#just like...... not the cycles man ........... it was inevitable most likely.... but it's so disappointing and heartbreaking to see

[moe-broey]

My mental illenss. Cured 👍

[nightdiary]

first dates with enhypen

word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!

✧ heeseung - tinder date

you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.

there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.

the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.

you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.

then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.

as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.

you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.

you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.

“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”

“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”

snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.

but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.

“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.

as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”

your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.

as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.

you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”

stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.

with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.

maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.

✧ jay - rollerskating rink

for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.

you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.

“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”

your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.

“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”

“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.

“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”

the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.

“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”

jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.

“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.

as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.

“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.

jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.

snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”

✧ jake - bowling

“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 

“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”

“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”

but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.

“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”

jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.

unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.

“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.

“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”

jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.

you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.

but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.

“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”

the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”

✧ sunghoon - laser tag

your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.

the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.

surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.

in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.

taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.

your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.

“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”

“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.

looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.

sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.

“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.

“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”

there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.

so that’s what you do.

“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.

seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.

sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.

“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.

“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.

“victory kiss?”

✧ sunoo - picnic

ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.

they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.

your hands itch to reach out and trace them.

“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.�� sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.

you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.

“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”

"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”

“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.

“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”

groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.

“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”

sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.

“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”

reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”

sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.

your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.

he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–

“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”

pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.

“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."

✧ jungwon - boba place

in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.

“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”

jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.

“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.

you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”

jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.

“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”

you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”

jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”

“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.

still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”

“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”

you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.

jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”

you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.

“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”

jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.

“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."

“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.

“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”

“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.

jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”

✧ niki - arcade

“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.

the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.

“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.

the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.

“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.

you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.

“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”

“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.

with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.

“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.

“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 

the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.

“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”

staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”

the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”

laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.

you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.

“so– fried chicken?”

[bloody-wonder]

How do you find new books to read? Most people I ask say booktok, which sorry if I'm wrong but I assumed you wouldn't use, and I haven't had good results from trying booktok.

good question!

no i don't use booktok or tiktok in general. in fact, i have a very old man yells at cloud attitude towards it lol. i do watch lots of booktube tho and get some recs from there, however it's important to remember: many people are hyping up a book >> probably not a good rec🙅‍♀️ "if so many people like it i might like it too" that's the fomo devil talking! one booktuber is swearing by a book you have never heard of and gushing about it in their every other video >> probably a good rec👍that's how i came across the aurelian cycle and the winnowing flame. idk maybe it works on booktok the same way if you follow the right people but. i don't trust that app😅

other recs i get from my trusted mutuals on tumblr bc these are people who enjoy the same type of sophisticated literature as i do so when one of them mentions they read and liked a book my interest is peaked. when they constantly mention it it has the same effect as when your mutual reblogs three gifsets of a show - now you just have to watch it bc you know from previous experience you will likely enjoy it. i think i first heard of doctrine of labyrinths in worldhoppers' underrated fantasy video but it would've sat on my goodreads tbr forlornly till the end of time had i not found out that it's popular with the lymond crowd - no rec is more reliable than that😌

finally, good book recs tend to come from obscure rec lists i perused on tumblr or on goodreads or on some old-fashioned book blog several years ago, added them to my tbr and then forgot. but bc i like to update my tbr regularly i go through the 1000+ books i have on goodreads each year in order to decide if i want to move them up my priority list and inevitably discover some hidden gems i scavenged this way back when i was getting back into reading. for example, i found the dreamhealers series and the memoirs of lady trent on the aroace characters database and i found nino cipri's litenverse on one of the numerous queer sff rec lists here on tumblr.

generally tho there is no perfect source of book recs that works all the time. understanding your own tastes and choosing books accordingly is a skill you develop by trial and error and no matter how good you get at curating your reading many books you pick up will likely disappoint you nonetheless🤷‍♀️

[solarwynd]

When armys used to talk about leftovers I used to roll my eyes because not liking a group when they change their musical direction is the most common thing just as I found myself annoyed by their hatred for multis - do you expect everyone to not listen to or to hate every other musical act just because they stan BTS?

However as someone who used to hardcore stan JK, I finally get the leftover part a little. I talk about him a little too much and it's because I used to stan him. I think its so much disappointing when someone you used to like becomes a poster boy of selling out. But I'm going to try to make a conscious effort to stop. It's just a bunch of negativity for no reason. Unfortunately pjms talk about JK a lot - mostly because jjks talk about Jimin - and the whole cycle keeps running. To some extent I appreciate the spite-inspo they provide pjms but at a certain point I want to open my twitter tl and not see fight after fight with every fandom on twitter and a bunch of ratkooks and maidkooks or pigmins or horsie or all that bs being thrown around. I've been off twitter for a week because of this (also to catch up with my assignments) and coming back, things are worse than ever.

I don't know what the solution is but things seem more exhausting than fun sometimes. I need some Jimin content stat 😔

Armys hatred of multis wasn’t because they liked other groups it was because multis 9/10 are fake and constantly threw BTS under the bus in defense of whichever other group they stanned. And in the case If they dropped BTS completely, they’d always immediately start to shit talk BTS the moment they unstan. (Even more embarrassing when you’d pull up old tweets to see that they were professing their love for BTS or specific members not even 3 months earlier sometimes) That’s where that term came from and it’s always been fitting. The bulk of these groups in kpop wouldn’t have the fanbases they have now without the fans BTS brought in. Especially 4th gen cause 80% of them are ex armys that’s just the truth. Me personally, I had no issue with anyone unstanning BTS when I was an army if their music started to not be to their taste. That’s understandable. But to unstan then go pick a group like NCT, SKZ or BP and want to talk about quality of music or talent? Yes, I will look at you dumb cause you’re not serious.

I will say that armys do give western multis a lot more leniency because they do hold western acts to a more superior standard than kpop groups. Which is ironic because those same western multis would in turn do the very same thing armys would call kpop multis out on and then they’d even add in a hint of xenophobia and condescension ontop of that too. So it really was all just one mess of a circle.

If PJMS weren’t as productive as they are in supporting Jimin, I’d be 10x more annoyed with them. They do talk about JK a lot but like you said it’s because jjks can’t mind their business. It’s also because how JK operates almost directly correlates to how jimin gets treated so it’s inevitable. Outside of that specific type of name calling (which irks me to no end on all accounts cause the majority of the people who are doing it are grown.) It’s the constant screenshooting and going back and forth that bugs me. Like I get receipt keeping cause I do it. But then you’ll have some pjms who will literally camp on the worst jjk anti accounts like Muri for a screenshot a couple minutes after that man posts some nasty tweet about jimin. And it’s like why? Why is he not blocked for you? What will he or any jimin anti really have to say that would be new or any different from him hurling the same pig insults, SH drags or reposting that same encore vid?

I don’t think the dynamic pjms have with jjks will ever change, so the best thing to do if you’re more on twitter is just stay in your own corner or continue to take breaks. Jimin hasn’t dropped music yet so you’re not really missing anything anyway.

[splendidnothings]

Jeez. I’m really sorry you feel that way, not being able to open yourself to a character/mythos you enjoy anymore for fear of inevitable disappointment.

If it helps, I really do think atsv will pleasantly surprise you. Everything the actual crew says about the movie puts emphasis on the conflict within Miles’ growth as a superhero and as a son. It’s really the mainstream internet audience that latch onto the memes and their spidey glup-shittos

I don't think it's a fear of disappointment per se because I've been pretty disappointed in the direction of Spider-Man comics for a while now lol. It's more that so many bad runs have been strung together now that even when new writers are brought in they inevitably pull from those bad characterizations. It becomes a cycle where I watch a character I no longer recognize become increasingly entrenched in the mythos with no realistic way back to the storytelling I love. So, I'm just tired. I'll always love Spider-Man. I'll always have things to say about him. And I'll always believe Peter Parker is the most complex, nuanced, and fully realized character ever put to page, but I don't think any new Spider-Man comics can truly be /for me/ anymore.

Re: atsv I'm sure the movie will be good! but it's hard for me to overlook the marketing which, no matter what the cast/crew has said, has leaned extremely gimmicky. But more than that, I am just not really interested in another multiverse storyline in lieu of a movie that could have been solely focused on Miles as The Spider-Man rather than one Spider-Man of many (even if he is the one to save the day in the end). I think that a movie centered around "Miles' growth as a superhero and as a son" could only be benefitted by a solo outing as well. And I can't help but point out how previous Spider-Man franchises have all focused solely on Peter (NWH notwithstanding) whereas Miles, with only two movies to his name, have both been multiverse-centric (ATSV even more so than the ITSV) which means no matter how you slice it Miles will receive less focus and screentime than he would have otherwise had as the only Spider-Man. And don't get me wrong, I think it was a great concept for ITSV to do what it did as a way of introducing audiences to a new Spider-Man while still bringing familiar aspects the public recognizes. But, I do not believe the same reasoning can or should be used for Miles' second installment; even if ATSV proves itself great and brings home another well-deserved Oscar.

Also, and this bit has nothing to do with the merits of the movie and is just me being a /super/ Spider-Man snob, but the main conflict of the movie, as presented in the trailer, being a "choice between saving one person [or] every world" sorry it's just not a compelling Spider-Man conflict to me when (1) most all established spider-people should be striving to do both with no room for compromise like.... that is literally the entire ResponsibilityTM deal and I don't know why we have to rehash this lesson again or that an entire multiverse cast of spider-people need Miles to remind them of it. and (2) ATSV lowkey feels so much like a Fantastic Four Council of Reeds-esque movie plot and I'm sick of seeing every single Marvel super-hero franchise cribbing from them lol

[thewayshedreamed]

“I’m sorry I’m not enough for you.”

For Nessian please!!

Congrats on 800 followers!!

You're the first prompt I received, Bby Sayo. And you went with Nessian angst. I hope you're happy!

822 words.

—

The bag was way too small. Nesta knew it, but she pressed on nonetheless. Time was of the essence, and she couldn't risk Cassian coming in to see her shoving as much of her shit as possible into the pathetic duffel. If he caught her at a vulnerable enough time, she doubted she would have the nerve to go through with her plan.

Cassian argued they were going through growing pains, that they would come out of this rough patch stronger than ever. Nesta had never been gifted in seeing her glass as half-full, and while his words bred hope, it was always short-lived. The man would give the entirety of himself to make this work with her, and his willingness to put eternal faith in their relationship was terrifying.

Nesta screwed shit up consistently. Hell, she'd succeeded in pushing her biological family away. To inevitably disappoint a man like Cassian, to give him the illusion of happiness for too long, made her chest constrict with emotion. It was a curse to love so completely and be so inept.

The zipper on her bag was stretched beyond its capacity, but Nesta wouldn't relent. The sooner she got her shit together, the sooner she could do the right thing.

"Piece of shit," she muttered angrily at the bag. It didn't help.

It was worth noting that Nesta had tried. She's pushed herself through tough conversations with Cassian about her needs. When he'd expressed his own, she was quick to assure him that she was okay with him meeting those needs, even if it didn't involve her all the time. For example, he was at dinner with Morrigan, Rhysand, and Azriel. He respected her nature as an introvert and didn't pressure her to go with him. He was always sure to invite her, but all that did was ensure she disappointed him time and time again. Despite that, she knew him to be a social creature and needed, more than anything, for him to do the things that made him happy. The Cauldron knew she wasn't very good at it.

That compromise had gone well, but the added layer of all the fighting actively worked against them. Most of the arguments were over petty grievances, while others were near-implosions rooted in weeks of honeyed words and suppressed emotions.

Nesta muttered another curse when she heard the front door to their apartment open, then close. Cassian walked his six balanced steps to the bowl where they kept their keys, and he continued his path into the apartment. Her hands scrambled frantically with her bag, but it was of no use. He'd arrived at their room, his broad shoulder leaning against the doorframe. She had looked up just in time to see his lips come together in a grim line.

"I brought you dinner. It's on the counter."

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she berated them silently for their betrayal. "I'm not hungry, but thank you. You could have it for lunch tomorrow."

"I bought it for you," he replied, his tone as neutral as she'd ever heard it. "What's going on? Why are you wrestling with that duffel bag?"

The question was innocuous, but the direct delivery hit a nerve in the very open wound that was her heart. Damning it all to hell, she decided to leave it agape and threw the bag over her shoulder.

"Cassian," she whispered, looking anywhere but at him. "I was hoping you wouldn't have to see me."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

"I see that. Did you have a weekend planned? I would have stayed home from dinner to spend time with you if I knew you would be out of town."

Damn him for saying the best things at the worst times.

"No," she choked, swallowing her tears. "This isn't working. I'll see about the rest of my things later."

Understanding cycled with raw emotion across Cassian's face. He looked to be in a state of shock, his eyes starting absently in front of him until she snapped into action. He walked her toward the door, pausing just long enough to zip her bag closed. Nesta pretended she hadn't seen the silver lining his eyes when he'd passed it back to her. She hadn't been sure how he would react, but she wished he would yell or something.

Without a word, Nesta slipped across the threshold for the last time as a resident of their shared apartment. She'd made it almost to the stairs when she heard his rough voice.

"Nesta?"

It was a bad idea to turn around. She did it anyway, but words didn't come.

"I tried, I—" Cassian ran his hand roughly through his hair. His voice broke on his parting words. "I'm sorry I'm not enough for you."

—

Follower Celebration Post (Prompts) • Send me a prompt!

[dalekofchaos]

What would you say are the biggest mistakes Mass Effect 3 made?

Okay this is going to be a long one, but these would be the biggest mistakes ME3 ever made in my opinion

Choosing Cerberus over The Reapers. The thing that annoyed me most about ME3 is the fact that Harbinger is not the main threat. The Illusive Man is. Harbinger has been built up as the big bad since ME2. "YOU HAVE FAILED. WE WILL FIND ANOTHER WAY." He says as he discards the Collectors. Then his speech to Shepard as the base blows up. "Human, you've changed nothing. Your species has the attention of those infinitely your greater. That which you know as Reapers are your salvation through destruction. You will surrender your potential against the growing void. We return, and you will rise. We are the harbinger of your perfection. We will bring your species into harmony with our own. Your species will be raised to a new existence. We are the beginning, you will be the end. Prepare for our domination. Prepare for our coming." Then in Arrival, he came pretty damn close to unleashing quick subjugation and harvest upon an unprepared galaxy. Upon Shepard foiling his plans. "Shepard. You have become an annoyance. You fight against inevitability. Dust struggling against cosmic winds. This seems a victory to you. A star system sacrificed. But even now, your greatest civilizations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us. Know this as you die in vain: Your time will come. Your species will fall. Prepare yourselves for the Arrival." The perfect final villain right? Unfortunately, Cerberus was more focused on than The Reapers. My problem with Cerberus and no Harbinger is Too many Cerberus, too few Reaper forces in plot. We fight Cerberus more often than the reapers. Hardly any boss fight and the one with Reaper Destroyer on Rannoch was more an interactive movie than fight. During the Horizon mission in Mass Effect 2, Harbinger was solidified as the Big Bad. It was menacing and ominous, with just the right amount of annoying. It taunted us throughout the game, telling us how insignificant we were, and how our actions were pointless. It was willing to posses drones through the Collector General to fight us personally, and when we killed the host, it tossed them aside. Harbinger even gave the typical “You haven’t seen the last of me!” villain rant. It made any fire fight frustrating, and that made me want to kill it even more; I hated Harbinger. Many games fail to do that. Harbinger was an enemy which I looked forward to defeating. I had the desire to annihilate. In Mass Effect 3, I got a codex entry and a cameo. Harbinger just swoops in at the last second and blows my friends and I to hell(and lets the Normandy save them), then flies off. Personally, I would have loved to hear Harbinger’s menacing monologue, it drove me on. I would have felt a deeper motivation to take the fight back to Earth if it told me how much destruction the Reapers were causing, how many lives were lost. I felt cheated when I got to the final mission, only to suddenly realize it was largely absent from the game. Harbinger has been replaced. Replaced by the Illusive Man and Kai Leng. The former is an old acquaintance, albeit one now controlled by the Reapers. The latter is a space ninja from a terrible book. What would've been amazing is if Harbinger IS the Catalyst. Harbinger taunts and haunts Shepard throughout the game He uses the memory of that child to haunt Shepard as a symbol of humanity lost. After Shepard activates the Crucible. Harbinger appears. He explains to why and how The Reapers were made. the AI Leviathan created to solve the equation is Harbinger all along, Harbinger manipulated The Leviathan into giving it Reaper form and birth at first it did what it commanded and what they asked of it was to look at the dark energy building up which back then was only an anomaly that Leviathan was concerned with but then the first harvest began and Harbinger and The Reapers were born. Funny enough, Leviathan reminds me so much of FMA:Brotherhood. The Intelligence tricked Leviathan to create the Reaper is very similar to how the Dwarf in the flask became Father. So what I think should have happened is it would've been revealed that Harbinger is the AI that convinced the Leviathan that harvest was the only way to survive and justifies the harvests not because organics and synthetics can't coexist, but because of the dark matter crisis. Throughout the game we would have more confrontations with Harbinger. Have him "ASSUME CONTROL" during fights. Give us a voiced confrontation between Shepard and Harbinger. Make it clear that Harbinger chose The Illusive Man and convinced him of together they could uplift and empower humanity over the lesser races. The Illusive Man is to Harbinger, as what Saren was for Soverign. Then the Crucible will grant us the choice to Destroy or Control The Reapers or Harvest this cycle to survive the Dark Matter crisis. You could either. Destroy Harbinger and The Reapers, while the united races would discover a way to stop the dark matter problem. Give in to Harbinger to harvest humanity to save the galaxy. Control The Reapers to stop the harvesting and to work together to stop the dark matter crisis.

Choosing to have a smaller crew than ME2 and focusing solely on the ME1 characters and screwing over or ignoring the ME2 crew, especially romancing Jack, Miranda and Thane. If it were up to me, this is what my ideal ME3 line up would be Ashley/Kaidan EDI Garrus Liara Tali Javik Jack Miranda Thane(EA forgot about him and simply chose to kill him off, I think Thane could’ve rejoined the crew and even had a mission where we find a cure for Thane and Kolyat) Grunt Mordin(you'll see how later) Legion(You'll see later) Balak or any Batarian Squadmember. Ideally it would be someone who survived the Bahak system or even a Batarian freedom fighter who puts his people’s survival over the pride and prejudices of the Hegemony. His sole goal is to liberate Khar'shan and save his people. But for a more memorable person, Balak would be the squad member. I would make killing Balak not an option. The last high ranking officer in the Hegemony. Instead of causing deaths on the Citadel, he seeks Shepard out. It’s an enemy of my enemy is my friend. Over time, Balak would show remorse for his past actions as a terrorist and for the Hegemony’s past. Shepard and Balak learns to overcome their differences and see each other as friend and works together to destroy the Reapers. We would get a Priority Khar’shan where we could liberate the planet and the Batarians would be in a fighting force.

Keeping James alive. I like James, but he added absolutely nothing to the game. We already had an Alliance character. Ashley Williams/Kaidan Alenko. James should have been the Jenkins/Wilson of the game. He should have died in the crash to take out Eva and Ashley/Kaidan should have been with us from beginning to end. James is a character we barely know. We’ve waited a long ass time to see Ashley/Kaidan and it was downright disappointing that neither Ashley nor Kaidan did not get to interact with Garrus on Priority Palaven and Wrex during Priority S’Urkesh.

Mirandafying Ashley Williams. Mirandafying Ashley Williams for Mass Effect 3 was shallow and unnecessary. Wearing loose and long hair and skimpy clothing? Ashley Williams is a by the books soldier. She would not look like this. She would not grow her hair or let it down like this. I mean, it’s not that they changed her face so much, but they just tried too hard with the makeup, hair and outfit. Ashley didn’t need to be model-sexy and run around in heels and showing cleavage. She was already sexy as hell in her own way. All they needed to do was give her the Alliance Crewmen outfit as her casual look and the Phoenix Armor and the current Alliance type armor she was given in ME3, as well as a unique Spectre armor. It's not just the shallow Mirandafying. It's the fact that Ashley has little to no interactions. Ashley barely has any interactions in the game. Compared to Kaidan, Ashley is not interactable. I don't like that Ashley barely has any interactions and just feels...hollow. Ashley should have crew moments with Joker, Adams, Ashley at the monument mourning those who died with the original Normandy, Liara, Tali and Garrus. Was it so much to ask for simple interactions? And really, Ashley in the first game had a personality, Ashley in ME3 feels hollow.

Choosing Diana Allers over Emily Wong and Khalisah al-Jilani. Emily and Khalisah are two reporters we actually know and respect. They earned their place on the Normandy. Emily reported on crime and traffic controllers. Khalisah gave us hard hitting questions and actually cared about reporting on what the fuck was going on in the galaxy. They earned their place on the Normandy as far as I'm concerned. Compare that to Diana Allers. What has Diana Allers done to deserve a spot on the Normandy? Nothing. They created the Battlespace to make her seem like a hip and cool Alliance News Correspondent. Allers looked, weird and she just comes off as annoying and she's a waste of space on the Normandy when we could've had a whole new or returning squad member. God, I WISH Javik could throw her out the fucking airlock. You had TWO perfectly great reporter characters and you did jackshit for any of them. Just so you could have an excuse to hire Jessica Chobot.

Not letting us see Tali's face on Rannoch. Legendary Edition fixed the mistake by finally showing us Tali's face, but it's still exclusive to Shali romancers. What should have happened was we see Tali's face when she unmasks on Rannoch. If we don't romance her, she unmasks and gives us a smile. If we romance her we see her face and kiss her. Something simple like that. It would've been great to see

Not having the ME2 squad members join in on the Citadel DLC. I mean for fuck's sake, it's like they want us to know "fuck you, ME1 squadmembers only" Again, why? Why wasn’t Jack, Miranda, Grunt, Samara, Jacob, Zaeed and Kasumi not added? If we romanced Jack or Miranda, why didn't they come to save us when we were being hunted? Why not REALLY making it feel like Team Hammerhead by actually adding the ME2 Squad members to the Citadel DLC before the party? There was no reason why you couldn't include the ME2 squad members in the Citadel DLC

Making Cerberus the villains instead of uneasy allies, when The Batarians were the perfect allies for The Reapers. This might just be me but I think Cerberus should have been on our side in ME3 and The Batarians should have been fighting for The Reapers. Makes sense Cerberus has just been a rouge organization doing what the job no matter what the cost(even if the cost is atrocities) and instead of indoctrinating themselves they could of studied it to make themselves immune to indoctrination and The Illusive Man's goal was to use any means necessary in order to destroy The Reapers. I also like the idea that you know you can't trust him, but he does get results. The Council and The Alliance are desperate, so they accept a partnership with Cerberus. The Batarians have always held a grudge against The Alliance, The Council and would have wanted revenge for Bahak/ Viper Nebula. The fact that there are no consequences for what we had to do in Arrival from The Batarians just doesn't make any sense and you'd think this would give The Batarians the motive to turn to The Reapers. Hell in the Terra Nova DLC in Mass Effect 1 it seemed to me that Balak was already indoctrinated and Balak’s revelation of the “Batarian rebellion” makes it seem like they would be the perfect tools for The Reapers. Balak will be the new Saren figure. If you killed Balak, then The Reapers would just bring him back. The first act of war for the Batarians was the destruction of the Viper Nebula, so their retaliation was killing Udina. Prior to the Reaper invasion of Earth, Udina would go to Omega to make peace talks with Aria. The Batarians attack and gain control of Omega, Aria is ousted(but saved by General Petrovsky) and Udina is executed live for the galaxy to see. Because of Udina's execution and Anderson leading the resistance on Earth. The Illusive Man is now the Human Councilor. Miranda and Kai Leng would be squad members. Depending on if you gave TIM the Collector Base or destroyed it, he will either keep you in the dark or help you at every turn. Just think of the Cerberus War Assets Cerberus Scientists General Oleg Petrovsky Collector Base Cerberus Fighters Cerberus Phantoms Cerberus Engineers Project Phoenix We would get a big mission to deal with the Batarians, Priority:Khar'shan. If you do not deal with the Batarians, there will be major casualties. However half of the Batarian forces are not indoctrinated and just want to end the mistakes of their government and live. Balak wants to kill the rebellion of his people. Ironic. Somehow Balak has placed enough bombs on the planet to destroy everyone who is resisting Reaper indoctrination. We can either. Talk Balak out of it. Telling him to resist and fight for your people(which WOULD gain Balak as an ally) or talk Balak into killing himself. Or the true Renegade option is to kill Balak and order a strike that wipes out the Batarian forces, but sacrificing the Batarian Rebellion. By the time we get to Priority Earth everyone is on the same page and united against the true threat, The Reapers. And it is Harbinger who is the final boss

Not having Maelon be there with Mordin in ME3. This isn't really a problem, but I had a thought. If we spared Maelon and kept Maelon's data for the cure. Maelon should have been on board to help Mordin with the cure. If we warn Mordin and Maelon about the sabotage, then Maelon would choose to sacrifice himself to save Mordin. And after that, Mordin would choose to join Shepard's crew.

Legion's "death" is pointless. He....is software. He could easily copy and paste The Reaper code without sacrificing himself in the same manner when he was broadcasting the Reaper signal to all Geth. Or he could've disseminated himself after he made a copy and transfer that copy over to his platform. I just get the feeling that they didn't want to keep Mordin, Thane or Legion alive....for reasons.

[itsclydebitches]

What are your thoughts on Ted Lasso?

I finished season two tonight so I can finally write this very disorganized, but entirely heartfelt Ted Lasso Review!

Two disclaimers:

Spoilers abound, so if someone hasn't watched the show yet (and they should) you might want to skip this.

I know fuck all about sports. If anyone has criticisms and/or praise for how the sports aspects are handled... I will not know what you're talking about. Sorry lol.

So what’s good about Ted Lasso? The entire show.

/end review.

JK, I’m taking this seriously, I swear. Right, so I went into Ted Lasso knowing only “It’s a comedy,” “It’s about soccer,” and “Literally everyone seems to love it.” So I had a pretty vague, but otherwise firm picture of a sitcom-esque situation that would please the majority of watchers. The opening credits immediately tipped me off that this show was far more than a series of (very well-written) jokes and I couldn’t be happier to have my expectations obliterated. (Side note: I'll have to make a separate post sometime about the credits and how/when they change). I came in hoping for “Football coach tries to teach soccer” silly times and I got that ALONGSIDE “Wonderful commentary on toxic masculinity, the influence of fathers, how harmful the sports industry can be, the importance of giving others support so they can finally grow, and how utterly badass friendships of all sorts can be.”

The development of the entire cast is spot on, whether we’re talking about becoming a better person, or becoming the worst version of yourself. Nothing will ever be funnier to me than Roy pulling a constipated face for a solid 30 seconds before yelling “FUCK” because Jamie has finally grown enough to apologize for something, or respectfully voice his disagreement, and Roy has likewise grown enough to recognize what a big step that is for him, so he can’t just punch him in the face like he wants to, and ugh being a mature adult sucks.

Meanwhile, Nate’s journey (so far) has been so well done and so, so tragic. Rather than overcoming his insecurities thanks to Ted’s support, he latched onto him so fiercely that he sees Ted giving attention to anyone else as “abandonment." Instead of hearing the appropriate confident boost that Rebecca offered him—make yourself feel big and powerful in some private place—he twists that into an act of cruelty—spitting, notably at himself through the mirror—and that quickly spiraled into the belief that cruelty is the only way to gain respect. Nate has been sucked into this cycle of gaining enough self-respect to know he deserves more, turning that into wanting everything, not being able to handle life’s inevitable disappointments, and thus becoming furious and pointing fingers even when he does get what he thinks he wants—like with the team successfully using his strategy. Before the game is even complete, he’s saying that they’ll lose and everyone will blame him for that loss, OR that they’ll win and everyone will give Ted the credit. Nothing can please him, largely because the one person he wants to impress, his father, continues to ignore his success and Nate has reached a point where lashing out at everyone else is easier than sitting with the fact maybe he can’t make his father be a better person simply by achieving more. It’s so disheartening to see Nate turn into a man who would air Ted’s mental health struggles to the press just to make himself look better in comparison, but in a “Goddamn this is well written and I can easily see it happening” way. Nate has become Ted’s foil, especially on the pitch, someone who prioritizes (perceived) success over the love, respect, and mental health of his team. Ted, as established in episode one, cares more about the needs of everyone around him than what most assume is success in this sport: winning instead of losing. And he continues to become a better man by realizing that sometimes winning is what others need, whether that’s for practical reasons like not letting their careers go down in flames, or just because they can win and should be encouraged to reach for that. Ted is finding a balance while Nate plunges deeper into a black and white view that's eating him alive.

So the development is stellar (if I get into every character we'll be here forever lol), but so is the humor. I want to write Ted Lasso fic so badly now, but I know in my heart-of-hearts that I don’t have the skill to pull of this witty, pop-culture laden dialogue. Something in particular I love is how the dialogue doesn’t just sit as, you know, polished TV dialogue. The kind of stuff that’s so amazing you’re always thinking in the back of your head, “Yeah, but no one talks like that in real life.” And sure, Ted Lasso inevitably still produces that feeling, but it’s undercut by how often the characters acknowledge their own, verbal sparring. They frequently compliment each other on a smart turn of phrase, drawing attention to the fact that it is smart and worth taking a moment to admire, rather than the joke just sitting there, not commented on, because all people definitely talk like that, yeah? They also frequently mess up. One person will set the other up for that cool phrase and they miss it. Like Higgins’ “I’m Jimmy” while shaking his paper and Ted doesn’t realize he’s supposed to follow up with “Page.” We’ve got this dynamic where everyone is trying to playfully one-up each other. It takes work and it doesn’t always land. This, combined with how much of the dialogue relies on collaborative thinking (like Beard telling Lasso what he’s aiming for), as well as what are clearly long-established inside jokes, makes the whole thing feel natural even though this kind of writing shouldn't feel natural at all. There’s an extra layer of fun there that I really enjoy.

Okay, I’ve ranted for a page and a half now, but I do want to acknowledge some of the cons here too. Season two, while very strong in many respects:

did have some plotlines that fizzled out, most notably the boycott of the team's sponsor. Things were building for so long only to get resolved through a random text message. Sam asks to pull out of a contract, Rebecca is already dealing with the fallout of that, then the whole team comes out with the tape on their shirts, then Sam ACCUSES THE NIGERIAN GOVERNMENT OF CORRUPTION… and then a few episodes later his dad is like, “They stopped killing the environment! Good job👍‍” Don’t get me wrong, I love the conflict itself, but for a show that’s worked so hard to treat its relevant issues respectfully and realistically, this conclusion came entirely out of left field. I was waiting for the inevitable consequence of the boycott and the impact Sam’s press conference would have on his carrier, but nothing ever came of either decision (with the exception of another Nigerian wanting to snatch him up for that notoriety). “And then the environmental devastation whose wealth funds this sport was fixed off screen, yay!” doesn’t feel like it belongs to the same story where, say, Ted unlearns his prejudice about therapy and finally acknowledges his father’s suicide in a deeply heartfelt, relatable scene.

Side note though: cutting between Ted’s suicide story with Rebecca’s cheating story? Inspired. One of the best scenes of both seasons.

Also, sorry for anyone who’s a fan of it, but I cannot get behind Sam and Rebecca. Don’t get me wrong, I���m not some prude who wants my storytelling to be free of any “problematic” content. It’s just that this feels like such an unnecessary move for two characters who, frankly, already have enough going on. (See: Sam’s activism.) As said, Ted Lasso is a show that’s very self-aware. From Roy’s comment that the nice, boring guy Rebecca was dating is “age appropriate,” to her freaking out and framing her texting Sam as “grooming” him, there’s not doubt the show is aware of how messed up it is for the 40-some owner of a soccer team to date her 21yo player. So when they realized they’d been anonymously chatting with each other this whole time, I was here for it as a funny, but somewhat devastating reveal. Rebecca clearly adored talking to someone as sweet as Sam and Sam, as evidenced by both his, “Three dots!” and calling for his haircut, had high hopes for this woman. The awkward humor of their realization combined with the gut-punch of losing that potential partner is the exact kind of emotional mix that has become Ted Lasso’s brand. It's good in that context.

But then?? They ran with it???

Why, why, why, literally why? There was no reason to do that. I could maybe buy this decision at the start of season one when Rebecca was coming off of her divorce and making bad choices left and right, but she’s come so far since then. Why the backslide? Except—and this is the real kicker for me—the show doesn’t treat it like a backslide. Rebecca freaks out when she first realizes she’s been flirting with Sam. Then she spends days talking herself out of what she knows is a bad decision. Then she convinces Sam to keep it quiet because she (again) knows that this isn’t right. Yet when the relationship is finally revealed… it’s treated as any old dalliance for the girls to gossip over. I was legit cringing through the funeral scene when Keeley, Sassy, and Rebecca’s mother were all acting like her dating a guy 20+ years her junior who she has complete power over is no different from the one-night-stands she was having with the hot dude who never wore clothes in the kitchen. I didn’t like Rebecca making that move in the first place, but I thought the show would at least unpack how questionable this is in terms of the power dynamics. It absolutely didn’t. We’ve left them having broken up only because Rebecca wants to work on herself some more and Sam very much implying that he stayed because of her, with every other character flat out ignoring the problems in this relationship. (Here, Ted's silence is the only one I can accept characterization-wise, just because he's established as a) always looking on the bright side of things and b) not someone who gets involved in other's love lives, like with Beard and Jane. But Keeley should absolutely be calling her out.). The show leaned heavily into the iffy nature of the romance and then swerved hard into classic romance tropes. It’s the one part of the show that really left me shaking my head going, “Nah. Toss that whole arc in the bin and replace it with more environmental activism, please.”

Right, this is getting long, so let me end with the biggest criticism of all: NOT NEARLY ENOUGH TRENT CRIMM. Also, I’m sorry, but where is my Trent/Ted plotline? Is this not the kind of rom com(monism) that Ted Lasso deserves? Hey, tumblr: is it queer to be a hard-ass sports reporter who thinks this coach’s existence here is a “fucking joke” and fully plans to write a piece utterly decimating him to the public, only to unwittingly be charmed over Indian food and then, a year later when he’s only gotten the occasional drive-by interaction, throws away his journalistic credibility and rats himself out to be fired all so that this coach would know who did him dirty and he decides to freely tell him all this while waiting for him outside his job in a super sexy wall lean, so focused on looking cool—“the whole vibe”—that he LOCKS HIS KEYS IN HIS CAR? IS THAT MAYBE A LITTLE GAY?

Trent wants to find something “deeper” yeah okay, season three can get on that 😏

Seriously though, I think a romantic plotline—either reciprocated or one-sided on Trent’s part—could actually be in the works. There’s a lot the show has already hinted at to support that as a future development (Trent’s presumed date with the other mustached man, Ted’s whole journey of improving his mental health and discovering who he is post-divorce, the final interaction of season two that comes across as quite flirty in places, the fact that, again, Trent made a HUGE decision that feels like more than just doing right by an acquaintance he “respects,” or even just using this to get out of a job he no longer loves), but I’ll be the first to admit that it’s easy for us fans to see the potential. That doesn’t mean the show will ever capitalize on it. HOWEVER, Ted Lasso has been so good about tackling representation and toxic masculinity that I can’t imagine they’re not aware of the actual, elephant sized criticism in the room: no queer rep. Outside of that moment where Trent puts his hand on another man’s arm, a fan being creepy with Keeley, and a Grindr joke, this massive ensemble cast doesn’t have a single, confirmed queer character in it. Which is ridiculous considering the focus on soccer and the theme of fathers hurting their children. Someone struggling with their sexual identity in the hyper-masculine world of sports and/or grappling with the fact that they’ve disappointed their father by not loving the "right" person is TAILOR MADE for this show. Which is why I think this is one of the rare cases where the fanbase should wait with high hopes, simply because this show has been too self-aware and that conflict is too relevant for us to go the whole series without it being addressed. We might not get any Ted/Trent, but I believe we'll be getting something soon.

Is it frustrating in 2022 to wait 2+ years for that kind of story? Sure, but the show has been excellent outside of one or two hiccups and a part of that excellence is knowing not to pack too much into one season. Season two was the first time we really delved into Ted. Not the endlessly optimistic version of Ted he sometimes hides behind, but the man still haunted by his father’s suicide and trying to do right by his surrogate kids (something that will undoubtedly come up after Nate’s accusation of Ted “abandoning” him. Bullshit or not, that’s going to eat at him). If the show is going to tackle Ted’s sexuality—or even any of the players’ on his team—I think it’s good that it’s happening later in the show, after the initial conflict of “Will this coach make it?” and “Everyone is backstabbing and learning to trust each other.” Now that we’ve settled into this found family, the characters can start growing in new, less obvious ways. We had to work through the inevitable "Jamie becomes less of a dick" and "Ted proves his worth" storytelling before we could get to the more complex "Nate has left them for Richard's team (right after Rebecca told Keeley never to work for him #yikes)" and, potentially, "Ted gets to explore his sexuality now that he's moved on from his wife and is regaining a strong sense of self-worth." Toss in the tidbit that Trent will have a significant role in season three and it honestly doesn't feel as impossible as it otherwise might. I come from old school fandom where we shipped what we liked without worrying about what was canonical, or even what had "evidence" to support it (all hail the crackship!), so know that when I say I think a relationship is possible, that's not my normal approach. I don't toss out, "Oh yeah, we might and should get the ship the fandom loves in canon" very often.

Seriously though, not to end on a joke, but of course I wound up loving Trent.

Me @ me: Hey, this is a huge cast overflowing with amazing characters you’re already attached to. This time can we please focus on one of them rather than some random side character with little screen time?

Also me: I want that one :D

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[stramberryparadice]

SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN #139 - THE IMPOSSIBLE FREEDOM ?

Here is the English translation of the post I wrote here in French.

I apologize in advance for my mistakes, I'm not good in English but I hope that will be understood.

---------------

Shingeki no kyojin is finished. A leading manga of the 21st century has just ended in tears, blood, mourning, disappointment, frustration… and love. So many emotions come to me when I read this final chapter, I needed to express them as clumsily as it is. I’m sure it’s going to get lost in the Internet, but whatever— it is necessary to remove both the joy and the frustration that I feel to pay tribute to Isayama who offered us a work as powerful as it is cursed.

As intense as it is uneven, as perfect as it is imperfect.. like his tragic hero Eren Jäger, who shows us that men are so weak and pitiful in the face of time and the cruelty of the world. How much even if this hero possesses in his hands the power of a God. My analysis will surely be clumsy, I apologize. And I will not fail to point out at the end the bitterness felt on the final development of some characters including that of Misaka Ackerman.

Eren like “CryBaby”

What a slap for the reader to witness such an emotional picture. Yes. Isayama reminds us to what extent Eren isn't a brave knight, not a charismatic hero, not the genocidal demon of this story but a child.. whose weight of Destiny is too heavy to bear. Scan 139 reminds us to what extent we have lost ourselves, just as Eren has in the way, forgetting the very essence of the story that has been told to us from the beginning. It’s not a story of geopolitical warfare, a biological parasite, titanic monsters, a northern deity, or a philosophical-esoteric trip. It's the story of a boy who wants to emancipate himself, to live for himself, tasted of the thirst for adventure, the tranquility of his loved ones but born in a cruel and alienating world that leaves room only for death, abuse of power, betrayal and despair .

A journey where the child becomes an adult at the cost of his or her life. Learning the most painful lesson… To be an adult is to renounce one’s dreams, to bend one’s knee in the face of the servitude of one’s mortal condition, to be content with one’s cage in order to enjoy the little that one can have at one’s disposal, to mourn those who may disappear from one’s life.

A young boy who dreamed only of freedom, surrounded by people who love him. A child whose inspirations, as impulsive, unreasonable and immature as they may be, will push him to his limits. A child who grew up too fast, who could not mourn his mother, aware of her physical and spiritual weakness, who was confronted with the violence of this world which reminded him of his condition of being insignificant, a pawn on the chessboard of the "Way".

A child whose powers worthy of a God then gives him the possibility to realize the unthinkable, almost the absolute fantasy of every Man : to shape a world in his image, to be as free as a bird flying above the clouds without reddish stain to touch the sky. Move forward, Move forward whatever the price… move forward for an illusion of freedom, for an infantile obsession.

And by assuming the role of the wicked “demon” of tales so that the brave knights can free this world from the evil that eats it.

Lost between the present, the past, the future.. time no longer makes sense. Only finality counts, annihilating its titans whatever the price. They have to pay for his mother. They have to pay for his fallen comrades. They must pay for reminding us of our pitiful helplessness as human beings.

But the Demon also has a heart, remorse, feelings, there are people who attach him to this world. Therefore, what to choose?

Divine Freedom or Mortal Love? The impossible equation... Although Eren may have travelled the road in search of the answer, how can freedom and humanity be reconciled? Free your people and protect your loved ones, though imperfect?

______

He will not find the answer— neither by searching the past of the goddess Ymir, not by consulting the other Titans carriers, not by creating the different alternative realities that led to the same observation… only death can free the bird from its cage, only the death of Humanity is able to reconcile the sublime and the hideous. Or rather, a common enemy that will crystallize all their ills. But who would be crazy, brave enough to accept being the victime ?

Like a Christic figure, Eren will assume this role. But not without having to confide his last wishes, his last secrets that can no longer contain… because yes, the demon is limited by his adult condition of 19 years. Yes.. the child has grown up. Recklessness, impulsiveness, daring in the face of death, the omnipotence of the child leaves room for a teenager who is now afraid of dying, who has succumbed to love, who doubts, who is aware of his weakness.

Eren has finally become a man...in pain. He finally accepts his feelings, his weakness in the face of death that awaits him.

He’s not a running child anymore. The plates are only explicit about this. The power of narration.. we come back to the fundamental of this history, which is human psychology. The feelings, the relationships that unite all people between them. Friends or enemies, men or women, child or adult, Eldien or Mahr... Despite our differences, our disagreements, we are all equal and weak in the face of death... but also in the face of the love we can bring to others.

Yes, Eren is a weak hero. Yes, he admits to loving Mikasa. He admits that until the very end, he didn't know how it was going to go. That he was himself a pawn in the divine game of Ymir. Another puppet at the service of a little girl who is also blinded by her duality, by her toxic love for her executioner. One cannot remain insensitive to this remarkable development of the character of Eren whose death was inevitable. For whoever plays with divinities can only lose his humanity, his freedom too. By the ultimate sacrifice of his selfish and human desires finally. Eren alone became the true savior of this world. He will also have kept his promise to his friends, to the beings he loves by offering them last memories through the “Way”.

Selfless Love or True Freedom

As Mikasa said: The world is cruel, but also … Very beautiful.

Whoever sets a glance without hatred on the world, with compassion, with love for his neighbor will be able to claim to touch with the finger this Freedom so sought.. a selfless love, not turned to satisfy one’s own selfish desires.

Because Love, like hate, takes different forms.

Love connecting us to our roots, our family of blood…

Love binding two beings who love each other, desire each other, cherish each other, seek each other….

Love that binds us to his comrades, his battalion, his family of choice, his heart…

Love that life brings to us in all its forms…

Love… this power that is unpredictable and uncontrollable.

And that can become the obsession of a lifetime. It is by becoming an obsession that love becomes as destructive as hatred, and sends us back to our condition as an alienated Man… locked up in his “Path”, in his cage.

It's by demonstrating resilience and self-sacrifice that man can taste freedom. We can find redemption in the love that others have for him, that we also have for him. For a few hours, a few years…

At the cost of a renewal of the cycle of hatred, because man remains selfish, not all are ready to make sacrifices. Therefore, Mikasa and Eren have made the greatest of sacrifices for the survival of their comrades and the world: they give up their chance to be happy together, sacrifice their desire to be together for the rest of humanity. As in tragedies, the main heroes are victims of Destiny, are those who will pay the price so that others can flourish and live. The children have become adults.

Just as Armin is no longer the whiny little boy to protect. Unlike Eren, he managed to learn from his mistakes, grieve, face his own fears, confess his love to the girl he loves. It is finally he who will raise the wounded little boy, who will comfort him.

The frustration

Mikasa is the main character of the story. It's through her that awakening is made, it is through her hand that she closes this long journey. In Eren’s memories, it is always central. It is the key, the final solution.

It's his psychological, his emotional journey that we will follow throughout the manga. Eren is only a complement, the character who crystallizes his goals. In a world where men are “dominant”, the woman must bend her knee, support her prince so that the light shines on him. Isayama knew how to play perfectly on this classic code of narration. Whether one agrees or not with the conclusion of certain female characters, the work often highlights the fact that men are only victims of their passions and obsessions.

-------

Only women seem to emerge victorious in the face of the cruelty of the world : they take up arms (Historia), continue to fight in the face of despair (Mikasa), enjoy life and bring joy around her (Sasha), support other women in their emancipations ( Ymir with Historia) question their education (Gaby) disobey (Annie), go against the “moral” principles to survive (Ymir Frizt who continues to love his executioner), sacrifice for the common good (Hanzi Zoe)… But of course… without also paying the price of sacrifice and making concessions.

Historia bears a child of a man whom she does not seem to like but assumes the role of the mother whom she would have liked to have while assuming the heavy attribute of the office of Queen in a country plagued by nationalist tendencies guided by fear. With Eren’s help, she did not give in to the temptation of self-sacrifice but decided herself who she would save or not, what path she wanted to follow. Her desire was to be a mother, a good mother. Whatever the father, it was an indestructible motherly love that she wanted to offer to a child. The one she never had.

Mikasa agreed to kill Eren because, if she had given him another answer, their life as fugitives would have been but a fleeting dream and Eren’s death was inevitable.

Despite her powerful love for Eren (as addicted as he may be, explained by the power of the Ackermans?), she will break the chains of her servitude by killing her only Love. She is the light. She accomplished the journey of a true heroine by demonstrating resilience, by giving of herself for the world.

She had only eyes for Eren.. was open to others, to show empathy, a desire to continue living for other comrades who are dear to him.

-------

Mikasa also leads the way in Ymir Fritz… you can love a monster, you can be a prisoner of a toxic relationship but you can free yourself from it. One can become free, but the price to pay will be to carry this infinite sadness, this frustration of having been able to live another story if things would have been different. By her kiss, she showed what true Love is.

Although the frustration is present, although we would have liked her to turn the page and rebuild her life, she must also pay the price of her “freedom”, of her “survival”: haunted by the sacrifice of Eren, guardian of her memories, from her grave as if to preserve her existence as long as she can live.

Once again, women show that they are stronger than we think. So Ymir was also able to free himself of his toxic link with the King by making the Titans disappear.

In the image of the bittersweet end of the chapter, which shows us that the disappearance of a monster, of a divine force “responsible” for the horrors, is not the long-awaited salvation.

The vices, the human fears will remain the poison, preventing us from reaching this illusory freedom. Men do not need deities to dig their own way to death.

-----

From "occidental" point of view, it is true that this is a blow to the “strong” women of the work still alive. Reduced to being collateral victims of Love, as toxic as this link may be (Ymir-Mikasa). Reduced to attaching themselves to winning or losing romantic figures depending on whether their love-interests is the villain of the story (Mikasa-Annie). Reduced to their role as mother-benefactor (Historia-Gaby).

It’s awkward, but I think Isayama wanted to show that no one is spared. That no character can claim complete tranquility and sweet freedom.

Everyone has had to sacrifice something to survive, and women and men are equal in this judgment. Women also remain victims in a world that remains dominated also by the cruelty of Men (the human race in general). They are not completely free, they are also trapped in roles.

Everyone carries the weight of his choice. That characters have a duty to remember, to pass on to future generations the horrors they have lived to try not to reproduce the same mistakes. Even if their new life choices are imperfect, disappointing for those on the outside.

Levi sacrificed many of his comrades to fulfill his promise to Erwin in his quest for truth and to continue the fight for Eldian freedom.

Armin and Mikasa sacrificed Eren: their friend, their love, the dearest being to fulfill their promise to discover the outside world and touch that freedom.

Like Levi Ackerman and his love for his battalion comrades. As for Mikasa and his love for Eren (because she saw the human behind the monster). She has been waiting for a sign for 3 years to see him again in order to follow up on “see you later Eren”.

Finally, a bird comes to give him his wrap. To encourage him to go forward again. To continue to live…

--------

The most free people are those who honestly and sincerely love someone. Those who are able to see the beauty of the world despite its ugliness. Who give without waiting for return. Those who continue to look at the world without hatred, those who do not succumb to its cruelty. Tears are running down…

[strrawberrii]

love loop {one} myg

that pesky little thing called fate really is a bitch. 

pairing: min yoongi x reader

tag / warnings: some cursing

author note: sorry for being gone for so long! life happened. but i’m back with our favorite mint haired boy, min yoongi. this chapter really is an opener for the oc and her life. watch out for a certain mint haired boy. i hope you enjoy <3

The red string of fate. That pesky little thing called destiny that was tied to another person and locked in an eternal circle; a love loop. The very thing that changed the trajectory of my life, that blossomed chance and coincidence, that pushed me onto a different path and had me headed towards an individual that was about to make my life a living hell.

It was like the world had become suffocating and the days seemed to stretch endlessly and blur together in a way that made me anxious. It was times like these that made my head spin as I tried my hardest to look past the haze and fog that somehow became a permanent resident in my head to think of the last time I had even eaten anything. The listless weeks that stretched on seemed to always end like this; questions bogging down my body and mind until I just couldn’t take it anymore and would eventually let myself fall into a restless slumber. Life had become one long spin cycle and I was starting to feel like there was really no exit sign to the monotony of it all.

But, in all reality, it really was all my fault.

I’d lost the only thing I’d ever really cared about when the company I’d started to work for after college got bought out by a larger one. They dissolved my department and thus all the workers in it. I’d been surviving on endless cup noodles and cold tea ever since as I bounced around from one part time job to another just to make the bills on time. If it hadn’t been for some of the leftovers from my cafe job as the owner took pity on me, I think I would have at one point or another completely starved to death.

As if, I thought bitterly as I wiped down the last table of my shift, I’d ever be so lucky.

The sound of the clock was alarming as it ticked...ticked...ticked...ever so slowly and it was all my mind could process as I tried too hard to let the time pass without obsession. This night needed to be done and over with. This month was the coldest of the year so far and the dreary sky outside did nothing to help with the depressive mood that succumbed me. As much as I tried endlessly to think of anything else, it was futile. The gurgle in my stomach proved as much as I sighed as realization hit that I’d more than likely have to walk all the way home to afford a hot meal or sacrifice dinner for some fleeting warmth. As much as the owners of the small cafe let me have my fair share of meals, it was by no means a solution to the issues I found plaguing me at the end of every day and I would by no means take advantage of their kind hospitality. It was, after all, all my fault I found myself in this mess.

I couldn’t help but sigh a long and aggravated breath. Art and design, I thought sourly again. Who was I to think that I could pull that off? That I would actually have a life and a career out of something like that? It was thoughts like these that occupied my mind a lot these days as the clock continued to tick...tick...tick and I continued to berate myself so much that I felt hot tears forming at the corner of my eyelids. The department I had worked in had been so small that it was only made up of a handful of people and I had been so elated when I got that job, thinking that life was actually starting to look up from everything I’d been through before, only to realize a beat too late that a happy ending just wasn't in the cards for me it seemed. At least, I thought as I tossed the rag I had been holding down, not in something I loved.

“You’re free to go, dear.” Kyung-Hu, the owner of the cafe, patted the top of my head to gain my attention and snap me out of my sulk fest. He was a greying old man who had taken pity upon me when he found me sleeping at the bus stop a street over from the cafe front. He’d been letting me work crazy hours to try and afford to be a human ever since. “Try not to fall asleep this time, yeah?” Despite my foul mood, I could never ever deny that Kyung-Hu and his wife, Ji-hyun, had saved me in a time when I was at my lowest. I felt a smile willingly break out on my chapped lips as his eyes crinkled when he did the same.

“Are you sure? You don’t need me to close with you tonight?” I watched as he sighed, shaking his head as he patted mine again. In most cases it felt that Kyung-Hu and Ji-hyun treated me like I was one of their children. Something that, although I would stubbornly never admit to, made being alone in this big city not so bad. Thinking that I also thought of my own parents and how, the last time we’d spoken, things didn’t go so well.

“Go home. Get some rest, okay? This old man will be fine to close alone.”

“If you’re sure.” I couldn’t help but smile again despite my disappointment that he was sending me home. Even though I wanted the night to be over with, that didn’t mean that I wanted to leave the free heat or leave the old man by himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gramps.” He laughed at the nickname as the bell over the door signaled that we had a customer as I turned around to walk towards the back room; thoughts wholly preoccupied with the dilemma that faced me and no longer any concerns for customers since the old man had freed me of my duty to care.

Food or warmth? I wracked my brain, going back and forth. Food or warmth? Would I rather walk an hour in the slushy cold or have a full belly? Sighing, I picked up my belongings and walked back out onto the floor, no closer towards an outcome of food or warmth or, really, anything to solve any problem in my life as the list was vastly long and overwhelming. The only thing I could be thankful for in that moment was the warmth the cafe was gifting me as I was currently trying my hardest to remain inside the slower and slower I walked towards the bitter air outside.

The cafe, Fleur de Seoul, was small and tucked away in an endless row of buildings that housed everything from karaoke bars to office spaces. It was in a good neighborhood and was very popular amongst the twenty-somethings and young business crowd for it’s endless layers of nostalgia for a fairytale-like space - walls covered in art, a book exchange tucked in the corner underneath a news clipping of their opening that, no matter how many times you tried, would never hang on the wall straight. Dried flowers hung from the ceiling so the whole place was coated in a field of beauty and smelt like heaven with the notes of coffee and flowers wafting every which way. It was nice, nestled underneath ivy and baby's breath that Kyung-Hu liked to freshen every other week and it was by all means my second home. I had started to sit inside on days where I had nothing else to do but bum the heat off the old man when I couldn’t afford to get mine turned back on, get a cup of hot tea and sketch for hours until I had to walk back to my cold ass hole in the wall.

I couldn’t help but curse as my thoughts were stuck, dreading the thought of what I was going back to. So lost in thought, in fact, that I didn’t notice the mint haired boy narrowly miss me as I passed through the cafe unaware that despite not really believing in coincidences, the red string of fate was tugging at my pinky as I tried my best to drown myself in layers of clothing to bite off the nipping and inevitable cold. I needed to be reminded that, while fully unaware that my trajectory of life was about to completely change, fate was in fact a cruel bitch who was out to get me.

[saladejin]

Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’ 

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me) 

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :) 

<< masterlist

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Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories. 

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.  

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.” 

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed. 

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

  ~ three months later ~

 “That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.  

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

~

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

~

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

~

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

~

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.” You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

~

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?  

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

 ~

~

 Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home. 

.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵  

TO BE CONTINUED

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[half-bakedboy]

Where’s My Love? (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: Teen Summary: Buck felt all of the air leave his lungs and his heart jumped into his throat because no one had ever told him he was allowed to be upset.

Maddie had always asked him to give their parents a break, to cut them some slack and be grateful the siblings at least had each other. But no one in his life - his sister or other distant relatives, his guidance counselors or teachers, his friend’s parents, all of whom saw how he was impacted - had ever told him it was okay to feel angry or that it was okay to expect more from the people who raised him.

Or a Season 4 Episode 4 coda where Eddie helps Buck get through the dinner with his parents without even knowing it. 

With his parents back in town and his mind racing with thoughts of being forced to socialize with them after so many relatively peaceful years, Buck’s anxiety was the highest it had ever been. That was saying a lot considering he had survived an earthquake, a firetruck bombing and subsequent embolism, and even a fucking tsunami all within the last two years. It made him laugh - almost as much as it made him want to throw up - that a surprise visit from the people that raised him was triggering more of a trauma response than any of those other events.

He took a deep breath as he wandered the streets of L.A. and considered his options. He was set to have dinner one more time with Maddie, Chim, and his parents, and he honestly wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through and keep his mouth shut like he had promised his sister. She asked Buck to understand where they were coming from, to realize that they tried their hardest and that things could have been a lot worse, but Buck couldn’t imagine how that was fair.

It wasn’t fair that it was always his job to push aside their parenting failures because he was an adult and had turned out ‘just fine’ as Maddie had always put it. It wasn’t fair that their small jabs at Maddie tore open the scars Doug had left on her or that their obvious misguidances of Buck in every way caused shame and hurt to flood through every inch of his body when they spoke. It didn’t matter that Maddie was pregnant from a man that truly loved her and treated her right and had a job that she really kicked ass at. If that didn’t matter, then it certainly wouldn’t that Buck had worked harder to become a firefighter than he ever had in his life and that for once, he was truly happy when he looked toward the future.

No, none of that seemed to matter, because Evan and Maddie had to be on their best behavior and pretend that their parents did the best that they could given the circumstances, of which Buck wasn’t aware enough to fully understand. He would get through one more dinner for Maddie and Chimney’s sake and his parents would go back to wherever they decided to venture to next and Buck could repress all of the negative emotions that welled up inside of him once again.

Before he knew it, he was in front of Eddie’s door. He let out a small chuckle at the fact that even when he was lost in his own mind, his body found its way to Eddie. Buck relied on him so much more in the last few years, more than he ever expected to rely on anyone let alone the one person he had despised on sight. He figured it made sense for his subconscious to bring him there, though. Eddie was a father, first and foremost, and he had made that clear since joining the 118 that being a father was the most important thing to him even above his career. Buck knew how much being a firefighter meant to him, so he could only imagine the kind of love Eddie must have for Christopher to put anything above that.

He knocked on the door without a second thought and placed his hands in his pockets nervously as he waited for an answer. When he saw Christopher’s face as the door opened, his heart soared and he held out his arms for an inevitable hug. He loved how Christopher’s hugs were always full-bodied and suffocating because that was just how Buck needed them to be, especially then.

“Buck! Dad didn’t tell me you were coming over!” Christopher said excitedly and Buck was grateful that at least one of the duo was happy to see him. Even though he figured Eddie would be completely fine with the unexpected visit, his mind was too hazed with anxiety to accept that.

“That’s because he didn’t know, Bud. Where is he?” Buck asked, taking a few steps inside just as Eddie rounded the corner. Eddie’s face showed surprise and then immediate concern, and even once Buck smiled at him, the worry in his features seemed to only marginally lessen as he smiled back.

“Just in time to tuck Christopher into bed for the night!” Eddie yelled with a mock joy that did nothing to convince Christopher that bedtime was as exciting as Buck’s surprise arrival.

“But dad,” Christopher drawled out, “Buck just got here!” For a moment, Buck’s guilt must have been obvious, but Eddie scooped his son up in his arms with an easy explanation.

“And Buck can visit anytime he likes. That doesn’t mean you need to be awake for it. Go brush your teeth while I talk with him and we’ll both come say goodnight in a few minutes, okay?” Christopher sighed heavily as Eddie put him back on the ground, but peered around to Buck who nodded to confirm that he wasn’t going anywhere. If he had the opportunity to put his favorite kid to bed, he wouldn’t - and couldn’t when Christopher looked at him with such wide, pleading eyes - say no.

When Christopher was safely out of earshot, Eddie rested a hand on Buck’s shoulder and stated, “You barely ever come here without texting me first.” Buck huffed out a laugh.

“What? I’m not just allowed to come by ‘anytime I like’?” Buck quoted back at Eddie who looked very unimpressed having his words used against him. The ‘you know that’s not what I meant’ was clear in the way his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. “I just needed a friend. I needed-- well, I needed you,” Buck admitted simply, and fortunately, that appeared to be enough.

“I’ve got a few beers in the fridge leftover from the game on Sunday and I think some juice and Gatorade? Take your pick,” Eddie offered from where he continued finishing up the dirty dishes from dinner. Buck needed to keep his hands busy or his nerves would get the best of him so he stood next to Eddie, holding his hands out for the next rinsed off dish. Eddie apparently decided to take the help and handed Buck the cleaned saucepot without a word.

Their bodies were aligned perfectly with arms pressed together snugly and Bucks’ socked foot nudging against Eddie’s slippered one with each pivot toward the dishwasher. It was comfortable in every sense of the word and just what Buck needed for his mind to finally start to simmer down. For a few minutes, all he focused on was the warmth radiating from Eddie’s body and the repetitive motions of putting the dishes away the exact way he knew Eddie wanted them. He started the dishwasher and all of the stress associated with his parent’s disappointment was washed away from him as if he put himself in the rinse cycle.

“Buck! Dad!” Christopher called from what sounded like his bedroom. As they walked together, Eddie’s hand never left the middle of Buck’s back as if he somehow knew exactly what Buck had needed from the moment he arrived.

“Ouch,” Eddie began and they entered Christopher’s room, “pushed to second place when his Buck is around. Really stings, kid.” Christopher grinned at them unaffected, his smile brighter than anything Buck had ever seen, and he patted his dad on the cheek.

“I like when both of you put me to bed,” Christopher stated and Buck’s heart exploded once more. He couldn’t resist leaning down and wrapping his arms around the kid as tight as he could, pressing an overexaggerated kiss to his temple and rubbing his cheek on Christopher’s out of control hair. Christopher didn’t seem to worry about the affection and held Buck back just as tight, and when Buck pulled away, Christopher held Buck’s face in his hands and leaned up enough to kiss his forehead firmly.

“You’re a good kid, Chris. You know that?” Buck asked, brushing his curly hair back from his forehead only for it to spring forward anyway.

“Yeah, I know. You’re my best friend. You and my daddy,” Christopher said simply as if those words weren’t everything Buck had ever hoped to hear. He couldn’t imagine ever saying those words about his own father, let alone to his own father and something about Chris admitting them so freely had his breath catching in his throat. He was rendered speechless and Buck was grateful when Eddie leaned into their space and kissed Christopher’s other temple gently before pulling the sheets over his chest.

“Love you, Christopher. Thank you for being such a good boy today and every day,” Eddie said as he stood.

“Love you more and I love you, Buck,” Christopher said easily as his eyes closed - as if it was the last thing he needed to make sure his dad and Buck knew before he fell into sleep.

“I love you, too, Chris, so much,” Buck answered as Eddie pulled him from the bedroom.

He felt like he could cry. He wasn’t sure if the tears that welled in his eyes were from Christopher’s words or from the impending doom that would be his own family’s gathering or even from exhaustion brought on by literally every single thing in his life. All he knew was that Eddie pulled him down the hallway and into the living room and when he was drawn into his best friend’s warm embrace, the dam inside of him cracked more than he wanted it to.

“Buck, what’s going on, man? I haven’t seen you like this since--” Buck was glad Eddie didn’t finish. There’d been way too many times that he had broken down in front of Eddie since they had met and he didn’t need a reminder of how weak he was, especially when he was sure he would get one from his parents soon enough. “Talk to me. You came here for a reason so you have to let me in, okay?” Eddie’s voice was on the edge of panic as he urged Buck to sit on the couch.

“Is it hard to be a parent?” Buck asked hastily. Eddie seemed to consider his question for a moment, but Buck didn’t like the way it sounded and backtracked, “Wait, that’s not--”

“You mean, why was it so hard for your parents to be good parents?” Eddie responded and Buck’s jaw dropped. Before he could ask how Eddie knew what he meant, he shrugged and explained, “You’ve been off since Maddie told you your parents were going to visit and she gave me the heads up that there’s history there I might not know.”

“Dammit, Maddie,” Buck cursed under his breath. Eddie let out a small laugh and rested a hand on Buck’s thigh, the small touch immediately sending a sense of calmness through Buck he couldn’t try to solve.

“She cares about you. I care about you. So will you let me answer your first question?” Buck nodded and Eddie took a preparing breath. “Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m a veteran and a firefighter. But it’s also the easiest thing I’ve ever done because my life wouldn’t be the same without Christopher. It wouldn’t be nearly as exciting or worth living without him and I think you’d agree with me.”

“He’s the best kid I’ve ever met,” Buck said without thought because it was true. “He’s so easy to take care of and he listens more often than not and he’s got a sense of humor that won’t quit. He’s--”

“He’s a nine year old with Cerebral Palsy, a dead mother, and a single father that works 24-hour shifts on a weekly basis. He’s an incredible kid, don’t get me wrong, but he’s got more problems than you ever did.” Buck winced, but he couldn’t argue with that. Buck had it easy as a child and he shouldn’t be complaining just because his parents neglected his emotional needs a little.

“Yeah, I know I’m just overreacting--”

“Hey, no. Stop that,” Eddie said as Buck made to stand. Eddie pulled him back down and angled his head as if making sure Buck couldn’t look away from his eyes. “Buck, you’re not overreacting. Whatever you feel, whatever you went through as a kid, those emotions and-- and anger that you obviously feel toward your parents is extremely valid.” Buck felt all of the air leave his lungs and his heart jumped into his throat because no one had ever told him he was allowed to be upset.

Maddie had always asked him to give their parents a break, to cut them some slack and be grateful the siblings at least had each other. He tried his hardest to do just that, but there were only so many times his parents could miss his football games or ignore his obvious attempts at scrounging for attention before the resentment for them rose into too much for any kid to handle.

But no one in his life - his sister or other distant relatives, his guidance counselors or teachers, his friend’s parents, all of whom saw how he was impacted - had ever told him it was okay to feel angry or that it was okay to expect more from the people who raised him.

“My parents, they--” Buck choked on tears that he tried so hard to hold back. The only calmness around him came from Eddie’s hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and his other resting gently on Buck’s thigh. He didn’t have time to be embarrassed by the intimacy of the touches or to think too much about what they might have meant as he continued, “They never saw me. It was like I didn’t even exist to them. Like-- Like I was just some sort of accident they couldn’t rewind time to fix. I was so alone in the world besides Maddie, but even then, she found Doug and left me as soon as she could. It was like every person I met didn’t care if I disappeared and everyone else disappeared even though I cared.”

Eddie hummed in what sounded like understanding before asking, “Have your parents ever offered you an explanation?”

“Yeah, right,” Buck said sharply. He softened his tone when he realized Eddie’s hand had stopped moving on his back and glanced back up at his friend with a sad smile on his face. “It was always my fault. I was too reckless, too wild, too hard to handle, too exhausting . It made me easy to give up on.” Eddie opened his mouth as if to apologize or argue against Buck’s words but Buck shook his head and rested his hand on top of Eddie’s where his fingertips started to dig into his thigh.

“You don’t give up on your kids,” Eddie said simply. His eyebrows furrowed, his nose flared and he pressed his lips together so tightly, the skin around them started to pale. Buck could see the frustration rising in him and tried to smile to lighten the mood but it wasn’t enough. “No, you-- Kids are so hard to raise, but a parent has to be there for them before they decide to give up, and even then! I would never give up on Christopher and you have no idea many people have told me I have or even should .”

“Excuse me?” Buck interrupted, his own anger bubbling inside at the insinuation that Christopher wasn’t worth the entire world.

“That shouldn’t be surprising, Buck. Like I said, he’s got a disability that inhibits his quality of life - even if he or either of us doesn’t see it that way - and he’s gone through more trauma than any kid should ever have to handle at his age. It would make sense for me to send him off to a boarding school for kids with special needs or to live with his grandparents who are way more equipped to handle him than I am,” Eddie explained. Buck had a hard time processing what he was hearing because Eddie would never do that to Christopher, there was no way.

“Have you thought about that?” Buck asked, his eyes searching Eddie’s for the truth.

Eddie sighed and nodded. “Yeah, of course I have,” he admitted with shame resonating in his voice. “There are nights where I just want to-- I don’t know, lock myself in my room and forget that I have this responsibility or days where I just wish I could catch a freaking break.”

For the first time since Buck had known Eddie, he felt anger towards his best friend. He thought of Christopher; who told Buck he was his best friend, who reminded him that everything was going to be okay, and told him he was good, and couldn’t possibly imagine ever wanting that to disappear. He thought that if Christopher was his kid, he would have never considered those alternatives.

Then he looked back at the last few years he had known the family and realized there had been plenty of opportunities for Eddie to do even more than consider. He could have sent Christopher to one of the schools Carla had found during their search that required boarding or even let Christopher go home with his grandparents when they begged Eddie to move back to Texas. Eddie could have ‘made his life easier’ if that’s what he wanted, but he chose not to.

“So,” Buck began, gripping Eddie’s hand tight in his as if grasping onto comfort and hoping it never went away, “what did you do instead?”

“I loved him anyway. Through everything - the hard times, the fun times, the times where I wanted to pull my hair out or put him in timeout and never let him out - I just… love him anyway.”

_____________

The dinner was going about half as bad as Buck had figured it would be. He had to resist the urge to check the watch on his wrist every few minutes, knowing that if he stayed too late, he might not be able to find himself over at Eddie’s again when he needed it. He had texted Eddie as he paced outside his sister’s house and asked that Eddie message him at exactly eight on the dot so he could have an excuse to leave. He realized pretty quickly after the dinner had begun that he was going to need his best friend. First, it was the comment about his ‘dangerous’ career and then Buck was reminded of the number of hospital stays he endured without his parents sending so much as a card.

Then they brought out the box of memories of Maddie that they kept for her entire childhood only to be eerily silent when his was nowhere to be found. Chimney tried to ease the tension that hazed the room, but there was nothing that could be done. Buck stared down at his still full plate - he had lost his appetite almost immediately - to try and ignore the conversation around him but he couldn’t.

Not when it became increasingly clear that his parents had every opportunity to choose to love him and they just… didn’t.

It was one snipe at Maddie or Chim and then back to Buck after another and he couldn’t find it in himself to sit there a second longer keeping his mouth shut as he had been forced to the entirety of his young life. When his mother made yet another comment about Doug full well knowing how uncomfortable Maddie - and subsequently, Chim - were at the topic, Buck couldn’t stay calm anymore.

“You never gave up hope?” Buck asked, the venom on his tongue paralyzing everyone around the table. Maddie begged him to stop, the plea clear in her voice and her eyes because she just wanted the night to go smoothly, but Buck refused. “United front, remember?”

Buck barely registered the excuses that spilled from his parent’s mouths; that they never gave up hope for Maddie or that they didn’t know Doug was hurting her. Buck reminded them that while, in their twisted minds, they never gave up hope, they gave up on Maddie. They didn’t help her when she was being beaten to a pulp almost every single night or bother to prove they were there for her, for either of them. Buck was so focused on Maddie, he forgot that they had neglected him, too.

“Actually, you know what? Maybe it does track, because you barely knew what was going on with your own kids when we were under the same roof. Maybe you never gave up hope,” Buck took a deep breath to try and push back the shakiness in his voice so his words might stick, “but you sure as hell gave up on her. You gave up on both of us.”

Buck pushed out of his chair, ignoring the pained eyes of his parents and the sympathetic gazes from Chimney and Maddie. He knew he should just leave, get out of there before he said something he was really going to regret, but his therapist had warned him again continuing to avoid confrontation with the people he cared about so he carried on, holding his arms up and out as if they were shields and turned back toward his parents.

“Oh, and, uh, and you wanna know why I'm really in therapy? It is because I have spent my entire life feeling like a constant disappointment. And you wanna talk about our jobs? You think my job is dangerous?” A ghost of a laugh settled somewhere in his chest. “I have walked through fire every single day of my life because of you!” Buck spat, his throat burning with emotion, his voice like gravel with anger and resentment. “ That is why I am in therapy. Because nothing I ever did was good enough!”

“We tried, but you always…” His dad began and there it was again; that blame that Buck held onto ever since he was a kid and that he carried with him into adulthood.

“You never made it easy on us!” His mom interrupted with tears falling down her cheeks. Because somehow, even after everything he had said, everything was still Buck’s fault. He was never going to get through to them that maybe - just maybe - they were what was wrong. “Either one of you.”

“We were supposed to? We were kids,” Maddie chimed in, her voice breaking with every word. Buck wanted to comfort her but when he glanced over, he realized Chimney had his arm wrapped around her, protecting her from the arguing and the emotion that fogged over them. He was momentarily grateful because for once, he didn’t have to worry about anyone besides himself. Something tugged inside of Buck because there was no one to protect him because the people who were supposed to do just that were looking up at him like they never wanted to see him again.

“Evan, I don't know what you expected us to do!” His mother cried and Eddie’s voice was so clear in his mind.

‘What did you do instead?’ ‘I loved him anyway.’

Buck relented. He was done with the fighting, finished with the way his heart constricted in his chest like the rope his parents tied around it when he was a child was about to slice it in two. He didn't want to feel alone anymore and he was reminded that he was far from it when his phone went off in his pocket. The small vibration that only he could feel resonated through his entire body and soul because with one glance at the clock, he knew the message would belong to Eddie. Even when he felt like he was all alone, Eddie reminded him that wasn’t the case and, without even knowing, pushed Buck into saying exactly what his parents needed to hear.

“Love me anyway.”

[stxvercgersslut]

omg could you do a Chris Evans x Toddler!Reader where he’s her stepdad and readers dad is always ‘to busy’ to see her and she’s really disappointed so readers mom & Chris comfort her🥺

A/n: YESSS!!!! Omg I love this I love this I love this!!!! It’s actually the cutest ask I’ve gotten 😭❤️ I just can’t not write this! I also kinda changed it a little so that it’s just Chris comforting her sooooo I hope you like it.

Warnings: Language, dissapointmemt, a whole lot of fluff.

The one that cares

Chris hadn’t expected to fall in love as quickly as he had fell in love with Delilah. She was the love of his life from the moment that he had met her on the set of one of his latest movies. She’d only been there to visit her brother on set, yet his eyes had instantly fell on hers as soon as she walked into the room. He couldn’t just let her leave, so of course that they he had went straight up to her, talked to her, found out her name and inevitably asked her out. It was a quick cycle done in around 10 minutes of meeting her, but Chris couldnt have been happier. This type of love was real. Passionate and just over all the one thing that he had been searching for his entire life. Delilah was it for him the second he’d met her.

Around 2 months into dating Chris had been introduced to you, this small 2 year old little girl with a hug smile on your face the second you’d met him. It was like an instant connection from the beginning. Of course it had taken you a few weeks to get used to him being around. But after a while you finally began to enjoy Chris’s company. Especially since he was round at the house almost every single day to visit your mother.

After around a year later Chris proposed to your mother and on your 4th birthday, the they got married. It was more of a celebration for you then it was for them. Especially since It was practically your birthday present. You’d been so excited. Chris could remeber how happy you had been that day, standing right next to your mother and giggling happily during the actual wedding. He’d even picked you up and held you in his arms during your mother’s vows. Wanting to keep you as involved with this wedding as physically possible. It was clear from the beginning that Chris loved you as if you were his own. Which was what drew Delilah to him.

Finally a father figure. Not that you didn’t have a dad, but Chris was around a whole lot more then your asshole of a dad was. And that in itself just wasn’t fair.

Josh, your biological father, had been pretty much out of the picture since you were 2. Only occasionally being able to see you since he always claimed that he was ‘busy’ when he was usually out at some bar making out with any random women that would throw themselves that him. It was clear from the start that Josh didn’t give the tiniest shit about you, or even the fact that you were his child.

Even when he actually bothered to show up, usually because either Chris or Delilah had forced him to actually pay attention to you and reminding him that you were just a kid, he wasn’t even there. Not really. He just sat there, didn’t even play with you, just sat their and watched as you played on your own with you teddy’s. And even then he didn’t stay too long. Clearly not liking the fact that Delilah had found happiness in an A-list celebrity.

Not only did Josh’s lack of being around for you upset you but it also Angered Chris as well as Delilah. However Chris was even more furious with Josh then the both of you combined. He hated how upset you got, how heartbroken you were when Josh just sat there or didn’t even bother to show up. But what hurt him the most was watching you sob into either his chest or your mothers chest right after being reluctantly informed that once again Josh wasn’t coming. To see your excited little face switch so quickly into one of pain and heartbreak was enough to completely piss Chris off to the point where he wanted to actually beat the shit out of Josh.

Today, for example, was once again one of the days that Chris always dreaded. Today had been the day that Josh was finally supposed to come over and spend some time with you, after 3 whole months of not seeing you he was finally coming over. Yet 5 minutes before he was actually supposed to be there he called. Of course he did.

Chris groaned as he looked towards you before back to his phone “sorry sweetheart, I’ll be back in a second” he announced before finally leaving the room after kissing your head gently. Despite all the disappointment you were still excited to see Josh. Of course you were. Diliah wasn’t there today, in fact she was working today so it was just him. Thankfully Chris got the day off so that he could be there for you when the inevitable happened.

“Hello?” He began, not even giving him a chance to speak “Josh where the fuck are you? You’re supposed to be here in 5 fucking minutes” Chris spoke not giving a shit that he was being rude, Josh didn’t deserve the nice side to Chris. Not at all.

“Yeah.....about that....My work called me a few minutes ago and said that I need to go in. Something about needing extra staff today” yet another excuse! This man was truely an asshole.

“BULLSHIT!” Chris spat, venom seeping from his words as he did. Now he was pissed. “It’s not bullshit man! I have work!” Josh lied. Usually if this happened then Delilah would be there to take the phone away from him before he said something that would ruin the entire ‘agreement’ but today she wasn’t there to stop him, so he was free to say whatever he wanted. Within reason of course.

“Listen you asshole!” He began, suddenly becoming insanely aware of the fact that he was being too loud. Almost startling you. “We both know that you don’t have to work today!” Now he was a little quieter “and we both know you’re just going to go to a bar or a strip club! You’re an asshole and all you want is to fuck with y/n’s mind! She’s an innocent child who fucking loved you no matter what yet you don’t even care about her?!? What kind of parent are you? Dads should be there for their kids but you don’t even care about her!” This wasn’t Chris talking, this was the anger that had finally been allowed out.

“What?!? First of all You have no right to say any of that! And second of all yes I do care about her! I’m just busy!” He defended, still doing a shitty job at it.

“No you don’t! You don’t give a shit!” Chris yelled angrily, not caring for any more of his bullshit, so he hung up. Now completely stressed about the fact that he had to go and break your heart again. Oh this was going to hurt a whole lot more then usual.

After a good 2 minutes of mentally preparing himself for the heartache, Chris finally walked back to the front room where you were still happily colouring in a drawing that you had made for Josh. Little did you know Josh never took those drawings, Chris was always the one to take them and hide them in his room since your biological father always ‘forgot’ the pictures. Chris just wanted to spare your feelings that’s all. Didn’t want to add anymore heartache into the mix of disappointment.

Quickly Chris sat down on the couch opposite you. Watching you for a few moments before finally speaking“Hey babygirl, can you come sit with me for a minute please?” He asked carefully, to which you instantly stood up and wandered over to him with a cute little wiggle to your step since you were excited. Soon climbing up onto the couch and getting onto his lap like usual which he never actually seemed to mind since it meant that you felt comfortable around him. “What’s wrong Daddy?” You asked, already seeing the lines of fear registering in his features as he began to think. Every single day he thanked the gods above that you’d accepted him into the family.

“Your real dads not coming today” rip the bandage of as quick as physically possible. If he did that then he’d have more time to comfort you if needed. God this was going to be so hard “.....I know you really wanted to see him today but he got really busy.....baby I’m so sorry that he did this to you and it’s so not fair at all” he stated. Watching as your bright e/c gorgous eyes dissapeared and were once again replaced with disappointment. On what world was any of this not heartbreaking to see? Exactly it was devastating. Especially when he loved you so much.

“My dads......not coming?” You asked, pain already beginning to seap into your voice.

“No baby.....I’m so sorry...” he spoke, his voice already breaking and tears already forming in his eyes. How could someone be so cruel to someone so kindhearted?

“But he.....he said he would......” you stutter. That in itself was enough to cause tears to spill from Chris’s eyes. Never had he ever thought that you’d get this heartbroken over being disappointed. After so many disappointments he would have thought that you would have gotten used it already.

“I know I know....but he’s done this before sweetheart.....he’s known for it.”

It unfortunately didn’t take long for you to break down into floods of tears, already beginning to break Chris’s heart even more then he ever thought that it could. You were worse then heartbroken, in fact you were devastated.

He couldn’t take it anymore, seeing you so broken was hurting him. So before you knew it he was picking you up and literally placing you on his hip so you wer closer to him. No way was he letting you just wallow in self pity. Not when your birthday was in 3 days. You were so close to being 5! How could he just leave you to cry on your birthday weekend. Exactly he couldn’t. “Okay baby It’s so close to your birthday and I’m not letting you be sad! So what do you wanna do? It’s your weekend starting now, so what do you wanna do?” He asked, hopeful that giving you the option of what to do would perk you up a little. Yet you just continued to cry into his shoulder, extremely angry, upset and scared with everything that had gone wrong today.

“It’s okay....it’s okay sweetheart just cry..let it all out.” He soothed, rubbing your back reassuringly as he did “Daddy’s here. I’m never gonna leave you sweetheart. I promise you I’m not going anywhere unless I have to. But I’ll always come back okay? I will always come back”

But thankfully, after 20 minutes of just rocking you in his arms and softly humming along to the words of your favourite Disney songs (being a big fan of Disney had its perks of course) you finally stopped crying. Now completely registering what Chris has asked you a few moments ago. “C.....can we go....to Disney land?” You asked quietly, afraid that you’d get shot down.

This was a big ask from you, one that Chris should have Beene expecting! Especially since you’d wanted to go to Disney land for so long yet you’d always been knocked back. Although, today was different. Today Chris has given you free rain on whatever you wanted to do today. So how could he disappoint and tell you no? “Hmmmm okay sweetheart Disney land it is! Just me and you? Or do you want me to ask mommy if she wants to come too?” He questioned, literally just letting you make all the decisions today since he’d said it was your day. If this was how he would get you to calm down completely then so be it. To avoid having any fans spotting him he’d have to make a few phone calls, maybe see if he could use a private jet in order to make sure you weren’t see. Especially since your were his step-daughter and thankfully not one knew about you just yet. He’d been able to keep you out of the public eye.

“Mommy’s working, just you and me” you spoke, for a four year old you were learning quickly which made him quite happy to know you were learning. “Alright sweetheart then lets go.” He spoke.

And that day he stayed true to his word.

Tag list: @jtargaryen18 @et-lesailes @chuckbass-love @cevans-fics

[gretchensinister]

I’m Your Boogeyman

A tense summer. A hot night. The need for touch, and the need to stop worrying about what’s normal.

A man in his late twenties is living in an apartment with a boogeyman, but naturally he doesn’t know that. The boogeyman is wildly obsessed with him, though, and one night when Zander lets his leg hang over the side of the bed, they finally meet. And a lot more besides. Classic meet-cute, right? 13,314 words. A whole lemon.

*** 

Zander had always run hot. That was the problem, and there was really nothing to be done about it. Oh, sure, there were mundane ways of addressing the issue—sleeping in just his shorts, getting a fan, making a dry cold-pack with rice and a couple of old t-shirts. He told himself if he ever got rich he’d set the air conditioning to whatever he honestly needed it to be at night and to hell with everyone else.

But right now he wasn’t rich. He lived in an apartment that was the west side of the second floor of a massive, venerable Victorian, and while there were many lovely details about it that had survived the renovations that made it into four homes instead of one, the large windows in his bedroom did not seem quite so lovely when they gathered every bit of the sun’s heat on long summer evenings. Even insulated blackout curtains didn’t do much to help his bedroom stay cool, which both baffled and frustrated him. The reason he’d had such curtains in the first place was because he’d lived in Texas for a few years before moving much farther north. They’d been effective there! But then again, a lot of buildings in Texas, even old, shitty ones, were built so that the people in them could easily shave a few degrees off the interior temperatures. If you didn’t do that, you just died.

Zander would concede that the place he lived now regularly experienced long periods where if your house didn’t retain as much heat as possible, that would be the situation where you just died.

Still, when he tried to sleep during the summer in his current apartment, he very much resented that the original architect had been so good at their job. If he had just needed to be a little cooler to sleep well, maybe running hot wouldn’t have been so much of a problem. Fans did work wonders when much of his body was bare, and the rice bag in the freezer was extraordinarily soothing when laid across his wrist where his all-too-warm blood rushed by so near to his skin. But his needs were not just about temperature. Zander needed to be cool to be comfortable as he slept, but to feel safe enough to sleep in the first place, he needed to be covered.

He wished he could let go of this feeling, he really did. He’d even tried to slowly ease himself out of the habit: falling asleep with one arm outside the sheet, then both arms, then his chest, but habits and instincts were harder to break than that. Whenever he woke up, usually from being too hot, he would be completely wrapped, even tangled, in the sheet.

The thing was, he suspected he might have been able to succeed in learning how to sleep without covers if it hadn’t been for…something…about his bedroom. Nothing had happened in it to make him feel unsafe. (Nothing much had happened in it at all, to his great disappointment, if he was being honest.) But there was something undefinable about it. After the sun went down, it always seemed a little darker than it should have been, no matter what kind of lightbulbs Zander put in the lamps. Sometimes, as he was getting into bed, the quiet of the room seemed expectant. Which was a bananas thing to think or say to anyone, so he didn’t.

He had asked his landlady about the history of the house. She’d only shrugged. “A few people have died here, I guess. Nothing crazy like a murder. But people mostly died at home back in the day.” When he’d asked her, she’d been out in the backyard, chain-smoking. “If you can get or fake some halfway decent ghost evidence, I’ll knock fifty bucks off your rent. Love to know there’s an afterlife with a habit like mine. But if you find a way to quit that sticks, I’ll knock a hundred bucks off everybody’s rent.”

It had been an unhelpful conversation, to say the least. He couldn’t stop thinking about paying for her cigarettes for weeks.

Anyway, he didn’t really believe that his room was haunted, nor that a standard bedsheet would prove a barrier to any sort of ghost. Whatever was off about the space probably had to do with old walls falling slightly out of true, and wiring that was somehow incompatible with modern technology (it was not his area of expertise). Or maybe he subconsciously hated being alone so much that he couldn’t get totally comfortable in the room he was alone in.

I wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except for the heat that made his compulsion almost unbearable.

And what good could it possibly do? What protection did a bedsheet possibly offer if there really was something malevolent about? (Which there wasn’t. Couldn’t be.)

***

It was a creature of instinct more than intellect. This was mainly due to the fact that it didn’t exist continuously. While it was intelligent, it was difficult to understand the world and form opinions about anything in it when it didn’t have a solid form most of the time.

It vastly preferred existence to non-existence, though, and the hours it was most coherent all took place in the presence of its otherbeing. It was aware that there were many otherbeings, even sensed that it existed because of otherbeings, but distinct memories were a luxury of form. It hadn’t had a form for a long time before this otherbeing moved into its territory, so it didn’t have many clear memories. When coherence was brief, only the broadest strokes of physicality returned—limbs, teeth, eyes. Only the memories, only the thoughts, necessary for survival. But when coherence lasted longer, as a more stable state—as it did when its otherbeing was close by—that was when it gained details: skin texture, claws, memory, continuity.

Its otherbeing was often close by, and the creature had become, to put it simply, obsessed. It knew every different way the otherbeing’s breath sounded, it knew every subtle variation of the otherbeing’s heartbeat, it knew the way the otherbeing smelled just before washing and just after, it knew every scent that was just the otherbeing, separate from anything the otherbeing brought in from the world outside. It knew the sound of the otherbeing’s voice, and could pick it out from any of the cacophony of sounds the otherbeing was often surrounded by, even though, for a very long time, the otherbeing rarely spoke at all. It knew the way the otherbeing moved, all the fantastic shapes the otherbeing was made of, the colors of the otherbeing’s skin and hair in moonlight and starlight and streetlamp light and indoor lamp light (even if it was uncomfortable to observe anything in such brightness).

All this knowing felt mostly normal to the creature, though the way it brought it so much joy did not seem typical—but then, there were no others like itself present to confirm its strangeness.

But maybe that was better! If it was a creature that was not supposed to feel this way about its otherbeing, it would rather not know. It did guess that some kind of line had been crossed, because it had spent enough attention to know that this otherbeing was a he-otherbeing named Zander. Sometimes the creature would whisper the name to itself, when it and Zander were in the places that felt most right: Zander sleeping in his bed, the creature curled on the floor beneath it.

Sometimes, the nights like that were so lovely and peaceful that all the creature’s instincts faded away, and it even fell asleep during the precious hours of darkness.

But the real line that it had crossed had been more recent, only several months ago (how sophisticated it felt for thinking of months rather than moon-cycles! So proud in its knowledge of Zander’s world!). It had still been winter, then—a wonderful season for the creature, when the nights were longer and Zander was more often indoors. But inevitably, the nights grew shorter, and the creature felt terribly, terribly cheated. Not of coherence. In a strict sense, it could survive with very little of that. But of its time with Zander. And in defiance of all its scant knowledge of itself, of the rules of its existence, it held itself together through the slow flare of sunrise, huddling in the greying dark under Zander’s bed, saying his name over and over again. It hurt to do this, and that was a warning, wasn’t it, that the creature was endangering itself? But Zander was still sleeping so peacefully, with such good deep breaths, such a steady heartbeat. How could it be expected to fade in the middle of that?

And in a thoughtless and sublime expression of desire, it had clawed its way up the side of the bed in the searing sunrise. Indirect, weak winter sunlight fell from the large windows upon Zander’s face, and the creature had thought it looked like the ultimate contradiction: the sun, but safe and beautiful.

What an irrevocable instant! Its being flooding with unfamiliar emotions, its physical body burning with pain it could never have imagined—it would have howled if the sun had not forced its dissolution in the very next moment.

That night, when it formed again, the memory of Zander’s sunlit face had returned immediately, sharper than any teeth it could form after such a harrowing morning. And it curled its vague form into a tight ball and held its head and shook.

Before, it had known that it lived and cohered because of Zander—the fine aether of his unease, the miasma of his nightmares: these were ultimately its daily bread. But now it also knew that it lived for Zander.

It had no idea how to face a craving that could draw it into the sun.

For a time, all it could do was continue as before, though its scrutiny became bolder and more reckless—enough to glut it on its actual sustenance, but doing nothing to appease its other pangs.

It took to exploring Zander’s bedroom as soon as it got dark, storing up memories, storing up knowledge.

It would stand in the shower behind the curtain, smelling the shampoo, the soap. What would it be like to use the shower, as if it was a being like Zander?

It would watch Zander watching movies on his computer in the living room, standing just inside the doorway of the bedroom. It would have the courage to approach and watch him from behind the couch soon enough—and that was but another sign of its derangement. The risk of being seen would be so great, and being seen was dangerous. It would…it would produce too much fear to process, and risked driving Zander away.

The problem with that was that it couldn’t know when another otherbeing would move in, and it could be consigning itself to nonexistence for a very long time. But the bigger problem was that it didn’t want to lose Zander, and if it did…it found it didn’t really care if any otherbeings ever moved into its territory or not.

The sun continued to gnaw away at the night, but not many days before it consumed over half the day, something wonderful happened. Zander started staying home much, much more. He started using his computer to talk to other otherbeings much more, giving the creature more of his voice to listen to and remember. His dreams and nightmares grew more powerful than ever, and the creature thought that if it had been normal for its kind, it would have been the most content of them all: strong, well-nourished, with peculiar otherbeing things to observe all the time.

Unfortunately, despite gaining much happiness from this new routine, it started to dwell on what it could not have of Zander.

It could not touch. It could not taste. There were rules to its existence that were truly impossible for it to break. Bearing the touch of the sun was excruciating, but there might be reasons for a creature like it to do so—moving from hiding place to hiding place, perhaps. But other choices didn’t result in an action and some accompanying pain. They resulted in nothing at all, as if the creature had not even thought of moving.

For example: the otherbeing was never to be touched with the creature’s mouth. The creature understood this. It didn’t feed with its mouth, and didn’t have a digestive system like that of a continuously corporeal creature. Bites and mouth-touches might produce sustaining terror, but as in the case of being seen, this terror might be enough to overwhelm a creature, or it might be enough to drive a creature’s otherbeing away. Mouth details, like fangs, were for…well, this particular creature had no idea what they could be for, when it tried to think about it logically. Just another instinct. (Though this one could be overcome, at least partially. For a while now, when the creature re-formed at dark, it had been experimenting with how small it could make its fangs. It had managed to make them small enough to easily speak like Zander did, which was interesting, and exciting, even, until the creature remembered that it would never have the need to speak this way.)

But the strongest instinct of all, and the strongest prohibition, was this: no matter how perfect the opportunity, no matter how dark the night, no matter how deeply the otherbeing was asleep, the creature could not touch any part of the otherbeing unless two conditions were met. The first condition: only parts of the otherbeing that weren’t covered by bed-fabric could be touched. The second condition: only parts of the otherbeing that extended over the edge of the bed could be touched.

The creature had lost count of the times it had stood at the side of Zander’s bed and tried to make itself reach out—to touch his face, to finally learn the texture of his skin and hair! But it could never move. It didn’t matter if its muscles were newly formed or if they were hours old, if it tried to concentrate on the action or move without thinking about it. Nothing. More than anything else, this prohibition seemed inherent to its very being. It was the kind of creature it was because of this.

Did any others of its kind feel that this was cruelty? That their existence as substantial beings depended on bonding with one particular otherbeing, and yet it was all too simple for this otherbeing to remain forever untouchable?

Then again, perhaps it was not such a problem for others. Perhaps Zander was an exceptionally careful otherbeing.

***

It was August, and Zander was pretty sure he was losing it. He understood that this was not a particularly unique feeling, but it still wasn’t good. His vague weird feeling about his bedroom had progressed into a full feeling of being watched, which occasionally hit him in the bathroom and the living room, as well. He would swear that sometimes his things had been moved, just slightly, as if someone had been picking them up and putting them down for some reason. None of the lights seemed to be as bright as they should be.

He toyed with several explanations, and tested each of them. Could there be another person secretly living in his apartment? A thorough search produced nothing. Could he be experiencing carbon monoxide poisoning? The two detectors he ordered online showed the same very low reading. Could he be developing a diagnosable mental illness, not just “losing it”? He was a few years past the average onset age of schizophrenia for men, but times were weird. This one wasn’t as easy to rule out, but he didn’t have any family with the illness, and as far as he could tell, he didn’t have any symptoms during the daytime. At least, no symptoms that were notable, considering the isolation. He decided he couldn’t dwell on this and if he saw or heard anything really off, he’d follow some advice he’d found and try recording it on his phone.

His phone had acquired a few new apps during the whole investigation. An infrasound detector told him that he was not being affected by infrasound. A sleep monitoring app remained unused.

It remained unused because even if he knew he wasn’t being haunted, because ghosts didn’t exist, it still seemed…foolish, somehow, to pay extra attention to whatever might be happening while he was asleep. He was waking up every morning, after all. But then again, how was he supposed to find answers if there were means of investigation that he was deliberately ignoring?

Return to the first premise: he was simply losing it.

He entertained the possibility that he was losing it and there was something strange in the neighborhood, so to speak, but this only led to more questions about how he was supposed to respond. He certainly wasn’t going to pay for a psychic cleansing over Zoom. Not with what only amounted to weird feelings, anyway.

But probably there was nothing weird going on, not in a supernatural sense, anyway! He was just losing it because the only people he could justify seeing face to face were his coworkers, and screw them, if he couldn’t be around his friends he certainly wasn’t going to voluntarily be around not-friends for eight hours a day; he was losing it because even if he could be around his friends what he wanted was to be held and sure everyone was queer and cool but he’d never been able to ask before all this so why did he think he was going to be able to ask afterwards, when he would doubtless be even weirder than five months (and counting) had made him?

And he was losing it because in order to keep whatever it was, he needed to sleep, and that was so often the most difficult thing about his day, because of the heat!

So he lay awake in his astounding solar oven of a bedroom, staring up at the ceiling with the sheet pulled up to his neck, while his fan failed to act on his sweat and his little animal thoughts chased their tails in his mind.

I need to be cool. I need to be covered. I need to be held. I need to be cool. I need to be covered. I need to be held.

Somehow, he always drifted off eventually.

And one night, he drifted off with the sheets less firmly anchored under the mattress than they usually were. As he floated off into sleep, the higher order of his thoughts that insisted on the necessity of covering quieted well before his body’s insistence on reaching a comfortable temperature. He shifted and turned, gradually freeing himself from the sheet, slipping ever deeper into dreams. With the sheet discarded, his body discovered one more helpful adjustment: with his leg hanging off the mattress, the airflow around it helped his body release heat very well.

***

A pounding heart, a dry mouth, even overwhelmed tears—these are all things that belong to continuous bodies. But the creature could tremble, and it did, even as it reached out, hardly able to believe its good luck, hardly able to believe this incredible blessing that had finally been bestowed on it.

***

It was from an instantly forgotten dream and to the unfamiliar, unexpected, and uncanny sensation of a light, cool grip on his ankle that Zander awoke. Fuck, I knew it! was his first thought, followed by a nervous, panicky negation. This couldn’t be happening. This was the remnant of a dream. In a few seconds he’d realize he’d misinterpreted the sensation.

Moments passed, huge moments where the grip on his ankle didn’t change at all, and Zander soon felt like he’d never been so awake in his life. And then the…hand? It did feel like a hand, with fingers on one side and a thumb on the other—had he missed someone living in his house somehow? The hand began to slowly move up his calf. Carefully. Gently. It was…it was honestly a caress, and Zander had no idea if that made it better or worse, more or less likely to be a hallucination. But the fingers and thumb were long enough that even at the midpoint of his calf, they almost wrapped around his leg entirely, and that meant that this hand was definitely not human.

This was bad, probably, but it was also something that he was sure no one expected him to just put up with and carry on through, and that felt like a relief. His mind cleared. First thing: determine if this was a hallucination. He lifted his phone from the windowsill, thumbed open the camera, and aimed it at his knee, where one…claw? Oh God. One claw was carefully poking at the scar from a childhood bike accident. The screen showed nothing he could see at this angle, as the only light in the room came from the phone itself or the line between the curtains where the streetlights shone faintly in. He tapped the screen.

The auto-flash worked just as it was supposed to. It also completely disoriented Zander, but not before he caught a glimpse of a gaunt humanoid figure with a mouth far too large and full of fangs crouched by the side of his bed. One or both of them gave a horrible yelp, and Zander was mentally confronting the possibility of being eviscerated when he realized the creature’s hand was still wrapped around his knee, unmoving.

***

Awful, awful, the sudden light! Zander must have seen it, but it was an accident, it was not breaking its rules. There was no light-pain anymore, in fact the light-pain had probably been a good thing, as healing used up much of the energy it was getting from Zander’s fear right now. And so it did not let go. This might be its only chance to touch Zander, and it was not yet satisfied, only ever more curious from its touches so far. His leg was so much softer than the bottom of his foot, and covered with hair, too. It was fascinating, and it suspected that this was far from the only fascinating thing about Zander’s body.

But it was so unlikely now that Zander would indulge it by leaving the bed. Or! If he did leave the bed he would leave forever, and there’d be no point in having a form ever again because there wouldn’t be Zander to watch and listen to and touch.

Unconsciously, the creature gripped Zander’s knee more tightly. Was there anything it could do? Was tonight to be the culmination of all its hopes, and the threshold of an existence of nothing but void? Had it been worth it to face the sun, when it would all end like this?

But! Oh! This was the power of memory. It had faced the sun. The things it felt were different. It was different. It could do things that were unaccounted for in the rules of its existence.

***

The image on the phone screen showed a dark gray entity with a huge mouth full of fangs, a collection of slits for a nose, two very large round eyes, and pointed, animal-like ears on the sides of its head that were probably bigger than Zander’s hand. It had a long skinny neck and long skinny arms connected to a torso that was, probably, also long and skinny. It didn’t have any hair. It looked very solid, blocking the view of his desk in the picture like any real thing in that location would. It also kind of looked…surprised?

You and me both! Zander thought. He found he had no idea what to do now that he had evidence that there was really something in his room. Something that was still holding onto his leg. Something that was, in fact, an actual fucking monster!

No, no, no, part of his brain chanted, a desperate negation, a call for the world to be as it had been. It’s not a monster, there’s no such thing as monsters, people see things and misidentify them all the time, it’s usually something like a starving bear with mange, that’s what this must be, a starving bear with mange, something that at least EXISTS—

Zander stifled a wild laugh. This wasn’t a bear of any kind, for one thing, and for another, how would it possibly be better if a starving bear with mange was in his apartment and holding onto his leg? That would be an almost certainly fatal situation. A monster, though? Well, who the hell knew?

“Zander. Please don’t leave.”

He dropped his phone. That had to be—that had to be the monster talking to him. And it knew his name, knew how to speak English, and knew how to be polite. And it was asking him to stay? Okay. Okay. Sure. This gave him something to work with.

“Why do you want me to stay?” he croaked out. “Are you going to kill me?”

“NO! No, no, no! I only want to touch you! I’ve waited for so long, and this was my first chance!”

“Wh—what do you mean, so long? How long?”

A short pause. “Since you became my otherbeing. My…human. Since you first dreamed in my territory.”

Zander’s mind raced. Did it mean since he’d moved into the apartment? That was almost four years ago! “Why…was this your first chance?”

“Because of the rules,” the monster said. “You have to be asleep. You have to be uncovered. You have to be off the mattress.”

Just as he’d always suspected. The part of his mind that had suggested the mangy starving bear tried to tell him this situation was weird and incomprehensible and was sending him slipping and spinning into totally unknown territory. But the thing was, if he accepted the scenario totally and completely as something that was happening, it was easy to understand. “Do you live under my bed?”

“Yes, or at least I did. As I got more and more curious about you I moved around more. I learned many things. And now that you’re around more, I have more energy to keep my form. I can remember more things.”

“You don’t always have a body? Where does your energy come from?”

“My energy comes from your nightmares and your waking fears, though there is a danger of waking fear being overwhelming. I am not sure how I withstood your reaction to seeing me. There is a correct level of energy for taking a form at night. It takes much more energy to maintain a form against light. It is…by instinct it is impossible to keep a form in sunlight. It is very painful. But I did it once.”

Zander stared up at the ceiling, which he could now make out the edges of thanks to the faint light from the streetlamps. He might be feeling like he was starting to understand this situation, but looking at the monster again—yeah, that would really loosen his grip on things. “So you…feed off my fear, but only a little at a time. You can only exist in the dark. You live under my bed. You can’t touch any part of my body that’s on the mattress and covered. You honestly sound like a childhood boogeyman, except that I’m not a child.”

“It is hard to remember, but I believe I came to exist because of a child. When a child dreamed in this room. I think there may have been other children, also. Others of my kind. But formlessness erases memory, and I was formless for what I think was many years. But then you came. And now I’m no child’s boogeyman. I’m your boogeyman. Only, only yours.”

Zander took a slow breath. Two things were occurring to him.

One: this boogeyman had kind of a nice voice, low and a little scratchy. It sounded like it had a bit of an accent, too, but that was no doubt because of the fangs and maybe—maybe never speaking to anyone else before? That seemed unbearably sad, but maybe it was normal for its…species? Kind?

Two: Maybe he didn’t have as good a grip on this situation as he had hoped.

“Do you have a name?” Zander asked. “And, um, I’m a he, other humans are she, or they, or…well, there are a lot of options. What about you?”

“No name,” the boogeyman answered immediately. “And I…I am an it.” It sounded puzzled with this last statement. And why not? thought Zander. Surely if I admitted to secretly living in someone’s house for four years, I wouldn’t expect them to ask my pronouns! There’d be other, more relevant, questions!

“Do you want a name?” This wasn’t one of those more relevant questions. But it was the only one that came to mind at the moment.

“Zander…you would give me a name?” The pure wonder in its voice. Had anyone ever said Zander’s name like that?

“Only if you want a name.” What was he doing? Why was he doing it?

“Yes!” It sounded a little different, now. As if it was shaking? “Zander, name me!”

“I—” He finally let out a little laughter. “I want to give you a good name, but I can’t hardly think now. Could I just—could I just nickname you ‘Boo’ right now, and come up with something better, later?”

“Boo,” the boogeyman said. “I am Boo!” It really sounded delighted, and Zander wondered if anything would have bothered it. Maybe not, as long as he had good intentions.

When the boogeyman—Boo—spoke again, it was quieter, more subdued. “I do not think that having a name is a usual part of being what I am. What you call a boogeyman.”

“Is that…a problem?”

“I don’t know. I like it, though. Anyway, it is not the first strange thing I have done since becoming your boogeyman.”

The mangy bear part of Zander’s mind posited that everything the monster had ever done was strange, because it was too strange to exist in the first place. Zander told that part of himself to pipe down. It was past time to accept that Boo was real, and as a being of a certain type, some things would be strange for it and others would be normal. Boo had even mentioned one, earlier. “Yeah. You said you braved the sun, once. Why did you do that?”

The hand around Zander’s knee twitched nervously. Oh. Yeah. Best not to forget about that. The claws, very close. (And also, Boo’s one stated desire so far: to touch him.)

“I was…curious,” Boo said. “No. That is not the right word. I wanted to know more of you than I already did. It shouldn’t matter to a boogeyman, but I liked watching you, whether you were uneasy or not. I liked knowing how you looked in different amounts of moonlight, in different colors of lamplight. You’re my favorite thing to look at. But I can only do that at night, when we both have forms. Last winter when I noticed that the nights were getting shorter I felt like you were being taken away. I wanted every sight of you I could hang onto. I hadn’t ever seen you in sunlight. An ordinary boogeyman wouldn’t have thought of it. But I did. I wanted to see your face in another kind of light, and sunlight was the only kind of light left. And I managed to endure it, and now I know what your face looks like in the sunlight.”

“Was it…was it worth it?”

“Yes.”

Zander’s first impulse was to push the story away, to tell Boo that maybe it needed to see more faces if it thought Zander’s was worth pain, but he held his tongue. Because there was something about what Boo had done that seemed understandable, familiar. To see someone and then begin to desire and to act in previously unthinkable ways—to irrevocably abandon normal—to risk pain for the sake of joy that it seemed so few others would understand—oh, he’d done it. If Boo’s experience was at all related…he didn’t want to make it seem small.

“You’re being strange for a boogeyman right now, too, aren’t you?”

“I was never supposed to talk to you,” Boo said. “I didn’t understand human language so much before I started paying attention to you. I couldn’t speak it. In the form I have by instinct, my fangs are too big to make all the sounds correctly.”

Are you FUCKING kidding me those are your SMALL fangs? Zander’s fear returned in a rush, and he heard Boo shift by the side of his bed. He forced himself to take deep breaths and did his best to push his fear to curiosity. What did it feel like to Boo, to be feared all of a sudden like that? Would it be like sipping water through a straw and then having someone pry your jaw open to dump a gallon down your throat? But maybe there was no metaphor, because the physical was always a limit for a human, and that didn’t seem to be the case for Boo. Unless Zander was totally wrong and it did need large fangs to chew up nightmares.

“You okay, Boo? Guess I wasn’t as calm as I thought.”

“I am okay. I will have to expend this energy soon, but that will not be dangerous to you. If I don’t find a way to use it myself, the excess will manifest as darkness. The lights in your apartment might not work for a few hours. It is enough energy to seek a new territory if a human leaves the original territory after seeing one of my kind. I did not understand this before, because leaving my territory had never occurred to me before you saw me. Another instinct. But you should also know that my fangs are only for the frightening appearance. No bites or mouth-touches are allowed. I have no digestive system. Any bites would be pointless.”

“Mouth-touches,” Zander repeated. It was an odd phrase for someone who otherwise used English so well. It sounded like a little word-veil, drawn between them so that they could both ignore what mouth-touches not part of eating would be. Or maybe that was a completely bonkers interpretation. Boo wasn’t human. Who could say how it would use language?

The obvious thing to do was ask for clarification. Zander closed his eyes for a few moments. He was going to have to come at this from an angle, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it. If he was wrong, he would create an awkward roommate situation that couldn’t be equaled, and if he was right…well, what did he plan to do?

“Anyway…you’re not supposed to be talking to me, but you can. I get that, it’s a new thing. Your instincts don’t have anything to tell you about it. But what about the way you’re still touching me? Is that also strange or…what am I not getting?” He felt a faint twitch from Boo’s hand once he fell silent.

“I can touch you because touch could make you more afraid,” Boo said. It sounded like it was trying to pick its words very carefully. “But…yes. This is also strange. And I am surprised that no instincts have made me let go. I think…it is better for a boogeyman if its human is not sure if it is really there. So touch should be fleeting. It is not…a need. But maybe that doesn’t matter. You must be very certain I’m here.”

“Yes,” Zander said. Oh, he had to be careful, now, very careful. Just because Boo would undergo the worst of boogeyman agonies just to see his face in the sunlight didn’t make his half-formed idea good. But then again, even if what he was thinking was a bad idea, at least it was fully his own bad idea. And he’d been buffeted around enough by other people’s bad ideas lately. So…let it all come together. Survival and need and want and…touch. “But maybe…maybe your instincts don’t have anything to say to you now because you don’t have any needs right now—is that true? I mean…from what you’ve told me. You have my fear, and that gives you energy to hold your form and do whatever else, and you’ve got the dark.”

“That is all a boogeyman needs.” Boo sounded troubled. “Zander…it does not feel like these are my only needs. Not when you are here.”

Zander swallowed. “Well, it sounds like you have some really strong wants, then. I think that’s…that’s part of being alive. Wanting more than the bare minimum of what’s needed to survive. I mean, that’s one of the first things you said to me.”

“That I wanted to touch you. Yes.”

Boo drew out this last word into a hiss, and shiver ran down Zander’s spine. Sure it was fear, Boo was a creature formed to scare—but that wasn’t all of it.

“I still want to touch you,” Boo said. “Much more than I already have. Now that I know that I can while you are awake, while I am talking to you—I do not know if any other boogeyman has wanted a want like this. And I don’t care, because you are my otherbeing, my human, my Zander. Everything I have of you only makes me want more, and it doesn’t make any sense, and I don’t care, because even getting a little bit of what I want is wonderful. If you were all the way out of your bed, all the way uncovered, I—I don’t know if that would satisfy me. I don’t think it matters, I want that anyway.”

Zander’s heart beat faster—how could it not, when being talked to like this, even when he’d seen the terrifying form the pleasant voice belonged to? It was clear that Boo had no concerns about approaching this subject delicately. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the feeling of lightheadedness that had come upon him. It didn’t really help. This was weird! Very weird! But it really boiled down to this: Boo wanted to touch him. He wanted to be touched.

And he was starting to get curious, now, to see if Boo would like to be touched, and how.

“Boo, I think I want to have you touch me, too.”

“Zander! I…” In contrast to the declaration of its desire, Boo now sounded shy, even a little confused. “I want to make sure I touch you in a way that won’t make you leave. I don’t want to have to be anyone else’s boogeyman.”

“Yeah, we can talk about that, we can figure it out,” Zander said. “We’ve got all night, don’t we?”

“Yes!” Boo said, and again the word turned into a hiss.

This time Zander was able to find it more fascinating than frightening, though now he guessed that being frightening was the whole point. Whenever Boo didn’t think about what it was doing, it would probably end up doing something scary. It was probably the best way for a boogeyman to survive as a boogeyman, even if it was doing something unusual like talking—err on the side of scary. Zander smiled a little, just at the idea that something as strange and incredible as Boo should exist in the first place.

“What are you feeling?” Boo asked. “It’s because of me, but it’s not fear.”

“W—wonder, I think,” Zander stammered. So Boo could feel any emotion it caused, not just fear? That was bound to get interesting.

“Wonder. It feels good.”

Very interesting.

“Boo, before you get to touch—two things: Would it be safe for you if I opened the curtains a little more? To let in the streetlights? It’ll help me be less afraid if I can see what you’re doing, at least a little.”

“The streetlights won’t trouble me—but I don’t understand. It has become less frightening to see me?”

“Well, surprise adds a lot to fear,” Zander said. “If I can see your movements, I won’t be surprised when I feel your hands.”

“I see,” Boo said.

“And the other thing is—you did give me a good scare earlier. I have to go to the bathroom before we do anything else.”

“All right.” Boo made no move to let go of his leg.

“That means you have to let go of me for a couple minutes.”

“Oh. But I could come with. I’ve been in your bathroom lots of times. I like being behind the shower curtain.”

The thought so sometimes there actually WAS something there clashed with has Boo watched me pee?! and Zander pushed them both aside. It was time to focus on the now, and he didn’t want to fall down a rabbit hole of wondering what Boo might have seen him doing. Though, to be very, very honest, there was a sort of dirty little frisson to think that Boo could have seen him taking himself in hand—he really had lost it, hadn’t he?

“But you’re not coming with me now,” Zander said. “Hey. You know that bathroom doesn’t have any windows. I’m not going to run away.”

There was a pause, and then Boo gave a sigh. The hand at his knee slid back down his calf, over his ankle and foot, and then was gone.

“Please don’t grab my ankles when I step on the floor,” Zander said. “I’m guessing that might be—it might be another instinct.”

When Zander had taken a few steps away from his bed, Boo spoke again. “You were right. It was.”

Zander grinned, even as his ankles tingled with the apprehension of touch, and continued into the bathroom.

When he returned to his bedroom, he found that Boo had already opened the curtains. Zander had left the light off in the bathroom (after all, he knew the boogeyman wasn’t in there at the moment) to keep his night vision. Now, the orange glow from the streetlights outside was more than enough to reveal everything in his room. Including Boo.

At first, he couldn’t take another step forward. The sight of Boo pressed buttons older than wonder or sympathy or even curiosity, and he had to close his eyes before he could even pull himself together enough to speak. “Boo, can you say something? I’d gotten used to your voice, but, uh, seeing you was still a surprise.”

“I did use my time alone to use some of my extra energy to change my form,” Boo said. “I wanted…I wanted to try out hair.”

Zander sensed that this was not the whole truth, but he wasn’t going to get into that now. He took a deep breath. That was Boo’s voice. He’d talked to Boo. He’d—well, he’d really liked hearing that confession of desire from Boo. And yes. Boo was a monster. And when he opened his eyes, he was going to see Boo, and step closer to Boo, and check out Boo’s brand new form with hair. The seconds of preparation helped, and when Zander opened his eyes, fear gave one last jolt before swiftly receding in favor of wonder.

He walked forward slowly—his legs still felt a little weak from the first shock—never taking his eyes off Boo. To look at Boo properly barely seemed possible—to look away and back again? Absolutely not.

When he got within Boo’s reach, he paused and tried to take in as much detail as the streetlights allowed. Boo was the same color as before, that dark gray. Its skin was more matte than a human’s. The body that skin covered was very, very tall. At least seven feet, maybe a little more, it was hard to tell how close Boo’s head was to the ceiling in the low light. And still—Zander’s stomach lurched like it did when he looked out from the top of a roller coaster—from his earlier brief look, Boo had probably been even taller before. Whatever shapeshifting it had done had included changing its proportions so that it looked a little bit more compact, a little bit more human, now. But really, only a little.

Zander wondered if there was some mass Boo had to take on when it solidified, because in addition to being shorter than the first picture indicated, Boo now had a little more muscle and flesh on its body and limbs. Though it still made you wonder if it was hungry enough to make you its next meal. Too, the slight musculature it now had was…off…in some indefinable way. Zander had never made a study of human anatomy, but what Boo’s said to him was that it wasn’t an elongated human, but something else entirely. And there were other, far more obvious differences. Boo had only four toes on each foot, each of which ended in a sharp black claw. It had no navel, and the area between its legs appeared as smooth as a mannequin. And its hands, the hands Zander had invited it to touch him with…well, they had five fingers each, but he was almost sure each finger had an extra joint compared to a human finger. They definitely all had significant claws. But, perhaps…he wouldn’t know until Boo touched him again, but he thought maybe Boo had done its best to tone down the claws.

After all, Boo had done quite a bit on its fangs.

Boo’s face was what he had seen on his phone, and Boo’s face was where the changes it had made were clearest to Zander. Though its jaw remained somewhat prognathous, its fangs were now small enough that its lips closed over them easily. Its ears, too, were much smaller, even if they were still much larger than a human’s and still pointed. But they didn’t remind Zander so much of a bat anymore. But even with these changes, some things about Boo had stayed the same. Its nose remained as it had been, just a slight protrusion with two large nostril slits framed by two smaller, additional slits. Boo’s eyes were still enormous, and very round. They had no whites, but in the lamplight Zander thought he could see the distinction between iris and pupil. Incredible, that this faint light would cause such a contraction.

And, yes, finally, Boo had hair on the top of its head, now. It was black, several inches long, and quite messy. Of course, it has been formed rather hastily. It made Boo look—well, it was hard to say. Less alien. More uncanny.

Zander knew that most anything with hair or fur liked having it groomed. Would that be a built-in side effect of his boogeyman’s changed form? Who knew? No one, absolutely no one, and that was the most wondrous thing about this moment. They were both so far outside, and so hidden from any norms that either of them knew, that they were both looking at each other completely as themselves.

And this was where, and how, they were going to touch each other. It might be glorious. It might be terrible. It might simply be monstrous. But most of all, it would be theirs, and only theirs.

“Zander,” Boo said, and Zander saw its long, clawed hands flex, “now can I touch you?”

Zander realized that Boo must have been studying him with the same intensity as he had been studying Boo—perhaps even more, considering that Boo could see much better in the very dim light. And still this was its reaction: this desperation, this desire.

Seeing Boo’s whole form had not made Zander any less vulnerable to being desired. And, hey, some part of his mind that couldn’t let a numinous moment stand pointed out, you’ve always liked lanky guys.

He smiled, and Boo’s already-wide eyes went wider. “Boo, I was thinking. Your rules say you only get to touch me when I’m uncovered and hanging off the edge of the bed, but now that I know you’re here—now that we’ve got an understanding—well, is that still the case? What I’m saying, is…can I invite you onto my bed?”

Boo visibly shivered, but not, Zander thought, with revulsion. Anticipation, maybe.

“I have no idea,” Boo said. “I want to find out.”

Zander took a deep breath and another step forward. “Take my hand,” he said. “It might make it easier.”

Boo reached out, and Zander, focusing only on the wonder of it, found it easy to reach back and put his compact, soft hand into Boo’s spindly fingers. Its skin was smooth and dry—no natural oils like human skin, Zander guessed, since it didn’t really have that biology to maintain from day to day—and barely seemed warmer than the ambient temperature of the room. He must feel much different to Boo; would that be good, bad—?

“Your warmth,” Boo breathed. “It’s the first wonderful thing about touching you.”

Ah. Good, then.

“Well. Warmth I can guarantee,” Zander said. “It’s why I had my leg sticking out in the first place.” Keeping hold of Boo’s hand, he eased himself back into bed. “So far so good, huh? Nothing made you let go, even though I’m completely on the mattress.” He smiled up at Boo, and Boo blinked down at him, its lips twitching in a tentative answering smile. Sure, there was something unsettling about it, but also Zander guessed that most expressions might not come naturally to Boo. It probably learned them…from him. Astonishing. “Come on up, however you like, though you might end up getting another shot of fear if you—” He broke off, as Boo immediately took his invitation and climbed onto the bed.

And on top of Zander, which was what he’d expected, because it was the most frightening way to get close. Boo moved in a rather spidery way (of course) and when it stopped moving it had its hands planted on either side of Zander’s head, its knees to either side of Zander’s legs. The light from the streetlights no longer helped so much to see Boo’s face, though he could see a glint of eyes and oh, again, the fangs. Boo was grinning as it was poised above him.

“Comfortable?” Boo asked, and Zander immediately wanted to giggle. He held back, though, because despite all the absurdities in this situation, he didn’t want to risk Boo feeling laughed at in this moment—the first time it’d gotten into bed with someone it really, really wanted to touch.

“Yeah,” Zander answered softly. “You all right with that jolt I gave you just now? I couldn’t help it.”

“Yes.” Boo sounded thoughtful. “I am less worried about having too much energy now that I’m not trying to escape your notice. And you are still wondering at me more than anything else.”

“I suppose I am,” Zander said. He stretched out his arms and legs under Boo. Had he ever even been this vulnerable to another human being? Sure, he still had his boxer shorts on, but that was pretty insignificant compared to the fact that Boo knew him better than literally any other human being. Also, if Boo had been lying about itself and what it wanted—if those fangs and claws were about to be put to their more typical uses—he’d basically served himself up on a silver platter. Though that image did cause some sparks in some crossed wires in his brain.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All right, Boo,” he said. “You can touch me.”

Boo immediately lifted one spindly hand and cupped Zander’s cheek. It was a bizarrely human gesture, but it lasted only for a moment. Boo didn’t have any script to follow; all it knew was that it had been given permission to satisfy its desires, its curiosity. And still, Zander felt as though some kind of tightly wound spring inside him was easing with such a simple touch.

Boo’s fingertips poked gently at the softness of Zander’s cheek, and its claws were noticeable, but not in an uncomfortable way. Boo seemed to have the intent to treat Zander as carefully as it could, as it found his cheekbones and jaw and traced them, as it circled his ear and brushed across his forehead, as it investigated the shape of his nose and eyebrows.

And then Boo held the side of his face again, and slowly dragged its thumb over Zander’s lips.

“Boo?” Zander whispered, when it left its thumb at the corner of his mouth and hung over him, perfectly still, just looking.

“I think I’m changing, somehow,” Boo said. “Like when I become substantial. But I already am. I don’t understand.”

“Does that feel good or bad for you?”

“I think…good. But I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Boo shivered, a familiar motion made unfamiliar by the undercranked-film quality of it. Still a boogeyman. “Zander. I am going to touch you more, now.”

With only that much of a warning, Boo bent down and pressed its face against the side of Zander’s neck. Zander’s heart raced, some part of him still convinced that Boo wanted to rip his throat out, the rest of him clamoring that Boo was kissing him, actually kissing him on the neck. He could feel Boo’s lips moving gently against his skin, and though he could also tell that there were fangs behind them, he didn’t care at all. He hadn’t been kissed at all, anywhere, in so long, and if this wasn’t really kissing, but rather what Boo had distantly called ‘mouth touches’ earlier, well, it was impossible for his skin to tell the difference.

Boo didn’t stay at the side of his neck. It made a line of kisses up to his jaw, over the lower part of his cheek—and there was really no denying now that they were kisses, kisses from a being very new to the practice of kissing, but kisses nonetheless—

And then Boo kissed him on the lips.

Does Boo understand? Does it? Does it? His mind whirled while Boo lingered at his mouth. Maybe? Probably! He answered himself, as reality began to supersede any of his earlier half-formed fantasies. You were the one torrenting classic Disney to combat depression and the creepy feeling in your apartment!

It was really so absurd. And yet he still felt as though his heart was being cracked open like an egg, and instead of yolk and white flowing out there was all his loneliness and his curiosity and his fear and his wonder and his desire. There was so much of all of it, more than he’d ever realized he was holding onto, and it made it impossible to think lightly of kissing Boo.

Oh well.

He kissed Boo back. He kissed Boo back and raised his hands to touch Boo in return. It had said it liked his warmth; let it have the warmth of his hands, then, roving along the smooth, dry skin of its spindly form, back and waist and shoulders.

Boo gasped at Zander’s touch, and let itself sink down onto him, its narrow body pressing full against Zander’s soft and substantial chest and belly. Boo twined its fingers into Zander’s hair, and even that eagerness pierced his heart—his grown-out hair wasn’t neglect and isolation to Boo, it was something new and wonderful to touch. Zander closed his eyes, thrilling at the light touch of claws on his scalp and no longer trying to distance himself from any desire he felt. Boo was doing exactly what it had told him it wanted to do, so why not enjoy it? He hoped, oh he hoped that Boo was taking pleasure in these moments, because he was; he felt like he wasn’t just unwinding thanks to the ability to touch someone, but like he might unravel entirely, lose all the stress and constraint of having a form.

Maybe that wasn’t the best simile, considering Boo’s existence, but was he supposed to come up with a better one while making out with the thing under the bed?

He held Boo ever closer, and with very little conscious thought, slipped his tongue past Boo’s lips. He brushed up against Boo’s fangs, and his body tried to set off every alarm system that it had. However, most of his systems were already highly occupied, and all the signals of his nerves and hormones could only merge. He felt like he was blushing all over, like he’d been given a jolt of electricity just this side of lethal, and, oh yeah, his cock was now straining at the fabric of his boxers. He hadn’t gotten so hard, so fast, in a long while. His state would be immediately obvious to anyone familiar with hard-ons; the question was, did that include Boo?

Boo made a soft sound in its throat and pulled away from Zander just far enough to speak. “I—you—I can feel your desire,” it said.

That sounded way too much like a euphemism in a novel where the author wasn’t allowed to say “cock” and Zander was momentarily baffled as to why Boo was talking like that. But then—Boo lived off his fear. Boo could tell when Zander was wondering at him. So when Boo said it could feel his desire, that’s literally what it meant.

And was that a good thing? Well—

Boo sat up, laughing a little. It ran its long, strange hands boldly over Zander’s chest and belly, and Zander could see the glint of its terrible, sexy fangs in the streetlight as it grinned. “Zander. Zander. Zaaaander. You like it when I touch you and—I don’t know if any boogeyman has ever felt this. And I don’t care. It’s so good. I can’t tell if feeling your body under my hands or feeling your desire is better. What—what am I doing that makes you want me? I—I want to do more of that.”

“Boo—I—it’s easy to want you when you’re touching me like I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen in your life!”

“You are,” Boo said, continuing to caress him with earnest hands. “And your desire…” It took a shaky breath. “I had noticed it, before. It was always faint because it wasn’t directed at me. But I was still curious because it was something of you.” Boo’s touches became lighter, but not teasing. It traced a claw around Zander’s nipple, almost shyly.

Zander shivered, but it felt like he was almost feverish, how hot he was. How much of a strange dream all this seemed. “Boo,” he whispered.

“I never realized what it would be like to have desire directed toward me,” it said. “I only hoped to touch you and try to satisfy my own desire, but now I—I think I might be insatiable.”

Zander reached out and covered one of Boo’s hands with his own. “Hey, Boo. We can figure it out. I mean—you’re doing things with your body, with me, that you’ve never done before. I mean, there’s probably some way you can be satisfied. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Yes.” Again, that alien sibilance, and Zander found that a monster accepting his promise to help satisfy it somehow only made him impossibly harder. And he should probably say something about that, but what? Boo had clearly been in the room, at least, while Zander had taken himself in hand, but how much did it understand about what he had been doing?

“Boo,” he began, “this desire that you’re feeling from me to you, it’s…there’s a physical component—”

“Yes,” Boo interrupted. “I’ve noticed it all. The speeding of your heart, but not in fear. The slight changes in your scent. The hardening of your nipples and your cock.”

To hear Boo say “cock” was nearly as disorienting as when Zander thought he was using a euphemism. But then, what other word would it know for penis? It would have had to learn from the porn Zander watched to associate any word with the actual body part.

“Okay,” Zander said, his feelings about Boo watching him masturbate much more ambiguous now that it had apparently been the case in reality, “then you probably know some, uh, other things.”

“Yes, and I…” Boo hesitated.

“Boo, if you don’t want to do anything with my cock, I, well, it’s not what my body’s hoping for, but I can deal.”

“No, that’s not…” Boo flipped its hand over and squeezed Zander’s, really seeming nervous now. “I’ve touched you, and you’ve touched me back, and it felt—it felt so good. I didn’t know the kinds of things my nerves could tell me. I don’t know to say all this. But I’m not shying away because I don’t want to give you the most pleasure that I can. Now that I know I can.”

“Well, all right, do you just need a little guidance or—”

“Maybe, but first I need to show you—” Boo broke off, and lifted itself up, moving forwards until its knees were on either side of Zander’s waist. Its fingers fluttered and it dropped Zander’s hand. “I changed myself when you were in the bathroom. I said I wanted to try hair, but that’s not all I did.”

Zander’s eyes widened. He didn’t want to look too surprised, considering how shy Boo seemed now, but if this was going in the direction he guessed it was, it seemed almost impossible not to be surprised.

Boo picked up Zander’s hand again. It guided him to the place between Boo’s legs. “I don’t know if I did it right. But I made this change before I knew how much you wanted me, because I knew how much I wanted you.”

Zander looked up at Boo, trying to get a glimpse of its face as he left his fingers gently resting against where they had been placed. But then again, what could Boo’s expression tell him that Boo’s actions didn’t? Boo had made an orifice, apparently on the wild wish of an off-chance (or so it had thought) that “touching Zander” would lead into “getting fucked by Zander.” He allowed himself a moment to ask himself if this was too weird but shoved the question away before answering himself. It was the wrong question. Tonight was about Boo and him, and if it was weird it didn’t matter. There were better questions. “Boo, do you want me to be inside you?”

“Yes,” Boo said, quietly, and with no hesitation.

Zander traced his fingers around the edge of the opening Boo had led him to, and he heard Boo pant above him. I wonder if I can make your nerves tell you some really incomprehensible things, he thought, as he continued to carefully stroke Boo. “Any particular word you’d like for this new part of you?” The question wasn’t just a courtesy. Zander wasn’t hugely experienced, but he had enough practical knowledge to know that what he was feeling wasn’t really like any human orifice.

“Oh,” Boo said, again sounding embarrassed even as it breathed heavily and tilted its hips towards Zander’s hand, “I—I don’t really know—it’s just a hole. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Zander said. With his free hand he stroked Boo’s side and bony hip, doing his best to clear his mind of any negative reaction. Boo had claimed “it”; Boo had a hole. That was all there was to it. Nit-picking the language used by a wondrous, unknown creature was no way to proceed.

Especially not when that wondrous, unknown creature was relaxing and opening thanks to his fingers. “I’m going to put a finger inside you,” Zander said, and Boo made a soft sound in its throat, followed by another as Zander did exactly as he said. Inside, Boo was slick, wet—biological details that it had to have chosen. Zander didn’t know exactly how Boo formed their body, but this didn’t seem like something it had come up with on the spur of the moment. “I think you did really well, remaking yourself this way,” Zander said. It felt like another of his fingers could slip in easily, so he tried, and was right. Boo pressed its hips towards his hand, and when Zander started to gently thrust with his fingers, Boo soon started moving in counterpoint with him, seeking deeper stokes, seeking to be filled. Its smooth inner muscles wrapped around his fingers with a tight strength that made his cock throb and ache in anticipation.

But he’d be careful, no matter how much his body was screaming for Boo. He was giving it its first time, after all, and, well, he wanted to prove himself worthy of its obsession with him.

“Boo, tonight wasn’t the first time you thought about making yourself a hole, was it?” he asked softly.  

“I thought about it but I—I couldn’t think about thinking about it,” Boo said. “A boogeyman doesn’t—but I tried to figure out how to construct myself for pleasure—the plan was ready in my mind when you said I could touch.”

“It feels like it was worth the effort,” Zander said. “You feel good to me, Boo. How wet you are, how tightly you hold my fingers—I just want to know if you feel good in yourself, like this?”

Boo took a shuddery breath. “I feel—wonderful,” it said. “I don’t have any way to compare this with my existence as an ordinary boogeyman. And still—the bodies I make have a lot to do with yours. The nerves I make are based on yours—you’re the only living thing in my space. So—is your whole body this attuned to pleasure, too?”

“You know, I think I read that humans do have some nerves that are just meant to feel good when we’re caressed,” Zander said. “Like this.” He ran his hand down Boo’s side, over its hip, down its thigh. Amazing that Boo could instinctively create all the complexity of a living body, that it could guide those instincts when it wanted to—when it developed new and strange desires. And was Boo still changing? During those first touches, Boo had hardly seemed to give off any heat, but now, now it felt distinctly warm, more alive, more fleshly, than ever.

“Then why—why are you not always touching?” Boo asked. Its hand slid up his arm and tangled in his hair.

Unexpected tears burned in the corner of Zander’s eyes. “We—we want to be. I think we really want to be. But sometimes we can’t.”

Boo bent its face close to his, as terrifying and wonderful as ever. “I don’t understand,” it said. “But I am here to touch you now, and you are here to touch me, now. We can have this pleasure of touch and touch-back.”

“Yes,” Zander said. “You’re right, you’re right.” He smiled a little; started moving his fingers in Boo again. Boo arched its back, raising its long body.

“This feels—I don’t understand, but I want more,” Boo said. “I—I showed you my hole with your hand to—to show you it was there. But I want to feel your cock inside me.”

That disorienting shift—from the alien first-timer to the pornographically familiar. Zander wasn’t sure he was getting used to it, but he was certainly ready to roll with it. “Yes—I—I think we’ll both like that.” Boo smiled and reached down between them, and with claws that Zander now realized must be much sharper than he had been thinking, deftly reduced his shorts to rags and tossed them away. It should have been terrifying, but Boo hadn’t dealt him even the slightest scratch. There was only delight in this destruction, and as Zander’s cock stood free, it was practically dripping, just like Boo’s hole.

Despite both their states, Zander reached over to the bedside table and took a small bottle of lube out of the drawer. It would never be a bad thing to have, especially in this uncharted territory. He slicked himself up more carefully than usual, trying to ignore any sensation for the moment. “All right, Boo,” he said, about to guide them back that crucial small distance, when a thought occurred to him. “Do you like the position we’re in now? You on top, and me underneath?”

“Does it make a difference?” Boo asked. “I’m ready. I want to be filled.”

So matter-of-fact when it said these things! It wasn’t trying to seduce him, and yet he was as seduced as he’d ever been!

“With you on top you have more control over how deep you take me. The—the pace, also. But if you were underneath me—how do I even put this? You wouldn’t have to constantly be deciding how to fuck? You could just let yourself feel, if you wanted to do that?”

“Oh,” Boo said slowly. “I think I like the sound of that.” It grinned. “I’ve spent a lot of time under you with the bed in the way. I’d love to find out what it’s like with nothing in between us.”

Amazing, Zander thought. Amazing. Humor, or a very near relative of it. Just another thing that a boogeyman wouldn’t strictly need to survive, but that this wondrous being was able to use.

With Boo on the bed, and only the streetlamp providing light, it was harder for Zander to see it than ever. But there were glimmers enough, of eyes, of teeth. There was suggestion enough, in the subtle variation of shadows. Boo’s new, messy hair spread out on the pillow. The long, narrow shape of its body, with all its suggestions of curiously attached muscles. And now, rising into the clarity offered by the streetlamp, Boo’s strange hand, with its fearsome claws. It cupped Zander’s cheek and he nuzzled against it.

“Even now that I’ve touched you, I’m still going to love looking at you,” Boo said. “I understand that now. I’d thought it was just something to go before touching. But now I know more about pleasure, and I know that looking is a pleasure, too.”

Zander quashed the impulse to laugh this off, to say something cliché about flattery. He didn’t want to build any barriers between them for Boo’s first time, for Boo’s sake. And for his own sake, he didn’t want to force any distance between himself and someone who so plainly and earnestly desired him.

So he didn’t say anything that went back to himself. “You’re the most astonishing being I’ve ever seen, Boo.” And he leaned down and kissed it. Boo sighed and arched up towards him, a vivid reminder of what they both so wanted. He ran his hand lightly down Boo’s body, traced the path of its hipbones, and again found that soft, wet opening. Boo had said it was just a hole, but it was incredible that it had made one at all—that it had gone so far outside its version of normality as a boogeyman in the hope of making a sexual connection. Zander could only hope that Boo would find it everything it’d hoped for. He eased the head of his cock against Boo’s hole, and, taking a deep breath, slid inside the body of his boogeyman.

Immediately, Boo grabbed his shoulders with its hands, its claws pricking against his skin. The tiny points of pain were immediately subsumed in the heat of desire, however, as Boo lifted its hips urgently against Zander’s.

“Am I really giving you this much pleasure?” Boo asked, sounding dazed.

Zander gave a single, breathy laugh. “Just you wait.” He hoped the connection between them would be strong, that it would help Boo figure out how it could find the satisfaction and relief that Zander knew he was going to find in Boo. He began to thrust shallowly, Boo at once joining him in his rhythm.

“Yes,” Boo said, a sigh and a hiss at once. “Yes.” Its hands crept over him in ever-greedy caresses, boldly grasping handfuls of his flesh with alien, yet ardent, delight and desire. Its wet heat held him close, inner muscles tightening around his cock every time he withdrew. It drove all thoughts of biological artistry from Zander’s mind, leaving room only for the thrill of this deepest, closest touch.

“Tell me—tell me what you want,” Zander said. “Want to make you feel—as good as I do.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know—” Boo wrapped its long legs around Zander and pulled him closer. “Just—more, more. Harder, faster!”

Boo’s groan of pleasure when Zander obeyed was nearly his undoing. He had no clear idea at all how he managed to hold back, save that he suddenly craved to know what other sounds he could coax from Boo. Every little moan, every little gasp seemed to speak volumes, but volumes that would contain only the simplest statements, over and over again. I want you. I need you. You feel good on me, you feel good in me. But what more needed to be said in the bizarre little paradise his apartment had become? It could never be shared, never be explained, but that didn’t matter. It only mattered that he was real, and Boo was real, and no matter how astonishing their first meeting, they were both finally getting the touch they had been so desperate for.

Zander bent to kiss Boo’s fanged mouth, their disparate bodies pressing together as if there was no reason for them ever to have been apart.

“Zander,” Boo said softly, breaking the kiss for a moment, and Zander smiled down at it and impulsively nuzzled his cheek against its. Then, “Zander!” Boo cried out, baffled and worshipful, arching up against him and clenching around him tighter than ever before.

The thought “did I just make my boogeyman come?” just barely had time to form in Zander’s mind before his thrusts lost their steadiness and his own orgasm washed over him in a bright wave of pleasure.

“Zander,” Boo murmured, once they had both collected themselves a little and were lying side by side, “I want to sleep here. In your bed. With you.”

“No going back, huh? I’m happy with that.” He lightly ran his hand down Boo’s arm. “But what if you sleep too deeply? I can close my blackout curtains, of course, but they haven’t worked great here and the sun might still get through. I don’t want you to get injured after all the—all the good things of tonight.”

“I’m not worried. I…even if I’ve changed, I’m still a boogeyman. I’ll wake when the light is too much. And I feel like…I have reserves of energy. Even more than I did at the start of the night.”

“Well, all right,” Zander said. “I’m going to guess that you won’t mind cuddling?”

Boo flashed a grin. “Oh no, never.”

*

When Zander woke he wasn’t disoriented that Boo was in his bed; he knew very well he hadn’t been dreaming last night. But he was surprised that he was able to see Boo so clearly. The sun wasn’t fully up yet, but it was undeniably dawn. And Boo was still sleeping peacefully, an absurdly elongated little spoon. Zander did want to spend some time looking at Boo, at the form it had made of both instinct and desire, but its description of the terrible effects of the sun made him reach out and shake its shoulder instead.

Boo blinked sleepily, as if it had a lot of experience with sleeping and not just phasing out of existence during the day. “The daylight, Boo! The daylight!”

It yawned, revealing every single one of its astonishing fangs. “Can’t be daylight,” it said. “You have more uncomfortable lamps.”

“Boo, really!” Zander started trying to move Boo’s miles of limbs around so he could get out of bed and get to the blackout curtains. Why hadn’t he just taken the time to close them last night? It wouldn’t have hurt, it might have helped, and now Boo was way too close to being burned by the sun for the second time because of him! And apparently it was too disoriented? Unused to waking up? To stop hindering Zander from trying to keep it safe—wow, how weird, to go from terrified to protective of one’s boogeyman within a few hours—wait. Did the boogeyman thing explain the situation he was having right now? He was afraid for Boo, Boo naturally did things that were scary, and so Boo’s arms and legs were trapping him in his bed. It was the same thing as not being able to run in a nightmare.

Zander flopped back down and tried to calm himself. Boo was a grown boogeyman, much older than Zander if he’d correctly deciphered its comments on when it had come to exist. If it was going to take these risks, let it! It had come back from the other sunburn just fine!

Zander had maybe three seconds of calm before Boo sat upright quickly enough to make the bed springs squeak. “This IS sunlight!”

“Yeah, and don’t you need to hide from it?”

“I…I hide from light because it hurts me. Or it hurt me.” Boo slowly turned one of its hands back and forth in the dawn light. “But I barely feel anything now. It’s just a tingle. I think the light still might be dissolving me, but somehow it’s so much easier to heal, now. More sunlight would probably still be too much. But I don’t feel any need to dissolve for the length of the day.” It frowned. “I have changed.”

“Boo.” Zander sat up. “How?”

“I couldn’t have guessed…” Boo spoke softly. “But then again, maybe I am the same. Maybe this is part of being a boogeyman, but a boogeyman that followed its instincts, a boogeyman without a Zander, would have only ever tasted fear.” It fixed its gaze back on Zander. “You wondered at me. You were curious about me. You felt desire for me. And now, this morning, you were afraid for me. All of these emotions…I think they are more powerful than your everyday fear. At least for me. At least when they come from you.” It paused, and when it spoke again a note of trepidation had crept into its voice. “Do you think you could continue to wonder at me? I…want to have continuity. In your space. With you. If I don’t have to worry about the sunlight so much, and staying out of sight…there are so many ways I could do more than just exist.”

“Boo.” Zander took its hand. “I think I’ll be wondering at you for a long, long time.” He paused. “Do you still need fear, specifically, now?”

Boo shrugged. “Nightmares are always enough for a boogeyman. I just…ended up different.”

“I’m glad you did,” Zander said. “I’m glad you ended up different with me.” Boo immediately sprawled around him in a clumsy embrace, and Zander laughed. “But it’s a hell of a time to start being part of the world, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Boo said.

Zander sighed, though he smiled, too. “Well. I’ll be here as you figure it out. Now, let’s find a safe place for you to spend the day.” And though he didn’t say anything then, the question still bloomed within him—if wonder can carry you through the dawn, what might love do?

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry use drugs during the course of the fic. If you support our rec lists and want them to continue being made, please reblog this post and spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Lips Are Like The Galaxy’s Edge | Mature | 2365 words

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.

2) Can You Feel The Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

3) Read You Like A Book | Explicit | 8089 words

Louis realises Harry can read his mind. He’ll do anything to make Harry admit it. Set during the North American leg of the WWA tour.

4) Put You On Repeat, Play You Everywhere I Go | Explicit | 8290 words

Harry is a college radio show host and Louis is a contemporary dancer attending said college. After a drunk hook-up, naturally a whole bunch of pining, dedicated love songs and make-out sessions on dance studio floors ensue.

5) Keep It Sweet In Your Memory | Explicit | 17039 words

'How'd it go?' Harry pushes them into Niall's room and shuts the door behind him, so Georgia doesn't overhear.

'It was good. We just caught up, mostly... I may have done something a little stupid, though.'

And Niall's eyebrows are in his hairline at that.

'I mean. Okay, so I invited Louis out on Saturday.'

'Saturday? Your--'

'Yes, my bachelor party...' and then Harry has to explain himself, 'I just felt guilty. I think. He was like. Telling me he wanted to hook up.'

'He WHAT!?'

'No. I mean, not with me. Like. He wants to go out and meet people.'

'He'll hate that. He's too much of a romantic.'

'Yeah, well. Whatever his name was messed him up a little, it would seem.'

6) Never Understood What Love Was Really Like (But I Felt It For The First Time Looking In Your Eyes) | Not Rated | 18431 words

The one where Louis meets Harry at 14 and things don’t quite go as planned.

7) Ain’t My Fault | Explicit | 18690 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

AU. Liam posts an ad on the wrong section of Craigslist, Louis is pretty sure they’re gonna get murdered as a result, and Harry’s missing an avocado.

8) Kiwi | Not Rated | 24110 words

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

9) Honey, Make This Easy | Explicit | 25483 words

AU; Harry’s sister recently passed away, leaving him with temporary custody of her daughter. Needing help, he hires Louis as a nanny and the boy turns out to be help in more ways than he expected.

10) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

11) Captain Jack | Explicit | 31752 words

Note: Please take note of the tags and warnings on this fic before reading

Louis has been searching for something and Harry is there to give it to him. Drugs, sex, disappointment, and the tangled web they’ve woven that keeps them trapped in the same cycle.

12) Can I Make It Any More Obvious? | Explicit | 35560 words

AU where Louis does ballet and Harry is the epitome of everything Louis’ friends want him to stay away from.

13) Bluebird | Explicit | 39024 words

The 2,789 miles between New York and Los Angeles is a long way to go alone.

14) Another Hazy May | Mature | 41042 words

Louis is a terrible poet and Harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance AU ft. Marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

15) Looking Through You | Explicit | 41905 words

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

16) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

17) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

18) Into The Midnight Sun | Explicit | 63525 words

It’s 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn’t easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.

19) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

20) Liberté | Mature | 64603 words

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

21) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words | Sequel

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

22) Baby Heaven’s In Your Eyes | Explicit | 120875 words

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

23) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic. This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that’s the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

24) I Only Ever Want You | Explicit | 180079 words

Note: This fic is the sequel to this fic.

Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.