#kate fills prompts

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Just two ships passing in the night; that's what they felt like.

Beckett had been picking up extra shifts where she could, doing her part to help out as the usual rounds of winter-related illnesses made their sweep through the precinct.

Castle had been keeping busy promoting his latest novel. Book stores, talk shows, radio interviews: he seemed to be everywhere, just not with her.

She would get home late; most night's he would already be in bed. She would eat the meal he'd have prepared for her, shower and then slip into bed and huddle up to him for warmth.

In the early hours of the morning - long before he'd like - he would jolt awake, hit the off button of his alarm clock before it had the chance to disrupt Kate's sleep, too. He'd allow himself a minute to wake properly before pressing a kiss to the top of her head and forcing himself from bed and shuffling sluggishly toward the bathroom.

Just two ships passing in the night.

His shower was long, longer than what was probably necessary but heat of the water worked wonders on the muscles of his back, helped drain the fatigue from his body. When he stepped out, steam and cold air swirled around him: biting, revitalizing.

He turned to grab his towel from the rack, that was when he saw it in the corner of his eye: her message.

The steam had fogged up the mirror and revealed words that had been invisible before.

I love you.

Written in her perfect penmanship, framed by a perfect heart.

He smiled to himself, thanked the universe - or God... Cupid... whoever or whatever was responsible - for sending Kate Beckett his way.

-------

She had set an alarm to wake her in time to catch his appearance on yet another mid-morning talk show. The interviews were all the same; same questions, same answers, same charming smile. But it seemed these interviews were the only time she got to see that charming smile lately. And so, she watched them all.

Every. Single. One.

It didn’t matter how late she worked or how early the segment would be aired: she watched.

It didn’t matter if she was at home or at the precinct: she watched.

And she smiled.

And she missed him.

She forced herself out of bed, walked to the kitchen to make herself an extra strong cup of coffee before curling up into the corner of the couch and turning on the television.

Her partner walked out onto the stage, smiling and waving to the enthusiastic audience as they cheered him on.

It was something she loved to see - people adoring him - and sometimes it felt surreal to think about how not that long ago she was one of those people: adoring him from afar. And now she was a welcomed guest in his home, in his life. She spent her days in his company, her nights in his bed and she knew that even if she wasn’t in his arms, she was in his heart.

She had never felt more grateful.

As he spoke, she closed her eyes and sipped from her coffee; she pretended he was right there with her.

The segment was short, only five minutes. With a sigh, she reluctantly began to get ready for yet another day of work: starting with a deservedly long, steaming shower.

The water worked to rid her of the winter morning’s chill. Warmth soaked through her skin and sunk deep into her bones until standing under the stream of water became nearly unbearable.

She stepped out into the cool air, allowed the sudden contrast to shock and wake her senses as she reached for her towel and slowly wrapped it around her body. She grabbed her toothbrush, squeezed a small amount of toothpaste onto it and ran it under the faucet. As she looked up into the mirror she saw her hidden message to Castle - revealed by the fresh, dewy layer of condensation that covered the mirror’s surface - and smiled. Her smile only brightened when she noticed his sweet, simple reply.

I miss you, my love.

Written in his perfect penmanship, framed by a perfect heart.

And she thought to herself how lucky she was to be loved by Richard Castle.

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights prompt enemies to lovers/opposite sides of a conflict? Depending on how serious the conflict is, it can be fluffy or angsty :)

The lights flicker above his head. Danny swallows roughly, trying to quiet his breathing as much as possible. It would be so much easier if he could just stop breathing completely, to use his powers to disappear from sight, slip around the rest of them and take them all out. 

His palms are sweating. Taking another steadying breath, Danny tightens his grip on the gun, shifting just slightly where he’s crouched, hidden out of sight. 

He can’t hear anything beyond his own rapid heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. The Bats thrive in silence and darkness, and this messy warehouse with its stacked shelving units is full of places for them to hide, waiting for him to cross their sights. 

There’s no one left to help him.

Danny’s on his own. 

No powers, he tells himself firmly. He has to do this as a regular human. The Bats will know otherwise, and he can’t risk it. Just remember what Mom taught you.

The lights flicker again, then go out completely. 

Now! 

Danny springs away from his hiding spot, searching the darkness for any movement. The Bats like to go up high, so he follows suit, sticking close to a wall as he scales his way up a shelving unit. Every moment sounds so loud, like a clap of thunder in the dead of night, and the back of his neck prickles with the feeling of being watched. 

He was never going to out run them. He can’t hide from them. The least he can do is take out as many of them as he can before they shoot him down.

His only saving grace is that Black Bat isn’t here. Last he saw, she was heading down a different street, chasing someone else. As long as he makes his move before she returns, there’s still a chance he can get out of the warehouse and try to escape them again. 

The clouds above Gotham drift apart, allowing the pale moonlight to shine down on the city. Moonlight streams in through the large windows and Danny moves to stay in the shadows, as out of sight as he can manage. He keeps moving, refusing to stay still; if they want to get him, then he’s going to do all he can to make it as difficult as possible. 

The top of the shelving unit is steady. Danny keeps one hand out, close to the wall, as he creeps across it, looking out over the entire warehouse. 

He’s close to the entrance now. All he has to do is drop down and run, and then he’s back out in the streets, no longer trapped in an enclosed space with some Bats. 

Danny reaches the edge of the shelving unit and prepares to jump when he sees a movement in the corner of his eye. Reacting instinctively, he throws himself out into the air, twisting to aim his gun at the flash of purple tucked against the side of a shelf. 

He shoots, one shot after the other, until he lands on the ground in a messy roll. 

Spoiler curses as she ducks away, sending a few return shots of her own, but with her hiding behind the shelf, taking cover. “Just give up!” she shouts at him, “We’ll get you sooner or later!”

“You were supposed to be on my side!” he returns, firing another shot before turning on his heel to sprint away.

“Plans change! Now I have a reason to take you down.”

Which means Black Bat got a hold of Spoiler earlier and got her to change allegiances. It must have been right before he reached the warehouse, still believing Spoiler to be on his side and frantically having to dodge her attacks before they lost each other in the labyrinth of the warehouse. 

So, that’s another person after his head. 

The streets are quiet, a rare treat in Gotham. He’s the only one out, running through the streets like his life depends on it. No doubt Spoiler is right behind him, determined to take him down. He hasn’t seen any of the others for a while, but they have to be somewhere in the area. 

Danny ducks into an alley and scrambles up a fire escape. At least out in the open air, he can pass off a few impossible jumps as being really good at free running. 

He runs, crossing a few streets, and throws himself into a roll, hiding behind an AC unit when he hears more gunshots. 

From the cursing accompanying it, Red Hood must be near.

That’s good. That’s someone who is (presumably) still on his side. 

He follows the noise to the top of a bakery, where he catches a glimpse of a disgruntled looking woman scowling from the window. He offers her a sheepish grin as he climbs by the window, her startled jump turning into rolled eyes as she closes the blinds.  

He gets to the top of the bakery just in time to watch Red Hood pick up Robin and throw him at Nightwing, who drops his gun in order to catch the kid. Taking his chance, Danny crouches on the edge of the roof and aims.

Nightwing falls to the side to avoid it, but he doesn’t manage it in time. Robin takes the hit, still held by Nightwing and unintentionally used as a shield.

“Oops,” Nightwing says as Robin scowls and brings out a shuriken, trying to stab Nightwing in retaliation.

“Nice one, kid,” Red Hood says. He offers Danny a high five, which he happily returns.

The moment lasts for only a second before another shot rings out and Red Hood stumbles forward with a curse, a splatter of yellow paint on his back. 

The Signal swings by, scooping Danny up with an arm around his waist. Red Hood moves to follow, but Nightwing is on him again, their fight beginning again as Robin hops off the roof and disappears from sight.

“Let go!” Danny demands, trying to wiggle out of the Signal’s grip.

“No can do. I’m winning this. My share of Alfred’s cake depends on this.”

Unfortunately for the Signal, Danny’s share of Alfred’s cake also depends on his victory. He’s already got a few points by getting shots in on the other team, small splatters of white paint decorating their costumes, but not as much as the others. He’s also got paint all over him, mostly black and blue, but the game doesn’t end until the Point Person (Danny for his team, Damian for the other) is taken to the other team’s base.

Danny’s team set up their base on the thrift store at the end of their designated game area. He has no idea where Duke’s team has their base, and he doesn’t intend to find out any time soon.

“Sorry,” he says, then shoves a foot between Duke’s legs to slam his heel against a pressure point just below the knee. 

The Signal bites back a pained yell and hits the roof hard. They both go rolling across it, carried by the momentum of his swing. To add insult to injury, Danny gets back to his feet and shoots Duke point blank in the chest, then makes another run for it.

“No you don’t!” he hears Signal yell from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. 

Danny jumps, making it onto the next roof, adrenaline rushing through him. He tries to find a way back to his team’s base, but the Signal doesn’t let him past, trapping him in. They dodge paint bullets from each other, moving back and forth as if dancing.

And because Danny has abysmal luck, he trips over his own feet when the Signal lunges at him and he tries to spin away from him. 

“Woah!” 

The Signal drops his gun to catch Danny, pulling him close and steadying him. Danny clutches to the Signal’s arms, his own gun pointed off to the side awkwardly. They end up pressed together, barely any space between their faces. 

They’re frozen there for a moment, staring at each other. This close, Danny can see through the visor of the Signal’s helmet, and Duke’s eyes are just as wide as his. 

“Caught you,” Signal breathes, and Danny’s gaze drops down to his lips. 

He’s sure his own feelings are clear and on display in the moment, but he can’t help it. They may be on opposing teams, but a hero is a hero and being saved by the Signal never fails to make danny’s heart skip a beat. 

He really needs to get his head in the game. He needs to push the Signal away and try to get back to his own team. He needs to win so he can steal Duke’s share of Alfred’s cake. 

The Signal tightens his grip on Danny’s waist and leans in just a little, barely noticeable.

But Danny notices.

Fuck it, he thinks. 

Before he can overthink it, before his nerve get the better of him, before anyone swings by and interrupts, Danny closes the distance between them and kisses Duke. 

It’s just a soft, small peck. He pulls back almost immediately, cheeks flushed red, but doesn’t go far before Duke is kissing him again and again and again.

“Now is not the time, lover birds!” Spoiler shouts. They startle apart, giddy grin on their faces. Danny turns to see her land on the roof with her hands on her hips, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, and knows that neither of them are going to live this down any time soon. Nightwing and Red Hood follow soon after, trying to tackle each other, and almost bowl over Spoiler as Red Robin takes the opportunity to pop up out of nowhere, Black Bat on his tail, to shoot at Spoiler.

With all of them distracted, Danny shares a smile with Duke then darts back in for another kiss. 

Then he pulls back, shoots Signal again, and takes off with a laugh.

The game’s not over yet, but that’s not going to stop him from feeling like a winner anyways.

He is going to get that cake, though. Losing is not an option with Alfred’s baking on the line. Crush or not, Duke is going down.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

1. Starry night

Castlemas '23 #5: Next Best Thing

Season Four

"You know what I miss at Christmas time," he hears Ryan say. "My Grandma's cookies. My sister tries to make them but they're not the same."

He smiles. Has heard tales of the Ryan family and can imagine them sitting around the table together.

"What about you Castle?" Ryan asks. "Surely you've got some wild tales?"

He smirks. Remembers the unorthodox Christmas celebrations that he'd had with Martha as a child and all the things he'd done with Alexis.

"Stargazing in the snow," he smiles at the memory. "One Christmas, I booked a cabin, Alexis was only little, but I bundled her up and we sat on a bench on the back porch and we looked at the stars and made up stories about them."

Kate smiles at him. She knows we've lost him for a moment, his mind of with his daughter of whatever small age she'd been at the time.

"Now she's grown up and too cool to curl up with her ol' Dad."

Kate chuckles. "It comes back around. Dad and I do that sometimes, when we're up at his cabin.

A phone rings and Ryan turns to answer it, ending the conversation and Castle returns his full attention to her.

"I miss it sometimes, too." She admits, quietly. "Being able to just do something like that with Dad."

He sees her swallow. Knows she just admitted something she usually keeps behind her shield, behind the wall.

"It's hard to do it in the city but sometimes Alexis and I go to the planetarium. It's not quite the same, but it's still nice."

Kate smiles at him. "That sounds nice."

Castle nods, letting the conversation drop when her phone rings and then they're in motion.

It isn't until a week later she opens a gift card from him and finds tickets for the planetarium. "Alexis and I are going. You and your Dad are welcome to tag along... or go whenever works for the two of you."

She doesn't know what to say. She knows what she wants to say, to do, but she's not ready. "Thanks Castle."

"Merry Christmas, Kate."

[flyingpotstickers]

🎁

send me a 🎁 and I’ll write five sentences of what I’m working on and share one

I wasn't working on anything yet but wrote this instead so you get all of THIS.....) (reminder to donate to this cause if you enjoyed reading this!!!!!)

Word Count: ~1k!

Fandom: NCIS: Hawai'i

Ship: Kacy

Read it here on ao3.

@when-you-are-stranger you might like this :)

Kate naturally wasn't a jealous person. Normally, she was quite confident in who she was seeing and how they were feeling about her at any given moment. It'd never been a problem before, certainly, that she'd gotten hotheaded over a partner.

So when she snapped the pencil in front of Lucy getting flirted with--- well....that was a new experience for her. Lucy wasn't entertaining the flirtatious advances, of course. They were together. But that didn't mean Kate liked seeing it happen.... Right in front of her coffee, for fuck's sake!

Okay, so maybe while they were together, and that was factual, it wasn't exactly... well known to the rest of the team. They were keeping things down on the low, secret. Kate wasn't even sure why anymore. It had been her idea.

So Kate couldn't even get mad.

(More mad than she was.)

She wanted to get mad.

(Pencils be damned.)

She wanted to declare in front of everyone that they were a couple and to back The Fuck Off of her girl. But that was an angry thought, a thought based off fear of rejection. Instead, she commented on the pick up line with a dry look. "You broke my pencil by being bold enough to use that dull of a line." She drawled out.

Lucy giggled. Oh god, Kate wanted to give her the world. Kate sighed as she looked at Lucy, "what? Was it going to work?" she asked lightly. Trying to infuse in her tone of voice that she was not threatened by this man's "moves" or lack thereof.

Lucy rolled her eyes, looking only slightly apologetically at the coffee shop employee. "Sorry, but no. I've heard lines about these eyes longer than you've been alive, kid." She confessed. "besides that," she added. "I have a partner."

Kate tried not to puff up with pride at the words--- Or at the way the cashier deflated. SHE WAS THAT PARTNER!!!! Yeah!!!!!

Kate needed to get a grip on herself.

"Here's your order."

The barista called out after a pregnant pause --- the pause involving a very loaded gaze off between the two women. Looking at Lucy, Kate couldn't remember why they were keeping this - them - a secret. But she couldn't just out them on her own. No.... bad idea.

"C'mon," Lucy tugged Kate's sleeve along as they grabbed their individual drinks from the counter. "You're holding the line up, Whistler."

"I want to go out with you." Kate said intelligently, obediently allowing herself to be tugged away. "In public. With you. And I want to tell the world that you have decided to give me another chance. But only if that's okay with you! I understand if you don't want to, it's just." Kate gripped her drink almost a little tooooooooo tightly. Luckily, she realised in time and stopped: Stopped the squeeze, stopped the motion of moving forward.

"I understand if I've given off too many red flags for you to even really want to date me at all. But right here and now, all I can think about is kissing the foam off of your lips." Kate continued to ramble, and would have gone on to say more, really! She was prepared with a whole speech! Except!

Lucy kissed her. In front of all the coffee shop. In front of all the employees who had hit on her. In front of all the customers who were waiting on their mediocre coffee. And oh god, Kate could taste the coffee on Lucy's lips as the kiss intensified for three....four, no, five, seconds until Lucy pulled away smiling beatifically.

"I could think of worse things."

Kate couldn't think of anything, let alone "Things Worse Than Dating Her".

All she could think of was the taste Lucy had allowed her of a life that she So. Desperately. Wanted.

A life with Lucy Tara.

[this-sapphic-paradise]

To the anon who sent me this prompt:

I'm working on it. I'll probably post it on AO3 because it's getting long and I might need a second chapter to get to the handcuffs 😌

[rainboq]

88. “I’m better, now that you’re here.”, Chasemarsh

To call Victoria’s art her passion was, quite frankly, understating it. Not her photography, that was her profession, the path she’d been pushed onto by her controlling and overbearing parents. Not that she disliked being behind a camera, the routine of staging, lighting, posing, and finally taking the shot had become a form of therapy for her. Each shoot was a triumph against him, proving that she was free of his bullshit. But it was never what she yearned for in her heart.

No, that was her poetry. She lived and breathed for it, the urge to put stanzas to paper burned in her veins.

She’d started penning verse in middle school, words flowing from her pencils, pens, and keyboards like water through a stream. Her heart sang as the stanzas danced, thoughts and emotions spilling from her onto the page and making her feel whole. Then her parents had found out about it.

“Trite”, “clichéd”, and “overwrought” had been the words out of her parents lips, back in the days when she still saw them as people to aspire to and emulate. As they had crushed her spirits, she had crushed the poet in her, compacting that Victoria into a little box and shoving her down into the darkest recesses of her mind.

It had hurt, of course it had, killing the poet in her had been on the hardest things Victoria had done. As 13 rolled over into 14 she had lain crying on her bed, clutching her notebook to her chest as her parent’s derision echoed in her mind. ‘You’re not a kid anymore, quit being so childish’ they had demanded of her as her womanhood bloomed with all the subtle grace of a derailed freight train.

But try as she might, no matter how much she tried to bury that side of her, Victoria the poet never truly died. She came close, along with the rest of Victoria, but like her, she was stubbornly persistent.

And like the rest of her, Victoria the poet was concerned with one thing, and one thing only: the pursuit of excellence. She couldn’t just be okay, or good. No, she had to be the best. She had to pursue greatness with every fiber of her being. Poems were written and rewritten, edited and revised until they barely resembled the unguarded words that had tumbled out of Victoria’s mind.

Even now, more than a decade after their deaths, the barnacles of her parent’s voices clung to her mind, burring deep between the folds and savaging her neurons. Too emotional, too proziac, too plain.

Nothing was ever good enough.

It couldn’t be, it had to be perfect.

But it never was that either.

Her throat burned as she sat on the couch of their condo, tears rolling down her cheeks as her fingers rubbed through the thick, fluffy fur of their calico cat Charlotte-Marie. Normally the feline was enough to sooth her, but not after tonight.

It had taken years after everything that had unfolded for Victoria to dare let the poet in her peek her head out of hiding. And more gentle coaxing still to let herself put pen to page once more. She had finally let herself take the next step, and shared her verse publicly at a slam at a nearby cafe.

A cafe that she could never show her face at again. Not after that reception.

It was stupid, she knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Her heart burned, her chest was tight as if she were in vice, her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, tattered and torn like the rest of her.

She was worthless. An untalented hack fraud who couldn’t even hold a candle to local teenagers and students at a Thursday night poetry slam. Totally unworthy of anyone’s attention, never mind friendship, or the love of—

The door to the condo clicked open, snapping Victoria out of her thoughts. Charlotte-Marie sprang to her feet, stretching out luxuriously with a loud mrrp before scampering off to the door.

Victoria stayed put. She was a wreck, what a waste of time it had all been, and now she was going to waist even more of—

“Victoria?” Asked Kate, the voice of her wife high and concerned, “Is everything alright?”

It had once been embarrassing how easily Kate’s voice could put her at ease, after everything she had done, but now it was more than welcome. The pressure in her chest eased, the burning in her heart settling as she heard Kate’s stocking covered feet padding over the tile. Her voice came as somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “No.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Kate’s footfalls sped up as she made her way past the kitchen and into the living room with Victoria, “What happened?”

“It’s stupid,” Victoria shrugged as Kate’s arms reached over the sofa and and wrapped around her shoulders and chest, her soft lips finding Victoria’s neck, “Don’t worry about it.”

Kate’s neck and chest pressed into Victoria’s back, the pressure and the gentle vanilla of Kate’s body wash helping bring her back down to earth.“Well I’m already worrying, so you’ll just have to tell me.”

“I suck at poetry,” Victoria spat out, her body cringing, “Everyone had all these corrections and suggestions, but they were already things I’d changed or edited out. It made me feel so fucking stupid! I can’t even edit my poems properly for fuck’s sake.”

“Shhh,” Kate gently cooed in her ear, the warmth of her breath tickling over Victoria’s neck, “It’s okay, I’d probably feel the same way if someone suggested that about my drawings. It’s normal to feel that way when someone suggests you change something back. How are you feeling?”

Victoria shrugged, her hands moving up to rest on Kate’s arms, her thumbs rubbing over the soft skin of her forearms, “… Better, now that you’re here.”

“That so?” Kate giggled softly, her head moving forward.

Victoria’s head turned, her lips finding Kate’s for a brief, loving kiss. “Yeah.”

Kate returned her kiss with another of her own before releasing Victoria and walking around the couch to sit next to her. “So, was it all bad?”

“No,” Victoria was forced to confess as she raised her arm and allowed Kate to nestle into her side, “Max was there and she was really supportive, she told me she really liked the poem.”

“I had a feeling, she’s always so sweet,” Kate sighed as Victoria’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“And hey, at least I know that I’ll never be as bad a poet as Chloe.”

[sesamestreep]

Congratulations on the follower milestone!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

For a thematically appropriate prompt to kick things off: your pick of the Bake Off AU squad and the word "balloon"

thank you, friend!!!! 💫💫💫 and you know if you give me carte blanche like this, I’m going to choose the squad known as “all of them”…

“Helloooo,” Foggy says dramatically, after picking up his phone on the third ring. It had been set on the table, waiting for this moment, but he didn’t want to be too obvious about that when he picked up.

“Did you fill my entire apartment with balloons,” Kate’s tinny voice calls out from the speaker, “you maniac?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “You were with me all day! When would I have had the time to go to your apartment and fill it with balloons? I was too busy representing New York City’s downtrodden in court! That sort of task would require someone who has a much more flexible schedule, because their life’s work is goofy and downright pointless.”

“Oh my god, you got Peter to do it?” Kate exclaims.

“Hey!” Peter yells from across the table, while MJ hides her face in his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Kate says, again. “Am I on speaker phone?!”

“Listen, if I were you, I wouldn’t go into your apartment,” Foggy says, ignoring all of them. “Probably safer to wait for some of the balloons to deflate a little. You can come meet us, if you want.”

“Ugh, where are you?”

“We’re at McGee’s, right down the street.”

“You planned this,” Kate whines into the phone.

“What on earth gives you that impression?”

“Because you’re a block away from me, dipshit.”

“Huh, that is kind of incriminating, isn’t it?”

“And I’m standing in the hallway, still in my work clothes,” Kate continues to complain. “And I can’t change because of all the fucking balloons, Foggy.”

“You wore a HAIM t-shirt and jeans with a pair of docs to the office today, Kate,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”

“My apartment is a Nena song because of you, old man!”

“Technically, it’s because of Peter. And Colleen.”

“Hi, Kate!” Colleen singsongs from Foggy’s side.

Kate groans. “I don’t want to go out tonight! I don’t even want to turn 26, okay? I’m officially in my late twenties now! Do I seem like the sort of person who can be in their late anythings? I’m basically a child! Child safety caps on medicine bottles still work on me, Foggy! I’m not equipped for adulthood!”

Foggy switches her off speaker and puts the phone to his ear instead. “You are not a child, despite the tantrum you’re clearly having, and the only thing you’re late for is your own birthday party,” he says, patiently. “So, get your ass down here. We have cake and everything!”

“Ugh, you made me a cake?”

“Ouch, don’t sound so excited,” Foggy replies. “But no, I asked your favorite baker on earth to make it instead.”

“Sam made me a cake?” Kate asks, sounding impressed. “And shipped it to you? That’s so nice.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Oh, so who—?”

“He brought it with him in person.”

“Wait?! Sam is there?” Kate shrieks, and Foggy thinks he hears her drop her keys in her excitement. “Is Bucky there too?”

“No, Sam left him at home,” Foggy says, while making direct eye contact with him. Bucky’s brows knit together in confusion. “Between you and me, I think Sam’s still hoping to seduce me away from Matt.”

“Yeah, right,” Kate says, at the same time as Matt’s elbow digs into Foggy’s ribs from his other side. Across the table, Bucky’s expression turns into a scowl while Sam and Daisy try to muffle their laughter. “Fine, you convinced me. I’ll be there in five!”

“Oh, so your true friends, who haven’t left New York for greener pastures, can’t tempt you here, but your fake friends who moved away to Louisiana can. I see how it is.”

“You want me at the bar, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I know it was you that masterminded all of this anyway. So, really, it’s a compliment to you that the plan worked!”

“Wasn’t me, kiddo,” Foggy says, switching the phone to his other ear. “I just helped coordinate logistics.”

There’s a pause in which he hears Kate’s footsteps stop and then a grunt and an apology when she clearly gets bumped by someone after stopping dead in her tracks on the sidewalk. Foggy waits while she processes whatever’s going through her head.

“Tell Matt I love him,” she says, softly, after a moment.

“Tell him yourself when you get here,” Foggy replies, sparing a glance in Matt’s direction and clocking how pleased he looks with himself. “He’s buying first round anyway.”

“Ooh, you should have started with that,” Kate says, and now it sounds like she’s running.

[inkisadream]

Full Moon Scarecrow

I remember how the cornstalks felt in high summer, a summer of sticky sweet heat. My fingers peeled husks away when I put kernels in cast iron and watched the butter bubble in the oven. There is only my own hand to scoop out a helping. Heat rises and in the stalks the flies buzzing in high summer are a chorus. I walk under sunlight while the Moon lingers, a sentinel, water to soothe the burns of the day.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Good To See You

Season Four

The knock on the door startles her. She’s not expecting anyone and for a minute her mind goes to a dark place.

“Kate?” She hears through the door.

She settles, makes her way to the door and opens it.

"Hey Lanie," she utters.

"Hey? That's how you let me know you're back in town," Lanie shakes her head. "I bought dinner. I hoped maybe you were free."

"Lanie..."

"We don't have to talk about it," Lanie assures her. "But I know you won't have eaten and I picked up tacos from the place down the street with the good margaritas. I got us some of that nice Mexican soda though. Next time we'll do margaritas."

Kate smiled, gestured for Lanie to come in, followed her into the kitchen and watched her start to take out plates, glasses, pulling out soda cans and setting out food.

"I can take care of myself!" Kate teases.

"Oh, I've seen what that looks like," Lanie side eyes her. Takes in the pale skin, the frailty to her best friend. Has never seen her so unlike herself.

"Well, it's been a... been a lot," Kate volunteers.

"I... I get that you needed to deal with this, sweetie, I really do," Lanie turns to her. "And I'm not even mad about it. I just... It's just really good to see you."

Kate can't help it. She wraps Lanie in a hug, as tight as her body will let her and just for a second she lets it out before pulling back putting that lid on it again.

"Missed you too," Kate mutters.

Lanie gives her that look, the one Beckett kind of hates but also kind of loves. The one that says her friend understands her but won't push. They settle around her sofa, Lanie taking over control of the TV and finding a romantic comedy for them to watch and she just gets to spend an evening, an evening like so many they've spent before. Before bullets and conspiracies and declarations and pain and hiding.

"Lanie," Kate mutters. "Thanks."

Thanks for being here. Thanks for saving me. Thanks for caring.

Happy National Best Friends Day

Prompt #981

"I can take care of myself!"

"Oh I've seen what that looks like."

[ceilidho]

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 1.

-

“—are priced wrong. You need to fix that.”

“Hmm? Sorry?” you ask, mind snapping out of whatever fog it’d descended into upon seeing John Price’s truck pull up out front of the grocer. You blink a couple times before focusing on the older lady lined up at your till, her face pinched with displeasure. It deepens when she realizes that you haven’t been paying a lick of attention to whatever she’d just spent the better half of a minute complaining about. 

“The beefsteak tomatoes are priced wrong. They’re supposed to be two dollars a pound—it’s in the catalogue.”

Before you can so much assure her that you’ll certainly honour the advertised price and save yourself the headache, she’s already opening up her purse to pull out the crinkled grocery catalogue, unfolding it across your conveyor belt; it goes out in the local paper once a week with all the sales and rippable coupons, and this isn’t the first time you’ve had someone try to lecture you about discrepant prices (Kate, your manager, is a sweet, gungho lady, that often sends off discount confirmations to the editorial staff of the local paper without informing anyone that actually works in the shop day-to-day). 

From the corner of your eye, you see John slam the door shut on his truck and make his way towards the shop, hands shoved into his pockets. Even from a ways away, the sight of him makes your cheeks redden; his beard’s gotten fuller in the week since you last saw him, clad in even more layers of flannel and tweed now with the fast approach of winter. He looks properly ready for the winter months, with just an air of heaviness present in the lines on his forehead and the tilt of his head. 

You feel your lips slip down into a frown. Helpless, you can only watch in defeat as John lumbers into the grocery store, brushing his hand over his hat to shake off the snowflakes onto the mat by the automatic doors. He picks up one of the baskets by the front door before heading down one of the aisles. His eyes don’t flicker to meet yours so much as once. 

Your shoulders slump when he ducks out of sight before you focus your attention back on the woman in front of you. She’s pointing out the tomato print with the little two dollar sign in the advertisement with a stiff finger, eyebrow cocked like she’s pulled one over on you. You really can’t imagine there being anything less important to you than the price of beefsteak tomatoes, never mind having to refund someone a whole dollar because you inadvertently overcharged them and you happened to get stuck with the one customer that would spend a full thirty seconds reviewing their bill before leaving the shop. 

“See?” she says, the word coming out sibilant and stressed. You blink.

Turning back to the till, you click a couple buttons before the register pops back out again and you pluck up a dollar to hand back to your customer. On the receipt that’s printed out, you hastily scrawl the reason for the refund and shove the seller's copy back into the till. The woman stares at the dollar now sitting on the belt in front of her.

“Of course, ma’am,” you say, a robotic smile stretching across your face. “Apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll get someone to reprice the tomatoes so this doesn’t happen again.”

She doesn’t say anything when she snatches up the dollar along with her groceries and hobbles out the front door, the automatic doors swooshing behind her. With her finally gone, you close your eyes for a second, a private moment just to yourself.

Someone clears their throat from just off to the side. Your heart bursts into a frantic pitter-patter when you open your eyes to find John waiting patiently at the end of your till, his basket filled up with bottles of mustard, gherkins, and other preserves. 

“A paper bag, please,” he says in a gruff voice, like he tousled with sleep just a few minutes ago. It makes your head spin. 

You nod, hardly able to even respond.

Up close, he smells like firewood and smoke, the ever-present cigar usually hanging off his lip nowhere to be seen but still clinging to his jacket and flannel beneath it. The mutton chops of his beard have grown out more than the rest, but his jaw is covered in a layer of fur in comparison to the week previous. John doesn’t really make eye contact as you scan his groceries, almost too tired to raise them from the conveyor belt. Not for lack of respect—it comes off as pure exhaustion. 

You know John as the gruff, taciturn park ranger that comes in once a week to load up on steaks, cold cuts and fresh produce, but in the months you’ve lived in this town, he’s always fresh off work, a little rough around the edges and not quite fit for human interaction just yet. He just grunts and nods when you tell him his total, towers over you and never really makes much eye contact. 

It’s always non-perishables with him these days. At least for the past several weeks, as far as you know. Cans and jars and freezer-ready meals. He doesn’t strike you as much of a prepper, but his order speaks for itself. It’s one of the things you like most about your job—getting to peek into the small crack of life laid bare before you. 

“Getting ready for the winter?” you ask. 

John grunts, eyes meeting yours just briefly before dropping down again. Dark brown. Sometimes you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of gold in them, like a honey glaze, but it’s likely just a trick of the lights. 

“Gonna be a rough one.” 

You try not to shiver at the sound of his voice. It’s not often that you get to hear it; even though you moved into the house next to his almost six months ago, he spends most of his days in the mountains, working up there as a ranger. He comes home after dark nearly every day—not so hard now that the sun sets early on in the day, but even back in the summer you’d spy him coming back from his shift well after dark. 

He’s gotten more heavyset in the last couple of weeks, a comfortable weight to his midsection and arms. Beefier, more solid. When John is in front of you, it’s like no one else in the world exists at that moment; he removes them all from sight and mind. It soothes some of the worry that his constant late coming has stirred up in you, knowing that he’s fed. Not all of it though.

“You know the, uh—” you start, clearing your throat midway through, almost losing your nerve under his sudden attention at the sound of your voice, “—the butter’s twenty percent off this week. I, um…I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.” You catch his little frown and clarify. “You usually get butter.”

“Thank you, but not this time,” he says gruffly. “Got enough of it in the freezer.”

“Oh…well…” you trail off like you’re going to say something else but you let the conversation fall flat instead. 

He’s quiet the rest of the time as you bag his groceries. John always is. There’s a hurt side of you, silently begging for more, but you’ve watched him enough around town to know that this is just what he’s like. Gruff with the other rangers on the mountain, taciturn after a long day’s work, and sweet as apple pie with the older townsfolk. You’ve seen him help people at crosswalks and more than once he’s footed someone’s grocery bill when they’ve come short. 

Maybe you’re not interesting enough to merit conversation or that same goodwill he extends to others. Not that John has ever been anything less than polite with you, but—your thoughts scatter like birds when you recite his total without thinking and watch him wordlessly as he pays. 

“Thanks, honey,” John says, eyes meeting yours again. “See you next week.” He finally manages a smile, his eyes crinkling under the weight of it. 

You could get lost in his smile if you let yourself. It comes freely but seldomly these days, kept at bay by rough days out in the woods helping lost hikers, ticketing hunters for going over their allotment, and managing the wildlife. But when he smiles, you feel the blood go hot under your cheeks and fight every vision you have of him suddenly leaning across the counter and tipping your chin up for a kiss.

Tongue-tied, you nod. You can’t even force a smile on your face, wide eyes still set on him in wonderment. He doesn’t wait around for you to find your words.

But—you think again wistfully as he turns to leave—it might be nice once in a while. For him to look at you like you’re more than a stranger. 

You mourn your chance to talk to him once he’s out the door, wishing you could call him back. It’s not his fault that just the mere sight of him leaves you tongue-tied. It folds up like a cherry stem in your mouth when he speaks to you and you haven’t yet managed to untangle it in his presence. Maybe someday. 

That’s just life though. 

He’s always made you feel nervous, like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it’s a safe kind of crush. The kind that feels fun to indulge in because there’s no possibility of reciprocation, like you can just ogle him and pine over him without having to worry about what you’d do if he felt the same way. You mourn the loss of him when he leaves, but like a tender bruise on your knee that you sometimes press just to shy away from. 

The rest of your shift pales in comparison to the eight minutes spent in his presence. Rinse and repeat. Someone else complains about the tomatoes and you write a note for your manager to read the next day. It’ll be her fault if someone finally emails in to complain or takes it to the news; there’s always an op-ed in the papers that’s little more than a thinly veiled bad Yelp review. 

John’s car is outside his house when you make it home at the end of the day, the lights still on inside. You sit in your car and stare at the light hidden behind the curtains. 

It would be nice, you think, resting your head back against the seat, to go up and knock at his door. If only you were braver. You’d march right up, knock on his door, and offer him something to eat. You could do it too. In the six months you’ve lived here, it’s not as though you’ve ever treated him particularly neighbourly. 

You squeak when you see John pull the curtain back and peer out the window, sliding down in the front seat so he doesn’t notice you there.

Maybe some other day then.

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Types of kisses: (3) Heated kisses.

4x 05 - After the Serena Kaye kiss.

"I was just stalling, like you asked me to!" he insisted... again.

"That's so funny," she said sarcastically. "I don't recall the part where I asked you to shove your tongue down her throat."

She was seething. Not only had Castle drudged up this argument yet again, but he had dared to bring it into her apartment, into her safe space. He was tainting her refuge with the images of Serena Kaye pressed against the wall, his mouth and hands all over her.

Just the memory had her as nauseated as the moment itself.

"I panicked!" he justified. "I'm sorry. I just- I don't get why you're so mad at me."

"I'm-" She stopped, looked into his pleading eyes, so filled with a remorse that contradicted his claims of innocence.

However, she knew his regret wasn't for the kiss, it was for everything else that had led them to this moment, for the uncertainty that lingered between them. His regret was for something that wasn't even remotely his fault.

"I'm not mad," she said, forcing the anger from her voice.

"Don't do that, Kate," he begged. "Don't push it down and act like everything is fine. Please... just talk to me."

She wanted to. A very big part of her dreamed of the day that she could talk to him, tell him everything, tell him that she was working on herself for him. But today, that part of her was hurting. Today, that part of her was losing the fight against the relentless voice in the back of her mind that told her Castle didn't really love her, that his confession had been fuelled by fear and that he hadn't brought it up since because he had regretted it.

"This isn't sustainable," Castle stated. "When half of what we are remains unspoken-" He shook his head. "It's only going to end badly."

"What do you want me to say, Castle?"

"The truth."

Could it be that simple?

She nodded slowly, gathered her thoughts.

The truth.

"It hurt," she admitted. "Watching you kiss her like that."

Castle's jaw tightened as her confession sliced him open. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know."

Silence fell over them, filled her apartment with a tenuous sense of peace. But she knew he needed more, could see the question on his face: what right did she have to be hurt by this?

"It's just-" She inhaled deeply to calm her shaking hands. "You kissed me like that."

A lifetime ago, she reminded herself. But that one kiss, despite being a ruse, was all she had.

"I guess I just- I managed to convince myself that it was real but it wasn't."

"Kate-" Castle stepped forward, but Kate's hand on his chest stopped him from getting to close.

"It's fine, Castle. I'll get over it, I always do."

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from his chest. As he took another step closer he cradled the back of her head and pulled her to him.

He claimed her lips with an intensity that she couldn't resist - couldn't even bring herself to try - and greed devoured the last of her self control.

She gave in, taking exactly what she had wanted for so long.

She pulled her wrist from his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck, arched her body into his when his palm pressed to her lower back. She teased his bottom lip with the coaxing flick of her tongue, a request he readily obeyed.

The hand that supported the back of her head curled, fingers tangled through her hair. As Castle used his grip to angle her head and deepen the kiss, a needy moan rattled low in her throat.

He lurched forward, sent her stumbling backward until she felt the hard press of the wall behind her. She gasped against his lips as his hips rocked against hers and his hands learned the contours of her body.

Castle pulled away, leant his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He could feel her chest heaving against his; the shallow, uneven breaths warm as they skirted along his jaw.

"It was real," he said breathlessly.

He cupped her face and - in an act that smothered the anger and desperation she had felt mere seconds earlier - pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips before repeating his promise.

"It was real."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Prompt: The Last Lines

Choose one of the last lines of these literary works, and either create a new story/poem or continue writing the story...

“He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.” —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)

“After all, tomorrow is another day.” —Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind (1936)

“She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.” —John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)

“Are there any questions?” —Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale (1985)

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” —Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises (1926)

“She called in her soul to come and see.” —Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

“There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.” —Kate Chopin, The Awakening (1899)

“It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” —J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)

“The eyes and faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.” —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (1963)

If this writing prompt inspires you in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

more last lines ⚜ the first lines More: Writing Prompts

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Castlemas '23 #12: Overboard Season Seven

It had been a long day, a cold journey home and she longed for a soak in hot water, candlelight and a nice glass of wine with her husband.

She's slides her key into the lock, already feeling relief at the feeling of just opening the door to her home, to her family, to escape from the outside world.

She comes to a stop when she enters and finds her husband surrounded by Amazon packages, a look of mild panic on his face when he sees she's home.

He looks around at his crime scene before turning to her.

“I’ll explain but you can’t yell at me okay?”

"You went overboard on Christmas, didn't you?"

He nods.

"I'm going to have a bath," she tells him, shutting the door. "I saw nothing."

He grins, rushes to give her a kiss and continues looking for places to stash his purchases. She shakes her head in amusement.

Prompt #113

“I’ll explain but you can’t yell at me okay?”

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Can you do #30 on the prompts list? Thank you so much for your stories!

CHB'23 #18: No Competition Post 2x06 Vampire Weekend

The party is dying down but he's enjoying himself with his friends, sitting with a few beers and trading stories.

"No, you had to be there," Ryan's giggling. "I'm chasing the head one way, Espo has the ass going the opposite way down the street."

"Except neither can see where they are running," Espo continues the story. "Fool misses the fire hydrant right in front of him. Goes down. Hard."

Castle is laughing, hearing the teams tales of woe of arrests of Halloween past, doesn't envy Lanie the task of determining fake or real blood.

"How about you, Castle?" Lanie says. "You must have had some wild Halloween parties."

Castle agrees. "None that I will mention with mother present," he teases the medical examiner.

"You haven't done Halloween until you've done Halloween with your theatre troupe," Martha insists. "Now, there is some commitment to the bit."

Castle groans but he watches his new friends, his partner turn rapt attention to the actress, knowing from experience that none of them had ever experienced anything the way Martha Rodger does.

"Go on then, Mrs R," Ryan encourages. "What's the weirdest Halloween experience you've had?"

"I was once doing a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, you know, the Shakespeare play?" She checks everyone nods before she continues. "It was dreadful but we couldn't make the director see that his modern tweaks to the story just weren't working. Harriet, one of the actors, she insisted on trying to perform a séance and contact Shakespeare to rectify the situation and..."

She waited, watched them all get drawn in.

"Bam!" She clapped her hands, watched them jump. "Stage light blew out above us, Harriet was dreadfully frightened she'd summoned something that she quit the next day and we went back to the original."

Castle sat back, laughing at the looks on his friends faces. Martha Rodgers was definitely no competition when it came to tall tales.

Prompt: séance

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (pt.68)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 13.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! there is a little section near the end where the chapter will prompt you to click on a link to play kate bush 😂 if you feel like you'll be distracted by music in the background you don't need to push it- thats just the song that i always heard playing in my head whenever i heard that part playing.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Hobi is sitting on the edge of the nest sipping at his ice water when you come back into the nest room. Someone has drawn all of the heavy curtains over the windows and they pool on the floor at the rim of the room. The plastic pulled up too. The evidence folded and put away for later burning. Like a bad memory or a piece of clothing that doesn't fit right. Shoved in the back of the closet.

The rage and fear and panic are harder to put away. The conviction is not so easy to hide. You can’t put it down the same way that people file their taxes or their children's old scribbles.

You- like a child, have not been able to color between the lines. You- like a child, are messy.

You can’t stop yourself from walking over to him. Drawn to him where he sits nursing his injuries like a moth to a flame. You feel every heartbeat spent in his presence; every breath shared sticky like smoke in your lungs. Every second is savored and every second burns.

You want to ask him if he’s alright, but questions like that seem very pointless now.

Hobi’s not alright- but he will be. He will be okay forever if you do what you have to do. Now that you’ve decided it’s all you can think about. You rarely ever get to know that your last day with someone will be your last day, and now because you know- you look at him a little harder. A little longer.

You wonder what he’ll look like in 10 years and in 20. If he’ll get crow’s feet from smiling so much. If the salt water he loves so much will eventually grow into his features and make him look like something ancient.

You wonder if one day he'll get so many freckles that the tops of his shoulders will be permanently a shade deeper than the rest of his skin- Or if Seokjin’s sunscreen will spare him from the simple pleasure of looking like your favorite thing. Hoseok has always been one part sunshine one part everything else.

He looks pale right now. It hasn't been summer in months and you won't get to see him get all freckly and sun-kissed again.

Growing old is a privilege (you don’t want to grow old) and you’re reminded of that every time you look at his throat and see the bruises there (you wish you and Hobi could stay as you are- like this, in this house- both alive and healing- forever) but you can’t.

You can’t.

You touch his shoulder softly and his head jerks up, body going tense and then slack when he sees it's just you.

It’s quiet up here. The others are just downstairs and they’re making a lot of noise. Hoseok turns, setting his glass of water down on the floor, leaning into your hand in the same movement. It would be cute if he didn’t have black bruises crisscrossing his throat and blood in the whites of his eyes. In truth, every blink only convinces you that this is what you have to do. This is what you need to do.

You know that at any moment the pack is going to come looking for you. That they’ll all come and fill the room with their soothing noises and sweet concern. You're not too worried about finding the right time to slip away. Moonbyul’s given you 24 hours after all.

We didn’t get enough time, did we? I’d have liked more.

Hobi tries to speak and you shush him, he makes a frustrated hum of a noise. You sit down next to him when he tugs you, hand vicelike on your wrist. Your heart is beating really fast. You wonder if he can hear it or at least smell your distress. The whole house is a tangle of distressed scents; your rain, Yoongi’s ocean, Hoseok’s burnt caramel. burning burning burning. It disguises your scent. Hoseok can’t smell how you’re panicking.

You smile at him, and Hobi tries to speak again. unsuccessfully.

“Here your phone-” but Hoseok doesn’t reach for it, he doesn’t reach for anything but you. Pulling you closer to him. His thumb pressed to the pulse point of your wrist, where your skin becomes thin and sensitive. Pulling you until your thigh lines up against his.

The nest up here is the only place in the house that smells somewhat normal, still soaked with your sleepy muted scents from a few days ago (How long will it be until your scent fades from the house?) You take a deep shaky breath, trying to savor it. Hoseok bites his lower lip.

Hoseok starts on your thigh. His hand squeezes it once and then he starts to write. It’s slow going. He can only write one letter at a time but-

“D-O-N-T”

His eyes are positively boring into yours as your breath hitches and you start. “Hobi I-” he repeats it again, writing it out faster. You grab his hand squeezing it. But he pulls it out of your grasp.

“N-O”

You huff, frustrated and close to tears but stealing yourself not to show him your true feelings. How hard this is. You duck in low, kissing over one of the bruises on his neck. He jerks back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. And part of you is just begging him to let it go. You’re half sitting in his lap now all so that he can write out his distress on both your thighs.

“Alright- just stop.” You can hear the rest of the pack on the stairs. It’s getting late, they’ve done all of the cleaning they can manage for today. You can hear Yoongi on the stairway talking to Jin:

“Maybe we should just burn the railing, there’s definitely a bullet or two in it still.”

Jin’s reply is near hissed, utterly scandalized in the way that only Jin can sound. “It is mahogany Yoongi.”

Hobi writes on your thigh, a single tear trailing down his nose. He’s usually a little bit better at keeping himself together but the stress of the day wore him through. Polished all of his usually stubborn edges like the ocean polishes sea glass. He’s too tired to properly argue. Letter by letter as he goes.

“P-R-O-M-I-S-E M-E,” he writes across your thigh.

You have maybe a second before they’re upon you. You have to be convincing. Have to, or else Hobi might tell. You don’t think he’ll get in your way. You don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do if he does.

You dart forward, pressing your lips to his in a way that you don’t really feel, in a way that has him pushing you a little off of him. Trying to reassure him in the only way you know how.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips skimming soft across your jaw and your lips. Pressing at the corner of your sad smile like he can peel the fake expression away from your face and have you tell the truth for once.

“I promise, okay? I promise.”

Hoseok is not convinced. He doesn’t believe you all the way. But the pack is up here before he has a chance to write out anything more. Yoongi appears in the doorway, smelling of soap and bleach, a bit of it turning the corner of his shirt yellow where it should be black. His eyes cautious but so loving it takes your breath away a little. He treads softly over to the two of you; like he's worried about spooking you.

The moment between you and Hobi passes when Yoongi's hand curls over the back of your neck and you tilt your face up at him. And he interprets the glassiness there as something else. something more sensitive and more like omegaspace than what it is. you falling through space and time, you dying and drowning infront of him.

He probably thinks Hoseok was just comforting you.

Yoongi’s hand settles softly on the ball of Hoseok’s shoulder too. an equally as tender touch. Long fingers splaying against his collar bones, cradling a bruise there forming. Asking softly, eyes all dark with the anguish and apology of it-

“Do you think either of you can stomach dinner?”

As always, you say you can hot because you want to, but because you know it will make him happy to see you eat. You might not get many more opportunities to make Yoongi happy- you should take this one and savor it.

Yoongi loses that vaguely wounded look in his eyes with every bite you lift to your mouth. His scent sublimating into something sweeter as the night darkens and quiets.

You can tell Hoseok is not convinced of your promises when he stays glued to your side through the whole of dinner. Almost stubborn with how he resists Yoongi’s prodding and Namjoon's. Changing out the cool dressings on his throat and shaking his head at Namjoon’s suggestion that he sleep propped up against the back wall of the nest, where it’s safest. Eyes tracking your movements as you get up and brush your teeth.

His focus remains solely on you, even when Jungkook carries Tae out of the bathroom and places her among the softest things in the nest. When Noodle squirms his way out from under the bed and tries to worm himself in between his legs. Nudging under his elbow with his pink nose.

He wraps himself around you as you get ready for bed. An arm slung protectively around your waist to pull you flush against his front where you couldn’t squirm away without him feeling it and waking up.

It feels like buying time even though you're too distracted to properly enjoy it- the way they try to cheer you up. Everything that they do to try and make things better feels far away like a photograph- a memory just out of reach- the colors a little off.

Jungkook needily wraps himself around Tae and croons soft reassurance into her ear about how pretty her hair looks, how soft her pajamas make her. And would she like some of her skincare routine? Jungkook will do it for her, will pat it across her cheeks, and won't drag it under her eyes to preserve the state of her wrinkles.

Tae answers all his requests with a simple shake of her head. Eyes still frighteningly blank, that 1000-yard stare that you've all seen on your faces at one point or another, that you see in the reflective surface of Namjoon's phone in the nest, discarded and not charged.

Tae's scent is something awful- none of her usual roses and all cinnamon. Does Tae smell more like her old self because that version of her was always afraid? Or was being a boy the first thing she hated and that's why she smells like boy tae now?

You hate it. You can tell the others hate it too. Yoongi drags her close to scent her silly. cheek and neck going all pink from how hard he scents her, and then scents you, and then goes back again.

Jungkook can do little more than cuddle Tae with Jimin, his big hands smooth down her thighs, while Jimin brushes her hair gently- careful not to let the bristles brush her scalp. He's learned how to take care of her over the last few months and he's the gentlest when it comes to detangling. Not like you- who's so used to ripping through your hair without thought.

Up and down their hands go as Jin fluffs the nest around you all. Making the edges of it higher, and more protective of the fragile pups at the center (like fluffy duvets could ever block bullets. In his dreams- Jin’s love is enough to keep you all safe).

Yoongi and Namjoon are only too happy to oblige him with the nest-making and the general fussing. But in between Jin’s request for a hairdryer and another cold cloth for your hands. You catch them watching the door like they half expect some new threat to appear.

Certain things are harder to ignore; like Yoongi sitting on the edge of the nest with a gun balanced across his thigh. Or the heavy thud of a fresh box of bullets, rattling in their acrylic case when Jimin sets them down on the floor. The red shotgun casings lined up in pretty lines- just like Tae’s lipsticks downstairs.

You ask for one of Hobi's sweatshirts and Yoongi puts the gun away to go and give it to you. Hoseok fingers the edge of your shirt stroking over the meat of your hip idly. But every inch of him is taught like he’s going to have to grab you and hold you down. You lace your hand with his and turn to give him a look.

Yoongi’s back with a sweatshirt but it’s Jin who demands to dress you- to guide your fragile and freshly wrapped hands through the holes. Jin pulls it down around your hips with a soft huff before he gets distracted looking at the bruises on your back and side. From getting thrown back into the wall and from an errant elbow. Every time you twist even a little bit- they ache.

A tub of soothing cream that the pack usually uses for the more wanted kind of bruises sits open on the edge of the nest.

The pack moves about in pairs, here and there. Going down to the ground floor in sets of two. Unwilling to let anyone out of sight. There are guns everywhere, Jimin must have let loose his hidden stash of them. A shotgun leans up against the bathroom door. A handgun with an extended stock is always close at hand. There's a larger plan lingering here. You hear it in Jin's soft reassurances. Said hushed over your heads.

"Witness protection isn't as bad as you think it is Yoongi-"

"It won't work- don't you think we know how it works? That won't be safe enough."

"We have at least a few hours, we don't need to make any decisions now."

Jungkook’s scared voice, “Are we really going to have the leave? The house and everything?” A pause. A look is shared between Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Jimin's eyes remain focused on Tae.

“Maybe bunny, we have to wait and see.”

“Do we have a carrying case for Noodle?”

“I think it’s in…” Yoongi trails off, but Namjoon answers for him.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement.”

They set about keeping watch for the night. those of you that aren't nursing wounds that is- mainly Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon- Guns remain at the ready and loaded. Jimin will go first, Yoongi second, and Namjoon last.

Jin tries but Namjoon nudges at his chest and growls in a way that has all of your ears perking up. The pack alpha’s commands can’t easily be ignored. Jungkook tries too to convince them too but even Hoseok shakes his head at him. No one is under any illusions of how fragile this peace is.

No one asks Namjoon to leave the Christmas lights on- but he doesn’t shut them off all the way- leaving just one string lit as a bit of a nightlight. None of you are quite brave enough to risk the darkness.

Hoseok stays close by, his hand clutching your wrist more often than not. Even when the pack settles in for sleep. He wraps his arm around your waist and settles in behind you, caging you in.

(Hoseok’s arms are not the prettiest cage you’ve ever been in but they are the cage you’ve liked the most. You think you’ll miss his arms and his hands. They’re so pretty and long, you lean down and kiss one where it’s gripping the nest and he makes a small noise in surprise that quickly gets swallowed by the hungry quiet.)

The quiet is very hungry, every brush of fabric against skin, every slight movement of the pack sets you a bit on edge. You think it will be hard to sleep- wound up as you are.

You don’t think you're even tired until your head hits the pillow and you have to struggle to stay awake. You want to stay up and listen to the sound of your pack, their soft and measured breathing, the sound of kisses shared above your head, the feel and safety of being in the nest. You want to commit the rhythm of them to memory.

Hoseok’s soft rasping breath on the nape of your neck evens out the more that his swelling goes down. It goes from hissing to more of a squeak as the night settles. Tae shakes through her aforementioned panic attack with all of you piled around her. You get your hand on her ankle at least.

Yoongi and Jimin’s shushing is the only punctuating sound in the half-light. Because what can you say besides sweet nothings when you know she has a perfectly valid reason to fear falling asleep?

You savor every little twitch of their trauma-worn bodies as you flit in and out of an uneasy sleep. Every slight sigh and hand on you rousing you. Jungkook, brushing his fingers through your hair. Hobi, pressed along your back like a second skin shifting and trying to tilt his neck to a more comfortable angle.

You get too hot with Hobi wrapped around you like that, eventually tugging at his sweatshirt that you wear and almost purring when kind gentle hands help detangle you from it with a soothing little shush sound so that you hardly have to wake. Yoongi, around midnight.

Yoongi’s thin but strong fingers rub a soothing touch along your jaw. Soothing away a small sad noise you make that has him curling around your front. The sound of Namjoon's low voice as he says something to your mate and then takes his place at the helm of the nest to stand guard.

“It’s okay pup, I’m here- I’m not going to let anything happen to you- not now- not ever.”

It’s unfortunate, but Namjoon can’t let Tae sleep for more than half an hour before checking her pupillary responses, making sure that her brain isn’t swelling. Concussions are no joke and Namjoon does not take chances with his prettiest alpha. He sends her back off to dreamland with a comforting scent mark and a soothing grumble. After the 5th hour when the risks turn nominal, he decides to just let her sleep.

But Hoseok doesn’t sleep, he can���t really. The pain keeps him awake and what with the way that his neck is injured he can’t find a comfortable position. He shifts and settles the whole night. Keeping you close with that arm around your waist every time you squirm so much as an inch away.

He’s restless until Namjoon gets up to get one of Jimin’s painkillers.

He’s resistant even then, half asleep still fighting. Trying to move away and shaking his head at Namjoon. Namjoon mistakes his unwillingness for simple fussiness and not for fear. If Hobi falls asleep it will be substantially easier to slip away- you watch from below as Namjoon props hobi up and pinches his jaw to make him open his mouth, encouraging the alpha to show his tongue with a prod of those gentle hands. His eyes are barely open, exhausted as he is.

“I know it hurts to swallow Hobi but you’ve got too.” Regardless of his shaken head, Namjoon insistently nudges his mouth with it. Soothing his gag with a stroke of his thumb down Hoseok’s Addams apple. A kiss to his lips for being good.

“This will help the swelling go down, you’ll be okay by morning.”

It’s minutes before they take effect. Slowly- Hoseok’s arm melts away from your stomach. His grip on you slackens from the drugs and his breath evens out. You say a quiet goodbye to him in your head and turn around to face him and kiss his forehead.

At least the last time you touch, it’s soft like that. At least the last time you touch him- it’s gentle.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon trade-off. A gun shared between the two of them. Perched on the edge of the nest. Eyes on the vacant stairway Infront of them. Listening for every creek and whisper met with a held breath and hand tightening around the gun. Waiting for the violence that you can all feel coming.

You won’t let it hit them; you won’t let it into this house again. Not while you’re still breathing.

When you're sure that Hobi is asleep you roll onto your back and stare up at the Christmas lights twinkling in the dark. You remember watching Jungkook hang them for you. You remember. You'll always try to remember; you promise yourself right then and there that you'll never let the memory slip away. No matter what happens.

You look over at Kookie, face so peaceful in sleep, a pillow hugged to his chest belly down in the nest, cheek squished close to the top of Yoongi's head on your other side. His back rising and falling.

Jungkook has always been a pretty omega. You reach over to him to stroke down the stiff bridge of his nose, to commit his face to memory. When you turn back to Hobi, you do the same, touching across the heart shape of his mouth, the subtle roundness in his cheeks everything. You look around at all of them- your pack, sleeping softly- sleeping safely. Namjoon's wide back, his shoulders that could hold the world up. Unaware that you're watching him.

You’ll remember all of it, every car ride, every trip to the beach. Every joke and jab. You’ll store each of the memories like a found thing in your pocket. A piece of seashell or sea glass.

You’ll take Jungkook’s laughter and store it- a memory to use when you need to remember that it’s okay to be young for a minute more. When you need to look after yourself you’ll remember how Jin did it and follow his example. And when you need to rest and be soft you'll remember yoongi. You’ll remember Tae like a tube of lipstick and see her every day in the color pink. And Jimin-

Jimin has a hard time sleeping. Even when Namjoon takes the last shift. He sleeps with one hand on a gun, spaced protectively in front of Tae. His bad arm unfolded from his sling. Putting his body between her and the staircase. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the knowledge of that when he glances back, just to check and make sure that Tae and Hobi are still breathing. You hide your open eyes from him when he turns, going extra still and feigning sleep.

Namjoon tamps down on his instincts; the last thing he wants is for his scent to go sour and possibly rouse them. But in the quiet, Namjoon's mind has too much room to fan out and overanalyze. Panic is a particularly alluring drug, his mind festers in it. Rolling around in bad ideas the way that Noodle would roll around in a puddle of catnip.

If he got the pack together, put you all in cars, and drove you far far away from here would that be enough to keep you all safe from harm? Or would that only be temporary? Is temporary safety worse when you know what you have to come back to? Or should he just try to talk to these people, barter with them something. Would money be enough? How much wouldn't Namjoon give? 

You are dreadfully similar to him. Only his planning stays in its infancy stage. 

It isn’t all silent. Noises punctuate the night here and there. Namjoon is so on edge that he all but snaps his teeth at the shadows. An alpha on alert.

Namjoon’s ears perk up at every car that dares to drive by your narrow street, the neighbor two houses to the left who leaves for work in the city at 4:05 every morning, right on time. Noodle and the sound of his scrabbly little paws on the stairs, zooming up and down them until Namjoon gets up to scruff him too. 

Your freaking cat does not like Namjoon on a normal day, he's only ever loved you and Hobi and tolerated Tae and Jungkook- condemning all the rest to hisses and claws, but Noodle settles with Namjoon's hand on the back of his neck. "See, that wasn't too hard was it?"

Noodle gives one last half-hearted hiss as Namjoon places him gently in the nest where he stays put after curled up around Tae’s head like a fluffy little hat. Purring and licking at her forehead. All but taunting Namjoon with his yellow eyes. Flinty and knowing in the darkness. Bushy tail flailing every time the alpha glances back.

You think you’re being quiet when you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Untangling Hobi’s arm from around your waist and pulling yourself to the edge of the bed. He's out cold from the painkillers. Barely even stirring. 

Noodle stirs however, darting from the nest with a small murr sound as if to say, "see- she's awake so why can't I be?" Tail raised high as he prances to the doorway. 

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep. 

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air. 

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Instead, he checks the wounds on your hands and verifies that they’re clotting. The margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with only gentle scolding). He presses a kiss to the bandages after they're re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scarred.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every breath he breathes, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. You can give him one more minute). He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask.

Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there with a quiet happy growl.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you and how far you've come. He nuzzles, resisting the temptation to bite and nip with a breath let out through clenched teeth.

Namjoon feels your quiet laugh against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?” 

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tighten on your waist. fingers pressing to either side of your spine, thumbs sitting on the soft bones of your hips. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “Maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? Or something? Would that be fun? Would you like that?” 

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and imploring like a child. 

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this?

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend getaway. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack. It hits you with such a profound heartache when you think it that you half expect to look down and see your white tank top speckled with blood. The ache so keen and visceral but- 

Namjoon would be a good father. 

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard, and even if it’s hard you do it together.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach. 

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button. 

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. You'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of your wreckage is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you. 

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

You can't resist asking Namjoon for more, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the world's hurts (or to keep you in). 

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Namjoon rests his chin on your belly button and looks up at you. Completely unaware of the longing tearing its way through you, of what you’re thinking about. Not just one trip or one year, but ten or twenty or thirty. 

“Maybe south, to see the cherry blossoms?”

“We couldn’t go, not without Tae- cuz of the pink, and Hobi- cuz of the flowers”

Namjoon nods, agreeing. “Yeah- she does really like anything that’s pink.” There is a Tae-shaped smile on his face, you can feel it stretching your lips too. But he shakes it off, head bowed before you. Eyes closed against the image. 

“Still, somewhere safe and quiet just for us, just for you and I to take a deep breath and-” Namjoon trails off, looking up at you. His eyes sparkle with the idea of it, all the little moments he’s picturing.

A private morning where he wakes up to just you. Where you hog his warm spot and his pillow in the chilly spring air. Your cold toes pressed to his shins with nothing to do but appreciate each other and take your loving slow and intentional. Your body and his body and all the space and laughter that you want in between. An idyllic picture of two young people quietly in love. Gently in it.

After almost losing all of it, he wants the chance to properly appreciate you one-on-one. The others too- but they’re asleep, and sleeping vessels cannot reply to Namjoon’s daydreams. You are the only one awake.

(In Namjoon's fantasy, he'll give each of his packmates a different trip. every one of them even if it's just the ones he's recently almost lost that have him thinking of these particular plans.

Hobi would want just a day trip. Namjoon knows the alpha doesn’t really like to be separated from the pack for all that long, a few hours sure. Maybe to some vintage stores that he’s been eyeing to the city or the botanical garden.

Seokjin he’d take somewhere grand and big and full of adventure, maybe to 6 Flags or something. Jin likes to be reminded that he’s allowed to be a kid again, that he doesn’t always have to look after everyone all the time. That he has Namjoon to lean on.

Tae, he’d take somewhere gilded just as she is, like teatime at the Ritz- or maybe abroad to the castle of Versailles. The hall of mirrors and a million pictures of Tae in pretty dresses, twirling. In Namjoon’s head- he watches her turn and flutter slowly like a top. Spinning and spinning).

But none of that is quite your style. You don't really crave outings or adrenaline or gilded things. Your wants are much more simple maybe- because you've always known how priceless quiet and peace is. Gentleness is all you've ever really wanted- not excitement or acclaim or ego.

“A little cabin somewhere in the mountains, a spot for just us. We wouldn’t even have to do anything, A staycation. A night or two.” As the world spins on, you are who Namjoon craves to be still with.

You swallow hard, lingering, still half leaning over him still. Letting him nose at your jaw and purr.

“That would be so nice Joonie."

You swallow, throat thick with something. You lean forward pressing a kiss- too brief, to his lips, Namjoon’s lips part and he breathes gently. You blink back the glassiness in your eye and hope that Namjoon dismisses it as the light from the moon streaming through one of the skylights. All white and black. Wrenching you through something that feels like film. You commit the feel of him and the sound of his voice to memory and then pull back.

“I really need to get a glass of water.”

Namjoon shifts to get up, to come with you, but you just laugh at him and push at his shoulder, he flops back onto the bed.

“I can go on my own Joonie.” He grumbles but stays put. Nosing at the goosebumps on your arms and leaning to retrieve Hobi’s sweatshirt from where you left it in the nest. It smells like sleeping pups and Jin. Milky and soft and safe. Namjoon’s body shivers happily when he sees you put it on.

You squirm out from between his legs. His palm stays wrapped around the tips of your fingers. They slide out of his a little, and then all the way.

“It’s not safe.” You heave a tired sigh, what he thinks is a tired sigh but is actually you trying your hardest not to cry. You lean over him to grab the gun from where it’s rested against the nesting barrier. Getting your phone while you’re at it and sliding it into the pocket of your sweatshirt.

“Is that better?” Namjoon grumbles but still lets you go. Sitting there on the edge of your nest and guarding the others. You look back at him from the top of the stairs and smile.

The house is quiet, with no creeks on the stairs and no winds blowing across the roof. No sound at all in the house beyond your quiet footsteps that Namjoon listens to as you go down the stairs.

Feeling every second of your distance like the sluggish beat of his heart, thump thump thump. Namjoon looks back to look at his pack. Their bodies curled and resting, so gentle in sleep. After a few minutes, there are footsteps on the stairs, small soft ones.

Thump.

“They’re so beautiful” Namjoon comments to you. Waiting for reply.

The silence gnashes its teeth, still hungry.

When Namjoon turns back, it’s not you standing at the top of the stairs- just Noodle with his tail raised high. His yellow eyes glow almost florescent in the darkness, meowing and hissing so loud it might wake the others.

“Noodle, quiet.” The cat just doesn’t quit, batting at Namjoon’s ankles, claws and all. “Noodle- hush.” He scoops up the fussy cat, but Namjoon’s only reward is some claws to his forearms and some more squirming.

Downstairs, he hears a sound that makes him pause. Instincts going from at peace to on edge.

Thump

The front door opens and closes softly with a soft click of the metal doorknob.

Thump

Namjoon goes to the top of the stairs, holding Noodle in his arms before the cat squirms and falls to the floor with a thud. “Pup?” he calls, hushed. You don’t respond. Only silence greets him, sated at last.

Thump, breath, thud.

Namjoon waits a moment, listening for a response that doesn't come before he goes down the stairs, Noodle nearly trips him on the way down, hissing and pacing back and forth in front of the door. The ground floor of the house is completely absent of you- absent of anyone friend or foe. The room is soaked in the blue darkness of morning that is not quite dawn. The white countertops are unassuming and the plates stay in their places.

Thud.

The couch still has its dark spot from where Jin cleaned it. The tangerines are safely in the bowl back on the counter shining like several small suns or planets. Everything is empty empty empty.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

Namjoon checks the shoe rack. Your sneakers are missing, the same ones that match Hobi's and usually sit side by side with his. The spot where they should be empty.

Thud

Your wallet is missing from the bowl just inside the door.

Thud

Namjoon looks out onto the street and finds it empty.

Thud thud thud

Namjoon does not panic, Namjoon does not head out onto the street and chase you down- maybe he should have. He should have done any number of things. The sun is just barely rising turning the sky into that honey blue-green color and Namjoon just stands there and stares.

Namjoon is frozen. What kind of alpha is he- why kind of alpha freezes instead of fights or flights?

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

A few minutes pass and something must tip off the packmates upstairs- either the empty nest or the sound of Noodle yowling and quite literally trying to bite Yoongi's ear off.

The next thing Namjoon is aware of is Yoongi is on the stairs, looking pissed off, looking terrified. almost falling down them with the speed at which he descends.

He takes the stairs down two at a time, colliding with Namjoon at the bottom of them. He looks like a puffed-up cat, hair wild and eyes equally as glaring as Noodles when he shakes Namjoon, just a little. “Where is she? Namjoon? Where did she go? Where is my mate!?"

Is it Yoongi's scent- acrid and angry- that knocks him out of his stupor? Or is it the top of his ruffled head almost colliding with the bottom of Namjoon’s jaw when the beta shakes him again.

Namjoon stutters, panic making him inarticulate. So scared he repeats it twice. "I don't know- I don't know, I- she said she was just getting a glass of water. I swear-"

Yoongi's fists tangle in the front of Namjoon's shirt. He sounds sick with it. Voice twisting in pitch.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her- you weren't supposed to let her out of your fucking sight.”

There are other people on the stairs, roused by the sound of raised voices. A lone light flicked on sends everyone into yellow chiaroscuro. Namjoon is still staring at the street, heart thundering quicker than your footsteps as you run. The streetlights wink out behind you as you go. Fleeing with the night and bowing under the weight of oncoming daylight. Running as fast as your body can carry you.

Could he catch up if he started running now?

It's Jungkook, his dark hair pushed up at the side where it rested against the nest, who asks, “What happened?What’s going on?”

Tae’s eyes dart between Yoongi and Namjoon, her pink silk dressing gown wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Where’s the pup?”

"Yeah Namjoon, where the fuck is my mate??" Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking Namjoon so hard it almost knocks him off his feet and sends him careening a little into the narrow dresser table that the pack keeps by the door for gloves and mittens and keys and wallets.

“I don’t know, I don’t-"

Jungkook and Tae have just spilled out from the stairs into the entryway when Yoongi’s hands hit his shoulders, pushing and then digging into Namjoon’s skin. He’s shaking so hard he can hardly speak.

“You were supposed to be watching her. You were supposed to make sure she was safe-”

“Yoongi- hey- Stop” Tae’s not shaking anymore when gets her hands on his shoulders pulling him away from namjoon where he simmers. Jin is still asleep upstairs. Hasn’t been roused by all the tense voices. Too tired from yesterday- from staying up to scrub blood with Yoongi.

Jungkook skitters to the door as Jimin and hobi descend the steps. nearly bouncing on his heels as he opens the front door letting in a gush of cold air. “What are we waiting for? lets go."

Yoongi's face crumples. “I don’t get it, where did she go- why would she have-”

Hoseok swallows but talks softly, the swelling’s gone down enough even though the bruises look a million times worst in the sunlight streaming through the window. It’s not even 6am yet. His soft hiss is gentle, but the pack pauses to hear it.

“A deal- I think she made a deal.”

It's the first words he’s been able to speak since the attack. Vocal cords straining with every word. Everyone quiets to listen to Hobi. Jimin’s got the shotgun in his hands. He leans it up against the doorway. The heavy thunk punctuates the shocked quiet- but hobi continues.

“When the man was here- she tried to barter our lives with hers." Everyone looks to Tae. And her eyes lower to the floor.

“She did say that but I didn’t think she was serious, I just thought-”

The conversation is a flurry, everyone talking over each other as conversation explodes. Yoongi's face twists from devastated to enraged. “Jesus fucking Christ- that stupid stupid-”

Jungkook clings to Jimin's t-shirt, “What are we going to do? Hyung- what should we-”

Jimin hasn't spoken a word yet, and softly draws Jungkook's hands away from his shirt. “Where would she even have even gone?"

“Did someone pick her up?” Hobi’s words seem to ring out, even though his voice is so fragile.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No- I was listening, I didn’t hear any car in the road- not for like the whole hour.”

“So, you were listening enough to hear the street but not to stop her from literally walking away from us, great. Good to know Namjoon.”

“Yoongi that is like- the opposite of helpful.”

“There's still the matter of where would she have gone. She didn't take a car-” Hoseok looks up in Tae’s direction. She sees the realization light across his face.

“Hobi?”

But Hoseok ignores her, lurching to the small cabinet by the front door; the pack’s drop-off points for their keys, their wallets and your fuzzy little purse from your first ever date with jimin and tae as well as a good slice of Tae’s collection of little red pocketbooks. They keep their things this way because Namjoon loses his keys at least once a month a nd having a communal spot always helps the general disorder of having 8 people live in one house.

Hoseok scrambles not for your wallet but for his.

He reaches for his wallet. Opening it and searching but-

The train ticket is gone.

Your train ticket- the one that you gave Hobi for safekeeping so many months ago is missing from where he usually keeps it in the last slot. Right next to that folded poem of Tae's and an old gift card. In its place is just a simple folded note, a new piece of paper that hasn’t been worn soft at the edges yet. Torn from the same pad of paper that Jin writes the grocery list on. Hoseok’s hands shake as they fish it out. 5 words that aren’t nearly enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

You’d never told him that- that you loved him. Not after you’d had sex and he’d confessed. Not in the tangle of moments that followed with Jimin bloody and the pack breaking. You’d never spilled your heart to him that way. In the back of his head, he realizes that there just hadn’t been time.

This is the first time you’ve told Hoseok you love him and maybe the last. Hoseok’s heart beats quick. She loves me. Thump. She loves me. Thump. She loves-

Hoseok shoots off like a bullet out the open door, thundering across the porch slats. Too fast for the rest of the sleepy pack to properly anticipate and follow. Peering out after him, a little sluggish and a lot shocked. His socks skid and slip as he tries to arrest his momentum and almost falls as He doubles back for his shoes.

The rest of the pack stares down at him blankly as he tugs them on, sprawled there on the floor just outside the door. Hands shaking too much for bunny-eared loops. He doesn’t even bother to lace them before he’s lunging for his car keys in the bowl too. Nearly knocking over the table in his haste.

“The train station- she’s going to the train station.” He gasps.

The words you shared that night ring in his head, playing on repeat. Like a record that’s been scratched too many times. He’s replayed those moments too many times. He’s not sure if he remembers it correctly.

“Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can’t- then I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took.”

The countless times you’d joked with him after that, the moment so light that Hoseok didn’t notice the weight behind them.

“You still got that train ticket?”

“Of course I do.”

Hoseok never thought that you’d use it. He thought that the ticket would have stayed frayed and pretty in his wallet until you framed it or something. Until you could look back on it and laugh and say things like “remember that night? Remember how it used to be before we loved each other?”

“No, I don’t, can you remind me?”

This is not that, this is not the future that Hoseok had imagined for the two of you. This abject terror. Suddenly Hoseok is unmoored, suddenly he is falling. Usually, you can see the end from a mile away. Is it worse if you lose the person you love because of circumstance or because they decide to leave on their own? Hoseok never thought you'd actually do it.

Hoseok thought your promise last night meant something. Later when he’s not so scared he’ll remember that he’s angry about that.

The rest of the pack explodes too. Jungkook doesn’t bother to put on his shoes- just heaves Hobi up by his shoulders and pushes him towards his car. Yoongi snatches both of their pairs from the floor and joins them. Cold feet on the small pea-gravel driveway. Jimin darts forward wrenching off his arm sling regardless of Namjoon’s protests.

“I’ll drive” Jimin doesn’t have to wrestle with Hoseok’s keys for long. Even with his hands numb Jimin is still the best driver. He won’t pull corners or care about hitting curbs. He reeves it with a roaring purr while the rest get in and looks at Tae in the rearview mirror. Standing on the porch looking breakable and not all there still. Her eyes on his have that same peculiar weight, the same weight that makes Jimin’s blood sing with purpose.

If there was ever someone that Tae needed, it was you. Not Jimin. He will haul you back from the edge of hell if he needs to, for her. because this is not the ending that you and tae deserve. Jimin will tear you from hell. Teeth and sin and all.

Jungkook has barely shut the door before Jimin peals out, reversing until the tires screech against the asphalt and leave dark lines in their wake. Tire tracks, strings of fate, shoelaces. He shoots off down the street and out of sight, knocking over a trash bin with a clang and leaving Tae and Namjoon back on the porch.

Hoseok knows the name of the station you were most likely to go to but not how to get to it. It's an 15 minute walk, maybe a 10 minute run and it's already been 8 since you left. Jimin points his car in the direction of the main road while he pulls it up on his cell phone.

With every sharp turn Yoongi and Jungkook slosh in the back seat and hit into each other. Some early morning commuter honks his horn at Jimin but he doesn’t even see them. The scenery flickering by and the asphalt melting away underneath the wheels of Hoseok’s red car. The small grey towns melt away, Break lights bleeding less than they should. The engine stutters and engages but no one cares about the uneven acceleration. Hoseok would total this car in a heartbeat if it meant getting you in time.

At the straightaway Jungkook stoops to slip his feet into his shoes, Yoongi holding his shoulder. The phone in between them slides on the leather seat, spitting out its electronic voice, overly cheerful.

"Re-routing!"

“Wait Minnie- go left.”

“Fuck!” Jimin makes the turn just barely, sparks skittering and burning out as he goes over one of those tiny reflective dividers. Hoseok curses every pothole for damaging their momentum and slowing them down.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that it’s this station that she'd go to?” Hoseok’s heart is thundering in his ears, beating furious and fast.

“Almost positive.” Yoongi holds onto the back of Hoseok’s chair to keep himself in place.

“We have to get to her before she gets to the city. Can’t you go any faster?” Jimin jerks the wheel around a flashy BMW. Almost hitting them with how close he gets. Jimin lets the speedometer answer Yoongi's question. Pushing 60 in a 35 and then 70.

Your note is crumpled tight in Hoseok's fist, a tiny bit of yellow paper that he unfolds and looks at before shoving deep within the confines of his jacket.

Yoongi is not looking at hoseok when he says his next sentence. Hoseok's not even thinking about his old pack, he's just thinking about the fact that you love him and he never got to hear you say it. Not when Yoongi pulls himself almost between his and Jimin’s seat and repeats the same to Jimin again, the same only different.

Thud.

“We have to get to her before Moonbyul does, if she gets to her- I don't know what I'll be able to do Minnie- even with the power that I have Moonbyul still has more-”

Hobi’s flinch is visceral, jerking like he's shocked.

He turns around to look at Yoongi as Jimin blows through a stop sign and then a red light. Jungkook winces and doesn’t say anything. Pushing Yoongi’s shoes across the seat. “Hyung- you should get ready to run.”

Hoseok and Yoongi look at each other. Hoseok's turned almost all the way around in his seat to stare at Yoongi- more specifically Yoongi’s mouth. He’s not sure if Jimin’s painkillers would make him hallucinate but that’s the only logical reason his brain can come up with after hearing that name- her name- come out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?"

Jimin's voice is deathly quiet. "Hoseok- turn the fuck around. If I get into an accident at this speed you will die if you're not facing forward to the airbag."

Hoseok turns back to face the road. Jimin grips the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “Thank you.”

The sunlight is just cresting the tops of the trees. Dotting the scenery blue and yellow. Hoseok’s ears are ringing with her name.

Yoongi pulls himself closer to Hoseok, hands still gripping the headrest, the only thing that keeps him from bobbing and moving with the movement of the car. Eyes locked on Hoseok's face in the rearview mirror.

"I said something- I said something and you're having a thought."

"I fucking hope so-" Jungkook's quip goes unnoticed. Unnoticed through the volley of honking horns as the red car tares through the street. By some miracle, they haven’t passed a cop car yet.

Hoseok looks in the rearview mirror, at Yoongi’s face. Biting his lower lip. “It’s nothing just that name.”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi and all he can think about is how he'd never said- he'd never told Yoongi their names. Saying them or even thinking them reminds Hoseok too much of his own begging. What kind of alpha begs for an omega to hurt them- to stay?

Yoongi just about puts himself in the front seat of the car as Jimin breaks hard to navigate around a tractor-trailer. Riding on the shoulder, the rumble strips vibrating all of them hard and roaring just like Hoseok’s blood thundering through his ears.

“Moonbyul? Moon Byul-yi? You know it?”

Hoseok shivers, the reaction of his body route, unavoidable. Jarring. Trauma builds itself into your bones whether you like it or not. Triggers are not so much a part of you as they are a light switch that makes the worst parts of you turn on.

"Yeah- I do. It’s the name of my ex-pack omega.” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be distracted, and he almost gets into an accident for his troubles. They’re silent for a second, Yoongi and Jimin look at each other.

“It could be the same name.”

Yoongi scrambles for his phone on the seat right as Jimin makes a turn and it goes flying. He finds it underneath Hoseok’s seat, hands slippery with sweat on it.

“Hang on, I think I have a picture of her somewhere.”

Yoongi scrolls all the way to the back in his phone. Switches to Instagram, going back and back and back through time, and then he's sticking it in Hoseok's face.

Seeing her face feels like Yoongi’s slapped him. Her face is on Yoongi's phone. Why is her face on Yoongi’s phone? Her hair is longer than it was when they dated, she must not have cut it since. But it's definitely her.

Hoseok feels like he's spinning, it's been so long since he's seen her face but it's definitely the one from his nightmares, the one he sees grinning and crooning false praises that have stuck to Hoseok's soul like glue. The face that he sees behind his eyes and sees in every criticizing comment only on his bad days. She's standing shoulder to shoulder with Yoongi, both of them in black suits along with a man that looks enough like Yoongi for him to guess that that's his brother, your ex-husband.

Your abuser and his and Yoongi in between them. Hoseok can only hear ringing in his ears, he knows he sounds accusatory when he snaps. "How the fuck do you know my ex-pack omega?"

“She’s my cousin. Are you sure that's her?”

Hoseok feels like he’s spinning. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“I thought you said your old pack was all omega’s?” Yoongi knows Hoseok’s lore, knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He looks up, hair falling across his face. Hoseok frowns jabbing his finger at the phone.

“I did. She’s an omega.”

The dissonance hits him and Yoongi almost wants to disagree but then-

Hoseok watches the lightbulb go off, Yoongi’s eyes widening imperceptibly as he paws at the phone and Hoseok’s hand. The car sickness lurches in his stomach as he turns to look back at Yoongi, and the g force hits him as Jimin takes another turn Impossibly fast. The seatbelt across Hobi’s chest engages with a click, digging into his skin and the bruises on his neck with a painful jerk.

“Are you sure? Hoseok- you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

This is all a game of leverage. A game of who knows what secret and what gets exchanged for whom. Yoongi spent most of last night wondering about Moonbyul's motivation, and now he knows why.

Hoseok is holding onto Yoongi’s phone, they’re hands gripping it together. “Is this who she’s going too? The one who tried to kill us? Is-” Hoseok has to swallow to get the words out right. “Is Moonbyul the one trying to take her?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok shivers, eyes darkening, scent spiraling wildly. His muscles trembling as he thinks about it. You and Moonbyul.

Yoongi pulls himself around Jimin’s headrest. Hand on his throat, digging into his scent gland. He doesn't have time to explain to them.

Only alphas can lead the family, only alphas can rule. If Moonbyul isn't one- that calls into question the legitimacy of her rule. The families would never stand to see an omega on the throne, she'd be ousted, probably killed for daring to lie. The families would tear her apart piece by piece and Yoongi would let them.

If Moonbyul is the person who hurt Hobi- and now she's going after you- that's two people that Yoongi loves that she's directly hurt. Yoongi is thinking all sorts of dangerous things. But they have to get to you first.

If Moonbyul isn't an alpha then Yoongi's just found his leverage and maybe the whole reason why the pack was targeted in the first place.

A packmate for a secret. Yoongi imagines the worst-case scenario; Don't tell and I won't hurt her. Don’t tell anyone and she lives.

How long had she stewed and festered- knowing that Hoseok was out there- knowing that he knew the secret that could lead to her undoing. Maybe she thought his knowing would never come back to bite her, and had intended on tying up the loose end later. Maybe she didn't know Hoseok had found his way into Yoongi's arms until after the old Don and Beta had died. She probably thought that they’d never put it together- at least not until it was too late.

Whatever her reasons, this has gone on long enough.

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok’s body is taught like a spring-loaded and ready to burst. His voice a near growl.

“Jimin, I need you to drive.”

~-~

Tae and Namjoon are left standing there on the porch. Namjoon left staring after them as they hurl away from the house. Running his hands through his hair hard. Thinking of what to do until-

Tae tugs on his sleeve, “Your phone- Joonie- you should call her.”

“Right- fuck-” Namjoon goes and gets it, and comes back to stand with Tae on the porch. “Come on- come on pick up.” Namjoon paces back and forth on the front porch, the snowmelt from the roof drips out an uneven rhythm onto the railing. the cold spray hitting his stress-warm skin.

Tae stands by the door. Frozen, a statue of Namjoon’s distress. Inside, Namjoon hears a voice. Jin coming down the stairs, probably roused by the sound of the car screeching out of the driveway and down the road.

“Tae? Where is everybody?”

“Pup’s being stupid. The others left to go get her before she’s like- really really stupid.”

Jin freezes in the doorway, fist rubbing his eye. He sounds smaller and younger than Namjoon’s ever heard him. “Am I having a bad dream?” namjoon's pacing stutters and then starts up again. Jin doesn't need him right now, Jin he can help later.

Tae takes Jin's hand and leads him to the outdoor furniture. The cushions have to be damp but they sit anyway. Tae pulls her knees under her and rests her cheek on Jin's shoulder. “That’s what I thought too at first.”

Namjoon almost sobs when he hears it- the click of the dial tone and a single breath. He can hear the thud of the train in the background, the hiss of pressure against the scratchy speaker.

“Pup? oh thank god, stay where you are- the others are-”

“Namjoon? Joonie stop- I didn’t pick up so that you could convince me to come back. I only picked up because I never said goodbye.”

Namjoon freezes, and he feels like the snowmelt from the roof has just dripped down his back. Growing frigid more with each word. If there was ever a question on if you’d gone willingly or been taken- it was answered with that.

“Pup, come home right now or I swear to god-”

“No! For once you’re going to listen!” You’ve only shouted at him a handful of times and he’s hardly ever heard you sound so serious.

"No- you can't-"

“Namjoon, The second you say anything to try and convince me to stay is the moment I hang up, so what is it gonna be?”

Namjoon goes silent and stops his pacing. Holding the phone so hard it feels like the plastic and metal might break.

Namjoon’s very being hinges on every syllable you say, Like the ocean hinges on the moon. Water tethered and kept from the shore by something as simple as gravity. Tae is right there. Tae is watching the driveway not saying anything with that same blank look Namjoon has seen on your face countless times.

All at once Namjoon is reminded of you in the summertime back when he first met you and trauma had you all quiet. Staring off into space in much the same way. Small and fragile and worth saving. You’ve always been that for him; worth saving.

Jin scrubs a hand across his face, clearing himself of the last little bits of sleep. He holds out his hand for the phone, but Namjoon doesn’t give it to him just paces right by him as he listens to you.

“I only picked up the phone because I have some things that I want to say to you.”

You sound more settled and less angry but just as resigned and convicted of what you're doing. Like no part of you doubts your choices. Namjoon wishes you sounded angry, that you sounded sad, but you don’t sound like any of those things.

“I'm not leaving because I think I don't deserve a life with you and the pack. I’m not leaving because I think that I’m not worth your love. I’m leaving because for the first time I know that I am.

“For the first time I understand why Yoongi left and why he didn’t come back until he knew it would be safe. Because when you love something the way that I love you, you’ll do anything to protect them. Can you really blame me Joonie? For doing what you might have done?”

You continue on like you’re not wrenching Namjoon’s heart clean from his chest. Like you’re not a hurricane on his very being- dark and thunderous tearing through him as impersonal as wind. Namjoon’s heart thuds and thuds and thuds.

“Before I leave you, I want you to know that if I loved you less- I might have stayed.”

Namjoon’s lungs ache, ache and sting and swell with words he can’t say, he can’t breathe. His mouth screwed into a soundless sob. He actually might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before- he's not sure if he knows what one feels like. If it's like this- if it's like this he can understand why people call them an attack.

It's frantic, like he's chewing off his own leg to get out of your words. The panic is so terrible. Namjoon hasn't been this scared since he was a child. At least Yoongi had the fucking decency not to make his leaving so visceral.

Namjoon is bent over, tears dripping down his nose, sagging almost to his knees. “Why are you doing this to us!? To me!”

Something jiggles the phone, something that makes your voice all warbly- Namjoon imagines you on the train in a window seat. Resting your cheek against the balmy glass while you talk to him. Staring out at the scenery racing by. Hurtling towards your future like a comet or maybe an asteroid (something more destructive- more appropriate for the wretchedness filling Namjoon’s lungs like tar, the desiccated bodies of the dreams he had for you and the plans he made with you in mind clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe).

Who knows, maybe off between the trees and the road, you see a red car zooming, trying to keep pace with the train.

Namjoon’s heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats.

“Something Jin told me the other day got stuck in my head and I keep thinking about it, would you like to hear it?”

You take his silence for permission and Namjoon does not turn to look at Jin and Tae sitting on the outdoor furniture. They just sit there; they don't do anything. Namjoon wishes there was something they could do or something he could barter for your safe return but you already have all of him and all of him wasn't enough to make you stay.

“Jin showed me this little article the other day- a few weeks ago now. He can tell you it in more detail but basically, it was about these mice.”

Namjoon struggles to say something- unsure where you’re going with this but desperate to keep you on the line. At least until the others get to you. Drinking down your voice, the whisper of your breath, everything.

“They made like- two test groups, they wanted to measure like- willpower- or how long they would try to live before they gave up. It’s kinda dark I guess. I'm not a good judge of things like that you know.”

Your laugh is the prettiest and saddest thing that Namjoon’s ever heard. He wants to record it and save it for later like some hidden track and he never wants to hear it again.

“Anyways- they put the mice and a bucket of water and timed how long it took for them to stop swimming, to stop trying to live. They’d try for a little while but give up pretty quickly. Like- an hour. That’s how much will to live that they had: an hour’s worth of it.”

Namjoon breaks, shouting, “I don’t want to talk about mice I want to talk about getting you the fuck home!”

Namjoon can hear your smile in your voice, And no-no-no you won’t even let him fight- you won’t even let him snap at you and engage with it. Namjoon’s seen you sad, he’s seen you defeated. He’s seen you so hungry you could hardly hold your head up. But seeing you convicted of this punishment is worse than anything.

“Anyway- they just killed the first group for a baseline. But with the second group just before they died- just before they went underwater- They took them out of the water and dried them off.”

Your voice goes hushed at the end. The morning sunlight cuts across the top of the house yellow. The tree too- it’s early morning- Namjoon’s favorite time of day and he won’t be ever able to properly enjoy it again. Won’t ever be able to wake up at this time of day and not think about the morning you left.

“They let them rest and gave them some food.”

Namjoon feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, blood thumping and hitting against his ribcage. Bullying out the flowers and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Cuddled them a little.”

Namjoon stands at the doorway to the pack den. Hands so tight in their fists that they ache and ache. Namjoon’s hands have saved countless people’s lives before, and they’ve saved yours too- but right now they just hurt.

“And when they put them back in,”

Noodle meows dolefully from the door, swatting at Jin’s ankles and then purring around Tae’s. Namjoon’s knees are shaking.

“They lasted for a whole 12 hours longer. Because they thought they might be saved. Because they had some love to remember. They were able to last for a lot longer than they would have otherwise.”

His face is screwed something terrible with how hard he’s sobbing. How is it that just an hour ago you were safe in his arms, talking about getting away from here. Just an hour ago. It's still 5am a time zone away, if Namjoon got on a plane and flew there- would you still be safe? Is there any way to turn back time?

You only get to love people for as long as you get and not a second more. You get what you get and you don't get upset. Yoongi might have been your lifeblood, the air in your lungs and your reason for existing, but you’d still be that fragile creature close to drowning if it wasn’t for Namjoon.

“Namjoon?” You say his name once and then softer, a croon. “Joonie.”

He's sobbing too hard to see, “Don’t-”

“Thank you for drying me off.”

The phone clicks and disconnects.

Namjoon falls to the stairs, ass in a puddle but none of him cares. He remembers the first day he heard you speak, sitting on these stairs while he helped Yoongi fix the railing. Namjoon remembers the summer heat and feeling scared for you for the first time- because the railing felt so rickety and the last thing he wanted was for you or Jungkook or Hobi to fall. Namjoon is the one who is falling, hurtling towards destruction that stops and ends with his heart.

His hands hurt. He remembers laughing with the others and stealing sips of sweet tea. Nibbling on the sour lemons, sweaty and hot and dusty. His eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of his head with how hard he’s crying. He remembers that you’d poked his dimples and called them pretty, he remembers feeling tired after but fulfilled for it.

One scene in summer and the other in winter now. At the beginning of a relationship and now at the end. The stairs still creek, the wind still blows and Namjoon's hands are still sweaty.

Namjoon sobs loudly and it echos across the empty cul-de-sac gut-wrenching. People cry differently when they lose people they love. Namjoon has heard people cry like this after he’s told them bad news, no sign of brain activity. We did everything that we could. I'm so sorry. It sounds different now that it’s coming out of his own mouth.

He actually might pass out with how hard he’s breathing. Teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s still holding the phone to his ear. “Pup- wait- I love you- you can’t do this to us- to me.” But you’ve already hung up on him.

The dial tone tears through him like a bullet. Namjoon should be bleeding, broken hearts don't hurt this much without blood. People don’t hurt this much without actual wounds.

Eventually, something touches his back, a soft furry creature that only makes Namjoon sob harder as Noodle bullies his way under Namjoon’s arm and licks at his fingertips. Before long there’s hands on him. Jin and Tae pull him up and onto the furniture. One hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Jin grabs his wrist. Circling it gently before he holds his hands and nudges them until they relax from their clenched fists.

Namjoon cries.

Together they watch the road and wait for the others to return.

~-~

(Hidden playlist ▶ Play track?)

“Shit!”

They miss the first train by just a few seconds. It screeches away from the platform when Jungkook gets out of the car. Standing there for a breath and watching it pull away. The metal thud screech of it drowns out Yoongi’s voice.

Jimin hits the wheel and growls before he revs the engine and turns, almost hitting a fire hydrant with how quick and jerky he backs up and accelerates. Leaning forward through the window to snap at Jungkook.

“Get back in the fucking car!”

Jungkook does, the door barely latching and almost swinging free as Jimin peels out of the parking lot. Slamming back shut when Jimin does a near 180 to accelerate back onto the main road.

“Sorry hyung,” Yoongi doesn’t need to reply- they all know that every second matters.

Jimin almost collides with a car stopped at the light before he drives on the shoulder, spinning around them. The train matches the road at this part of the tracks so it’s easy to follow it. They keep pace with it as Jimin pushes 70 miles an hour and then 80.

Jimin keeps the gas pedal well acquainted with the floor until they're going faster than the train. Weaving in and out of traffic back and forth, getting honked at and almost cut off several times. Leaving his packmates to grip to seats and their handles. Worried about getting thrown off but still- not wearing their seatbelts.

“We’re never going to make it! It’s too fast! We’re going to hit traffic soon!” The closer they get to the city the less likely it is that they'll be able to catch up to you. It's nearly early morning rush hour, another 30 minutes and these roads will be at a standstill.

“Hang on- let me see the map,” Hoseok watches Yoongi look at it.

“If we go to the next station, we won’t make it. But, if we try to go to the one after that and cut it off-” A look around the car says everyone agrees with Yoongi. Jimin steps on it, and there are a terrifying few minutes where Jimin’s driving skills honestly make them all count their prayers and promise things to gods that they’re already not fond of- but when they skitter and screech into the next station he hears it.

“The next inbound train will be arriving shortly, please collect your belongings. And remember-“

Hoseok is hot on the announcements heals. Sliding to get out of the car before it’s really stopped. “If we miss this one just go to the next station without us-”

“-if you see something say something.”

The train is coming- Hoseok can see the lights about a 100 feet down the tracks and it's moving fast. Yoongi almost makes to get out but Hoseok just shoves him back inside. Jungkook gets out of the car too, bolting in the direction of the stairs. “Hoseok-”

“Yoongi- Just go!”

There are maybe three flights of stairs up, then 50 feet across the tracks, and then the same amount of steps down. He and Jungkook book it up them. Making every second count. Hurtling through time and air. Ignoring the sore and tired pulse of their muscles. They’re clearing the top step and the train is below them. A silver bullet careening and destined to do damage but slowing down.

They bolt across the landing past the ticket kiosk and through the push doors. The train is stopping with a hiss of breaks and a screech of metal. A release of pressurized air that billows up to them warm carrying with it the smell of tar and city.

Hoseok’s lungs are burning. Jungkook is usually faster by just a little bit and would be on any ordinary day. They might be roughly the same height but Hoseok doesn't do cardio nearly as often as Jungkook does. Jungkook's the one who runs every day, who does cardio like it's sleeping and marathons like they're mid-afternoon naps. Who works out and hones his body to a lethal edge just because he can.

But he doesn’t run like Hoseok does.

Hoseok runs like his life depends on it- the same way you would run if he was walking into Geumjae’s arms. You’d never let Geumjae touch even a hair on Hoseok’s head and if- if Moonbyul is who you’re going to- then there is more at stake than just your phsyical safety, too much at stake for Hoseok to be held back by his body.

Hoseok thinks of the tiramisu. Of walking with you on the beach. Of making your nightime stacks just the way you like it. Of holding you that one time you almost fell into the water. Telling you that you had to be careful. Hoseok remembers driving out in his car, tugging your seatbelt to make sure it fit snug. Standing with you side by side in the flower refrigerators at work and the feeling the first time you’d rubbed your scent gland to his. Every playlist of his with your name on it, every song that you ever shared. All of that- she’s going to destroy all of that if Hoseok doesn’t get to you in time.

He remembers how small she made him feel. How small you were when he first saw you. He won’t let you get that way again. Hoseok won’t let you disappear.

Jungkook is the one who would win this race on any other day, where the stakes any different, but just this once Hoseok is faster. Hurling himself over the concrete as fast as his body will take him. Hoseok cuts through the air like wind.

They run, feet thumping. Bodies thudding, hearts and lungs delivering oxygen to their needy muscles. Beat-up sneakers gripping the concrete. Down and down the stairs, plummeting. Almost tripping and falling on the slippery concrete steps. The doors start to close just as they round the corner.

By some miracle of blood and sweat, Hobi's the one who overtakes Jungkook. The doors are closing and the train's metal shell is beginning to hum and vibrate as it makes to pull away from the tracks.

In a last-ditch effort, Hoseok throws himself in the direction of the closing doors.

~-~

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Do i think that hobi could have actually warned the pack what she was planning to do? Yes. Do I also think that he thought he had more time to warn them and really wanted to sleep off his near death experience? also yes. Namjoon giving him drugs obviously didn't help. i honestly don't think he was thinking clearly.

this is one of those chapters where everything could have gone differently if they'd just been given a little bit more- but i digress- we all know life isn't so neat and tidy.

I can't not write thinking about the angsty alternative ending for bily- but you guys should know the namjoon/m/c scene...if things had gone poorly in this chapter- this would have been the last time they spoke or touched each other for 3 years- for those who are wondering about the alternative ending- i will NOT be posting any of it on AO3. Only on tumblr through asks! i'll try to tag the super triggering stuff but yeah.

when i think of namjoon and the m/c and their relationship- i think that what they want most for each other is to just see the other old and happy like- that becomes the foundation for their relationship. thats why it's namjoon who she thanks. it also doesn't escape me that yoongi is not in this chapter very much- this is intentional. just wait for next chapter and his anger! i swear its so fucking hot my god i really wanted them to fuck in the next chapter but i just don't think it's going to happen.

the og version of this chapter called for jimin parking hobi's car on the tracks and literally letting the train hit it- not derail- but just hit it. just to get it to stop for the m/c however i figured that was going a bit too far.

Me writing any part with jimin in it- "what if i added a bit of religious trauma to it?"

the line where namjoon talks about his hands hurting is like- directly related to me, because my hands didn't hurt all the time before i started writing bily but now my Knuckles hurt almost every morning. After writing for more than an hour they hurt. i guess when you love something enough it hurts you lol i don't mind.

the "you want a lifetime with them" lines are mostly a callback to like...grey's anatomy. namjoon's charecter is LOOOSELY based on mcdreamy of course the whole...neurosurgeon thing and i am 3 seasons into a re-watch so~ you will have to tollerate that cringeworthy refrence~

i've always wanted to structure a chapter around the thud and thump of a heart and yeah!! i think did a few back but i wanted to do it again~

i don't think i was very subtle with the hoseok train station and the train ticket parts of the story like- i think i forshadowed pretty heavily that it was eventually going to be used but! i hope you liked the big reveal.

how did you guys like the cliffhanger? should i spoil it for you when i've always said that bily would get a happy ending????? i mean...come on... we all know hoseok's gonna be fast enough right?

[sylveon-and-velveon]

Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now