be dreaming. The pain flares and grounds you and you realise there’s no explanation for this. You’re wide awake. Still drugged then. But you feel fine. There’s no swirling vision or heavy limbs, your mouth doesn’t feel like someone squeezed glue into it; you’re fine. This doesn’t make sense.

You back away from the door and almost stumble against the raised ledge behind your heels. Steadying yourself with a hand against the wall, you turn, and immediately, notice the darkness of the hallway.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart slams so harshly against your sternum it hurt. There’s that feeling again, it sends a shiver racing down your spine and scattering goosebumps along your skin. You’re being watched. You are not the apex here.

You want to run, or curl up into a ball and hope the darkness hides you. Fear coils into your muscles and locks them tight, and you’re left standing still, eyes darting around trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark.

There’s a darkness that curls at the center of the space a few feet away from you, undulating and crashing in on itself in an uncoordinated dance of chaos. It’s somehow darker than the darkness – stands out against it like white on black paint. It doesn’t make sense to you, and it could simply be your mind turning against you and scaring you further.

It slowly floats towards you, wraps around you in a languid, bored way, like smoke, no longer as tangible as it seemed before. You don’t feel it’s caress, but it’s cold, like you’d submerged yourself into a tub full of ice and water. You feel as though you’ll pass out, like the black wisps of strange smoke is filling your lungs and carving its way through. There’s fear, which is yours, and something that isn’t.

Something dark and lonely, desperate and afraid. It’s sad, so sad that you feel like you’ll drown in it, that tears would well in your eyes and squeeze your throat tight. There’s anger. It feels as though you can burn the world and revel in it.

The smoke snaps back and away from you, crumples on itself violently and then the lights are on, blinding you.

Hoseok is standing in front of you. There’s a mix of conflicted emotions on his face like he can’t settle on one before the storm in his eyes calm.

There’s a tenseness to his brow, and he studies you quietly with a tilt of his head.

“You’re awake.”

He takes one step forward and you take two back in turn. His eyes dart down to your feet and quickly back to your face, and draws the foot he put forward back to himself.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You scoff before you could help it, fear pushed slightly to the side as your anger rushes forward. “Right. Like I’ll believe that after you fucking drugged me.”

“Like I said, it was nothing your body couldn’t handle.” Hoseok counters calmly, “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead.”

“Then why am I here? What do you want?” His threat didn’t go unheard, it settles into your mind and buries itself underneath everything else you’re trying to absorb for you to freak out about later.

Hoseok smiles, and its bright in its visage, every bit of sweet and caring as you thought him to be. Dimples you haven’t noticed before sinks into his laugh lines, and you think briefly, it makes him even more dangerous. He looks so harmless, as his smile blossoms and blooms into the heart shape you remember from the night before.

“Just you.” He says, eyes glinting with something you’ve decided is more than a little crazy.

You take another step back and he remains in his spot. If you’re quick enough – just enough – you can make it to the door. You might be able to outrun him.

“You can leave if you like.” He says, like he could tell what you’re thinking – or read your mind – and his smile fades, like a raincloud swelling and covering the warm rays of the sun. “Can’t guarantee you’d get very far, so I advise against it.”

You’re not sure if he’s being honest. Though, he looks pretty damn serious. He stares at you quietly, intensely, like he’s daring you to make that mistake. You hazard a look at the door behind you and the handle is still gone.

“What are you?” you ask, turning to face him and he’s directly in front of you. The startled squeak that leaves you makes him chuckle. Bending at his waist, Hoseok stares right into your eyes and you feel like your heart might just burst out of your chest and take off running.

Bunny in a fox’s burrow.

“Hm.” He hums, “Now you’re asking questions.” He straightens with a smile and steps aside, gesturing to the kitchen with a slight nod of his head. “I’ll tell you eventually. For now though, you should eat.”

You stay rooted to your spot and decide that if he wants you to move, he’s going to have to move you himself. He’s insane if he thinks you’d be eating anything he gives you.

“Come now, dove. Don’t be that way.” He sighs, stares at you for a moment later before nodding. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen without you.

There’re the soft clangs of him moving things around, doing whatever he’s doing in there.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days, and you’ve been sick. You shouldn’t be standing.” You hear him say from the kitchen, and you think you could make another attempt at the door but the handle is still missing, so you have no choice but to go.

You eye him suspiciously when you enter, watching as he butters a piece of toast and puts it on a plate. He doesn’t look at you as you hover unsurely at the dining table, watching the lights catch on the dark marble island counter.

“I won’t give you anything to drink. Get it yourself if you’re worried I’d try something.” He says softly, and not unkind. There’s a shift in his tone and the way his body moves as he brings the plate over. You feel like the man who was standing in front of you a couple of minutes ago in the hallway had hidden himself away and the man you’d met on the street had crawled his way back to the surface.

He sets it down on the table and walks back around the island, opposite from where you’re standing, and out of the kitchen.

You’ve been here for two days – whatever he’d given you must have been strong as hell – trapped here with...him. You’re certain you can’t call him a man, he’s something more than that and you won’t know until he tells you. Most of the memory of the night you came here are blurry and frayed at the edges, making them impossible to cling to and analyse.

There was something strange in the moments before the drug kicked in and right before you passed out. Something strange about Hoseok, but you can’t seem to recall it. It’s like it happened years ago.

The inconsistencies of your memory leave you on edge, and you eye the two slices of perfectly buttered toast on the plate. He’s given you something light enough that your stomach won’t be upset. As the thought comes to mind you faintly remember being sick at some point, but that too is fuzzy and you aren’t sure if its real. At least now the change of clothes makes sense, though, it doesn’t make you feel any better. He could’ve done anything to you while you were drugged and unconscious.

You wonder what he could possibly want with you. Why you, of all people? You’re just a girl who had everything taken from her and thrown off the ladder, now at rock bottom fending for yourself. There’s nothing left of you that could be given.

You feel Hoseok’s presence before you see him, a sort of odd pressure in the back of your mind and your chest. He pokes his head into the room like he’s checking to see if you’d started eating or not and doesn’t look surprised to see you’d left the toast untouched and you’re still standing.

“The toast is fine, you know.” He says, and there’s an understanding in his eyes when he looks at you. He knows you don’t trust him, though, he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He sighs when you don’t make a move and comes into the kitchen. He takes the same route as before, walking around the opposite side of the island – away from you – until he’s standing at the other side of table.

“Okay.” He says, picking up one of the toast slices, he bites into it and stares at you while he chews. “Make something yourself then.”

You blink, “Huh?”

“The bread is in the fridge if you want. There’re oats if you prefer that instead. Stick to light things. I’d rather not be cleaning up after you.” You don’t understand him. In the short time you’ve known him, he’s like a square that’s trying to fit into a circle. The circle is too round to accommodate his sharp edges, but he somehow manages to get just half of the square through, even if the circle is struggling to contain it.

Not to mention the weird things that’s happened within the half hour you’ve been awake, things he’s yet to explain to you. Matter of fact, strange things has been happening since you left Abigail. The police officer, the fog, and whatever the hell was out there in it with you. You’re not even sure if that was real either.

You feel like if you focus on it, you’ll go crazy. So your mind does the only thing it can do to protect itself – pushes it away into a corner to mull over later along with everything else.

“I’d rather not.” You no longer feel the need to show him gratitude. You feel stupid, for one, why did you think trusting a random stranger would be a good thing?

Hoseok shrugs, dropping the half-eaten toast back onto the plate. He walks around you, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end, that the warning bells are going crazy in your head again.

It’s uncomfortable being this close. The reaction is visceral, unable to ignore and you wonder why you hadn’t felt it the night before. Why you’d manage to follow him all the way here and not noticed. Maybe you had, briefly and in little moments that were small enough for you to brush them off.

You watch him watch you as he circles you like a vulture, “What are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was human?” He asks from behind you, and it feels like a terrible idea to have your back to him. He sounds amused, like this is nothing but a little game to him – just something to pass time while he’s bored.

As he rounds your right, your eyes meet the darkness of his. “You’re not.” It would be strange if you still thought he was after everything that’s happened already.

Hoseok hums, a twinkle lighting his eyes, “Perceptive, aren’t we?” There’s something like pride in his voice but you’re not sure what it’s for, “What do you think I am?”

“You expect me to guess correctly?” The difference in your height does nothing to stop you from glaring at him. He tilts his head at you, dark locks of his hair swaying against his forehead gently.

“No.” Hoseok smiles, “But it’ll make things interesting. I like games; play along.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone and the darkness in his eyes. He takes a step away from you and it feels like you can finally take a breath. His movements are fluid as he pulls the dining chair out from below the table. He sits gracefully, propping his chin in his palm as he watches you expectantly.

“Do you want a hint?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re tired of whatever game he’s playing at, sick of the fear that keeps you standing still as he stares you down.

He stares at you like you’re a complex puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “I used to be an angel. Fallen from grace.”

You’d laugh at the absurdity of his words, but he has that look again. He has that look that makes you believe him, and everything seems to click into place and make sense, even if you barely understand it at all.

“Okay.” You nod, and then take a seat. You focus on the gentle waves of his dark hair and not his eyes, “Why am I here? Why can’t I leave?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. You can if you want to. I said that I can’t guarantee you’d get far; You weren’t alone out in that fog.”

You’d almost forgotten about that. Recent happenings had been enough to push it to the back of your mind. You knew you weren’t losing your mind that night, something had definitely chased you and you’re positive it wasn’t a regular animal.

“But that’s another topic.” Hoseok mumbles, more to himself than you, and it looks as though his thoughts strayed elsewhere for a moment before he focused. “You should be thanking me.” He says, tilting his head to meet your gaze with a smile.

He couldn’t be seriously wanting you to thank him. For what? Saving you? For all you know it could’ve been one of his tricks. Why would you thank him? He says that you could leave if you like – him messing with you since you woke up says otherwise. He’s not actually giving you a choice. You’re not going anywhere unless he lets you.

When you remain silent, he leans forward, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “There’s nothing for you out there, though.”

You know he’s right. But that doesn’t justify what he’s doing. You assume he doesn’t care, if you were him, you wouldn’t feel the need to abide by law either.

You’d never been much for fantasy stories, growing up you were well aware that they were just that – stories. Your parents weren’t very religious, but you’d say grace before meals, pray before you go to sleep and when you woke up. Your parents would sometimes quote the bible when you were being naughty and every now and again you’d find yourself in a church for Sunday mas.

Your father used to say that the bible is a book of stories and lessons, and even if you aren’t to abide strictly by it, you should at least heed it. There’s someone up above, watching always.

The angels in the bible were described differently than the man before you, you think. Can angels really do things so bad that it gets them casted out?

Did he do something bad that got him sent here like some wayward child sent off to boot camp?

Even if a part of you is ever doubtful, his existence proves the existence of a higher being and you have some choice words for them.

In the days that go by, you remain wary of Hoseok. You don’t trust him, but you appreciate him letting you hover about him anytime he makes you something to eat. He makes everything from scratch and you wonder most of the time if it’s a skill he just has or was it something he had to hone on his own.

He barely bothers you, goes about his business, which really, entails him sitting in the living room and ignoring you.

Some days is another story entirely. You came to realise quickly that Hoseok is fond of games, usually at your expense. A shadow following you here, whispers that come from no where and bounces off the walls.

There are moments when you catch glimpses of something out of the corner of your eye – a figure lurking in the darkness, just beyond your line of sight. When you turn to look, there’s nothing there, leaving you to wonder if it was ever really there at all. You’ve seen shit at the corner of your vision way too many times for it to be a coincidence. You try to brush them off as tricks of the mind, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

Hoseok is always there when it happens, some sort of mirth in his eyes like your suffering is amusing.

The feeling of being watched becomes a constant presence, a weight on your shoulders that you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. Every time you turn around, you half expect to find Hoseok lurking in the shadows, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

For the first week it’s been this way, and when the second week started, he’d leave at one point during the day. Bored of you most likely, not that you’re complaining; at least he was no longer trying to send you crazy.

He’d give you the same instruction he did the night be brought you, use anything you need with additions of ‘Don’t cause trouble’ and ‘Stay put’. You always roll your eyes at that, the door remains the same; missing it’s handle. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to.

You would stand in the living room, which looks much like the rest of Hoseok’s penthouse apartment; sleek and dark. There’s a few accents of white and red, black leather couches and clear glass tables. A flat screen TV you’ve never seen used mounted on the wall, a fluffy white rug covering the space between it and the couch. You’ve seen no other electronics besides that, nothing that you can use to contact anyone.

He’d left you things to occupy your time – like you’re a child – books and puzzles and what have you. And you found that the TV works if you become bored of the other things.

Weirdly enough, there’s people outside and below, unlike the night you came when it looked like a ghost town. You can see the glint of the sun bouncing off of shiny cars driving in and out of the hotel’s compound. Little people walking around as they go about their days, oblivious to your plight.

Sometimes you would hear someone out in the hallway beyond the door, like someone coming to clean and you would bang on the door and be as loud as you possibly could. It’s like you’re a ghost. You asked him about that once, and he told you that he can mimic spaces, make it seems as though something is or isn’t there.

Sometimes Hoseok would come back from his little excursions and be as normal as he could be. He’d talk to you like he isn’t holding you captive, ask you about what you did for the day as though there’s a million and one things you could do while there. You’d answer as to not be on the wrong side of him, even though it’s clear that he doesn’t quite mind you not saying anything back. He’d ask you what you’d like for dinner, and he’d eat with you.

On days like those it feels... normal. You feel comfortable and the nature of the situation escapes you. Like this had been your life for as long as you could remember. And sometimes you think, that maybe, if things were different. If perhaps he hadn’t kidnapped you, ‘helping’ you or otherwise. Maybe if your life had gone a little differently and you’d met him under different circumstances...then maybe.

Sometimes on those days he’d sit quietly as you give him little pieces of you; telling him about your childhood and not so important things. He’d clear the coffee table to put a puzzle together and ask you to help him with it.

Some days he’d come back and he wouldn’t be in a good mood. He’d stand and brood at the large windows looking out, lost in thought. On those days he’d look gone, vacant, as though whatever going on in his head was paramount to the reality around him. His eyes are sad then, and he’d be so quiet you’d forget he’s there. He’d make dinner, and he would not eat.

On days like those, if you wake at night and venture out of your room, you’d find Hoseok as you did the night you first woke up. A swirling ball of shadows and smoke somewhere about, and the lights are always off. It scares the hell out of you every time. It reminds you of what he is, despite the nature of his existence, there’s something very dark about him. He scares you mostly, even when he’s being nice, it’s unnerving. You’d try to stay clear of him then.

Something in your mind had been made aware that he is beyond your understanding. He’s stronger and faster than you, can do things that makes your brain grind to a halt trying to process. Sometimes it feels like he’s in your head, watching your every move and surveying your every thought. It scares you.

On days like those, the last thing you want to do is sleep.

Sleep evades you and when you do finally catch it, your dreams are wrought with nightmares of shadows and screams and blood. Sometimes Hoseok is there and he’s less kind than he’s ever been, and you’re lost in darkness and can’t find your way out.

Sometimes it’s a man with red hair lurking at the corners of them, smiling and taunting you. You feel like you could never escape them, like your dreams lasts the entire night and leave you exhausted when you wake up.

The room you woke up in so long ago was yours; Hoseok stays clear of it and never enters without knocking. One day Hoseok had brought you clothes you’re certain costs more than your life, they’re mostly comfort clothes as you have nowhere to be at no point in time. From sweaters to tee-shirts, lounge pants to bicycle shorts and an assortment of underwear that made you scowl at him.

That day you asked him just how long he was going to keep you captive – he didn’t much like the use of that word, prefers ‘keeping you safe’. He told you about the mysterious animal that chased you in the fog, that he and a friend are looking into it and reminds you that you wouldn’t get very far should you leave. You reminded him that he’s not letting you go anywhere.

You stare up at the ceiling, counting the swirling pattern from one corner to the next. You’ve lost count of them every time and you’ve lost count on just how long you’ve been here. Hoseok remains the same, fluctuating between rivalling the sun and being the moon that sometimes eclipse it.

It’s the morning of yet another day, and you can hear Hoseok moving about already. Sometimes you wonder if he ever sleeps...does he need sleep? He eats...that much is for certain, so by any rate he functions partially human.

You sigh softly, getting out of bed and shuffling your feet to the house slippers Hoseok gave to you. There’s the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen, the sound of Hoseok moving about, and it sounds like he’s in a good mood if his humming is anything to go by.

You wash up for the morning and get changed before carrying yourself out to the kitchen.

Hoseok looks devastatingly domestic and the smile he directs at you is enough to send your mind haywire. These past few days has been confusing for you. Though the initial fear you felt for him was there, lately, it’s been less. You’ve found yourself missing him when he goes off to do whatever he does during the day and you’re excited when he comes back. You’re chalking up the reason for that being that he’s the only person you’ve been in contact with for possibly a month or two.

On some of the days where he would come back and be less than happy, and the lights go out like they’re scheduled to and Hoseok is no longer tangible. When he hovers in a little ball of controlled chaos that blends into the darkness, you sit and wait. You wait until he’s there again and the lights are back on and he looks at you like you’re something he’s lost.

It confuses you as much as his smile that sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage in a dance that isn’t out of fear. You actually can’t remember when you’d stopped being afraid of him.

“I’m going out today.”

Your brows furrow, he’s never told you that he’s leaving before. He brings over a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sliced fruit. A sealed carton of orange juice and a glass for you.

“Okay...?”

Hoseok smiles, “Okay.”

::

When lunch came around, you’re sitting at the island watching Hoseok prepare the ingredients for whatever he’s going to make.

You don’t really feel the need to watch him as closely as you did when you first got here, now you simply do it because there isn’t anything better to do.

He moves in the kitchen like it’s a dance, turning to and fro with a grace you could only hope to have.

He’s already got something on the stove, some sort of sauce you think. It smells amazing and you’re looking forward to whatever it could be.

He looks a bit in his head, brows furrowed as he concentrated a little too hard to just be cutting an onion into crescent slices. He mutters something under his breath, turning to stir the contents in the pot before going back at the onion.

“Hoseok?” You call softly as he sets the onion aside in a bowl and pulls something else onto the cutting board. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s heard you, with just the steady sound of the knife hitting the board, he hums, glancing at you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” You can tell he’s in one of his moods, but he’s actively trying to be pleasant. He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove and then turns the oven on to heat up. “What is it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, just a tad bit impatient.

“Is cooking just something that you can do? Or did you have to learn?”

He turns, pauses, stares at you for a moment and then chuckles, “It’s a skill I acquired through a lot of trial and error. I had a long time to perfect it, though.”

“How long are we talking?” You’re a little intrigued, besides him telling you that he’s a fallen angel, he hasn’t told you exactly how he became one or how long he’s been here.

He tilts his head and smiles gently in the way he does when he’s thinking if he should answer you honestly or not before shrugging, “Long enough.”

You sigh, “Fine. Don’t tell me. You’re probably older than dirt anyway.”

A surprised laugh leaves him, high pitched and a little untamed. The sound is infectious and now you’re laughing too.

Happiness looks good on him, you wish he wore it often.

When it was about four in the afternoon, you hear the closing of Hoseok’s door and the sound of his footsteps walking up the hall.

You’re curled up against the corner of the couch, tucked under a yellow blanket with a book in your hand. You smell him before you see him; the cologne he’s wearing reaching the room before he does.

He steps in and stands near the entrance, the end of his coat brushing against his shins while he secures a watch to his wrist. His hair’s grown longer since he brought you here, curling against his jaw and the bangs are long enough to almost hide his eyes if not for the middle part. The rings on his fingers catch the light of the sun, and he finally settles, a serious look on his face as he watches you for a moment.

He seems to be contemplating something, the muscle of his jaw tensing as he grinds his teeth. He lifts a hand and crooks a finger at you.

Unwrapping yourself from the blanket, you walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything, but levels you with a look and guides you into the hallway with a hand at your back. “I’m leaving the door alone.”

The door is practically singing your freedom, the silver handle looks like a lighthouse at a stormy sea at night. Hoseok is looking down his nose at you when you finally tear your eyes away. His eyes narrow as though he can hear your thoughts and steps away from you.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

And you didn’t. You messed around with the TV, got bored, read another book, and decide to take a nap. Doing it all to ignore the door. You wouldn’t get very far. You really don’t want to know what Hoseok meant by that.

There isn’t anywhere you can go, you have nothing to your name. You get three square meals, clean clothes and a bed to sleep in when night comes – you think about Abigail, you wonder if she’s alright – you’d actually be quite dumb to go out there. Hoseok hasn’t done much but mentally exhaust you, you aren’t chained up in a dank room and being made to do things against your will. It’s actually quite pleasant.

You shuffle to your room and crawl under the covers, suddenly too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You would usually take naps when there’s nothing else for you to do, but you’re never this sleepy. It’s like your body is demanding you close your eyes and pass out right now.

You open your eyes a couple of minutes later and realise you didn’t know you fell asleep. It’s dark out already.

You throw the covers back, scoot to the edge of the bed, and put your feet right into water. You look down at it confused – did you leave a tap on? Hoseok would probably throw you out a window for flooding his place. Or maybe he’ll start up his silly mind games again and drive you nuts.

You’re not too concerned about it, strangely enough, as you get up, the water soaks into the legs of your pants. It’s high enough to lap against the middle of your shins and you curse softly, how could you forget to turn the tap off?

You swish through the water, reaching the door and pulling it open. The water is gone and you’re standing in the living room. Hoseok sits on the couch, one leg lapped over the other, bobbing idly as he turns the page of a thick book balanced on his thigh.

“Hoseok.” You sigh, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood for your stupid games.”

He turns his head slowly to look at you, crooks a finger like he did at you earlier. You stomp over to him, not caring that you probably look rather childish doing so. When you stop in front of him, he gently puts the book aside and then wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Your pulse flutters and you pray that he can’t feel it. A soft squeak leaving you as he tugs you to him, you fumble to catch yourself, trying not to trip over your feet and the carpet. Your hand lands beside his head, sinking into the leather, his eyes meet yours through his hair, and when he pulls you down, you follow without question.

He settles you in his lap, one hand gripping your waist and the other snaking upward to bury itself into your hair. He leans forward, nosing along the underside of your jaw and when the warmth of his tongue streaks against your pulse, a shiver races down your spine before you catch yourself. You push against his shoulder, “Hoseok.”

His chuckle sounds dark to your ears, his grip on your waist tightens enough that you fear you’d bruise. His teeth drag against your earlobe and yours sink into your bottom lip. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you want.”

His words wrap around your head, burying themselves under your skin and makes home there. The hand in your hair slowly slides out of it, moving down until it’s wrapped around your throat. His thumb presses against your racing pulse, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to break you.”

It’s a moment of bliss, warmth spreading through you before it instantly chills. It’s all fun and games until he’s actually trying to choke you out. Your breaths come in shallow gasps as Hoseok’s grip tightens around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic surges through you, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.

He’s going to kill you.

Desperate, you claw at his hands, trying to pry them away, but his strength overwhelms you. Your struggles intensify as you realize the danger you’re in.

He stands swiftly and lets you go, and you crash unceremoniously into the glass coffee table, nearly breaking your wrist trying to catch your weight. You cough and gasp, clutching at your throat that burns with every breath you take. Your eyes sting with tears as you scramble to put distance between you and him.

He watches you, amused, taking slow steps towards you. He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls and you realise – there’s nowhere to run.

You look up at him, and you’re now facing the windows. The LEDs that line the perimeter of them are glowing a sinister red and they’re the only source of light. There’s something slick under your palms, something you slide in as you try to get up. Inspecting it in the lighting does nothing, as it simply looks dark against your skin, but, there’s no mistaking the scent of copper.

Gazing around, you’re sitting in a pool of blood. Hoseok is nowhere to be found. The pool stretches off like something was dragged through it, going out the living room and down the hall.

You follow it, against your better judgement. This is the worst trick he’s ever played.

Your pants stick to your skin uncomfortably, and you wipe your hands hurriedly against the front of them. It doesn’t do much but spread the mess of blood around. The trail leads into your bedroom, and you stand outside the slightly ajar door with your heart pounding against your ribs.

Raising a hand, you push the door open, but plan to go no further than the threshold. The lights are on, dimly, it doesn’t give you much vision, but you could see Hoseok standing over someone.

It’s you, well...it was you. You’re not sure if you could call that you anymore. Limbs twisted in unnatural angles, sharp ends of bone sticking out from your bruised skin.

You stumble backwards, slipping in the still wet trail of blood and falling against the door behind you. Tears blur your vision, you feel sick.

“You see?” a voice whispers, echoing and bouncing around in your head. “This is what will happen.”

There’s someone else here.

“He’ll kill you.” The voice snickers, crawling along your skin like poison ivy. “Run. Get out.”

You startle awake, gasping for air, searching your body for any sign of blood. The sun is almost setting, preparing to make its descent in the west and you dart out of bed. Your skin feels tight, like you’re too big for it and it makes you uncomfortable. Your breaths are harsh barely making it into your lungs before you’re forcing it out again.

You make for the door, yanking it open and running down the hall. You didn’t stop to think, you just want out. You push the entrance door and it opens and you stumble out into the hallway you haven’t seen in ages.

You run up to the elevator, the overhead floor indicator is blank. And the elevator doesn’t budge when you push the button frantically. Hands caught in your hair you spin around, there must be a way.

The green exit sign glows like a beacon of hope. You trip over your feet getting to it, almost face planting on the expensive rug that lines the hallway. The door opens with a click and your footsteps echo in the stairwell as you take them two at a time to get as far away from this place as possible.

You don’t stop until you’re three flights down, breath ragged and vision spotty. You lean against the wall to catch your breath, panting and wiping the sweat off your brow.

There’s a loud bang that echoes from somewhere below and you freeze. Taking careful steps you peek between the railings and see nothing.

It might be Hoseok.

Or, it could be someone else in the building and your only hope of getting out of here.

“Hello? Is someone ther—” There’s another loud bang, and you take a couple steps down the fourth flight and look over the railing again. A thick fog swirls just a floor below.

The hair on the back of your neck shoots up at the low growl that dances up the stairwell. You nearly go tumbling down it in your haste to turn around and go back up.

As you turn to go back up the third flight, the fog surrounds you and you stop as it becomes impossible to see. You grip tightly to the stair railing, tentatively stepping up – You’re trying not to breathe too loudly.

There’s something scraping against the ground on the stairs below and your heart kicks. You step faster, at the same time trying not to trip and break your neck. There’s a low snarl and you bolt, taking the stair two at a time back up the way you came.

The floor vibrates beneath you as whatever it is gives chase. You make it up to the first landing, pulling the exit door open with a grunt. You’re just about to step through when what feels like three hot butcher knives slices through your back. The force of it sends you pitching forward, smacking hard into the wall on the opposite side before you crumple against it.

You could barely feel it, you’re aware you’re hurt...you could feel the pulsing, open wounds at your back. Your mind is trying to process as you struggle to move, taking a breath aches as you push yourself upward and away from the wall just enough to turn. You don’t manage much more than that, sliding down the wall until your butt hits the pretty red carpet.

The metal door of the emergency exit swings open harshly, banging loudly against the wall before it leans forward; one of the hinges broken. The thing that stands in the doorway looks like it crawled out of some deep, dark part of hell. It’s standing on it’s hind legs before it drops forward, claws that look at least nine inches long scraping against the linoleum.

It looks like a giant dog, honestly. It’s hard to tell when all you could focus on was that you could feel your heartbeat at your back, and the slick warmth soaking into your ruined sweater and pants. Shock maybe...or adrenaline, was keeping most of the pain at bay, you’re pretty sure you’d be dead otherwise right now.

With a guttural growl, the creature emerges, its form contorted and twisted, as if it were forged from the very essence of nightmares.

Its body is a grotesque fusion of twisted flesh and sinew, its skin a sickly shade of mottled grey, stretched taut over bulging muscles that ripple with every movement. Sharp spikes protrude from its spine, glinting menacingly in the dim light, while its black eyes burn with a fiery intensity that seems to pierce through your very soul.

The creature's mouth curls into a snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth stained with blood. Its breath is a noxious cloud of decay and sulphur, filling the air with a suffocating stench that makes your stomach churn.

As it lurches forward on all fours, its movements are unnaturally fluid, each step sending tremors through the ground beneath you. It’s trying to squeeze its way through the small space of the doorway, too big to pass through, and you could do nothing but watch.

Your vision goes hazy as you simply stare at the creature.

The adrenaline is fading and you’re starting to feel your wounds, but maybe if you could crawl towards the door...

At six pm on a Friday evening, Hoseok isn’t at all surprised to see the line of people waiting to get into the club. It’s still a long way to opening, but with the prestige of this place, again, he isn’t surprised.

He was with Yoongi when he bought the place, watched him build it from the ground up. Watched his taste for the interior bounce around erratically until he settled, as the clientele flickered from the common club goer to people – if they had enough money – buying their way in.

Haegeum is on the high-end of the city, the type of place where you’d wonder if folks had enough money to burn just because. Yoongi doesn’t discriminate and all are welcomed.

The queue is a mix of people: folks dressed to the nines just to step a foot in the place, those of which would most likely be sitting pretty in the VIP section. People just looking for a place to escape to for a while, teenagers holding tight to their fake Ids and clinging to their friends. They mingle in groups or alone, their chatter filling the air with a soft buzz of voices and hushed giggles.

Hoseok takes everything in with an air of nonchalance as he strolls by.

The bouncer at the heavy black door stands stoically, clipboard in hand for VIP clients. Hoseok breezes past him when he opens the door to let him in, stepping into the entrance foyer, illuminated by dim red lights. He walks down the hall, and down the dark metal staircase into the main floor of the club.

The above head white florescent lights do nothing to take away from the grandeur of the club, though, Hoseok likes it better when it’s late and the lights are off. The main floor is usually accented in lights of blue and red, casting shadows streaking along the sitting area. Embedded into the walls are velvet couches that flow with the design in a sort of snake like shape, a short-legged coffee table and single seated chairs dotted between every inward curve. There’s a wide enough walkway for two people walking side by side to pass, a partition of glass, and on the other side of it, black leather couches and even more glass coffee tables.

 The walls are interesting, and Hoseok thinks this because he doesn’t know why Yoongi likes it so much. In large arched alcoves sits head statues of Greek gods of mortal tales, staring lifelessly into the distance, bathed in dark blue light. Between every two are columns that resembles those of a temple, and smooth grey stone. Hoseok honestly doesn’t know which vibe Yoongi is going for, not that he’d say it to his face.

He walks down the little walkway, down another set of stairs and across the dance floor. The bar is tucked in a corner, glasses being wiped by one of Yoongi’s employees behind it. Hoseok offers the man a nod of his head, moving towards the staircase that curves with the wall and upwards.

Yoongi’s office veers just off the VIP lounge, set behind large mahogany doors. And Hoseok doesn’t bother knocking. The room looks pretty much the same as it’s always had: dark walls with darker patterns, a maroon carpet lining the floor, abstract paintings hanging on the walls that allude to a darker nature, and in the far corner on the wall between two paintings is a golden blade dagger behind a mounted glass case.

“...Pick your side, kid. It’s either you’re with me, or against me.” Yoongi’s voice is cold, not angry per se, but reeking in annoyance that chills rather than burns. “And trust me when I say that you don’t want me as your enemy. I don’t play nice.”

There’s a young man standing in front of Yoongi’s large desk, his hands behind his back where one hand squeezes the other in bouts of nervous jitter. There are bruises on his knuckles, and even from behind, Hoseok could tell that he’s trying to fit into a crowd that doesn’t suit him. Haegeum isn’t just a club but a base of operations so to speak, in the middle of this high-end city, its easy for Yoongi to wrack up a certain clientele. People who seek a different ease of mind and has a different lifestyle.

Hoseok leans against the door, watching the scene play out, as the young man bows slightly and Yoongi waves his hand at him.

“Keep shadowing Seonghwa and Hongjoong for the week, and I don’t want any trouble this time.” He says dismissively, and the boy turns to leave. As Hoseok catches his eye, something akin to a bolt of lightening shoots down his spine. It isn’t noticeable to the more ordinary folk, but Hoseok isn’t ordinary, and neither are Yoongi and the rest of his boys. 

The air crackles with static, raw, untrained power that itches Hoseok the wrong way. The boy stands there clearly a moment too long, and Yoongi’s knuckles raps against the table top. “Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun gives a soft apology, and quickly walks towards the door. Hoseok opens it for him, not out of kindness, but purely to give him a long unbroken stare. He smiles as the boy struggles to hold his gaze, even as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end at his proximity.

When he shuts the door behind him, Yoongi is already watching him with a raised brow. Hoseok wanders over to the leather armchair at the front of Yoongi’s desk and sits, shifting around until he’s comfortable in it. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Obviously they’re not.” Yoongi mutters, shaking his head as he sieves through a stack of papers scattered on his desk before he finds what he’s looking for. “Kid wanted in, so I let him. More trouble than it’s worth, honestly. But, the Nephilim are stronger than the order, so I gave it a shot.”

Hoseok hums, and Yoongi seems to catch himself, narrowing his eyes at him. The scar that runs through his right eye looks pink and irritated in the motion and the overhead lights. “What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t visit?”

If Yoongi narrows his eyes any more, he’d close them, “I think you know better than anyone that you’re never here.” He says, “You’re absent more often than not, so I have the right to ask. Did you do something? I’m not cleaning up any more of your messes.”

Yoongi pushes back his chair, walking across the room to the mini bar he has tucked in the corner. He pulls a glass from the cabinet and pours himself a glass of whisky from a long necked crystalline bottle. He takes a sip and turns leaning against the bar’s edge. “Last time was enough trouble.”

“You’d clean it up anyways.” Hoseok says, leaning his head back against the chair, tilting his head to look at Yoongi. “I found something fun to do.”

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, quiet, contemplative, “Causing a different type of trouble, I see.” He chuckles, “Don’t break her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok smirks, and then frowns a little. With all Yoongi’s prowess and danger, he’s gone a little soft around the edges, and he could see that softness in his eyes as he looks off into the distance. Surely thinking about the mortal girl that has him wrapped around her little fingers like bubble gum.

“You’ll learn.” Yoongi says cryptically, and it reminds Hoseok that he’s never really sure what Yoongi is thinking. Sometimes he’s an open book and Hoseok could read him like one, easy to figure out in the way that he moves, and sometimes he’s sealed tight.

Yoongi drains his glass of whisky, setting it down with a clink on the bar top before walking back over to his desk. “Since you’re here...” He opens a drawer and pulls out a thick black file, “Give this to Seonghwa.”

Hoseok takes the file and opens it, reading over the contents. There’s a man on Yoongi’s black list that’s due a checking in. “You let him and Joong have all the fun.”

“You’re too messy.” Yoongi retorts, “I said I’m not cleaning up after you.”

Hoseok shrugs, and gets up, skirting around the back of the chair and walking towards the door.

“Hobi.” Yoongi calls, “I don’t have to remind you that there’s a meeting at the end of the month, right?”

“I’ll be here.” Hoseok says, as the look in Yoongi’s eyes gave no room to say anything else.

He leaves the office, closing the door behind him with a quiet click and lets the tension roll off his shoulders. He goes back the way he came, black file in hand, towards the VIP section where he knows Seonghwa would be lurking. He walks down the little walkway, through the identical couches and tables on raised platforms that overlook the main floor of the club.

At the end, there’s a small section of booths, black velvet and low lit, and standing with his back to him is Hongjoong. He seems to be busy, twin pistols in pieces on the booth’s table, cleaning supplies set up neatly in a little row. Hoseok saunters over, and throws his arm over the man’s shoulders.

Hongjoong doesn’t spare him a glance but sighs softly through his nose. “I’m busy, Hoseok.”

“Where’s your shadow?” Hoseok asks, and waves the file at him, “Yoongi has work for you two.”

“When doesn’t Yoongi have work for us.” Hongjoong slides away from under Hoseok’s arm, sitting down in the booth to avoid him all together. There’s a dull glint of light as the fixtures catch on the gold diamond studded crucifix that swings against the white of Hongjoong’s tee-shirt.

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

The dark bangs of his hair, which are usually styled away from his forehead, falls into his eyes when he glances upward at Hoseok. He picks up the cleaning solvent and pours a bit of it into the cap before dropping a cotton patch in to let it soak, then, he wraps the patch around the bristles of a small bore brush.

“Seonghwa isn’t here, he’s out back.” Hongjoong picks up the dismantled gun barrel, sliding the bore brush through until the now dirty cotton patch pokes out from the other end. The scent of the solvent burns Hoseok’s nose, and he leaves Hongjoong be, going back down to the main floor and through the emergency exit. The exit sits in the middle of an alleyway that connects two streets, and Hoseok catches sight of Seonghwa’s faux fur coat on one end.

Smoke curls away from his form with a light wind and brings the scent of a cigarette as Hoseok walks with quiet steps towards him. He’s laughing at something, phone in hand, and Hoseok drops his hand heavily on his shoulder and feels the way he immediately tenses.

“I’ve told you one too many times, Seonghwa.” Hoseok says, stepping to the side and around him, “Always be on your guard.”

There’s a glint in the way that he sneers, pulling away from Hoseok’s grip. He takes a couple steps back, watching Hoseok as though he spat at his feet.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that. Makes me all tingly.” Hoseok teases mockingly with a smile, and then offers the file to him. “Here.”

Seonghwa shoves his phone into the pocket of his coat, taking the file and looking through it. He takes one last drag of the cigarette between his fingers before tossing it. He raises a perfect brow at Hoseok and tilts his head, something like amusement in his eyes. “You don’t show up for weeks, and now you’re just Yoongi’s errand boy.”

Hoseok chuckles and it’s dark, low in his throat. “Seonghwa.” He takes a step closer, “Don’t forget your place.”

It’s irritating how Seonghwa doesn’t back down, the way he looks at Hoseok as though he’s beneath him. He stands tall and proud with his chest puffed out like a peacock, and Hoseok knows he’s about to say something stupid without using that brain of his first.

“Don’t act like we’re not in the same boat.” Seonghwa scoffs, and even before he opens his mouth, Hoseok could see the thought in his eyes, glowing like an ember in the dark. He sees the minute curl at the corner of his mouth and the glow of the street light that catches on the pretty studded silver of his teeth. “You got your ward killed, and killed the man that killed her. There’s no hierarchy among murderers.”

Hoseok takes a breath, and he feels the heat rising from the tips of his toes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the images he’s locked away floods out of the steel box he’s put them in. The little girl he’d been guardian to, her short, miserable and painful life. Found end at the hands of someone she had the misfortune of being born to. It was too late – he was too late, when he’d found her. And just like then, Hoseok sees red.

Warm, gushing red that spill into the creases of his fingers when he swings his fist at Seonghwa’s face. The black file and the papers within scatter on the wind.

Hoseok doesn’t let the surprise and force send the younger man stumbling back too far, and grabs hold of the front of his coat, curling his fingers into the material tightly. He kicks at his knee, and when he’s forced to kneel, Hoseok leans down to his height.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who lost his wings for something so trivial; your sin and mine are two different things.” Hoseok sneers, and he’s so mad he could set Seonghwa on fire and watch him dance. “But I can remind you exactly why Yoongi doesn’t bother to have me involved.”

Someone pulls Seonghwa back, dragging him up to his feet. “The fuck are you two doing?”

There’s a tick in Seonghwa’s jaw that doesn’t go unnoticed and his eyes stay locked with Hoseok as he straightens. He should think twice, Hoseok knows he knows better.

Hongjoong shoves at Seonghwa’s shoulder, “Go pick that shit up.”

Yeonjun stands at the open doorway of the emergency exit, watching with wide eyes, looking like he’s halfway to backing out on his choice to get into Yoongi’s ranks. Hongjoong eyes Hoseok warily, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Seonghwa was doing as told.

Hoseok’s gaze burns a hole into the back of Seonghwa’s head as he moves around to pick up the scattered papers while Hongjoong stands like a watchdog.

Hoseok shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “You boys be good, now.” He says in parting, turning on his heel and walking out of the alley.

“What the fuck did you say to him?...”

Hoseok walks up the street, through the throngs of people still waiting to get into Haegeum. His phone vibrates in his coat pocket, with a sigh he pulls it out and answers.

“Yes, Cheol?”

“Hey, remember when you asked me to tell you when I’ve seen that weird fog?” Seungcheol sounds distracted, there’s a sharp sound from his end that has Hoseok pulling the phone away from his ear with a wince. He says something to someone else, voice too far away for Hoseok to catch, before he speaks again. “Couple of nights ago, it was in my area. Whatever’s in it is pretty good at hiding. It’s not the only thing in it either.”

Hoseok crosses the street, going in the opposite direction of which he came from. The people that line the sidewalk give him a wide berth as he weaves through them; unconsciously reacting to him being near.

“Didn’t see much of the guy, some twinky-looking redhead.” Cheol sighs, “I think the fog is like a domain. If you get lost in it, it’s like there’s no-one in there but you. Like a mirror realm.”

‘They who fight monsters should be careful, lest they become a monster themselves.  And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’

What defines a monster? Something that goes beyond human comprehension, something that stands outside the bounds of what is morally accepted. Something that a person fails to understand and is therefore scared by. Something that make stories entertaining because they’re meant to be defeated in the end. They’re meant to be slain and mounted like trophies, pinned up for grotesque display of heroism.

What defines a creature that goes beyond human comprehension? White coloured morals and the freedom to help in the way it needed. He stopped being what he was created to be, and instead became something that someone needed the most. He did everything right. He had his head in the right place, he was determined to see it through to the end.

He was a little too late.

Over the years, Hoseok could no longer recall just how late he was. If it was by seconds or minutes, or an hour by a half. When he was finally strong enough to move, he traced the memory of a place he’d seen for years, all the way to a house where his charge waited inside.

She was always afraid. Alone, trapped with a monster of man’s making. A child he’s watched since the moment of her birth, watched her grow to be afraid and the light never reach her. By the laws of his nature he was forced to do nothing.

He was restricted to assisting in the only way he could. He couldn’t shield her physically, so he instead manipulated the monster in her closet. He made sure that his mind was changed, that he didn’t swing his claws as fiercely, that he slept deeply so that the child can have a night of rest.

He started to question, as he watched the monster that called himself a father, prey upon what he was meant to protect.

What’s the point? Is he not allowed to stop this? Why can’t he stop this? He could stop it because he has the power to do so.

The ideology was shared by another, and together, hubris.

Hoseok fell with pride; he fell with the intention to seek his ward out and help her. Even if he had no idea what was to come afterwards. Stripped of his grace and the feathers of his wings burned away, it didn’t matter to him.

He went as quickly as his wounds allowed, which in retrospect, wasn’t quickly enough. She was only six. An awfully short time to the likes of him, even shorter to mortals, not enough time to live and laugh – she wasn’t allowed to even do that. He’d stood there, in the broken doorway of a broken home and watched as the monster of his ward’s nightmare became a man before him. Hoseok’s vision had tunnelled and in the centre was the broken body of the child he’d sworn to protect.

When the shadows on the walls grew tall and Hoseok’s mind closed in on itself and allowed those shadows to encase him, the man cried. He pleaded on his knees at the sight of his reckoning, begged for mercy when he gave none.

Then, Hoseok shattered. Scattered like tiny specs of dust floating on the wind, and under the heat and pressure of his own realisations, he turned into glass. With his sharp edges he cut into the man and reveled in it. The sounds of his pleas like the gentle strum of a harp’s string, and the warmth of his blood was a bath Hoseok sunk into.

What he was, was something that was no longer needed, and with his hands covered in blood and gore and mess he held tight to his reasons for being and cried for her. He became something else that only protected himself. While he locked everything away and allowed the shadows to stay. The light he’s trapped struggles to glow, to breathe, and some days Hoseok wants to snuff it out for good, to become the shadows he plays in.

He wouldn’t allow himself to reach that point, though. He still has a sense of himself, however skewed.

He owes Yoongi a lot, his partner in crime that he would follow to the ends of the earth. He never turned his back on him even as Hoseok changed to suit his troubles.

Hoseok remembers Yoongi standing at the doorway, catching up much later than he had. He stayed there quietly while Hoseok mourned the death of his ward and his tears made tracks in the blood that coated him.

Hoseok buried her away from her cursed home, far away and as deep as the roots of an old oak runs and salt floats on the air. Wild flowers bloom there, giving her the beauty in death she wasn’t allowed in life.

His chest aches as he stands there now. Under the shade of the oak tree where little speckles of the setting orange sun spills through leaves and dances along the space that he occupies. There’s a crinkle of plastic and Hoseok stares at the small bouquet in his grip. He chose every flower that reminded him of her: daises and lavender, lilies and snapdragons.

He lays it gently on the patch of grass that’s long grown over between two large protruding roots, mutters the same apology he does every time he comes by, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat as he straightens.

He’s sorry he wasn’t there in time.

He wished she was given a chance, and wondered if her death was his punishment. He wonders what it would’ve been like to watch her grow, safe and happy. What her favourite flower would’ve been, if she would’ve valued the little things. He would’ve given her everything – pulled the moon from the sky if she so desired it. He would’ve taken the stars and put them in her little hands for her to watch them shine.

He wonders if it would’ve been better had he waited a little longer. That maybe the slightest change would’ve brought about a different outcome.

Hoseok sighs, turns his head to watch the sun set, dragged behind the ocean’s edge far off in the distance. Something at the back of his mind wiggles and tugs. He knows something’s wrong and he’s in no mood to deal with it.

You’re dying...you think. Your hand slides against the floor and it takes a moment to realise it’s your blood you’re slipping in. You can barely feel the rest of your body, adrenaline pumping your blood out of the wounds at your back. The doors of the elevator doubles and swarms in your vision.

You see them open but it’s so hard to focus. Hoseok steps out and walks slowly to you, you can’t see his expression, but you faintly hear the long, drawn-out sigh he releases. Your eyes focus on the darkness that surrounds him, the way it curls like smoke. The shadows at his back are clearer to you than they’ve ever been – wings. Dark plumage that glitters with something silver in the light, the feathers are long, long enough that they drag behind his steps. If he were to unfold them they would easily span to the ends of the hallway.

He hardly gives you a glance, stopping in front of you. You can’t see the creature now – blocked by Hoseok’s wings – but you hear it growl, and the scraping of it’s claws against the floor. Something glints in his hand against the flickering lights, a short sword that looks like it was dipped in gold from the hilt and it ran down the edges of the blade.

He’s a blur as he moves and your tired eyes can barely keep up with him, if it weren’t for the small space and shadows his wings casted you would’ve lost sight of him completely. 

The creature snarls and lashes out with its razor-sharp claws, but Hoseok is already one step ahead, dodging with effortless grace. He moves with a speed and agility that seems impossible in the space he occupies, closing in on the creature that growls and snarls at him. It’s forced to dislodge itself from the doorway, pulling back into the stairwell that gives it even less room to defend.

Hoseok’s wings fold tightly to his back as he follows, and you could only hear the sound of his weapon sliding through the air, the sound of the blade whistling and the increasingly irritated sounds from the creature. Hoseok ducks under a swiped claw, makes a spin on his knee, and switches the hands that holds his blade. It slices through the creature’s gigantic paw like it’s made of something soft, and through the other as it comes back down. The severed limb drops heavily on the ground before it dissolves into ashes and float upward.

The sound it makes grate on your ears, loud and sharp and you can’t bring your hands up to cover them, something warm trickles out of each.

Without it’s two front legs to support it’s weight, the creature drops forward, and Hoseok grabs hold of the first spike at the top of its head. With a flick of his wrist his weapon spins in his palm and he points the blade right between the creature’s eyes and pushes.

Golden light flashes, nearly blinding you on top of everything else, you can just barely hear the cry it makes this time as it writhes in agony. It’s monstrous form twists and contorts before finally collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Hoseok stands over the fallen beast, his weapon clenched tightly in his hand, watching intently as it’s body dissipates like ash from a fire.

With a satisfied nod, Hoseok sheaths his weapon and it vanishes, and then turns his attention back to you, his expression a mixture of something. You can’t tell, everything seems so dark and it’s hard to breathe. He approaches you slowly, his movements cautious as he assesses the extent of your injuries.

Hoseok crouches and you slowly look up at him, he tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I told you not to go anywhere, little dove.” He says softly, calmly, as though he’s telling you about his day and you’re not bleeding out in his hallway. “You’re so troublesome.”

You try to respond, but the words stick in your throat, drowned out by the rush of blood and the overwhelming sense of impending darkness. Hoseok’s presence feels both comforting and ominous, his wings casting elongated shadows that dance across the walls. You try to focus on his face, to find some semblance of reassurance in his eyes, but all you see is a blur of shadows and flickering light.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own laboured breathing.

Hoseok’s expression softens slightly, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. He reaches out a hand to gently brush the hair from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the underlying tension in the air.

“Jesus...” Another voice says, the sound of footsteps hurrying close and the last thing you see is the shift of the hallway.

The night he found you out in the fog wasn’t the first time Hoseok had seen you.

By now, it would’ve been at least three months ago. You were alone, pacing around like a worried mother on a bridge over your perceived peace – had you decided to take it.

Human lives were no longer any concern to him; no consequence. He and his kind were here before and would be long after your kind has crumbled to dust and returned to the earth. He stopped then, and watched you contemplate the height of the bridge and the chill of the water below it; whether or not you’ll receive the mercy you seek. You’d cried for a long time on that bridge.

Hoseok is many things, but cruel is not one of them. He changed your mind and sent you away into the arms of someone that would care.

Hoseok has many contradictions. The darkness that he allowed entry fights the light, beating it into a corner where it cowers on most days. On those days he’s distant and struggling to contain it, he could taste malice on his tongue and the bitterness of it. The steel walls he painstakingly built with bloody and broken fingers are nothing more than barbwire fences; they do nothing to protect the glass figurines that make him whole.

Sometimes the glass are shards, sharp and unforgiving and willing to cut anything that gets too close. Sometimes they’re splintered panes and Hoseok is cutting his fingers to keep them in place. He curls in on himself, draws himself away, pushes everything outside his barbwire fence and tries to reinforce the walls. The darkness that swirls outside it seeps in and he can’t keep it out so he lets it fester and churn and he becomes intangible.

You weren’t there, and then, at some point, you were.

Sometimes...

Sometimes he’s standing in a grass field full of wild daises and the sun is warm and there’s salt in the air. The light peeks through the leaves of an old oak tree, and there’s a little girl who’s placed her life in his hands, who skitters about in the  grass like something wild and free. She glows in her happiness, and nature stains her hands and the bottom of her white dress. She makes faces at him behind the trunk of the tree, smiles and hold his hands and tell him that it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault and he’s forgiven, he could let it go and be.

On those days, Hoseok feels like a still pool of water. The ones with lily pads and life, and everything’s alright. You’re always there then.

Hoseok knows of the fragility of humans. How easily they could shatter and break and suddenly be no more. He was something once, and then he became something else, and sometimes it’s hard to not be what he is. His darker nature prevails, and he doesn’t do much to stop it. Sure, sometimes he’s done things simply because he’s feeling particularly malicious and thinks that everyone should suffer – it’s almost always harmless.

He has a sense of himself, he knows when to stop, when things are taken too far and you can’t take much more of it. You eventually learnt to take it in stride and Hoseok was proud of that, though, a part of him thought it wasn’t nearly as fun anymore.

He would walk your dreams some nights when he was bored and had nothing better to entertain himself, his presence would sometimes bring his darkness and your dreams would not be as pleasant. He tried to walk through them less often.

When you were jumping at every little sound, the silence that Hoseok moves with and the way you’re less of yourself some days – he realised something. Not every nightmare was his doing, and the whispers in the walls of your dreams spoke of something else entirely.

The far, fuzzy edges of your vivid dreams where he’s reminded of things he’s tried very hard to lock away, lurks something red and more sinister than he.

He’s every reason to believe that hellspawn didn’t find it’s way here on accident, and for it to go undetected until the very last moment. It bothers him like nothing else has.

Though you lay peaceful now and Seungcheol had left after doing what he does best, the unease lingers in bouts under Hoseok’s skin, skittering about like electricity on a wire. His feelings where you’re concerned contradicts each other. Like oil on water he’s stuck in between wanting you close and keeping you at arm’s length. He likes when you’re near, but he likes when you’re far. A consequence of his nature, he toes the line of something sinister and could get dangerous and down right evil if he doesn’t reign himself in.

At a point he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you. He was just as confused on why he stopped you from ending your own life that night on the bridge and why he took you in that night in the fog. At first, he was just as wary of you as you were of him, despite the way he acted. He can’t help what he is.

On the days where he feels like splintered glass and he’s choking on his despair, you’d waited. You were there until the smoke cleared and your quiet presence helped put the glass back up and straighten out the posts in his fence.

He told Yoongi, there’s no fun in not breaking you. Yoongi said that he’d learn.

He can’t help what he is.

He could try, though.

He doesn’t want to break you, it’s a matter of cause and effect. You’re here with him, evidently, you’d be broken regardless. The most he could do is try. He could try to not be the straw, and try to not let outside forces become it.

He cares. He cares so much that sometimes he could taste it on his tongue. He cares that you smile when he’s earned it, that you eat well, that you greet him like a friend and then somewhere along get shy when you do. He cares if you live or die.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut, opening them to blink away the image of you, helplessly laying in a pool of your own blood.

Fear. He’s has only felt it once, the fear that you would die and he would’ve failed again to protect someone.

He sips slowly at his glass of whisky, drinking in the sight of you. He thought you were smart enough to listen to him at least, trusted that you would stay out until he got back. Perhaps it was his mistake, but he wonders, and he ponders as you give a minute twitch in your sleep. Your eyebrows draw together and you murmur something unintelligible.

Hoseok sets his tumbler on your bedside drawer and pulls his chair closer. This is something he could easily do from another room, though, for what he’s about to do he would need to be touching you in some capacity.

Your dream had started off vividly, as most of your dreams have since you came here. Hoseok stands just in the corner of it, watching you wake within your dream and put your feet down into water.

He walks along the edge of it, watching it play out like a simulation, following behind you as you make your way down the hall towards the living room. He’s there and Hoseok isn’t surprised – it’s not the first time you’ve dreamt him.

He watches as your dreamscape version of him pull you into his lap and he feels a little offended and rolls his eyes – he didn’t even try to make it look sexy. Is this what you think of him? He isn’t half as tactless. Seduction takes finesse, and you clearly have no idea what that is.

Hoseok turns, gazing at the darkened edges of your dream.

There’s a shift and he feels it. It’s heavy like a wet blanket and seeps in like mist, and your dream changes accordingly.

He knows this feeling too well – the intrusion of an external force manipulating the dream, it’s faint enough that he knows it wasn’t in his apartment or anywhere nearby, but strong enough to reach so far.

Hoseok hovers hesitantly between the doorway of the living room and the hallway, and closes his eyes against the image of him hurting you.

He follows you as you follow blood, and he wishes you weren’t so frightened. He stays close to you, stepping where you’ve stepped as though he could protect you from something that’s already occurred. You push the door to your bedroom open and he wants to stop you, turn you around and shake you awake, but he can only watch.

You’re there and he is too, whispers skittering along the walls like mice, and Hoseok yanks himself out of your subconscious mind.

He feels like glass.

When you wake it’s dark and your back is sore like you fell from a high place and splatted against a body of water. The moment feels like déjà vu regardless as you swing your legs over the side of the bed with a wince.

The broken projector of your sleep-addled mind flickers in black and white cut scene imagines of the evening. Hoseok, the fog, the dog that crawled out of hell specifically for you – as you can only assume – things considered, you’re pretty certain you died at some point.

The dark unnerves you, it makes you feel like a kid as you pull your feet back up onto the bed, and pull the blanket up over your head and pulled tight between your fingers at your chest.

You scoot back, wiggling a bit until your back is pressed flush against the headboard. There’s no light seeping in from under your door, and you sink lower, curling into yourself and hold the blanket tighter.

There’s a prickling at the back of your neck that sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your head turns slowly to the left and notice the unnatural darkness of the space between the edge of the wall and the window pane. Relief blooms in your chest at the sight of it.

“...Hoseok.” You call softly, waving a hand into the dark. You wait for a moment, but the lights don’t come on and he doesn’t appear as he usually would.

Carefully, you unwrap the covers from around you and place your foot on the ground. Taking a moment, you count your fingers – it’s always hard to count them in your dreams. All ten are there, and you take a breath before standing.

The floor is cold, and you notice the carpet that’s usually under your feet is missing, and the silhouettes of the things you’ve made yours are different; this isn’t your room.

You approach the ball of chaos carefully, and stand five steps away from the space it occupies. This is the second time you’ve been close to it, the first time had been much closer and you hadn’t understood it then. You reach a hand out, and gently: “Hoseok...”

It slows, the shadows and wisps shifting gently like a leaf on a soft wind. It elongates into a vague outline and then, Hoseok stares through you before he sees you. He’s still wearing the clothes he left in earlier, coat and all, looking a little more than rattled even in the dark.

He raises a hand and it hovers by your cheek, thumb ghosting the skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The lights didn’t come back on and it’s hard to decipher his emotions in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, barely a whisper in the darkness. Somewhere behind you, a lamp flickers on dimly and Hoseok looks like he’d shatter if you touched him.

“I’m okay.”

Hoseok’s hand drops slowly from your face as he blinks, as though waking from a dream. His gaze focuses on you, but there’s a vacancy in his eyes. For a moment, he seems almost confused, as if he’s not sure how he ended up here or what to make of your presence.

His touch is light, gentle, like he’s handling something fragile when his fingers brushes yours. You feel his fear, a palpable thing, thick and heavy. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure what to do with it.

He exhales softly through his nose, nods once and then his eyes are somewhere above your head. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Your back sings a low hymn, achy and sore, but it’s nothing to fuss over. “I’m okay.”

There’s a lot of things you want to ask, but you can’t seem to pick one. You want to ask him about the fog and the creature, about his wings or how you’re even alive to mull over said questions.

Instead, you ask: “Are you okay?”

Hoseok looks unprepared for that, his eyes snapping back to yours and he flounders. His mouth opens and closes before he stares at you in that unnerving way he had your first couple of days here, like he’s trying to understand you. Like he could strip you down to atoms and see what makes you act the way you do and therefore comprehend the bases of your human nature.

“I’m...” He blinks, looks away, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitches, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t sound convinced and you aren’t either, and where his hand brushes yours you reach out first. His fingers are cold and he looks down, staring at your hand like it’s something foreign, but his grip tightens. It’s quiet for a moment, he takes a breath that doesn’t seem to ease the weight he carries.

“You almost died.” He says quietly, brows furrowed as though he can’t understand his own concern. “When I brought you here...I did so with the intention to keep you safe.”

It’s quiet again and you wait, and wait.

Hoseok’s eyes mist, his breath shudders on the exhale. “I wasn’t here in time. Again. I—”

His hand in yours tremble, he’s looking through you again, not entirely here and he looks like a man haunted by ghosts he alone could see. You stumble a step back when he falls to his knees before you, but didn’t get far as his arms wound tight around your waist. There’s something strange about a creature such as him with all his prowess and tainted grace kneeling at your feet, and his words tumble from his mouth like his tears that soak into your borrowed shirt and he lets you hold the chain that drags behind him.

The weight is heavy, heavy enough that it grounds you and you listen to it rattle as Hoseok tells you everything. In a broken tone about a broken home and a child he couldn’t reach in time to save, about the shadows that he let hide the light and now he struggles to find it. The things he’s done since that would make the most wicked men cower.

You make the connection, as he lays himself bare before you. He peeled back the layers of his being himself and let you look inside; the bases of his nature, the connotations of his own sins. It makes sense to you now. The way he would change like the tide and his near obsessive, compulsive need to wrap you in bubble wrap and put you in a glass case. He’d long stopped scaring you and somehow became a comfort despite himself.

Maybe it’s circumstantial, or something else entirely, but you’ve grown to care for him and he’s been caring for you from the start. However skewed that was.

When he’s stopped his babbling, and he’s no longer crying, he still holds you tight, whispering apologies against the dampness of your shirt. You meet his height, gently pulling his arms away from you and you kneel, too. He blinks away the last of his tears and you catch them with your thumbs just under his red-rimmed eyes.

He’s no longer looking through you, one of his hands covers yours, his lips brushing delicately against your wrist when he turns his head; your heart flutters. He whispers something you didn’t catch, he closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, he repeats: “You can leave if you want.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Will you stay, then?” He looks away when he asks, pressing his fingers against your palm in a way that tickles and distracts, and studies the lines of them quietly. “Stay here with me.”

There’s something like hope in his eyes that glints against the shadows that linger, shining like flecks gold in cracked rock. You nod slowly and he smiles easily, all teeth and heart shaped and his hand is warm when he cups your cheek with the one that isn’t holding yours.

“Your dream...” He says softly, and later you’d find that it troubled him the most; he would never do something like that – not to you. “I’m sorry.”

You store the fact that he knows about it at the back of your mind for later – later when he’s not pressing the pad of his thumb against the fullness of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. You’ve learnt to ebb and flow with him, a boat on his tide, taking the shift of his mood in stride.

There’s something in his eyes now that has nothing to do with how you found him earlier, something that makes you follow his lead, leaning in when he pulls you towards him. Deja vu accompanies the way he shifts, easing back and turning you as he does, leaning against a dresser you hadn’t noticed. He keeps his eyes locked with yours, directing your leg over his with a hand, and he settles you on his lap.

“This feels familiar.” He giggles, lifting his head to nose along your jaw and you’re reminded that he knows. Heat flares at the back of your neck and races up your ears, and when you push against his shoulders, he steadies and keeps you still with his hands on the top of your thighs and a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m teasing.” He gives a crooked smile, tilting his head, “It’s cute that you think it’ll play out that way.”

“Isn’t it, though?” You blurt out, embarrassment forgotten. Honestly, the only thing that’s changed is the room, and when Hoseok pauses you smirk.

He smirks right back, something dangerous, and he chuckles, “Keep talking back. I like that.”

His hand slides up your back, and you don’t suppress the shiver that follows after it. The air grows heavy, charged with unspoken tension. You’re vaguely aware of your heart pounding, the rhythm matching the erratic thrum of your blood. He leaves a kiss where your jaw meets your neck, sucking lightly on the spot.

“Hoseok...” You start to say his name, but it comes out as a breathless whisper. You’re not sure what you intended to say, but the words get caught in your throat.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough with desire and darker still. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to form words.

With a low growl, he takes your silence as an invitation, his fingers tangle in your hair, and he tilts your head down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss you gasp into. It quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, as if he’s trying to devour your very soul. His other hand finds your hip, squeezing possessively.

You’re lost in the sensation, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours. The world has narrowed to the two of you, to this moment.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and he takes that as a cue, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that sets your entire being ablaze.

His touch ignites a fire within you, consuming your senses and leaving you breathless, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

He pulls away slowly and you chase, he smirks against your kiss, and when he lifts his hips you feel the press of his arousal. His kisses trail, ghosting along your jaw, his tongue warm where your pulse thrums. He directs the shifts of your hips, grinding you down against clothed erection with a curse growled against your skin.

You follow the light tug of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back and to the side to give him more room to work. He hums appreciatively around your skin between his teeth and you hiss softly at the sting of the pull.

“So good for me.” He whispers when he pulls away. His fingers tap at your hip before he wraps his arm around, bracing the other against the dresser behind and stands easily.

A startled squeak leaves you, wrapping your arms around his neck even though he’s holding you steady. He reaches the bed in two strides, and drops you there, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

You bounce a bit amongst the soft sheets with a soft giggle before you settle. His index finger curls beneath your chin and tilts, thumb brushing along your bottom lip again, “Ah.”

You comply easily, and then his thumb is pressing against your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth and he hums when you wrap your lips around the digit. There’s a tick of his brow and the dull glint of his teeth when he smiles in the dim light of the singular lamp, and a darkness in his eyes that doesn’t scare you.

He tests the boundaries of what you’d allow, sliding his thumb along your tongue. His palm lays flat against your cheek, thumb reaching far until you feel the lurch of your stomach and pull back with a gasp.

He coos softly, leaning down just as he slips his finger out of your mouth to capture your lips in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. He nudges you back softly, large hands sneaking their way under your tee to reach your skin, desperate in a way that makes you think he’d die if he doesn’t.

He stops just shy of the undersides of your breasts, pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breaths are shallow, he whispers your name, “I can get intense.”

“I know.”

“I could hurt you.”

“I know.”

He studies you for a moment, then, tugs gently on the hem of your tee-shirt, “Up.”

As you shift to sit, you’re not surprised to find you aren’t wearing anything underneath the tee-shirt and cotton shorts he’s put you in; dressing you properly must’ve been the last thing on his mind.

Hoseok stands back to shed his coat, dropping it carelessly on the floor. There’s a metallic clink as the buckle of his belt jingles, and the sound of it racing through the loops of his pants.

You – oddly – don’t feel ashamed under his gaze that sets a heat wherever it settles as he roams over your exposed upper half. Putting your weight on your hands, you lean back, watching Hoseok roll the long sleeves of his tee-shirt up his forearms.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he closes the distance again, climbing into the bed on his knees and coming up until they’re on either side of your thighs. Silently he trails a finger down the slope of your neck, it tickles across your collarbone and his fingers spread and palms your left breast.

Your breath hitches and he chuckles, and you know very well he could feel the shifting of your thighs as you rub them together seeking friction. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched you like this, all of Hoseok’s teasing isn’t doing you much good.

His lips meet yours, licking into your mouth, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. His fingers lightly pinch at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand roams, goosebumps following it’s path down your side and stops where his fingers tease the band of your shorts.

Your hips buck as you whine and Hoseok pulls away, eyelids heavy, pupils all but gone, panting softly; looking drunk on you.

He smiles and makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. “Patience little dove.” He tuts, tilting his head at you, “I’ll give you what you need.”

He trails his fingers along the edges of your shorts before pulling them down and off, leaving you exposed to his touch. His hair tickles where it drags against your sensitive skin as he moves downward. He avoids where you need him most entirely and you squirm, a soft whine building in your chest.

He kisses and licks his way up your thighs, teasing you until you’re begging. Gently, he spreads your legs, kissing the inner thigh of your right before he rests it over his shoulder, pushing your other up and holding it there with a palm.

His dark gaze meets yours and you can’t hold it when he licks a hot stripe from your weeping entrance to your clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his hair, back arching when his responding growl vibrates against your core.

With each stroke of his tongue, Hoseok explores every inch of your most sensitive areas. He laps at your clit, drawing out a series of gasps and moans that fill the room. You’re shaking and swearing as he eats you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling around your clit in figure eights and then dipping into you. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands curl into the sheets, fingers digging in as if to anchor yourself. You’re lost in the sensations, a whirlwind of pleasure that leaves you breathless. And you wonder, briefly, if this was just something he was good at or something he had to hone.

His arm draping over your hips was the only warning you got before his lips wraps around your clit and sucks. Your back arches with a pitched moan and he slips a finger into your heat, and groans when you clench and gasp his name.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your vulnerability. Yet, paradoxically, it’s this vulnerability that fuels your desire, pushing you to new heights. You’re a wild thing now, driven by pure, primal need.

From between your legs, Hoseok watches your reactions, a dark-haired god feasting on your pleasure. His gaze is intense, a silent promise that he’ll take you to the edge. He adds another finger and they curl against your g-spot and it brings about your undoing.

If your arousal was a fire, Hoseok just threw gasoline on it just to watch it explode. He keeps hips lips around your clit as it throbs, fingers dragging along your fluttering walls and your eyes squeeze shut. You could barely breathe, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you gasp his name.

“Good girl.” Hoseok praises, lips brushing your clit and your thighs tremble. He rubs his hand gently over your stomach while you come down, and evilly, bites your thigh with a dark chuckle.

“Hoseok...” you whine as he laves his tongue over the stinging spot.

“Hm?” He smiles, “Want more, little dove?”

You almost cry as he changes course, pulling away entirely, and makes it clear he revel in your suffering when he coos mockingly, standing now.

He slowly unbuttons his pants, slowly pulls his legs out of them one after the other, smirking at you all the while. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the strain his cock against his black boxer briefs and you don’t miss the near inaudible sigh of relief from Hoseok at the change in pressure.

He crooks a finger at you, and shuffles closer as you do. He stands at the edge of the bed, and he sinks his fingers into your hair, brushing it back as you look up at him. He looks down his nose at  you, and raises a brow, “Be a good girl now, dove. Or do I have to teach you?”

“I know how to suck cock you ass.”

Hoseok shrugs, a playful smile shifting his expression as he gently squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, “Is all that little mouth good for talking back to me?”

“You said you like that.” You say defiantly.

Hoseok hums, “Have your fun then,” He says, smiling, “Won’t be able to say much in a bit, anyway.” He tugs on your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to signal his impatience.

Funny, he was preaching patience is a virtue a while ago.

You scoff softly, holding your weight with a hand and tugging his boxers down with the other. His cock springs out, long and thick enough that you wonder if it would fit anywhere. It’s flushed red at the tip and leaking pre that beads and dribbles down the underside, and maybe if you focus enough you could just about see the throb of the vein that runs along side. A breath hisses through Hoseok’s teeth when you wrap your fingers around him, his eyes shut and his head tilts back.

Your eyes meet his when you slowly drag your hand down the length of his shaft, teasing him like he did you; turnabout is fair play. His hold in your hair tightens just a bit, eyes narrowing.

“Dangerous game you’re trying to start.” He murmurs, “I don’t take well t – fuck.” He hisses, the word tapering off into a low groan as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

The slightly salty taste of him bursts against your tongue and you hum, twisting your wrist as you bring your hand back up to meet your mouth and follow it down again. The saliva that escapes from the corners of your mouth helps with the glide.

You take a breath through your nose and relax your jaw, taking him in until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Hoseok’s thighs tense and a stuttered breath leaves him.

“Easy there.” He soothingly runs his fingers through your hair, though it does nothing for the involuntary tears springing at your waterline. You decide to play it safe, not taking more than you can handle. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, letting you set your own pace, whispering swears and your praises.

Heat pools in your gut as your head bobs back and forth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, swirling around the head every time you pull back.

Slick with spit, your hand strokes the rest of him, and his groans vibrate in your ears. His fingers tighten in your hair, and it’s the only time he directs; holding you still.

“Take a deep breath for me, dove.” You do as told, and as you inhale, Hoseok slowly pushes forward, his cock reaching the back of your throat in no time at all. He groans above you, cock throbbing against your tongue, “There you go.”

He holds you there for a moment, only easing you back when your throat tightens with the need for air. He lets you breathe for a bit before he’s going again, thrusting slowly, once, twice and then holding you still. He keeps you there, cock throbbing at the back of your throat, your nose pressed against the neatly trimmed hair at the base.

When you gag he pulls you back, barely letting you breathe before he’s leaning down to kiss you, catching the string of drool that hangs from your bottom lip with his tongue. He lets you catch your breath, stepping back to pull his tee-shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the full expanse of his lithe frame.

Sitting back on your heels, breath a little ragged, you admire the sculpted lines of his body. Every movement is fluid and graceful, his muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin.

His chest is defined, the faintest sheen of sweat highlighting each ripple of muscle. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders, the way they flex as he moves. There’s a raw, primal energy about him, but it’s tempered by a quiet confidence.

Hoseok comes back to you quickly, cupping your cheek and kissing you fervently, moving with you as you shift back, cock smearing pre-cum along your inner thighs as he slots his narrow hips between them. He nibbles at your bottom lip, fingers sliding through your slick folds before the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

For a quiet moment he stares then, kisses you tenderly as he breeches. It’s an easy glide, but it stings none the less, and you give an appreciative squeeze to his wrist when he goes slow. The stretch is bearable and soon the slight discomfort dissipates when he bottoms out and gives you a moment.

“Good?” he breathes out, hips pressed flush against yours. The same breath sucked back through his teeth when your walls tightens around him, his cock throbs in response and you keen. He grinds his hips down, pelvis pressing against your swollen clit and the sensation is almost too much and not nearly enough.

He’s close enough that you can run your tongue along his collarbone  and feel him shiver. Leave your own marks there with your teeth and revel in the growl that rumbles in his chest.

He hooks an arm at the back of your knee, pressing it against your chest as he raises and balances his weight. You’re spread open for him, his cock sinks deeper, rubbing against a spot that makes your eyes roll back. He gives shallow thrusts at first, pressing kisses and bruises wherever he could reach.

“Fuck.” Hoseok hisses between his teeth, hips still, palm against your cheek, and he watches you with something other than lust in his eyes. Something gentle as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, such a good girl. Taking everything I give you.”

His hips snap forward and you cry out, hands gripping the sheets between them at his sinful groan. He keeps a relentless pace, and you could feel him everywhere. His fingers on your skin, leaving you cold and hot at the same time, gripping your hips so tightly you fear they’ll bruise. It would simply add to the ones he’s already placed, scattered on your neck and chest like mismatched constellations in a dark sky.

He brings your hands up above your head, holding them there, together with his free one.

“You’re so good to me, Dove. And all mine, hm? Say it.” He grunts, “Say you belong to me, promise me that you’ll stay here with me.” He says this softly, tenderly, grinding his hips against yours in slow movements, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. I promise.” You babble, hips moving against his on their own accord. “I’ll stay. I promise. Please.”

Hoseok groans at your words, leaning down to capture your lips with his, tongue finding yours with ease. “That’s right. You’re mine. Fuck. All mine. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Hoseok.”

He curses under his breath, straightening his form and brings his hands down to grip your hips tight, and sets a brutal pace. Head tilting back to reveal the marks you left on him, groaning before he looks back down at you, “Close? Hm? You’re squeezing so tight.” His words taunt, as did the smirk on his pretty pink lips, “Make a mess for me, Dove. Cum all over my cock. That’s it, good girl.”

White lights dance behind your tightly shut eyelids, a ringing in your ears. And Hoseok was fucking you through it, fast and hard, his praises a rumble in his chest. You lay there boneless, taking what he gave with a haze over your mind, a weak moan leaving your parted lips when his hand met your throat. Your heart spikes for another reason entirely, but he doesn’t squeeze. Fingers just there, barely any pressure, as he chased his own end, cock kissing your cervix with each trust, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach.

His thumb finds your clit and you jolt, catching his sinister smirk that curled his lips. “There’s no going back after this, baby. Fuck – you’re mine, understand?” You can feel him throbbing, feel the way his hips stutter on the draw back, he was close and you wanted nothing more than him marking you, claiming you in this way. When your eyes meet his, a shiver goes through you.

He comes undone with a low groan, hips flushed with your own, still thrusting through it, and you can see them with your own eyes, as he shudders and stills. His wings uncurl, dark feathers, darker than anything you’ve ever seen, dipped in silver, spreads out behind him and flutters. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, gentle, barely there and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your eyelids were heavy, and sleepily, you reach out to brush your fingers through the feathers that encased your forms. Hoseok stiffens before your fingers reach them, and chuckles, nipping softly at the flesh of your neck, “Go ahead, Dove.”

He relaxes, when your fingers touch, and you feel him shudder, groaning softly against your neck. They’re soft, your fingers disappearing in the inky blackness of them. With a final brush of his lips against your neck, Hoseok pulls back, his wings shimmering away like a mirage and your hand passes through air before lands limply at your side.

He squeezes your hip gently, mindful, and then he’s gone, walking out his room and into the hallway. The light that spills in helps you see a lot better than the dim lamp, and you notice that Hoseok’s bedroom looks much like the rest of his apartment; sleek and dark. There isn’t much to it either, the basics, more utilirian than a comfort space. You wonder if he uses it at all.

Hoseok comes back and gathers your boneless self into his arms. You rest your cheek against his collarbone, the sound of running water reaching your ears when he steps out into the hallway.

The tub is filling, steam rising from the bubbles that form at the top of the disturbed water. It smells like mint and some sort of fruit, and the temperature is just right when he steps into it and lowers you down. He positions you so that your back is against his chest and turns off the water when it’s high enough. You sense that he’s in his head again, not quite here even as he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Feeling okay?” he asks suddenly, tracing a mindless pattern along your arm.

You hum softly, “Yeah. Sore, though.”

“I expected that.” Another kiss, apologetic, against your shoulder. “Also...” Hoseok pauses, “I finished inside you. I didn’t ask. I’m sorry.”

The realisation dawns on you too and you shift a little to look at him, “I don’t mind, but....is that a bad thing?”

There’s a strange half smile on his lips and he lifts a hand to tug softly on one tangled end of your hair, gently sifting his fingers through until he’s satisfied. “It can be, if it takes. But, I’ll get something for it tomorrow.”

You notice that the marks you left along his skin have begun to fade already, and you poke at them with a finger. He heals quickly, you figured. He chuckles softly, taking your hand to press kisses along your finger tips and then to your palm. Your finger brushes over the mole on his upper lip gently and watch him melt.

He studies you for a moment, the same way he did before he left earlier, though, it’s softer now. “Would you like to come with me?”

You brighten, perking up with a nod, “Is that okay?”

Hoseok hums, mischief in his eyes, “If you promise not to run off as soon as you step foot outside.”

You roll your eyes and turn around, and Hoseok pulls you back to him with an arm around your middle. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I know, I was only teasing.” He chuckles.

You’re both quiet for a while, and you simply relax, almost falling asleep against him as the warm water soothes your aching muscles. You aren’t aware that you did, and only wake when Hoseok was just done tucking fresh clean sheets up to your chin. You’re back in his room but you don’t mind, the thought of going back to your own unsettles you right now. You haven’t forgotten your nightmare, and it’s something you’d definitely have to unpack another day.

You wait until he’s crawled in behind you, the warmth of him encasing you gently. His form melds against your back like he belongs there, an arm slipping under your head and the other over your hip. “Hoseok?”

“Yes Dove?”

You worry at your bottom lip, fingers finding his under the covers and they squeeze your own encouragingly. “There’s a friend of mine...I was with her before I met you.”

“I can help her.” He murmurs, and he sounds...sleepy. Today was a lot for him as well, you suppose. “I can get her a job here.”

You shift, turning to face him, he tucks you to him when you settle, chin resting on top of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

You hear the smirk when he answers, “Do you think everything I have magically appeared? I own the hotel.”

“Wha—”

“Shh.” Hoseok squeezes your hip, “Go to sleep.”

Sometime later you’ll realise that Hoseok needed you more than he would admit. When you learn his tells he would help put himself back together with you instead of trying to do it alone.

Sometime later he’d take you to see her. When the wind is cold and the old oak tree reaches it’s bare, spindly arms to the frosted sky. When the day marks yet another year and he lets you put the flowers between the roots. He looks like a shadow against the glittering white, and he tells you he’s okay.

He’d take you to meet his friends at a club on the high-end and you’d would realise that he’s soft only with you and the guy who reminds you of a cat. With the others he’s closed off and friendly in a way that seems a little odd.

You’d see Abigail often and would skirt around how you actually met Hoseok when she’d ask. Anyone would think you’re crazy if you told them.

You spend most of your time at home while Hoseok goes off doing god knows what when he’s not there. It’s something to do with his friends and you never ask.

Then he’s there and everything beyond him and you and the space you both occupy doesn’t matter. And it’s kind of easy to forget where it all started – it’d been so long since you’d wondered where you were going to get anything to help you get by.

He’s made of cracks and splintered glass but he let you sink into the spaces, filled the pieces with you and settled. There would always be cracks in the glass that he’s made of, and there would always be a post in his fence that he needs to hammered in to fix. Despite the unconventional way you’d both started, the abnormality of his existence, you’d be there.

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