#maybe he has a guest room... or a storage room...

[dcxdpdabbles]

Passion for Fashion Part 4

A loud ding-dong echoes through the house. Danny sits up from where he was lying, inches from a radio playing falling water.

He found it in the garbage a few days after the whole kidnapping of Fiesco- the police got all the models to safety while the Bats were able to rescue Tim Drake, but the primary muscle, some guy named Waylon, got away. - but the station it could pick up was a natural sound effects station.

Danny had been tinkering with it, trying to figure out how to get it to connect to the local radio mostly successfully for days now. He leaned back to look past the randomly hung clothes that Dan had been stringing across their house.

Fabrics still littered the place, and it's become less of a home and more of a fabric storage.

Danny has forgotten the color of the walls, so used to just seeing clothes everywhere. It was a bit embarrassing to be so messy but it's not like they had guests in this dimension.

Which meant the door ringing even stranger.

Ding Dong.

"Dan?"

His counterpart grunts from somewhere behind the blue and green fabrics. "What?"

"Nothing," Danny calls back, side-stepping fabrics and pushing aside some mannequins. Who was on the other side of the door if Dan was in the living room turned studio?

Ding Dong.

They should really think about installing some cameras or even a peephole. Danny hesitates for only a moment before he carefully turns the knob and opens the door slightly, only enough so his eye can see through the crack.

An EverBurning Lizardman stands on his doorstep. That's....not confusing at all. Maybe the ghost was sent by Clockwork? Oh, perhaps the time Ghost was sending them back up?

"Hello?" Danny asks, swinging it open. "Can I help you?"

The Lizardman squints at him. "Dan Fenton?"

"No. I'm Danny Fenton. Dan is my twin brother."

"Right. I'm Killer Croc," The EverBurning says, straightening out his back to tower over Danny in what he thinks is supposed to be menacing. To Danny, it just looks like someone standing to attention, a lot of the ghosts do that when he is crowed.

"Nice to meet you, Killer. Cool jean jacket by the way." Danny responds. He crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe, tilting his head like a bird. Killer Croc seems taken aback by his nonchalant mannerism. "Do you want me to get Dan?"

The EverBruning lips pull back, showcasing all of his teeth. Danny is impressed by how sharp and white they are. He must use a whiting paste. He'll have to ask for the secret later. A model needed a pearl-white smile, after all. "I would like to speak to you both."

Danny considered the request before nodding his chin to his house. "Come on in. Sorry about the mess; we weren't expecting guests."

As the significant being of rippling scales and muscles made its way inside, Danny shut the door and held out his hand towards Killer.

The Lizardman blinked down at him. "What?"

"Can I take your coat?" Danny asked, so used to offering guests back at home that he forgot big city folk may not do that.

Killer's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Alright." Accepting the denial Danny rocked on his heels, pushing a large indego piece of fabric out of his face. It reveals the slight path to the kitchen. "Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, water, soda....heated ectoplasm?"

"...Water is fine." Killer settles on staring at Danny like he is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Not surprising. Those from the Elemenal Sector of the Infinite Releams don't see human-shaped beings often. He had plenty of young Yeti children surround him when he visited because they had never seen someone who looked like Danny before.

"Hot or Cold?"

"....Cold."

Huh. An EverBurning who did not take their water boiling? Danny would ask him about it, but he didn't want to seem like he was playing into stereotypes.

"I'll bring it out in a minute. Please make yourself at home." Danny gestures to a corner of the room. "I think the couch is somewhere in that direction. "

He doesn't wait for the Lizardman to reply instead he turns to the last place he heard his counterpart shout. "Dan! Come out here, you have a visitor!"

"No! Tell whoever they are to piss off." Dan screams back. Danny's face twitches. He hates that guy so much sometimes.

"Don't be rude! Come out here!"

Dan makes a loud obnoxious sigh, pushing the fabrics out of his way. He's still wearing the same pair of sweatpants and stain t-shirt grey oversized shirt. His hair has obviously not been comb and there are slight bags under his eyes from where he refused to get some sleep the last few days.

In short, he looks like a right mess.

"Who the hell is even bothering us..." Dan's voice trails off, face paling when he sees Killer uncomfortably trying to sit. Dan glances down at his body and then screams in mortification, warping his arms around himself. He sprints further into the house before they can get a word in. "Don't look at me! I have to get dressed! I normally look hot, I swear!"

Danny blinks. "Well....I'll get you that water while Dan gets dressed."

Killer looks far more confused than before. "Sure, kid."

Now, Danny has always been an alley of the FarFrozen. Not only was FrostBite his doctor, his ice mentor, and his general instructor for the Infinite Realms, but he was also his friend.

Nearly as close as Sam and Tucker- FrostBite had become someone he sought companionship with, which went for all of FarFrozen. Danny spent more time in the winter wonderland than in his home. This meant he knew all about their rivals- the EverBurning.

The EverBurning were a tribe of Lizardmen in hot volcanic lands to the south of the FarFrozen. They were very similar to the FarFrozen in culture and civilization, with a bit more emphasis on arts than science.

Although they were polar opposites, FarFrozen and EverBurning had no abysmal relationship. Their meet-ups reminded Danny of rival high school sports teams at most.

Danny was just an alley to the FarFrozen first.

When he returned to the living room, he arrived with Killer looking highly uncomfortable as Dan sat awful close to him now dressed a looking....well looking like what the locals called "E-Boy" sexy.

Not to be confused with Goth. Danny didn't know what the difference was, but Dan almost bit his head off the last time he pointed it out. Apparently, the fashions were completely different.

"So, Papi. why were you looking for me?" Dan all but purs. Killer shudders and quickly stands up, causing Dan to fall onto the couch cushions.

"I came here to apologize." The Lizardman starts but is cut off by his slight jump as Danny appears at his elbow, holding out the tray. He needs to remember to make noise when he moves.

"Apologize for what?" Danny asks, observing his guest take the glass cup in a scaly hand. He seemed to do so carefully, but surprisingly not uncurling his claws away- does he not know how?

"For almost trafficking you. I ugh...I sell drugs, not people. I wasn't aware those idiots were doing that when I accepted the job to kidnap Tim Drake for a few hours. I have to eat somehow, you know?" Killer shrugs at the twin stare of surprise. "I'm an ugly son of bitch, but I'm not much of a monster."

"Papi, you are gorgeous-" Dan starts, placing one hand behind the couch seat and giving a flirtatious little smirk up at the Lizardman, but Killer cuts him off.

"Okay, seriously, kid you're starting to freak me out. Not that I'm not flattered. You're the first and only one ever interested in me, but I'm twenty-eight. You're way too young for me."

Dan frowns in confusion. "I'm twenty-six. Two years isn't that much of a difference."

Killer gestures at him. "You are fifteen at the least, kid."

Dan's face ripples through various emotions before he leans back and stares at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. He whispers to them in a hushed tone of angst. "I'm seventeen."

Right.

Danny clears his throat. "It's alright, Killer. We weren't sold, and neither were any of the other models. So, no harm was done. Apology accepted."

Killer Croc seems more thrown off balance than when Danny first opens the door. Poor guy. It must have been the ice water. Danny shouldn't have made it that cold. "Just like that?"

"Just like-"

Someone breaks through his living room window. The Fentons let out cries of surprise as Killer quickly grabbed them both and rolled the ground, using his large body to shield them from the shattering glass. The intruder was likely unaware of the strung-up fabrics, for they stumble into the tied strings and quickly become entangled.

They fall to the ground in heap as the strong wire wraps around them. Danny knew he shouldn't have allowed Dan to use metal wire for his heavier pieces- especially one that taught, but Dan had been so persuasive.

(He put them up anyway, and Danny was too lazy to take them down)

"Ah man, I liked that window," Danny whines as he peaks over Killer's shoulder.

"We have windows?"

"Killer Croc! Unhand the hostages!" The person on the ground screams, shimmering around until the clothes fall away, and Danny finally gets a good look at some guy in a red and black costume?

Dan points at the stranger "Who is that-"

"Red Robin" Killer all but snares, suddenly far more violent than usual. Dan takes one look at the EverBurning before he, too, is standing at the ready for a fight- it makes his outfit look really out of place, but Danny can't say much when he's still in his own sweats.

Maybe he should have changed too?

"Should we kill him?" Dan asks, and Red Robin stops, seemingly shocked that the fashion designer would ever suggest that.

"Woah woah woah," Danny says, stepping between the two groups. He has his hands up attempting to appease the ghosts first- for all Dan looked and had been human, he spent far more years as a full-time ghost so he was more ghost than human.

Killer claws have sharpened, and he just knows it's going to be a pain and a half to get them to stop. Thinking quickly, Danny crouched down to place a kiss on the frozen- no pun intended- human on the cheek. "There is no need for a fight. I asked him out on a date and sort of forgot what time he was picking me up."

Killer stared at him like he had grown a second head, but Dan dropped his raised fists. "Oh yeah? Have fun on your date brat."

"Thanks, Dan."

He hurled Red Robin to his feet and practically pushed him out into the street before the other could get his wits about him. Once they were safely out of Dan's hearing range, Danny crossed his arms, raising an unimpressed brow to the dressed-up stranger.

"Alright, who are you supposed to be, and why did you break through my window?"

"I-"

"Danny!" Dan shouts from the broken window. He waves around a duffle bag that he quickly throws at the confused teenager. "You can go on a date dress like that! I have a reputation as a fashion designer to keep. Put that on!"

Danny rolls his eyes, turning back to the other teenager- is he a teenager? Danny can't really tell with the mask but he sort of looks like it. "Do you mind waiting for me to get ready? I'll pay for pizza."

"W-wait what-no I'm here to rescue-are you serious about the date?"

"Yeah, why not? I dated a dead biker before and his crazy girlfriend. Sides, you're pretty cute."

"Are you aware that Killer Croc is in your house?"

"Killer? Yeah, my brother is trying to seduce him."

"......why?" Red Robin whispered in horror, "Why would he do that?"

"Why does Dan do anything?" Danny grins with a shrug. "I get it, though; Killer is a good-looking EverBurning."

"EverBurning?"

"A tribe in the Infinite Realms."

There is a spark of recognition in Red Robin's body language. Now, why does this stranger know about Danny's kingdom?

Red Robin's mouth opens and closes before slowly reaching up and pressing his ear. Danny realizes only after a moment that he's using a communicator as the other says, "I'm going offline for a bit. Got a date with someone from Constitine's Infinite Realms."

Hmmm, does that sound like a problem Danny should be dealking with? Nah, as long as Red Robin's not connected to Batman, he should be fine.

(Meanwhile, Dan is pouting as Waylon slips out the back door once again regretting his offer of going on their own date. Just his luck Clockwork's little twin idea is going to make dating a nightmare. There went the best tail he's ever seen)

Master Post Link

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I just recently discovered your blog and I’m in love with your Spencer fic’s. :)) Could you perchance write one where reader is sick and Spencer takes care of her??

Hi lovely, thanks for requesting <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 792 words

“I’m fine,” you croak. 

“You’re not fine,” says Spencer, stirring honey into your tea. “You let this go too long without resting, and now it’s bad.” 

You inhale, looking like you’re going to disagree, but a coughing fit supersedes you. The force of it bends you over, and Spencer rubs your back, wincing. You sound like you’re hacking up a lung.

“Okay,” you say once you can, still coughing weakly. “You’re right, I’m dying.” 

“You’re not dying either.” A smile tugs at his lips. “You just need to rest. Is anything bothering you, other than your throat?” 

You shake your head. 

Spencer eyes you skeptically, passing over your tea. You’re infamous for this sort of downplaying. You’d been so good at covering up that you were feeling sick that even your FBI profiler boyfriend hadn’t been able to spot it until a couple of days ago, and even then you’d managed to convince him it was mild enough to go to work until he’d heard you coughing in the shower this morning. Spencer still isn’t sure if, when he’d come home today to find you flushed and miserable in the bed, you’d gotten worse or only stopped hiding it. 

 “Really, nothing?” he asks. “You don’t have any other symptoms?” 

You shrug. “Just other normal sick stuff.” 

“Tell me about them. How do you feel?” 

You frown, blowing on your tea. “Hot and dry. I feel like my entire body needs chapstick. And I’m tired, I guess.” 

Spencer frowns. He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers stoke down your overwarm cheek. “You look terrible,” he says. 

You snort. Your cough latches onto it as an opportunity, and you launch into another fit. “Ow,” you wheeze, putting a hand to your chest. “Thanks, you’re really—really wooing me, Spence.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” he laughs, somewhat nervously. “I just meant that you look so sad, honey. I don’t like seeing you so sick.” 

“Me neither,” you admit. You take a scratchy breath in, deep as you can without it catching. You look like you’re savoring it. 

He feels his eyebrows draw together compassionately. “You should try to sleep.” 

“It’s barely six. I don’t want to sleep.” 

“You don't have to wait until it’s late to go to sleep. It might make you feel better.” 

“I know, I just…I don’t want to.” 

Spencer looks at you for a while, thinking of what to do with you. Your tea is still too hot to drink. He’d bought you cough drops on his way home, but you’d already had so many throughout the day that now you say they’re making your mouth feel sore and raw, and you don’t want to take them if you can help it. Maybe he could have you gargle saltwater…

“You should stay at your place tonight,” you tell him gently. “I don’t want to get you sick.” 

He knew you would say that. He’s practically moved into your apartment, though he keeps his basically as a storage unit at this point. Whereas Spencer has filled his apartment with enough things for one person (one towel hook in the bathroom, one nightstand, only one really good pillow on the bed), your apartment looks like you’ve always assumed you’d eventually share it. The first time Spencer came over, you already had fuzzy socks for guests, enough towels for an army, and two really, really great pillows on the bed. It made him realize that his apartment was really just a place to sleep; yours was a home. He never wants to leave, but certainly not while you’re like this.

“I won’t get sick,” he lies. (He definitely will. He’s already been exposed to you for days already and his immune system has never had his back.) “And anyway, how will I teach you chess from my apartment?” 

You groan. 

“This is really the best time,” Spencer says, going into the living room to grab the chess board you’d let him keep here. “You’ll never have more free time than when you’re sick. And this way, you won’t get bored.” 

“Sure about that?” you ask wryly as he comes back in, but you’re smiling. 

“Unless you want to try to sleep?” 

You look like you’re actually considering it. “When I was little and I got sick, I used to play mad libs.” 

Spencer feels his face screw up. “I don’t really like that game. They never make any sense at the end.” 

“That’s the point,” you laugh. A weak cough follows it. “Anyway, I’m sick. I promise I’ll let you teach me to play chess soon.” 

“You’re sick,” he allows, setting the chess board on the floor. Not that you don’t get what you want the rest of the time anyway.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

hello hello! i saw that your request are open soo here i go i guess? 👀 so - for context - something funny has been happening to me: ever since i got my first barbatos card, which makes him appear as a surprise guest, ive tried to get all the different reactions out of him. however nothing i do actually works?? i ALWAYS!! get the stars or the hearts and i just can’t get him to be upset even a little bit!! not once!! no matter what i do skdhsk SO! may i please request a cute funny drabble where mc tries to be a bit mischievous/prank barbatos a lot of times because they want to get more reactions out of him that isn’t that super polite smile on his face but it sorta? backfires because instead of pissing him off or scaring him or something like that he’s genuinely amused and totally enamored by mc and their behavior? thank you so much in advance <3

Hello!! Im sorry for the delay but I've been in a writer's block lately which is why I don't post as often but as soon as I got an idea for your request I wrote it down and I genuinely like it. Enjoy!

Summary: MC tries to prank Barbatos but instead of being mad or annoyed the demon finds it amusing and endearing.

Contains: Fluff

GN!MC x Barbatos

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

---

A Devilish Attempt

MC peeked around the corner, eyeing the pristine kitchen with gleaming counters and perfectly arranged ingredients. They knew Barbatos would be there any second to check on the afternoon tea preparations. Today, they’d be testing out their newest prank.

The idea was simple: they had swapped his tea leaves with the spicy demon realm “dragon’s tongue” herb. It looked the same, smelled similar… but the taste? A fiery, eye-watering kick that could surprise even the most seasoned demon.

As soon as Barbatos stepped in, MC grinned and slid into place, pretending to “help” near the teapot.

“Oh, hello, MC,” Barbatos greeted, that signature polite smile already in place.

“Hey, Barbatos! Care for a cup of tea?” they asked, barely able to keep from grinning. They expected shock, maybe a flicker of irritation something that wasn’t his unruffled calm.

Barbatos poured himself a cup, and MC watched, their eyes wide as saucers, waiting for his reaction. He took a sip and…

“Oh! Quite an interesting choice, MC,” Barbatos said, barely a blink of surprise in his expression. “A little spice can truly awaken the senses. You have such a… creative taste.”

MC was baffled. “Wait, you actually liked it?”

He smiled that calm, unfazed smile, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Not what I would typically choose, but if you wanted me to try something new, I would happily indulge.”

Undeterred, MC decided they’d have to try something bigger. Over the next few days, they went all out, each plan more elaborate than the last. They swapped out all the sugar in his cakes with salt, set up a harmless spell that made glitter burst out when he opened his recipe book, even snuck in a little toy snake to “surprise” him in the storage room.

Each time, Barbatos barely batted an eye. He’d even chuckle or offer a sincere compliment, like, “How clever you are, MC,” or, “It’s refreshing to have a little unexpected sparkle.”

MC was beside themselves. “How do you keep your cool, Barbatos? I’ve tried everything!”

Barbatos’s eyes softened as he looked at them, amusement sparkling in his gaze. “You’re quite tenacious, MC. I admire that about you.”

MC blinked, feeling their cheeks heat up slightly under his warm gaze.

He leaned in just a little, his voice low. “If it helps, I’ve been thoroughly entertained. The effort you put in to try and surprise me… I find it charming.”

Caught between laughing and blushing, MC finally threw their hands up. “Fine! I give up. You win, Barbatos!”

Barbatos chuckled softly, watching them with a gentle expression. “Thank you for the fun, MC. You’ve made each day a little brighter… and a lot more interesting.”

As he walked away, MC realized they might not have succeeded in flustering him—but in the end, Barbatos had somehow turned the tables on them completely. And maybe… they didn’t mind that one bit.

[mushroomates]

the fellowship and housekeeping/home decor:

frodo: not his work but still a cozy place. well decorated and tasteful, if not a bit maximalist. bilbo did almost all of the leg work for bagend to look as great as it does and frodo barely keeps up with chores. sunday is laundry day and he washes dishes half well but that’s about it.

sam: what a pleasant place to be. always has a cup of tea ready and slippers by the door. well maintained household, has a self-prescribed chore chart and weekly deep cleaning tasks. always has the guest bedroom made up and loves changing sheets.

pippin: hell hole. adhd clutter. it’s a miracle he functions half as well as he does. hired help comes every other day but you wouldn’t know it by the way things are. has four separate mold colonies in various spots of his bedroom. somehow lost his bedframe and sleeps with his mattress on the floor.

merry: well thought out design to minimize chores. you don’t need to sweep the floors if the whole house is carpeted. doesn’t need to change his bedding if he sleeps on top of the sheets, avoids dusting top shelves by having low to ground storage, etc. tried throwing out all his silverware to avoid dishes. sam regifted him the same set he threw out for his birthday. weird house but very functional.

gandalf: he has no house to keep or decorate. he does, however, keep and decorate others houses. he is my wildest dream and worst nightmare, will not help with dishes but takes to dusting the stairs for whatever reason. no, it is not something anyone asked him to do nor was it needed. leaves little presents around the house for you to find. i did not want a thimble full of sand, but thank you anyways.

aragorn: house husband. will not let his wife do dishes, sweep, take out the trash, or any chores if he can help it. acts of service are this man’s MO and he loves taking care of his wife and even if it’s by wrestling a dirty plate out of her hands. (arwen provides aragorn with a to-do list as well as explicit instructions on how to do them. she also writes the grocery list). arwen also decorated the house and it’s very classy yet cozy. tasteful grandma vibes.

boromir: hand carved mahogany furniture. beautiful cross stitch of his family, small wooden statues and trinkets. very lovely and hand crafted home that he takes care of to the best of his ability. it’s a bit stuffy and smells like pine, but is generally well maintained. his workshop, though, is spotless.

legolas: there’s a small tree growing out of his toilet and plant clippings in the sink. the bath is filled with dirt and rocks and there’s a small wild garden filling out his bathroom. it’s like a self maintained ecosystem and is almost impressive. dishes are everywhere and clothes artfully draped across the floor and every surface.

gimli: don’t ask to see his rock collection. it takes up the whole living room and is alphabetized. it is the focal point and he will stand in front of the shelves until you mention it. will give you a guided tour of his rocks. maintains it actively as well as the rest of his household. very conscious of dust and dirt, sweeps regularly. he needs to.

gollum: burn it. cave creature gremlin who fears the sun does not keep a pleasant abode. my hackles are raised and my feet slimed; this place is unknown grease and fish bones incarnate. i do not enter this place willingly and leave a changed soul. dank, damp and distasteful. there’s a pile of something in the corner that he either sleeps in or hides fish guts for later in. maybe both.

[lionlena]

I can't be everywhere (No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader) ANGST! Part 3

Summary: You knew Joel was a busy man, but you never thought that when you needed him most you would hear, "I can't be everywhere." As if your pain meant nothing. So you decided that you couldn't be everywhere either… You couldn't be in his heart anymore.

Warnings: NSFW, self-harm (something like that), rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, ANGST, miscarriage, misunderstanding, loss, mourning, broken heart, age gap (17 years), Joel is 45, depression, Joel tries hard, but… He can't show his true emotions…

Part 3

You thought being away from Joel, away from the place that reminded you of the loss of your baby, would help you, but it didn't. You felt like you were starting to get depressed, and living with your friend wasn't helping you at all. Maddie was sweet, but she tried too hard. You felt like she was taking on the role of your mother. She was worried that you weren't eating enough, that you weren't going out enough, and her attempts to talk to you about going to therapy only made you angry.

Deep down you knew she wanted good for you, but in your emotional state, you just had the desire to reject her. And that's exactly what you did. You found an apartment to rent and two weeks after you first entered her apartment, you moved out.

After finding a new apartment, you didn't feel any better. You tried to occupy your mind, find a new hobby, work more, but… You ended up sitting in the corner of your bedroom and crying. You processed thousands of scenarios in your head. Maybe you should have had an abortion? Then it would all be over before it began. Maybe not? Maybe you would suffer more and hate Joel more. Maybe you had a bad diet? You didn't take folic acid before pregnancy because… You weren't planning a pregnancy. Thousands of thoughts that did not allow you to sleep and function normally. Being able to work from home didn't make anything easier either, because you didn't have to go outside. You always had a tendency to overthink and get anxious, but when you were with Joel it was easier for you. He always knew how to put your mind at ease. He wrapped his strong arms around you and pulled you to his chest. He kissed your head and murmured sweet things. Joel wasn't a man of many words, but his embrace was enough. You felt then safe and surrounded by a protective cocoon of love. But you weren't sure if it would help you now. * Joel hated the emptiness that filled his house. The emptiness that reflected his interior. He slowly realized how much he should have changed in his life and himself. He didn't know if this would get you back, but he had to do something because he felt like he was going crazy. He started by renovating the house or rather building another room… A children's room. He decided to tear down the wall and enlarge the room that had once served as Sarah's dressing room and storage room for her toys. He knew it was crazy, and Tommy didn't hesitate to say it to his face when he visited to watch a game and drink beer.

"Are you crazy? Let me understand this correctly. You are building a children's room now, for a baby who…"

Joel grimaced. When he heard it out loud, he realized how stupid it was, but he was going to defend himself.

"No. Look, I'm not crazy, I know it won't bring this baby back to life, but… I should have started doing this as soon as I found out about Y/N's pregnancy. I know it seems crazy now, but… I have to do this and… It doesn't have to be the nursery. When Y/N comes back… If she comes back, she'll decide. It could be her office, guest room, home gym… Whatever."

Tommy took a sip of his beer and nodded.

"Okay… Now that sounds a little more reasonable. Shall I help you?"

Joel smiled a little. Sometimes his younger brother was very annoying, but he could always count on his support.

"Sure."

The younger Miller looked at him and asked quietly:

"Has Y/N spoken to you?"

Joel reached for another beer and shook his head.

"He replies to my text messages, but as briefly as possible. Usually, it's just a dry: okay, I'm fine, don't call…"

Tommy sighed and nodded.

"So for now, no chance of her coming back."

"No, but… If this is your way of trying to get out of helping me with the renovation, it's too late."

Tommy laughed softly.

"Not at all… I promised it, so I'll help you." * A month and a half had passed since you left and Joel was losing hope of any reconciliation with you. He felt lost and maybe a little disappointed. He just wanted a chance, one little chance. He was ready to do anything, to fall on his knees in front of you and beg for forgiveness. He would promise you everything.

When he got your text message with the address of the new apartment and the request to send your things, he felt his heart break once again, and then… He knew that what he wanted to do was crazy, that you would be furious, but it was his last hope. *

When you heard the doorbell, you were sure it was the courier with your things. From what Joel wrote, everything was fit into four boxes. You walked across the living room and kicked the pizza box under the couch. You didn't care that your hair was messy and you were wearing Joel's old t-shirt that you took before leaving him. You couldn't even explain why you were wearing it. You told yourself it was comfortable, but you knew it wasn't everything. You opened the door and your heart sank.

"What the fuck…"

That was the first thing you managed to say when you saw Joel with a bouquet, his hair slicked back and looking too good for your opinion.

Joel expected such a reaction, so he didn't lose his confidence and gently said:

"Hey, Y/N…" He looked you up and down. He saw that you didn't look your best. The fact that you were wearing his t-shirt made him feel both happy and melancholy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you hissed.

You wanted to slam the door, preferably to hit him in the nose, but you knew it was pointless. Joel would probably be banging on the door anyway. You would never think that he would take time off work and drive so many miles to see you. This seemed out of character for him. So he must have been desperate.

"I brought your things. I thought it would be better if I did it myself, just to… To make sure they reach you."

You huffed and looked at him disapprovingly. It was such a pathetic excuse.

"Yeah, of course."

Joel lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck.

"I wanted to see you." He said contritely. "Call me an idiot, an asshole… A motherfucker, but… I miss you."

Something about his voice and attitude made you soften. This wasn't the same Joel who hurt you in the hospital. It didn't mean you forgave him, but… You missed him too. You missed his body, the grip of his hands on your hips. You felt yourself getting warm. You had this sudden need to replace your emotional pain with a moment of oblivion. You grabbed Joel by his shirt and dragged him inside. You grabbed the flowers he was holding for you and tossed them aside.

"I missed…" You growled and started to undo his belt. "…for this."

Joel's eyes widened and he gasped in surprise. His hands were shaking as he grabbed yours and tried to stop you from what you were doing.

"Y/N what are you doing… I… That's not what I came for."

You felt like laughing. You knew perfectly well that he wasn't here to have sex. Joel might be an asshole sometimes, but he would never do something like this. You didn't care, you were going to push him over the edge. Use him like a fucking toy.

"I want you to fuck me! Hard, fast, rough… So I can feel it in next day…"

Joel's face turned red and he swallowed hard.

"But… I… I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't give a damn what you want!"

Joel swallowed. Part of him wanted to push you away, beg you to come back to your senses. He didn't come to make love to you. He wanted to talk to you and beg for forgiveness, but on the way to you, he promised himself that he would do whatever you wanted. And you wanted rough sex. So he put aside morality and common sense and turned on his animal instincts. He thought it was too simple, but the truth was that you always turned him on, even in his stretched-out t-shirt. He grabbed your buttocks and picked you up onto the kitchen counter. You smirked. You had him exactly where you wanted him. You saw the bulge in his pants. Joel grabbed your thighs and said:

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He didn't need more, he took off your shorts and panties in one move. His hand went to your pussy, but before he could touch your clit, you grabbed his hand.

"No… Without preparation."

Joel looked at you with dark eyes and growled.

"I won't fuck you when you are dry! You want me to hurt you. I'll do it the way you want… Hard… Rough, but…" He sighed and his gaze became pleading. "Please."

You wanted to continue arguing with him, but you knew he was right. He was capable of fucking you so hard that you would feel it the next day, even if he prepared you. You nodded, and his thumb immediately began rubbing rhythmic circles on your clit. His free hand reached for his cock, which was already half-hard.

You tilted your head back and moaned softly as you felt him insert one finger into you.

He too made a few grunts as he stroked his cock, which was already standing proudly.

When you felt yourself getting closer to climax, you grabbed his wrist and growled:

"Enough! I'm ready…"

He looked at you in surprise and grimaced. You knew what he meant. He was a master at preparing you, and he never stopped stretching you with just one finger.

"Are you… Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Joel sighed and shook his head, but he was already aroused and saw that there was no point in arguing with you. He pulled away for a moment and lowered his pants and boxers. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and went to pull out a condom, but you stopped him again. This time there was anger in his eyes.

"Y/N…" he growled warningly.

But you weren't going to take a step back.

"I'm not making you finish inside me… You'll take out before you come."

You saw the moment he gave up. He simply didn't have the energy to fight you as his erect cock twitched with anticipation, wanting to feel your warm core.

"All right."

He grabbed your hips and pulled you to the edge of the kitchen counter. You felt his cock head against your pussy. You bit your lip and nodded slightly at him. You knew it would hurt, but you wanted it.

Joel pushed into you with one brutal thrust, causing the air to escape from your lungs. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gasped. Joel moved closer to you. His lips were on your neck as he growled,

"This is what you wanted…" And then, more gently, he added, "Should I stop?"

"NO." You hissed.

And that was it. He figured you got a chance earlier to back out. He wanted you in that animalistic way, even though he knew how wrong it was. He gripped your hips tightly and that was his only warning before he started pounding into you.

He didn't even give you a moment to adjust to his thrusts. You held onto him tightly, completely at his mercy. You had no control over the speed or force of his thrusts. You screamed as the pain mixed with pleasure.

Joel got lost in your body and he couldn't think straight. He finally felt your warm body, and your scent, and heard your voice. For a few seconds, he could forget everything that had happened. He could pretend you never broke up.

He just came home from work and you greeted him in his t-shirt and soaked panties and offered him your pussy instead of dinner. So he accepted it happily and took you here and now.

You moaned louder and louder as you felt your climax getting closer. Your thighs were trembling, your breathing quick and shallow.

"Jooo… I…"

You dug your nails deeper into his flesh as you climaxed. Joel grunted as he felt your vaginal muscles tighten around his cock. He knew he had to get out of you… Quick.

You hissed in pain when he pulled out of you without warning and with a decisive movement. He leaned back and grabbed his dick. A few movements of his hand were enough for him to come. His cum landed on your thighs and the kitchen counter.

Joel pulled up his boxers and pants. He moved closer to you and rested his head on your shoulder, breathing heavily.

You raised your hand, wanting to do what you always did, which was to run your hand through his hair, but in the end, you stopped yourself.

After a few moments, Joel controlled his breathing and pulled away, and then… He grabbed you and held you in his arms. You didn't expect this. He carried you to the couch and carefully laid you down.

"Bathroom?"

"In the hall on the right…" you muttered.

Joel nodded and when he was gone you closed your eyes and sighed. You still felt the pain from his strong thrusts, but it finally made your mind go blank. There were no unnecessary thoughts, just a feeling of fulfillment and pain mixed with pleasure.

You didn't even notice when Joel came back. When you felt the wet, warm towel between your thighs, you yelped in surprise and jumped. Joel immediately placed his hand on your belly and said soothingly:

"I'm just going to clean you up… How are you feeling?"

You blinked in surprise. It's not that Joel was never tender and caring, and yet… He was never that caring. You cleared your throat and muttered:

"I'm okay…"

Joel nodded and placed a soft kiss on your thigh.

"Do you need anything? Water? A painkiller? A warm compress?"

You frowned and shook your head.

"No… I just want to take a nap."

"Of course."

Joel immediately got up and lay down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. Well… that's not what you wanted. But when you felt his warm, strong body pressing against your body, you gave up. When you felt him kiss your head, you allowed yourself to relax. You haven't slept well in weeks. Before you thought twice, you fell into a deep sleep. * In the morning you woke up in bed. You slowly sat up and blinked in surprise. You looked around confused, thinking maybe it was all a dream, but then you moved your hips and felt yourself sore. You looked at your watch and realized that you had slept for over twelve hours. Your eyes widened in surprise. What added to the shock was the fact that there was a glass of water and Advil on the bedside table. After a while, you heard a noise coming from the kitchen. You carefully got out of bed and put on a clean T-shirt and shorts. You slowly moved towards the kitchen. You smelled food, which made you feel hungry. You noticed boxes of your things in the living room. And then Joel standing at the kitchen stove caught your attention. His back was turned to you and you could admire his broad shoulders and muscular back.

Joel turned around and smiled warmly when he saw you.

"Hey… Did you sleep well?"

You frowned, wondering if maybe you were sleeping. You ignored his question and sat down at the kitchen table.

"What happened?"

Joel sighed, the smile disappearing from his face when he noticed that you weren't happy at all.

"You fell asleep… You slept so soundly that my attempts to wake you up were useless. I moved you to the bedroom, brought your things, slept on the couch, and… Now I'm making you breakfast."

You snorted, wondering if he was serious.

"You're making me breakfast? Wow. Where did you get the idea that I wanted that? Where did you get the idea that I wanted you to stay here for the night."

Joel cocked his head to the side as if he didn't even understand what you were saying.

"But… I thought that… We… You…"

You felt irritation rising within you.

"That what? That I forgave you because you fucked me? No, Joel… I just needed it, that's all."

Joel felt like you hit him in the chest with something heavy. Yes, he knew he deserved it. He nodded and looked at you sadly.

"Do you want me to…"

"To come back to Texas. Now."

You were a little afraid that Joel would start arguing with you, that maybe he would say something that would hurt you, but… He just walked to the couch, gathered his things, put on his jacket, and then walked up to you and kissed your head. He took you completely by surprise and you couldn't even push him away.

"Let me know if you need anything, I'll fly to you… And remember that I'm waiting for you. And I will wait as long as you need."

When he left, you realized you had been holding your breath the whole time. You took a shaky breath and felt tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn't move. You looked at the cup of coffee and cheese toast that Joel had left on the counter. You wrapped your arms around yourself and allowed yourself more tears. *

A/N 1) Before you comment, please bear in mind that I want to show that depression sometimes comes in many forms. Depressed people are prone to dangerous behavior, such as sex with strangers. Unfortunately, I myself found out in the past that physical pain brought me relief from mental pain. If some people are dissatisfied with the reader's behavior, I'm sorry, but no one is forcing you to continue reading.

2) I watched scenes from episode 6 hundreds of times and concluded that Joel is an emotional orphan. Joel cannot express his own feelings, so he adapts to the feelings of others. In the first conversation with Tommy (the one in the bar), Tommy is a bit pushy, tense, and rough, and… Joel reacts with exactly the same emotions. In their second conversation, Tommy shows much more empathy, compassion, and calm, he is more open, so Joel opens up to him. In turn, in a conversation with Ellie, who attacks him (which, by the way, is normal for teenagers), Joel obviously takes on her emotions. And that's why when Y/N throws herself at him and encourages him to have rough sex, he naturally picks up on her lack of control and unbalanced attitude.

Part 2

Part 4

Tag list: @fahemzzz @picketniffler @elliaze @txtattoostark @this--is--music @anavatazes @simplyreading96 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @southernbe @sarahhxx03 @noisynightmarepoetry @jasminedragoon @pedromousposts @joeldjarin

Permanentny tag list: @harriedandharassed

[prinzrupprecht]

Accidental Confession

Synopsis: You had a huge crush on him. Every time you came close to telling him, you practically froze up and shut down. That was until one day you couldn’t handle your emotions and turned to alcohol.

TW: slight drinking and suggestive

WC: 1206

You were stuck in Osiris’s temple preparing tables for noble guests from another city to pay their visits. Bastet was ordering you around to help with the food and asking you to go into the back storage room to get a few red wine bottles. The king was on edge lately with the trade diplomatic deals with other nations demanding more from Osiris who was the ruler of Egypt.

“What are you doing? These don’t go here,” Bastet took the vases you placed on the tables and put them somewhere else. You were feeling and out of it all of a sudden. Bastet noticed you were quiet most of the day and had asked if you were fine.

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine! Don’t worry, it’s been a long day.” You quickly tried to brush her off but her cat instincts were kicking in and you know you’ll have to tell her why you were feeling horrible that day.

“You’re lying! Ha! What did my nephew do this time?” How did she know already?! Your mind was freaking out. You pondered about it. He didn’t do anything, it’s that you were being a coward with your feelings. Your face was burning red, but she was your friend sort of.

“N-Nothing! He did nothing. I just… don’t think he likes me. Or anytime I think he does, he gets distracted and thinks of other things.” You could’ve sworn your face was a blushing mess.

Bastet couldn’t help but scoff at how cowardly you become. “Well, maybe he’s not into girls at all… it’s probably that.” You grimaced while you hated to think of that possibility. You saw Bastet’s eye twitch as if you said something to irk her.

“Here, take it. I’ll finish the rest of this banquet,” Bastet handed you a bottle of red wine. You stared down at it feeling that it was forbidden to accept it, but you did anyway. She gave you a look to leave which you quickly scurried out of the main hall. You thought how kind Bastet was to let you leave earlier than usual. Weren’t you technically just a servant deity of the Egyptian pantheon anyway?

Just as you were about to reach your corridors you saw him— Anubis. He was arguing with Horus which wasn’t unusual but it was probably something stupid so you were going to just ignore the two and head on into your room. “Hey wait!” You were about to open your door but were quickly stopped when Anubis grabbed your free wrist. You could almost feel your heart jumping to your throat.

“Ha! A— Anubis? You shouldn’t sneak up like that,” you could see how he was scratching the back of his neck while smiling. Horus already left which now leaves just you and Anubis alone.

“My bad, my bad. I got excited seeing you,” when he said that you couldn’t help but feel warm on the inside. Excited? Did you want to get your hopes up? You mentally shook your head and opened your door.

“Oh.. well, if you’re not busy you can come in?” You tilted your head while holding the bottle that Bastet gave you. You could see his eyes lit up at your invitation. You never really saw him drink before, well you could assume he may not be a drinker. So this would be interesting.

“You drink this stuff? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Anubis walked in behind you while taking a look at the red wine bottle curiously. You normally were never granted such luxury, but whenever you get permission to drink with Bastet, you’d take up on her offer. You sat on the floor grabbing one of the cups from the table, “rare occasion.” You respond while taking the bottle pouring it into two cups and handing him one.

Anubis sniffed it and scrunched his nose up. It was funny to witness his dislike for wine. Yet, he still tried it and gagged. “Yuck, yuck, yuck! What the heck is this?!” He was sticking his tongue out, well now you know he does not like wine.

“Sorry, Anubby… I should’ve offered you something better next time.” You practically had downed your cup. Something better? Anubis wondered what you meant by that.

“Agh, it’s fine. I’m not mad! Not mad at all, besides, the maids would sometimes offer me this stuff. I just wanted to try with you,” Anubis pouted but you felt a wave of emotions flourish through you. So he hates wine and tried to drink with you? You couldn’t help but stare at him. You didn’t want to make yourself into a fool by getting intoxicated in front of him either so you didn’t go for another drink. You could barely conceal your feelings at this point. Anubis was lying on his back while his arms were holding his head up a bit.

“Am I that tolerable?” You had asked him while moving closer to him. Anubis didn’t understand the question per-say. Tolerable as in?

“Never mind, I shouldn’t have—"

“Yes, you are! It’s just… you shouldn’t really put up with someone like me. Right?” Anubis pouted, but you kept trying to convince yourself these weren’t hints or signs that he possibly liked you or anything. Put up with him? You always liked his company and being close to him.

“I like you a lot—!” You covered your mouth and stepped back hating what you just said. You were ready to feel stupid for taking all the signs that he possibly felt the same about you and get rejected. You had hoped he would’ve assumed something else like friends but his puzzled expression said otherwise.

Before Anubis could respond you tried to step out of the room.

“Wait! Don’t leave! Don’t leave! Did you mean that?” He grabbed your arm pulling you back into him which you could swear your heart was close to exploding.

“I— err yes,” your back was pressed up against his chest as his arms were wrapped around you tightly.

“Ah— I should’ve known! I like you too~! I like you too! This makes me super duper happy!” He was squeezing you from behind making your face turn red as a tomato. Thank god he couldn’t see your face.

“A— Anubis you’re squeezing me really tight!" You had squeaked out but at the same time you were beginning to relax comfortably in his arm.

“Oops, sorry! I’m sorry, I just got too excited.” He released you but kept yourself huddled in his grasp. Well, minus being squeezed to death you mostly preferred hugs, touching one another and mostly just some form of his affection.

“Just being with you makes me happy,” you quietly said which made him feel all sensational on the inside. He had pulled your face up to plant kisses all over your face and neck making you feel fluster all over. “Is this okay?" he continuously asked while making sure you were comfortable with him touching you all over.

He was wanting to explore you even more that night but had stopped himself to make sure you were fine with it knowing you were nervous.

He was just as happy, if not even more actually.

Note: I’ll probably do someone else like Loki next or more Susano’o one shots / HCs but unfortunately his backstory lacks a bit of depth with his ban from the heavens. So it makes things harder for me to write about him.

[honeekyuu]

in twenties. [matsuhana].

>> issei always donates in twenties <<

_____________________

tags: minors dni !!, matsuhana camboy au, camboy!makki x hotel employee!mattsun, spit kink, matsuhana don't know each other, masturbation, dom/sub undertones, makki's a tease and mattsun is a down bad simp

wc: 2.9k

a/n: prompt request for @haikyuuaction !! a little different than my usual content, but this was so much fun to write and now im in serious matsuhana brainrot. enjoy!!

_____________________

“Sorry, sweetheart – No matter how much you beg, it won’t sway my decision.”

“Room 303,” Issei says politely, passing the room key to the pair of women with both hands. He uses one to gesture behind him, script memorized down to the intonation when he points. “Elevators are on my right-” Gestures to his left, to the open dining room. “-and complimentary breakfast is available every morning from 8am to 10am.” Gestures behind the guests, to the row of refrigerators against the wall. “Refreshments are available for purchase 24/7.” Gestures to himself. “I’ll be here until morning if you need anything else.”

“-raffle’s left up to the highest bidder. I know you know that, baby.”

Both women smile gratefully – one eyes him up and down, but Issei’s gotten good at pretending he doesn’t see it – and they pull their luggages to the elevator bay down the hall. He waits two more minutes. The elevators always come in two minutes.

For two minutes, he scrolls aimlessly on the computer’s logbook, typing in nonsense and then deleting it. Mussing up his hair so it covers his ears better. Covers the one headphone he has in – on his right side, because he most often shows guests his left.

“Maybe, sure. If you think you have what it takes to handle me.” 

Issei glances over his shoulder, into the storage room. He’s the only one on shift, but his manager’s been known to make a late-night appearance. To hover a little too close, to smile a little too sweetly down at him. She’s nice, really, and he likes his job. And it would work on anyone else. He thinks she knows that. He thinks maybe she’s frustrated that it hasn’t worked on him.

“And don’t forget the rules. Either pique my interest or pay your way to a night with me. Your gamble.”

The elevator dings. Two sets of suitcase wheels bump over the threshold. One woman whispers something, and the other woman giggles. Issei’s not humble enough to think it’s not about him.

The doors shut.

Issei flies to the other end of the registration bay, ass planted on the stool in the corner and back pressed tight against the wall. Phone in his hand, volume turned up. 

God, Makki’s pretty.

His cock is long, not too girthy and not too veiny. And his hand – fuck, Issei could stare at Makki’s hands all day – wraps tight around the base, easy and comfortable. The tip of him is shiny with spit, worked down by the man’s twisting palm. A lazy flick of his wrist, a careless brush of his thumb over the slit. His mouth moves – back and forth, collecting saliva – and then his head dips down, pink head of hair on display and the rest of his face cleverly hidden from view. A glob of spit drops sweetly on the head of his cock, slipping down the shaft just as he’s collecting it with his palm.

Issei swallows hard and shifts in his seat. Crosses his legs, just in case his manager comes in. Glances at the automatic double doors and then at the clock on the computer. 1:27AM, it blinks at him.

He raises the volume one more notch.

He lifts his thumb to the section of buttons at the bottom of his screen, each one a different amount to quick-donate. He presses on the highest option, for ten dollars. And then again. He always donates in twenties.

Makki’s mouth twists into a smirk that makes Issei’s stomach curl with desire. 

“Always good to see you, Mattsun95. Shouldn’t you be sleeping, baby?”

Issei thinks he might have just moaned a little bit. 

He types with shaky fingers. ‘i always make time for you, makki. even at work.’

“At work?” Makki’s laugh is deep, sultry. It takes a very special amount of effort for Issei not to shiver visibly. “You’re gonna get caught, sweet boy. I can’t have you getting fired.”

Issei doesn’t know where he gets the confidence from. He’s not a particularly nervous man, no – but when it involves the camboy he’s been following for close to two years now, every interaction leaves him breathless and shaky. Still, he sends a response.

‘why? worried i won’t be able to afford you anymore, princess?’ 

The streamer’s mouth drops open, shocked at Issei’s cheeky response, and he gives a laugh of disbelief. “And if I say yes?” He shifts his weight, his torso moving to show just a little bit of the room behind him. Issei doesn’t pay it an ounce of attention, but he recognizes in the back of his mind that the room’s not unfamiliar. Maybe Makki’s filmed there before.

The man responds to a few more comments, working himself up to a quiet pant on camera. He leans forward briefly and lets more spit fall down to the head of his cock.

Issei donates twenty more dollars.

Makki snickers as soon as the chime goes through. “Knew it’d be you, Mattsun. You like when I spit on it, huh?” 

‘looks pretty when you do,’ Issei comments. ‘bet i could do it better though.’

“Oh,” Makki laughs. Issei’s cock is long past hard, but that laugh makes it twitch every time without fail. “Is that right?” Issei glances at the clock again. 1:35AM. “I wouldn’t be mad if you won that raffle, sweetheart.” 

Issei presses a palm to his mouth, breathing hard. A night alone with Makki, all to himself. He could only hope to be so lucky.

‘bid’s already up to 800,’ he sends. ‘baiting me won’t work, pretty’

Makki groans in disappointment, shifting again. Issei’s eyes glance over the wallpaper, just past the man’s shoulder. He freezes, staring. 

No. 

No. 

Black and white geometric patterning with gold edges, right there in the video for him to see. Issei’s eyes fly to the stack of pamphlets sitting at the front desk, his blood running cold. Pamphlets that show examples of the rooms offered at this very hotel. 

Black and white geometric patterning.

Gold edges. 

“Shit,” he breathes, eyes defocusing as he realizes. As he processes.

His gaze shoots to the computer, to the logbook visible even from where he sits. His heart lurches into his throat, and his breathing picks up.

Makki must have checked in before his shift started. It couldn’t have been after he’d gotten here. He would have recognized the man’s voice. He’s dreamt about it — fantasized about it and come to the sound of it — enough times. He would have known the moment he’d heard it. 

Issei has Makki’s personal information available to him, right here. His first and last name. His room number. 

No. 

Issei swallows, shaking his head. No, he can’t — he won’t. He wouldn’t be able to live with that breach of privacy. He already feels guilty for even considering it. 

But that means he’s here. In this hotel. He’s filming a live show right here, and Issei is watching it in the same building. 

His cock twitches in his slacks, straining hard against the material as he stares down at nothing. A deep groan sounds in his right ear, and his eyes drop down to his phone screen. 

Makki’s head is thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing. His thighs are pressed open, the shot of the edge of the bed filled with his rocking hips and rhythmic flick of his wrist, fingers smeared with pre-cum and fresh saliva.

Issei taps down on the quick-donate button twice mechanically. A habit, a muscle reaction — trained to always donate twenty when Makki spits on his cock. 

He knows Makki knows this by now. He’d all but said it out loud not five minutes ago. 

The strawberry blond’s head flies up at the sound of money dropping in his account, and his hand stops moving as he searches the notifications. He grins.

“There you are. I was wondering where you’d gone.” 

Issei’s breath is ripped out of his lungs. He’s not sure it’s okay to want someone – someone he doesn’t even know – this badly.

“Again?” Makki asks, and something burns in Issei’s veins when he hears how earnest he sounds. Like he’s not asking for the money anymore.

‘i see what ur doing,’ he comments, glancing quickly at the clock. 1:42AM. And then at the security camera on the wall. He definitely can’t touch himself here. ‘ur not gonna get me to highest bid like this’

“I can try, can’t I?” Makki jokes. He’s started ignoring other comments, ignoring other people’s requests for attention. Issei doesn’t have the heart to tell him the highest bid’s almost at $950 now. Nine hundred and fifty dollars for a night with the man of his dreams. Issei could never afford that, ever. He can barely pay rent as it is, given his rather expensive weekly hobby. 

Makki spits on the tip of his cock again. 

Issei always donates in twenties. 

“God, you’re easy,” Makki says when the donation chimes in his stream. He sounds breathless, giddy. “You want me that bad?” 

‘yes.’ 

Makki’s breath catches when Issei responds bluntly — his hand freezes, and his chest rises and fall unevenly while he stares at the screen. And then he swears, quiet and to himself, but Issei hears it anyway. 

“Shit.”

Fuck this.

Issei stands up from the stool quickly. He reaches under the counter and grabs the ‘Be Back Soon!’ placard. Slams it down on the desk and all but runs to the employee bathroom in the back. Locks himself inside and presses his back to the door, breathing hard. 

His cock is in his hand in seconds, belt flying open and hitting the wall as his slacks fall to his knees. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, stroking hard and fast to catch up to Makki. He never manages to come at the same time as the man on the screen, but fuck if he hasn’t tried. His head drops back against the door, and his hips cant forward to meet his fist. All he has to do is imagine that beautiful head of pink hair before him, those beautiful hands on his thighs as that beautiful mouth sinks down around him—

“Where’d you go, Mattsun?” 

Issei hadn’t counted on Makki still talking to him.

“You disappeared, baby. Can’t have been to do your job,” he mocks, and Issei knows he can’t look down at his phone or he’s done for. “You too busy to type one-handed, is that it?”

Makki knows. He knows, he knows, and if Issei thinks too hard, he’ll think about the fact that there’s only a few floors between him and the Makki who knows that Issei’s jerking off to his voice at this very moment. 

“You’re really gonna leave me like this?” Makki’s voice is more needy now, needy in the way Issei’s come to recognize as him being close to his orgasm. “You’re gonna let someone else make me come? You don’t wanna be here when it happens?” 

Issei squeezes his eyes shut, quiet groans falling past his lips as he brings himself painfully close to the edge. 

He hears it — the sound of Makki spitting. He knows it all too well. 

Issei makes sure Makki hears it, too — the sound of his response, two cash jingles hitting the account.

Makki groans his name, low and deep and loud enough to make Issei gasp, goosebumps starting in the crown of his head and cascading down over his body in a violent, ruthless wave. He comes, hips stuttering and twitching as he spills out onto the linoleum tile with a choked moan and the whisper of ‘fuck, fuck, Makki—’. 

He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s slumped against the door, dragging down gulps of air and trying to remember his own name. He hears Makki’s voice on the other end, quieter and softer now that he’s finishing up. 

“-anks for watching, everyone. Uhm… yeah — I guess I’ll decide on the raffle soon, or something.” He laughs, like he’s just said something stupid, and Issei’s not in his right mind enough to piece together what that’s about. “Okay. Goodnight.”

He’s gone, the screen black, before Issei can even get his pants back on. It’s 1:47. It had taken him less than five minutes to come.

He stands there, weak-kneed and shaking, for a few more minutes before cleaning up. He returns to his post, putting the placard away with a little shame in his post-orgasm embarrassment, and sits at the counter. Finds mundane things to occupy his time while he waits for the sun to come up. 

Wonders when Makki’s next stream will be — if maybe he could ever be bold enough to DM the man after what had happened between them tonight. If he would get blocked or teased for thinking he had a shot. 

Sometime around 7AM — when Issei’s reaching the stage of his shift where he hides his face behind one hand so he can close his eyes — the little bell at the desk rings. 

He blinks, sitting up straight. “Good morning. How can I—”

It’s Makki. 

Issei stares, his script forgotten, intonation and all. 

Pink hair, pretty lips, and hands that could put Issei in the ground.  

It’s Makki.

The man stares back, hair falling in his eyes. He’s only got a backpack with him. 

“Uh-” He starts, smiling slightly when he realizes this hotel employee has literally just gotten lost in his eyes. “Good morning?” 

Issei flies out of his seat, all six feet, three inches of him wobbling as he stands. He stares at the man with wide eyes, overcome with about eight different feelings at the sound of his voice (six of them directly related to desire). 

“Good morning,” he says again, and then he watches Makki’s eyebrows lift in amusement. His lips twist into a smirk, and he flits his eyes quickly over Issei’s form.

Gives Issei a once-over at seven in the morning. Flicks his eyebrows when he likes what he sees.

He likes what he sees. 

“Good morning,” he repeats back for the second time. “Is it okay if I check out, or do you wanna keep playing this?” 

Issei thinks he might pass out. 

“S-Sorry, Sir,” he stutters, both hands reaching out in the polite way he was trained. “I need your room key.” Makki’s head tilts with bemusement, and Issei clears his throat. “Er-Please.” 

His fingers brush over Issei’s palm when he lays the thick plastic card in his hand. 

“‘s a cute touch,” he says, nodding at Issei in his stupid hotel uniform with his stupid little hotel hat that his stupid hotel boss makes him wear. “Calling me ‘Sir’. ‘s cute.” 

Issei moves to the computer quickly, trying not to think about the feeling of his skin or the meaning in his words. 

Room 219. 

He’d been one floor above Issei’s head the whole time. 

“Shit,” he breathes to himself without meaning to.

“Sorry?” Makki says, brows furrowing but a smile ticking at the side of his mouth. 

Issei flushes. “Sorry. Nothing-Sorry.” 

Makki’s grin widens. Issei feels a pair of eyes trailing over his body while he stumbles through the check-out process he usually knows so well.

Hanamaki Takahiro. 

Oh.

He probably shouldn’t have that information. He definitely shouldn’t have that information. 

He thinks fast, trying to figure out how to fix this. He’d only been doing his job, but now he knows too much. 

“Did you enjoy your stay with us?” he asks distractedly, reaching for a pen and clicking it twice while he looks for a pad of paper. 

“Sure did,” Makki says. Issei hopes he can’t see the goosebumps rising on his arms. “Still am.” 

The snort that bubbles out of him is unintentional, nervous. He glances at Makki, seeing the man watching him with thinly veiled interest. He writes quickly on the notepad, and then he clicks the pen and tosses it on the desk, reaching for the receipt that’s printing behind him.

“Well, Sir,” he says, sliding the receipt across the counter and pursing his lips when Makki smiles at the name again. “Here’s your receipt. And-uhm-” 

He slides the slip of paper over, too. Makki takes it with lifted eyebrows. 

Matsukawa Issei; 26

xxx-xxx-xxxx

“-I don’t have any twenties on me at the moment,” he mumbles. Makki’s eyebrows furrow as he stares at the paper, confused for a moment.

And then he understands. 

His eyes fly up to Issei’s, shock and alarm flashing through his gaze as he realizes. His lips part, frown digging deep, but he stops. Stares.

His consternation fades into simple surprise, and then interest again. 

“But hopefully this will work just as well,” Issei finishes, his face burning. 

Makki stares, for a long, long moment, eyes flicking between Issei’s while he thinks. And then he blinks. He folds the paper and slips it into the front pocket of his jeans. Swallows and nods. Meets Issei’s eyes and then looks away. His cheeks are tinged with pink. 

He walks away without another word, disappearing through the automatic double doors and into the sunlight. 

Issei sinks into his chair with a rattled sigh, all his energy drained. 

“Holy shit.” 

He sits, dumbfounded, for what feels like an hour, staring at nothing. A quiet ping from the computer shakes him from his state of shock. It’s only been ten minutes, apparently. 

There’s a brand new review for the hotel, the comment left on their page. 

[7:24AM] 

Anonymous: stay was fantastic. staff was friendly, even in the middle of the night — mattsun was particularly helpful. 10/10.

[arduouslove]

Loving You isn't Hard to Learn 06

genres: hybrid, romance, found family, slow burn(ish) series rating: mature (mentions of/references to death and abuse. eventual smut) chapter warnings (may contain spoilers): mentions of death. accusations of drugging/roofie-ing. descriptions of injury to the face. the reader character cooks meat; if you don't eat meat, please think of it as them just cooking it for other people. relationship(s): ot7 x female reader

In the middle of what many would call nowhere, a sign glows bright yellow. Old, unmaintained, and on its last legs, the letter e flickers for a few seconds before going dark. H aven’s Door Motel, it now reads.

prev | chapter six (12.0k) | next

The floor is cold when you wake up on it, though not as cold as it could be, so you must've been sleeping on the floor for at least a couple hours. As you sit up, you try to get on your knees, but find your legs tangled up in half of a throw blanket. You grumble, touching one hand to the side of your head, where you had to have laid directly on the floor rather than the throw pillow you can see pushed under the coffee table. Okay, you're definitely not telling Hoseok your head kind of hurts. He's already enough of a worrywart. Speaking of...

Looking up at the couch, you see Hoseok's sleeping face smushed against the cushion, his hair ruffled all over and his mouth slightly open. Upon closer inspection, a small wet spot of drool has grown on the couch cushion directly under his mouth. You grimace at that but quickly shake the split second of disgust away. It's just saliva; it'll wash out just fine.

You untangle yourself from the blanket, and when you stand up, you drape it over Hoseok's sleeping form as quietly as you can. Yawning, you head to the kitchen, first filling your kettle and turning it on, then moving to the other side of the counter and unplugging your phone from the wall. As the screen flicks on, you see a missed call from Lee Minhyuk from only a few minutes ago, and a text from him that followed soon after.

It seems I forgot to leave one last thing to you. I found it in our storage this morning. I'll be in my office all day if you'd like to come and pick it up. Otherwise, please let me know by phone call.

As professional as always, this guy. Glancing over at the microwave, you take note that it's only 8:56AM, which isn't that early for someone like him, but still. Lee Minhyuk is punctual, you'll give him that. Well, you suppose if you head out soon, you could get back before ten, depending on what it is Minhyuk forgot to give you. Some paperwork, maybe. He did say before that Mr. Jung had liquidated everything he owned other than the motel... You wonder what it could be.

Not wanting to wake your two house guests up, you stop the kettle before it can beep to signal that it's boiled and pour the hot water over a tea bag in a to-go mug to let it steep while you get changed. You sneak on tip-toes back to your room, and you move your hand as deftly as possible on your bedroom doorknob, focusing on your feet as you step in and close the door behind you. Bee-lining to your dresser, you tug off your pyjamas and pull on some fresh clothes as quietly as you can.

But when you turn around, Jimin is sitting up in your bed and looking at you with a frown.

"Oh my gosh!" You jump and pat a hand over your heart, taking a sharp breath in at the sudden sight of him. He barely reacts, just raising one of his eyebrows at you, his bottom half still snug under the comforter. "How long were you just sitting there?"

Eyes still half closed, Jimin says, "Long enough."

"Oh. Well..." Embarrassment trickles along your veins knowing he watched you trying to quietly sneak in. He looks too tired and uninterested to care about the fact that you changed right in front of him, though. There goes your confidence in your own sex appeal. "...Did you sleep okay?"

"It was fine." His words come out short and curt, and you can't quite pinpoint why, but you get a weird feeling as you try not to narrow your eyes. He flips the covers off himself and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, using his hands at his sides to push himself off and stand. His eyes dart around your room. "Where are my clothes?"

You blink. "Oh. They're in a hamper in the bathroom. I was planning on putting them through the wash and then making something to eat." Of course, stopping by Lee Minhyuk's office threw a tiny wrench in those plans, but still, you weren't expecting this from Jimin as soon as he woke up. Whatever this is.

Just as he tries to exit your bedroom, you move to stand between him and the door, your hand held up. Jimin stops himself before either of you touch, and he frowns slightly when you go, "Whoa, hold on. What's the hurry?"

"I have to go back."

"Go back?" you echo, confusion tinged in your voice, but Jimin doesn't bother. He gently puts a hand on your wrist and moves you out of the way, which you let him do all too easily in your stupor. Go back? To the streets? Blinking and shaking yourself out of it, you turn to follow him into the bathroom, where you watch him find his dirty clothes at the top of the pile in the hamper. "What do you mean?"

Jimin doesn't look at you as he focuses on unbuttoning his pyjama top. "She's looking for me."

Sputtering, you completely miss the fact that Jimin is taking off his clothes right in front of you. "Rayoung?"

Even though he doesn't answer you, the determined look in his eyes tells you you're right. He slips on his old clothes and pushes past you again.

"She is?" You struggle to follow both him and his words, stepping into the main living space after him. "How do you know--"

Jimin whips around, and you almost bump into him, but your feet screech to a halt directly in front of him. He glares at you with those piercing brown eyes. "She loves me," he says.

Your mouth opens and closes like those dogs in kids movies they'd feed peanut butter to so it'd look like they were talking. You can't say what you think, no, that would be too harsh. You can't just say outright that someone who loves him wouldn't leave him to live miserably like he did. But, what can you say? You don't want him to go back to where he was, even if what he thinks of Rayoung is true... not when you have something within likeness of a solution so close to falling in your grasp. You were planning on going to the motel this evening with Hoseok -- and, ideally, Jimin -- to scope out the building better and finally figure out what the hell you're doing.

"Jimin..." You hold yourself back from reaching out to him, knowing that your touch might be the last thing he wants. "At least eat something..."

"I'm not hungry," he tells you, and with the conviction he puts behind the words, you almost believe him.

"C'mon, at least a bite--"

"No!"

Jimin's sudden volume startles you, and your eyes go wide as he pushes both hands against you, causing you both to stumble back a step. You stare at your feet for half a second before looking back up at him, a breath of a laugh tainted with disbelief puffing past your lips. "What--"

"Don't come any closer!" He wraps his arms around his chest and scrunches his eyes shut. "I don't know what was in that fucking tea, but you can't keep me here." His back turns to you. "Rayoung was right. I can't trust anyone."

Completely thrown off, you straighten up slowly, his words settling in your brain. "...Excuse me?"

Jimin says no more, simply standing there in the foyer with his back turned, shielding himself from... you.

Roused from his deep slumber, Hoseok appears next to you. His hair is tousled and pressed flat against the side of his head that he slept on, but the sight isn't as endearing as it would be if you weren't so baffled by what Jimin just said. Taking one step in front of you, Hoseok puts a hand on your arm before you've even realized you went to get closer to Jimin, one hand up and pointed at him.

"You--" Hoseok's firm grip on your arm stops you from getting far, and as he pulls you partway behind him and your shoulder bumps into his back, you lower your voice to a whisper. "You think I drugged you?"

With his head down low, Jimin still refuses to respond. His entire body trembles, fear coursing through him like rapids under his skin. Even you can see it.

But something fogs over your rationality.

"Are you serious right now? I didn't-- I would never--" You try to take a deep breath, but it gets stuck in your throat and only serves to fuel this ugly feeling inside your chest. "You're delusional."

Hoseok hushes out your name, a warning of sorts, or maybe something closer to a plea. You don't hear it past the ringing in your ears.

"And it's not because of anything in my fucking tea," you continue. "No, you know why you're delusional?"

Hesitantly, Jimin turns around half-way, his frowning profile causing that awful roiling in you to flare up.

"Because even though you've been living on the streets for months, starved enough to root through restaurant trash bins, abandoned by the very person who supposedly loves you--" Something flashes across Jimin's eyes, but you have no grasp of what it is. "--you still think she's coming back for you."

No one says anything for a second -- too long, and Hoseok's hand slides down your arm and gently wraps around your wrist. You tug it out of his grasp with a sharp inhale. "So let's just go," you say, walking to where you keep your car keys. The jingle-jangle as you pick up your keys is the only sound in the apartment aside from your footsteps. "I'll take you right now. Near Antonio's, right? She left you around there and that's where you think she'll go looking for you?"

Hoseok softly calls your name again, but you don't hear him. Jimin only follows you with angry eyes.

"I was on my way out anyway," you continue. With your hand already on the doorknob, you slip on your shoes. "So yeah, I have no problem with dropping you off on your own with nowhere to go." You pull the door towards you and step out, eyes still on your feet. "Where you have no sure way of getting food."

Jimin doesn't look at you as he puts on his shoes.

"Where Hybrid Services already know your face--"

Your words choke to a stop when you look down the hall towards the elevators. That damned fluorescent yellow armband you had no business caring about a couple days ago -- two of them -- appear in your sight just a few metres away, directly in front of the apartment-next-door's open entrance, where your neighbour to the right, Anne-Marie, is talking to the two officers.

Without uttering another sound, you push Jimin back inside your apartment as quickly and overtly as you can. Unfortunately, this means you achieve that by shoving your hand in Jimin's face, but your head isn't exactly in the right place to think about hiding-someone-away etiquette.

"Wha--?! Stop--!"

"Shh!" You make frantic eye contact with Hoseok while Jimin glares daggers at you. At this point, you know you can't just go back inside yourself; both the officers and your neighbour have probably seen you already. You keep your voice as quiet as you can, hoping the boys can still hear you with their weird hybrid powers. "Both of you, not a peep. Got it?"

You don't wait for either of them to answer before you grab the doorknob and swing the door shut in their faces. As soon as you look back down the hall, both officers, a man and a woman, and Anne-Marie are looking at you.

"Good morning," you greet with a slight bow, completely unsure of what to do or say next.

Would asking some sort of question be suspicious? Or would trying to walk by and ignoring them be even worse?

Either way, you have to get to the elevator...

Before you have to decide, (or maybe after you already should've, considering the awkward silence,) Anne-Marie waves you over with a slight frown. "Leaving so early today?"

"Ah..." You nod at her with a strained smile as you walk up to her and the officers, making sure to smile and nod at them too in that weird, you're not really part of this conversation but you're standing here so I'll try to include you sort of way. "Yes, I have some errands to run this morning."

Anne-Marie doesn't question you, thank goodness, and just gestures towards the officers. "Well you should hear them out before you go," she says. "Apparently there's a feral hybrid on the loose."

"Feral hybrid?"

You don't have to fake the initial look of concern that appears on your face, but the way you deepen your frown at the flyer one of the officers hands you is definitely for show.

"Yes," he confirms, face stiff and almost bored from repeating the words so many times to all the residents in the building already. "He ran away from a hybrid clinic in the city and was last spotted in this neighbourhood."

Anne-Marie nods along as he speaks and shakes her head when he points out the area the hybrid was spotted last night on a small map included in the flyer. "So close to home..." she mutters, which he ignores.

Continuing after him, the female officer speaks up. "We're doing rounds to make sure everyone living in the area is aware of the risks of a feral hybrid, as well as inform everyone of the proper procedure."

"Which is...?"

"Do not approach," the man tells you as your eyes finally focus in on the two pictures of the feral hybrid, one from the front and another of his profile. In both photos, he's smiling, eyes bright. "It's dangerous for regular citizens to attempt to capture feral hybrids. Leave it to the professionals and call Hybrid Services upon encounter."

He doesn't look so dangerous.

His smile is wide and almost boyish, like someone told him he was posing for a photo op rather than the strange hybrid-version of a mug shot it actually is. He holds up his name placard like it's an award he's proud of. "V," it reads, then a bunch of numbers underneath. His animal ears are perked straight up, and you can't tell what kind of ears they are in the grainy black-and-white pictures, not to mention how small they look compared to Hoseok's. Still, the deepness of his smile, the happiness in his eyes and the scrunch of his nose -- you're not scared at all.

You don't say any of that, though.

"I'll keep an eye out, thank you," you say with a polite smile. "What kind of hybrid is he?"

The two share a look, the female officer grimacing before she turns back to you. "That's unfortunately classified information."

"What? Why? Wouldn't it help us be safer and more prepared if we know what he looks like?" You turn to make eye contact with Anne-Marie, who drinks in your words and nods with a slight frown towards the officers, a finger propped concernedly on her chin.

The man sighs. "As much as I agree with you, these pictures are the only images any of us have to go off of. Even Hybrid Services hasn't been informed of his sub-species. It's private information belonging to the clinic, and legally, we don't need to have it to apprehend the hybrid."

"I see..."

After thanking them again and giving your due goodbyes, you do your best not to turn around and watch the officers as you wait for the elevator. You step into the elevator, and as your finger finds the button for the ground floor, you peak down the hall and let out a breath of relief. The officers seem to have skipped your door because you already spoke to them.

It would probably be suspicious to re-enter your apartment so soon while they're still patrolling your floor, you think. The last thing you need right now is Hybrid Services finding a reason to look into you.

And, maybe, you need a minute to yourself. Just to breathe.

You hadn't meant to snap at Jimin like that, it just... So much doesn't make sense to you. You've barely had Hoseok around for a few days, but you feel as though your friendship is something already. Maybe not something to be proud of, exactly, but it's something.

Jimin... you've known him for even less time, if you could even call that "knowing" him at all. And yet, you felt this strange surge of protectiveness over him.

You really hope that isn't part of the saviour thing Hoseok spoke of before...

Sighing into the empty elevator, you try not to think about the fact that it probably is, and instead focus on what is right in front of you. Your car keys are still in your hand, the shape imprinted into your palm from how hard your nerves had made you grip them between your fingers while you talked to the officers.

You take the coward's route and run away.

Lee Minhyuk's office building isn't that far in terms of distance, but the traffic around it is pure hell. It gives you much too much time alone with only your thoughts. You try to drown them out with whatever is on the radio, but even that can't seem to calm the disquiet within you. The more you think about the things you said, the more regret builds in your gut. What right did you have to say those things to Jimin? Sure, you think it's a fool's dream to believe this Rayoung girl is out there searching for him, but to purposefully shut him down like that? To crush that dream just because you got offended by emotions he was completely valid in feeling? Just because he's been scarred by humans before and you happen to be one? It's not his fault that he thought you might've drugged him, it's a product of--

"Ah, you're here."

Blinking, you realize that your body went on autopilot and walked you up to Lee Minhyuk's office without you knowing, and you watch his back as he goes to sit at his desk.

"Yeah I... got your text," you say dazedly, unsure of anything else you could possibly say in the moment.

"Well, it's good that you came. I wouldn't want you to go without this." Minhyuk holds his hand out, and you step closer to his desk to let him drop whatever the thing he forgot is in your awaiting palm.

A single key stares up at you, attached by a small ring to a simple metal tag.

Silver Meadows Columbarium, it reads.

"Oh."

Moving the key to your fingers, you flip over the tag and read lot C 258 on the back. You'd never heard of Silver Meadows Columbarium before. Never needed to...

"I believe Mr Jung set up his..." Minhyuk pauses as he mulls over his word choice. "...accommodations before he passed."

You can't help but ask, "Just him? No family, or...?"

Your words trail off, both of you knowing that Mr Jung left you as his sole beneficiary. If he had family, he didn't leave them anything. Not even the location of his remains.

Minhyuk shakes his head, and you frown.

"He prepared for his own death all by himself?"

Your concern is met with a small, understanding smile on Minhyuk's face. "Well, he may have done the paperwork himself, but he wasn't alone. He had you."

"But I--" You hardly knew Mr Jung.

"He brought you up more than once," Minhyuk says, making you close your mouth and blink stupidly at him. At your silence, he continues. "He came to my office a few times to sign the papers and whatnot, and he mentioned you every time. Always said you're the only one who laughs at his jokes."

"They're funny!"

Your own response jars you a bit. The last time you said that, you thought Mr Jung was alive.

Minhyuk only smiles again, softly. "He was happy you thought so."

"Did he say that?"

"Not in so many words, but I it wasn't hard to tell. Don't get too caught up in the fact that Jung didn't have blood relatives he wanted to include in his will. Evidently--" He gestures to you. "--he had a family of sorts."

Except that you weren't it. You couldn't be, right?

A seedling plants itself in the forefront of your mind.

A seedling named Hoseok.

That's must be it -- Mr Jung wanted to leave his estate to Hoseok, but couldn't figure out how to, legally. Hybrids probably can't even have bank accounts, much less accept inheritance, which is why Mr Jung defaulted to you. He trusted you to help Hoseok start up Heaven's Door as the legal owner of the land it's built on.

In his letter, he'd said it's that it's you, whatever that means.

You look down at the key in your hand, taking a deep breath in. It might not be the key to Heaven's Door Motel, but you clutch it in your fingers, and as you step out of Lee Minhyuk's office, you make a silent promise to Mr Jung.

You'll get Heaven's Door up and running.

And you'll do a damn good job of it too.

=

When you return to your apartment, you have a brown paper bag of fresh pastries in your hand and a heavy something in your chest. You tried to figure out what you want to say to the two hybrids in your place on your way home, but it's hard. You feel like all you keep doing is messing up. Now, you even ran off without a word after seeing the Hybrid Services officers, which had to have freaked Hoseok out.

You grimace as you twist the doorknob. Less than an hour ago, you'd resolved yourself to running Heaven's Door with everything you've got, but are you really the right person for the job?

When you enter, you go to call out for Hoseok, but you freeze with your mouth partially open. The guys stand ramrod straight in front of you, Hoseok with a slight smile and Jimin with a hesitant clench of his jaw, arms crossed. You gape at them for a couple seconds until Hoseok frowns at Jimin and jabs his elbow into his side.

"Ow! What the--"

"Don't you have something to say?" Hoseok prompts through his teeth, a harsh grit to the question.

Jimin huffs, his arms shifting in front of his chest, hands holding his own arms a little tighter. He meets your eyes. "I'm--"

"Wait." You hold up a hand to stop him, not missing the confusion that flashes across Hoseok's face. Something like panic reflects in Jimin's eyes when he sneaks a glance at Hoseok, but you don't acknowledge it. "Let's talk." With the hand still holding the paper bag, you gesture towards the couch. "Have a seat. Both of you."

Jimin doesn't move until Hoseok does, following silently while Hoseok watches you out of the corner of his eye as he sits down.

You set the pastries on the kitchen table before making your way to them, stopping in front of the couch and chewing over your thoughts. Jimin regards you with a half-frown, brows knitted in apparent distrust. You can't really blame him.

If your ears were better, you might've heard the slight gasp Hoseok let out when you dropped to your knees, bent down, and pressed your forehead to your hands, which are now flat on the floor. You bow in front of them, let out a breath, and raise your head once you gather your thoughts, putting your hands respectfully on your lap. "I'm sorry," you say. "I fucked up."

Hoseok's ears twitch, dipping, and he scoots forward on the cushion, about to say something, but you don't let him.

"Jimin, I want to apologize for this morning. I had no right to react the way I did." You look at Jimin, but you can't read his face. "It's not your fault if humans have hurt you enough to make you think we're all the same. People can be... horrible. I wish things were different, but... I want you to know that I will never intentionally hurt you--" Your eyes meet Hoseok's. "--either of you. I'm not going to punish you. I'm not going to force or coerce you into anything you don't want to do. I don't want to be the kind of human you're afraid of."

Hoseok shakes his head. "I'm not afraid--"

"I can't promise I won't fuck up again," you say, wincing as you realize you've spoken over him, but when he doesn't speak up again, you continue. "I honestly feel like a walking disaster with how many times I've fucked up, and it's only been a couple days. Sometimes I speak before I think, and I really need to work on that. I'm sorry."

You don't know when you started staring into your lap, but you let out a long breath, and only after that do you slowly look up at the two hybrids. They both wear blank expressions, and it makes you want to shrink back in on yourself. "I just--"

"I lied," Jimin blurts out, and you face him, eyes slightly widening.

"...Lied? About what?"

Sighing, Jimin casts a glance at Hoseok, who nods determinedly. He fidgets with his hands, looking at them rather than meeting your eyes. "I guess, technically, Rayoung isn't looking for me right now," he mumbles. "But she will. As soon as she breaks up with her stupid tool boyfriend."

"Oh." You blink at Jimin. "Well, um... You're welcome to stay with us. Until then, I mean."

Jimin's lips form into a contemplative pout, but he says nothing.

You scratch the back of your neck. Is there a good way to approach this? "We could, um... let her know somehow? That you're with us."

You eye Hoseok, who's hopefully in the same boat for you to be saying we. He wasn't exactly Jimin's biggest fan last night, weird possessiveness over pyjama sets aside. Now, though, you see that even he can tell this Rayoung girl is bad news. Still, Jimin's ties to her seem to run deep, and you know it's nowhere near simple to tell someone a person they love isn't as great as they thought.

Jimin takes a deep breath in, his shoulders scrunching up as his body tenses and relaxes. "Can I... think about it?"

"Of course!" You perk up at the idea of him even considering your offer after the way you snapped this morning, and you point at the brown paper bag on the table. "Do you want to have breakfast while you think?"

While Jimin marks a straight line to the kitchen, Hoseok holds his hand out for you before you even move to get up. You take it, and he uses his other hand to gently grasp your elbow and lift you onto your feet. He doesn't let go right away, instead holding both your hands and whispering, "You shouldn't have gone out alone." He rubs his thumbs over your knuckles. "You're still concussed."

The proximity combined with his concern for you causes heat to stir in your chest. It's uncomfortable and foreign, so you try to force it down, smiling and letting out a chuckle that screams casual. You hope. "I can hold my own. Besides, I think I'm all better; right as rain up here." You pull one of your hands out of his tender hold and curl it into a fist, knocking on your cranium like a door. Except, the impact makes your brain swish around in your skull like gargled fluoride. "Whoa-- shit."

You sway, tipping the direction you knocked your own head into. Hoseok keeps you standing, but he doesn't like it. "You just proved my point."

"Listen--"

"From now on, no going off on your own," he says, and from his tone, there's no point in a rebuttal.

You roll your eyes, and, whoa, does the room always spin when you do that? Still, even wooziness can't stopper your sarcasm. "Protective much?"

"Kind of my job description."

"I thought I was your bodyguard," you tease, and he chuckles, his seriousness evaporating with the sound.

"As if--"

"You're dumb."

You and Hoseok both turn towards the kitchen, where Jimin stands next to the table with a half eaten pastry in his mouth. Ignoring the glare he's under from Hoseok, which you don't notice, he speaks around the pastry. "Only a dumb person would go out on their own in your condition."

Even though you're pretty sure he should be on the same side as Jimin on this, Hoseok sneers at him, the slightest of growls rumbling in his throat.

Jimin holds up a hand, mockingly. "Easy, pup."

"I'm older than you, punk!"

You can't help it; you laugh. Jimin is all over the place, accusing you of atrocities one second and talking to you and Hoseok like you're long-time friends the next. The two hybrids cease their bickering at the sound of your laughter.

"Okay, okay." You take a breath to stop the giggles threatening to break past your lips. "New temporary house rule: no one should go off on their own unless they have to."

Jimin raises a brow. "No one?"

"Ideally." You nod. "Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to talk about. When the Hybrid Services officers were here before, they were telling everyone there's a feral hybrid in the area. The entire neighbourhood is going to be on alert-- I don't know how kindly they'll take to finding any unregistered or, uh, stray hybrids if they run into either of you alone."

Nodding along, Hoseok rubs his chin with his thumb. "Makes sense."

"They know what the hybrid looks like, but we don't know how much they actually care about the picture. Who knows if they'd just nab any male hybrid off the street," you say. "It's probably best to play it safe; at least while we're still in the neighbourhood."

"What do you mean, 'still in the neighbourhood'?" Jimin asks, curious.

You smack your own forehead and ignore the way Hoseok immediately brings his hands up like you're going to knock yourself over any second now. "Right, uh... We're kind of..." Bringing up a hand, you gesture between yourself and Hoseok. "...prospective business owners? Is that--? No, we're, uh...starting up a motel? But, like, for hybrids?"

Hoseok is decidedly unhelpful with explaining what Heaven's Door is meant to be, staying silent and just making a face as you botch it.

"Anyway, it might be safer if we head out there sooner rather than later if the neighbourhood is getting paranoid over stray hybrids. It's outside of the city, and Hybrid Services doesn't do patrols out there. I was thinking to move once I'd figured more shit out, but I didn't think the whole 'feral hybrid' thing would happen today, and I definitely didn't foresee meeting you." Not that anything that's happened to you in the last few days could've been foreseen, either. You smile at Jimin. "But hey, at least you were a pleasant surprise."

"Didn't I threaten to kill you?."

You shrug. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"And your guard dog attacked me."

"After you attacked her!" Hoseok argues.

Clicking his tongue, Jimin gives his head a nod. "Point taken."

"Anyhow," you continue on. "While you think about what you wanna do, I'd like you to come with us. Of course, you're free to refuse. I still have two-ish weeks of rent paid for this place, so you could stay here, but..." You share a look with Hoseok, then return your eyes to Jimin.

"...I'd be alone?" he finishes for you.

"I guess I'd just feel better if you're with us."

Jimin seems to absorb your words, but he stays silent for a few seconds. He tosses the last bite of the pastry into his mouth, chewing quietly and brushing his hands together to get rid of the leftover crumbs. He takes a breath. "I guess I sort of owe you for the food and the bed I slept in last night... The least I can do is make you feel better."

Your cheeks make way for a beaming smile.

"Just while I think about it."

You school yourself. "Right! Right," you say, clearing your throat of any enthusiasm that might've gotten clogged in there. "Just while you're thinking about it. Nothing's set in stone."

=

Either Hoseok calls shotgun outside of your hearing range, or Jimin silently sits in the backseat of your car out of some unfounded sense of regularity. He doesn't speak a word as you drive, just watches the world pass by through the side window. You can't really see him in the rear view mirror, and most of your focus is on the road, but there are a few moments where you catch his fingers scratching at his arms before he flexes his hands and stops. You're reminded of the red, bumpy skin you saw on his arms. Now, it's covered by his shirt and jacket, both of which you convinced him to let you wash before you all left your apartment.

"I don't think this is the right way..." Hoseok says, squinting at the street signs as you drive out of the inner city.

"Yeah, uh." You'd looked up the address to Silver Meadows before you left, and it's practically on the other side of the city as Heaven's Door. "There's somewhere I wanted to go first. You know how I left this morning?"

Hoseok nods.

"Well, it wasn't just to throw a tantrum, if that's what you were thinking."

"I thought maybe you were trying to get those Hybrid Services officers to think you were going somewhere, so they'd think no one was in your apartment," Hoseok says, making your eyebrows rise on your forehead.

"Wow, you're pretty intuitive, aren't you?" Your eyes dart to the backseat, but you can't see Jimin's face since he's sitting right behind you. "Were you guys able to hear that whole conversation in the hallway?"

Jimin scoffs, something sarcastic in the simple sound, while Hoseok nods again. "It's weird how even they don't know the species of the feral hybrid," he says. "Without that information, they'd go after any stray hybrid they encounter -- not that they weren't doing that already."

"But they might treat any stray like they're feral and dangerous," you finish the thought process for him, and when you meet his eyes, he sports a grim expression. You roll your shoulders back, sighing. "It's a good enough reason to stay on our toes, but hopefully we won't run into any trouble outside of my neighbourhood..."

And, hopefully, the feral hybrid doesn't get found by anyone less than civil. The cheerful face of that hybrid flashes across your mind, and you wonder about his circumstances. What makes a hybrid go feral, anyway? What made him run away from the hybrid clinic? How much of the information the officers gave you is a stretching of the truth?

"So where did you go?" Hoseok asks when you make another unfamiliar turn.

"Lee Minhyuk texted me -- he was Mr Jung's estate lawyer." You add that in to give Jimin some context, but you're not sure if he's even listening. "He forgot to give me the key for Mr Jung's niche."

Hoseok's brows furrow as he echoes you. "Niche?"

"It's what they call the individual sections in a columbarium," you explain, not too informed yourself, but you know enough. You take Hoseok's silence as him not filling the gaps quite yet. "Mr Jung's urn is being kept in one. Lot C, niche 258, at Silver Meadows Columbarium."

"Oh." Hoseok doesn't exactly slump in his seat, but you see the way his shoulders sag just the slightest. "He was cremated?"

You nod, eyes still on the road. "Yeah... I hadn't thought about it much. I'd assumed his family was dealing with all the..." Breathing out a long exhale through your nose, you try to think of the right words. (And come up with nothing.) "...well, that kind of stuff. But apparently I'm the only one with the key."

"Mr Jung never talked about any family..." Hoseok mumbles.

A road sign ahead reads Silver Meadows, and you slow down to turn into the lot.

"You're not bringing flowers?"

You turn your head at Jimin's sudden question, surprised since he was quiet the whole drive. He meets your eyes.

"You're visiting a grave, and you didn't bring flowers?" he asks, arms crossed.

"Oh." You look downward. "I hadn't thought about that..."

Jimin doesn't say anything, and you've run out of words yourself. Does it make sense to go back to buy some? You think about Mr Jung, and far above wanting to go get flowers for him now, you wish you could've brought him one back then. When he could see it.

You find a parking spot and switch off the engine.

"It's okay," Hoseok says before any of you exit the car. He's not looking at you, though. "We can bring flowers next time."

You watch him step out of the car, and as he does, he pulls his collar out of his pocket and fastens it around his neck, clasping the metal ends together before he shuts the car door behind him. Before you'd left the apartment, you told him to bring it, but you forgot about it during the drive.

"Oh, right. Jimin." You twist in your seat and reach into your bag, finding the red velvet choker you'd stuffed in there earlier. You've never really worn it since someone gave it to you however long ago, and you just hastily grabbed it from your room before you all left the apartment. You hold it out for him. "Wear this for now. It's not technically a collar, but... no one will be looking too closely. I hope."

Jimin frowns, but he takes the choker. "Can't I just stay in the car?"

You don't want to pressure him, but you can't help the grimace that crosses your face. "I feel safer together..."

"Fine," he huffs, bringing his hands up to fasten the choker. "You're lucky this is cute."

By the time you both catch up to Hoseok, he's already found the directions to lot C. He walks silently, and when he finds niche 258, you and Jimin hang a bit back, giving him a moment.

This section of the columbarium is indoors, and the walls and niches seem to be white marble, or made to look like white marble. Whichever it is, it feels a bit... cold.

Mr Jung's niche is empty, save for the black urn inside. Jimin was probably right -- some flowers would at least bring some life to the space.

Hoseok stands in front of the niche, which is embedded in the wall at around the height of his chest. His arms hang limp at his sides. You step up beside him, and you take his hand, gently, bringing it up so you can push the key into his palm.

"I think he meant to give this to you." And everything else, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. That's a lot to put on someone all at once.

You would know.

Hoseok holds his hand in front of him, staring at the key. He looks up at you and meets your eyes with his watery ones. "You think so?"

"Of course I do." You put a hand on Hoseok's shoulder, your thumb rubbing back and forth over his coat. "You said Mr Jung never talked about any family, right? That's because you were his family."

Sniffling, Hoseok bites his bottom lip to stop it from trembling as he breaks eye contact and returns to looking at Mr Jung's niche. "I... I wish he wasn't this far away. He made it so much harder to visit."

"Hey..." Gently, you use your hand on his shoulder to turn Hoseok toward you, then put both your hands on his arms and give him a reassuring squeeze. A tear threatens to roll down his cheek, but you reach up at thumb it away. "I know you probably knew Mr Jung better than I did, but... something in me thinks he'd want to say..." You turn your head to look at the niche, smile, and shake your head. "He's not in there." Bringing a hand up, you softly poke the pad of your pointer finger between Hoseok's eyebrows. "He's in here." You move to his chest and poke at where his heart should be. "And here." Finally, you take both his hands, a bit awkward with the one still holding the key, and hold them between you. "And that's what matters, right?"

Hoseok nods, but his face crumples up, and he tucks it into your neck. You wrap your arms around him just as his embrace you tight. Over his shoulder, you glance at Jimin, who quickly looks away, but you know he was watching. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, suddenly very interested in his worn out shoes.

"But we can still visit, right?" Hoseok mumbles into your skin, bringing your attention back to him.

"Of course. And next time, we'll bring flowers."

=

As you slide into one of the parking spots in front of Heaven's Door, it occurs to you that this is the first time you're seeing it in the daylight. All of its mediocre glory. The outer walls are a faded yellow, with supporting pillars and railings on the second floor landing which were once white. The doors to the individual rooms are a nice dark green that matches the roofing, but you have to admit they've seen better days. Still, you can feel the potential the old building blooms in your chest.

"Not too bad, hey?" you say to Jimin, who's leaning forward between the driver and passenger seats to peer out the windshield at the place.

He sniffs. "It's no Plaza Hotel."

"You've been?"

"No, I've seen Home Alone 2."

Chuckling, you pull your car key out of the ignition and exit the car. You put your hands on your hips, inhaling a big, exaggerated breath as you take in the motel. Hoseok walks over and stands next to you, arms crossed.

"Well," you say. "It might be a bit of a fixer-upper, but that's nothing a couple of fixer-uppers like us can't handle, right?" You bump your shoulder into Hoseok, who smiles at you and bumps back with his hip. You stumble a bit, but Jimin's hand on your back stops you from swaying too hard. When you take your eyes off your feet, he meets your eyes with a plain expression.

"You guys are disgustingly optimistic."

A hand on his shoulder, you grin. "You just named one of my best traits!"

=

The move into Heaven's Door is by no means smooth, but you can't say it's not something you expected.

The first thing you notice is the broken window in the convenience store under the motel lobby, which you'd missed that first night in the dark. Hoseok sheepishly admits that he'd had to break in to eat the snack food inside. You don't push it -- that void of time between losing Mr Jung and meeting you isn't a topic you think is worth diving into if it's going to bring Hoseok back to that time. The window won't be cheap, but if you don't put a custom decal on it like the shattered one on the ground, it might not be as expensive.

Secondly, Hoseok leads you and Jimin to the master room you remember Mr Jung mentioning in his letter, and you realize you'd only seen the motel from one side. Behind the lobby, which has a lot of that same forest green as the doors outside, Hoseok shows you the half of the building you had no idea about before. An entire branch extends behind the lobby, about the same length as the front, but instead of the entrances to each room facing outside like the ones you saw before, there are doors mirroring each other on both sides of a hallway. Immediately to the right is the master room, but at the end of the hallway seems to be a common area with couches and coffee tables, and two walls lined with a counter and cabinets. Hoseok tells you it's the same downstairs, except the end of the hall is a kitchen and dining area. It reminds you of a college dorm.

If anyone stayed in the rooms you saw out front, you don't think they'd even notice this half of the building.

The master room is smaller than your apartment, but it has its own half-kitchen and en suite bathroom with a pretty nice shower. Hoseok explains to you that most of Mr Jung's time and focus went into building and upgrading the interior of Heaven's Door, which is why it has its less than shiny exterior.

You can tell Hoseok was staying in the master room up until you... kidnapped(?) him.

"This is probably the nicest room in the motel, huh?" Jimin posits, walking inside with his hands in his pants pockets. He's wearing the clothes he met you in, now washed but no less worn down.

You nod. "Probably. We're a bit far from the city, so it would make sense for the owner to just live here."

"Dibs." Jimin flops down face first into the bed.

Hoseok crosses his arms. "Yah."

As you fail to hide your laughter behind your hand, Jimin squirms in the bed, twisting himself so he lies on his back. He stretches his arms and legs out like a sea star. "Smells too much like dog here, though."

While Hoseok sneers, you say, "Probably because this is Hoseok's room. You and I can take the rooms next door and across the hall."

"Why would I wanna be next door to you?" Jimin closes his eyes and interlocks is fingers behind his head, fully relaxing into the bed.

You let out an affronted scoff. Your hand goes up to your chest, right over your heart even though Jimin can't see it. "Um, my amazing company and charming personality?"

"Pass."

As you and Jimin go through this back-and-forth, you miss the way Hoseok's face fell when you said you'd be in a different room. His disheartened expression goes unnoticed, and when you stand up, proclaiming there's a lot of work to be done, he smiles at you with all the sunshine he can muster.

You're none the wiser.

=

Aside from the horrors (the mere idea of business management, the building maintenance, the absolute atrocity that is dealing with plumbing, the phone calls, etc, etc,) at least it's fun to print keys. Hoseok apparently never figured the system out because Mr Jung took care of getting it installed, but half an hour on the computer, and you manage to print a key for both yourself and Jimin. He chooses the room across from the master, while you're right next to it.

Hoseok insists on him and Jimin carrying all the food you'd brought inside, but to appease your need to take part, he lets you carry one item for each trip from your car to the common kitchen area. (You find this a little patronizing, but it is admittedly nice to be doted on by them both, even if Jimin's still pretending he doesn't care.)

((He takes a bag you were reaching for, despite already having both his hands full.))

Much of your things are still back at your apartment, but you have time to bring them over. The first day is mostly about getting Hoseok and Jimin out of dodge -- you can worry about your own problems later. You spend the afternoon sitting in the lobby, poring over the paperwork left there and googling motel business 4 dummies like your life depends on it. Hoseok, who'd been cleaning up his room and taking care of the broken glass outside (and inside, unfortunately) the convenience store, forces you to take a break in the form of helping him make dinner.

During dinner, unprompted, Jimin tells you he's still thinking.

It hasn't slipped by you, of course, that Jimin's stay with you is conditional and, lest you hope otherwise, temporary.

But when he says that, staring into his food rather than looking at you, a tiny smile makes it's way onto your face,

"Take all the time you need."

=

On the third night, you wake up to soft knocks on your door. You have no expectations because your brain is in the process of trying to dissect the dream you'd just been ripped out of, but seeing Hoseok on the other side of your door still isn't something you were prepared for. He's wearing the new, new pyjamas you'd bought for him in a sparse shopping trip you'd all gone on the second day, despite him saying he didn't care that much about Jimin wearing the other ones.

You go to say his name, but he just brings a finger up to his lips in a silent shush, and with his other hand, he gently takes your hand and leads you down the hall into the master room.

Nothing in your body wants to fight it, so you let him bring you right up to the bed. He practically pushes you onto it, but the way he pulls the warm comforter over you defies any ill intent. When he settles in on the other side of the bed, his breath puffs against your cheek. He hasn't really scented you since the day you met Jimin; you've been near each other almost constantly since, so there was really no reason to.

You remember him telling you it's about separation, but also not. He never did tell you more about it.

In your sleep-ridden haze, you shift to your side. Hoseok is on his side too, rather close, and his eyes are closed, but you know he can't have fallen asleep so fast. Gently, you bring a hand to the back of his head, careful, as always, not to touch his dingo ears. You pull him closer ever so slowly. If he resists at all, you'll let go.

Hoseok lets out a shaking breath. He wraps both arms around you and tugs you closer, his face pressing itself against your neck. Eyes still closed, he squeezes you close. It's warm.

That's right, you think.

He’s a strong little pup, but he hates being alone.

How did you manage to forget that?

=

If Jimin has anything to say about the fact that you've started to retire to the master room at the end of the day, he doesn't vocalize it. Hoseok never brings it up, either. He's hardly touchy during the daytime, keeping his hands to himself, especially in front of Jimin. Yet, when night comes, he pulls you to bed like he's done it his entire life and keeps his arms around you until you fall asleep and wake up to find him all tangled up in the sheets.

Jimin either hasn't noticed, or, as you suspect, he doesn't care.

He'll often say he's "still thinking about it". You're not quite sure how to respond to it every time, so now you just smile and nod, sometimes reminding him that the choice is still his.

One night, you find him in the common area, sitting on a couch and watching a muted cartoon on the tv you'd connected to your Netflix account the day before. The subtitles aren't even on, and when he turns at the sound of your footsteps, you see the red of his eyes, and the shining tracks on his cheeks.

There's still a lot you don't know about Jimin.

Rayoung. Her boyfriend. His red contacts and why he wore them.

"It's freezing in here," is all he says as he wipes his cheeks with his sleeve. "You should get the heating system checked."

You sit down next to him, neither of you looking at each other. "Feels normal to me."

The cartoon isn't one you recognize, but it looks like it could be fun if you knew what anyone was saying.

For a while, you and Jimin say nothing. He sits next to you, and you next to him. At some point, he shifts just the slightest bit closer so your shoulders brush against each other. That's as far as he goes for your body heat.

"Do you get cold easily?" you eventually whisper.

"Mhmm."

"Is that a snake thing?"

Jimin shakes his head, slowly, the late hour finally getting to him. "Some reptile hybrids are like that, some aren't. There aren't many of us, so people don't really know why. At least... that's what he told me."

He. You decide not to dig into that. Jimin will tell you if he wants to.

"Your scales... the skin around them seemed irritated."

"...Itchy..." Jimin's head falls to your shoulder. He doesn't snuggle in, but he rests there. "I had a cream for it..."

"We should buy some," you say.

"It's expensive... You shouldn't buy it if I'm going to leave soon..."

Though his words cause a muted ache in your heart, you don't stew on it. That was always the case.

"You can take it with you."

Jimin doesn't respond, asleep on your shoulder.

You're not sure how much time passes, but later, you hear light, shuffling footsteps behind you, and you turn your head towards the sound, careful not to jostle the slumbering Jimin on your shoulder. Hoseok stands there, eyes half closed but on you nonetheless.

"You left," he mumbles, swaying slightly like he's struggling to stay both awake and upright.

You give him a small smile, lit only by the tv that's still playing that cartoon you don't know the name of. "I didn't go very far."

"Come back to bed?"

Gently, you lift a hand and gesture at Jimin. "Can we bring him back to his, first?"

=

When you're sent the invoice for the window repair, you realize (not for the first time) this won't be easy.

You didn't think it'd be a walk in the park, of course not, but you've never really had to worry about the cost of running a business before. Now, you look at the numbers, and you just can't wrap your head around how it'll all work. Mr Jung left you a considerable amount, yes, but... will it be enough? You can't imagine the motel is in any high level of traffic area for travellers. There are quite a few campsites around in the surrounding forest, but that's about it. How many customers would it take monthly to support the motel? How much has to or even can be sacrificed before any income is made?

You've already spent so much on keeping you, Hoseok, and Jimin alive and warm for the past week. It's normal, you suppose, but you've never supported two dependants before, and the fact that you're currently unemployed doesn't settle the heavy feeling in your chest at all. You're draining your savings while not making any money in the meantime.

A safe haven for hybrids...

...who can't pay rent.

Maybe Mr Jung was older and more senile than you thought.

You shake your head and rub your hands over your face, resting your elbows on the desk in front of you. First, you gotta apologize to Mr Jung for disrespecting the dead. You might be cynical, but he had a dream. A really good and nice dream. Secondly, you scold yourself for thinking what you did about hybrids. Of course they can't pay rent. They were born into a system that actively discourages their financial (and pretty much every other kind of) autonomy. They can't pay for anything because of humans.

Still, you don't know how long you can keep running Heaven's Door on your inheritance alone. You haven't even opened yet -- how much will it cost to run for a month? Three? A year?

"Do the numbers change if you sigh hard enough?"

You turn in your swivel chair to glare at Jimin, who's sitting in the chair next to you with one leg folded up to his chest, foot propped up on the seat. He doesn't return your gaze, enraptured by the match-three game he's playing on your phone, which he's been going at rather consistently for the past two days. You don't really have a job for him right now, and aside from the tv, he doesn't have much to take up his time. You'd offered to grab the contents of your bookshelf back at home for him, but he'd casually refused, telling you he'd take a look next time you make the trip, but not to go out of your way.

"Maybe they will," you taunt back, which goes just as ignored as your glare. "I better sigh harder to test it out."

You tilt your head, looking at your phone in his hand. "Should I get you guys phones...?" you ask, mostly to yourself.

Jimin's eyes glance up, and he finally acknowledges you. He doesn't need to say it. He does anyway.

"I'm still thinking."

Curling your lips in, you nod, turning back to the computer and hovering your hands over the mouse and keyboard even though you have no plans on what to do with them. "Right. Right..."

Thankfully, Hoseok chooses that awkward moment to walk into the lobby. "You should take a break," he says. "How is your head feeling?"

"It's fine, doc." You roll your eyes, smiling. "Just as fine as I said it was yesterday."

"Have you been taking your meds?"

You shake your head. "The doctor said they're for headaches. They're just painkillers -- the few times my head has hurt, the pain went away by the time I remembered I could take them."

Jimin lowers your phone and gives you a look you can't quite decipher. It's not positive; you know that at least. "You're still getting headaches?"

"Only itty-bitty ones," you try to placate them.

"How long has it been since you fell?"

You almost forgot you lied to Jimin about how you got your concussion. By the looks of Hoseok's guilty expression, though, you're not sure if you regret it. You don't want him to feel responsible, but talking about it -- whether or not Jimin knows -- still seems to remind him of what he did. Where you put the blame doesn't matter to him. He still thinks it's his fault.

"Uhh... a little over a week?" you answer, keeping a careful eye on Hoseok. "Maybe eight or nine days."

Jimin frowns. "That can't be good, right?"

"The doctor said to go back to the hospital if the symptoms last over two weeks." Concern laced in his features, Hoseok crosses his arms.

You nod along. "I'll put the date on my calendar, okay? I'm sure I'll be fine by then."

"You better not play it down when the time comes," Hoseok warns.

"Yes sir," you joke.

Hoseok takes in a sharp breath, shoulders scrunching up for half a second before he forces them to relax. A small huff of a laugh escapes Jimin's nose, and you look at him in confusion, but his eyes are on Hoseok, something playful and teasing in them. Jimin mouths something to Hoseok, which you can't read.

Hoseok grumbles and tightens the arms crossed in front of him. "Shut up."

"No fair," you whine. "You guys already have inside jokes?"

Jimin just laughs harder while Hoseok gives him a death glare and says, "It doesn't count as an inside joke if I don't find it funny."

"Don't worry," Jimin teases through a smirk. "I find it funny enough for the both of us!"

You can't help but smile at the ever-growing amity between the two hybrids, which is admittedly playful in the biting way, but it still makes you happy that they're somewhat getting along.

=

"We should celebrate," you tell the boys one day.

"Celebrate what?" Jimin questions, hands stuffed in his coat pocket and shoulders scrunched up to his ears.

You'd gone around the back of the motel and found a paved, patio-like area, complete with five wooden picnic tables, propane patio heaters, and an old-looking but (probably) functional barbecue, but Jimin isn't exactly a fan of the cool breeze flowing through the air.

You lift the lid of the barbecue, examining the charred grates of the grill. "Well, I dunno, but it'd be a shame not to use this before it gets too cold out."

"Too late," Jimin mumbles. His lips are hidden behind the front of his coat, which he's ducked half his face into.

Hoseok ignores Jimin, nodding at your idea. "A barbecue night would be nice."

"How are you on the grill?" you ask him.

"I'm better at prepping."

You chuckle. "So basically, not good?"

"Not good," he echoes with a smile.

After sharing some giggles, you look at the barbecue again. "I'm sure I could figure this out."

"I'm going back inside," Jimin tells you both, already walking away.

"C'mon!" you call after him. "It'll be fun!"

=

Although you're in a different store now, near the edge of the city closer to the motel, the pet/hybrid aisle hosts a pretty similar collection to the store near your apartment. You pull another plain, black collar off the hook on the shelf, which matches the one currently sitting around Hoseok's neck.

He's not paying attention at all, as far as you know, instead hunched over the pushbar of the shopping cart he insisted on pushing for you, poring over the grocery list you'd written on a memo pad for tonight's "celebration".

In your mind, you've started calling it your "new friends party :D", emoticon included, but you haven't worded that out loud to either of the boys. Hoseok would surely laugh at the childishness of the name, even if he'd politely try to stifle it, and you know Jimin would only remind you that his relationship to you and Hoseok is temporary.

Mood killer, you think to Jimin, although it's the hypothetical version of him.

The real Jimin is looking at the array of collars on the shelf like you asked him to, and you step up next to him.

"What do you think?"

Jimin frowns, deep in thought. "They're all ugly."

Okay, maybe not that deep.

"Ouch," you chuckle, fingers toying with the black silk in your hand. "You don't have to wear one all the time -- just while we're in public spaces like this."

Grumbling, Jimin stuffs both his hands in his coat pockets. "In public... that's when I wanna look good."

"Okay, okay." You pat a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe we can find one you like online, or something."

"Doesn't this one work?" Jimin points at his neck, fingers ghosting over the soft velvet of your red choker.

You tilt your head. "I guess... Probably."

The tags for collars have to be bought and customized separately anyway. There's no reason why you wouldn't be able to put Jimin's on your choker, though attaching the tag might not be as simple as the store-bought collars. Manageable, though, you're sure.

"If you're done being picky, we should get going. The frozen meat will be rotten by the time we get to the car," Hoseok says, making Jimin roll his eyes and stick his tongue out at him.

You clap your hands together. "Ooh! We should get ice cream!"

When you bring all the groceries to the counter, you notice that Jimin keeps his head down, avoiding the eyes of the person ringing everything up. This isn't new -- Jimin seems to not like making eye contact with anyone but you or Hoseok.

He'd tossed the red contacts after one of them had an intimate meet and greet with your bedroom floor, but you can tell he doesn't like being without them. It's awful, you think, how long he wore those fake red eyes just because his owner... what, enjoyed the idea of owning a deadly hybrid?

The... exoticism?

You shiver.

On the cusp of winter time, with Jimin in a couple layers, you wouldn't even know he's a hybrid if you weren't paying attention. As far as you know, his only hybrid-defining trait is his scales, and the only ones you can see right now are on his neck. They'd easily go unnoticed to the everyday passerby.

"Your total is--"

The cashier's voice startles you, and all you can do is shake your head when they ask if you have their points reward card.

Before heading back to the motel, you make a quick stop at your apartment, telling the boys that you're just grabbing some more of your clothes and that they can wait in the car. You do grab some clothes, but you also pick up a few of your favourite books. Hopefully the boys will be able to find some entertainment in them. Recently, you discovered a recreation room in the motel, complete with a couple of exercise machines and a pool table. With how preoccupied you are with all this motel business stuff, though, you haven't had the time to play a round of pool or even think about exercising. Maybe the boys have been in there, but it seems like Hoseok is almost always somewhere around you, still weary of your condition.

It's sort of fair, you think. Dizzy spells still hit you sometimes.

Jimin, too, often sticks around somewhere nearby. Maybe it's because he likes scrolling through your phone and doesn't want to just take it and leave whatever room you're in.

Which brings you to the real reason you stopped by your apartment. You walk up to the mailboxes and pull out your key, smiling when you open your locker and find the packages you were expecting.

It's a bit of a pricey expense -- at least, for how you used to budget your life before it flipped on its head -- but you think it's worth the money. A simple phone for each of the boys, a new family plan to save on the phone bills, and a specialty reptilian hybrid eczema cream. You hope it's the right one for Jimin. You haven't seen his irritated skin since that shower due to the chilly weather, but you still catch him scratching his arms over his clothes from time to time.

You're sure if you told Jimin you wanted to buy the cream for him, he would've refused. The phone, too.

"Took you long enough," Jimin says when you dip back into the driver's seat of your car.

You chuckle. "I missed you too, Mochi."

He huffs at the nickname and crosses his arms, then turns his head to stare out the window. You don't see his faint smile.

=

"It's freezing," Jimin complains through chattering teeth, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and shoulders scrunched up practically to his ears.

You can't hold back a little laugh. "I told you, you could either help me out here with the grill, help Hoseok with prepping everything inside, or run the raw food from the kitchen to out here." Raising an eyebrow at him, you gesture towards your gloved hands and the food you're flipping on the grill with metal tongs. It is chilly out, especially since the sun set, but you're wrapped up in your own jacket, and the fire from the grill is keeping your cheeks warm. It probably feels colder to Jimin, though. "You wanna trade with me?"

He gives you a flat look. "You're kidding."

"Thought so. You wanna trade with Hoseok?"

Cringing, Jimin shakes his head. "I hate touching raw meat."

"Well, there's our answer then," you say. "Was that the last of it?"

He nods, another shiver rippling through him. It's almost endearing how red his cheeks are turning, but you know he really can't stand the cold.

"Okay, go inside and warm up. I should be done cooking everything in ten or fifteen minutes. Bring this plate in--" You point at a foil-wrapped plate of the food you've already cooked. "I can bring the rest inside once I'm finished."

Jimin's eyes widen slightly. "I thought you wanted to eat out here?" He looks at one of the picnic tables.

"Nah." You shrug. "It's way too cold for me, and the food will cool down too fast."

Elated by this news, Jimin smiles and bounces on his feet when he grabs the plate and runs it inside.

"And help Hoseok clean up the kitchen!" you yell out right before the door shuts behind him.

Truthfully, you did want to eat outside for the celebration, but it's more important to you that Jimin is comfortable and happy. After all, he's one of your new friends, and that's the whole point of tonight. You smile at the thought, excited to gift the boys their new cell phones after dinner.

Flipping some of the last pieces of meat on the grill, you hum to yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a hand reach for the plate you have set to the side for the cooked food. It tentatively grabs one of the slices of meat and pulls it off the plate, which you let out a chuckle at.

"What, you couldn't wait a couple more minute--"

You choke to a stop, though, when you look up and see neither Hoseok nor Jimin.

Dark eyes meet yours for less than a moment before swiftly turning downward. The man stumbles back a step, but he freezes in almost the same way you do. Except, instead of his jaw dropping open like yours does, he pauses mid-chew, the frisked meat still in between his teeth.

That's not what makes your breath hitch, though.

Even under the blackened sky, you can see the bruises.

A dark, deep purple sits boldly under is left eye, the surrounding skin a sickening blend of yellow and green that winds up all the way to his brow. His chin sports another bruise in a similar state, like the blows had been a couple days ago and the skin has gone through only the first stages of healing. Although his face is grimy with sweat and dirt, you can see crusted blood just at his hairline before his black hair hides anything else. You can tell his lip was completely busted at some point, marred with dark, dried blood that's been split over and over again and given no chance to heal.

Even his stance looks like he's in pain. Like he's trying to make himself look smaller.

You swallow the shock down, the words not coming out. "I..."

He snaps out of it at the sound of your voice. Both of his hands shoot up, palms flat and facing you. "Sorry-- I'm sorry," he mumbles and winces, like it hurts to speak. His voice is scratchy and rasping.

He backs up further while you try to find something to say, something to do, but before you can do anything, he runs off the patio and disappears into the treeline, a clear limp in his movement.

"Wait!" you call out, but he's gone.

Maybe it was the injuries that made you want to go after him. Maybe it was the way he held himself, like he didn't want to be in his own body. Maybe it was the way his voice trembled, or the fact that he definitely wasn't wearing enough for the temperature outside.

Maybe it was all that combined, but most of all, it was the pointed black ears you saw on top of his head.

prev | chapter six (12.0k) | next

[msaw]

realistically theres no way a sphere would have survived that explosion but this is fiction so i can do whatever i want baby!!!!!

this is the before and after of what a sphere looked like before the war and after the war. we all know how he was before <3 so i would like to talk about after. (massive canon divergence headcanon warning LOLZ)

basically he expected to die but then he woke up in his headquarters. idk maybe his building has radiation resistance or hes just built different or whatever. they have flying transport anything can happen in their world. so he wakes up on the floor of his office thinking hes dead but hes actually not. granted he can barely see anything because the light from the nuke nearly blinded him. it also left him with a scar

so he's like "shit" and refuses to leave his building until the radiation settled down, which he decided would be a couple months just for good measure. there was enough food in the break room and in storage to last him that long. he did have to share it with some other people who survived, though.

these 2 months consisted on him relearning the layout of the building + running into walls cause he was basically blind. he could really only see things up close. but he persisted and finally decided to leave the building. the whole city was a wreck. really the only thing he could do is just travel. travel and try to find a city that didnt get blown to smithereens. thankfully he knew the general direction he had to go to get to a place crowded with cities so he just picked that direction and went.

turns out they were suffering from the war too but they were much better off than a sphere's city. they took him in and tried to get him rehabilitated. time skip! the war lasted a few years and the time it took for them to rebuild the city was even longer. the messiah company was still going strong at its other locations, so the company was alive, but a sphere didnt want to go back until his eyesight was fixed. he got eye surgery and a pair of prescription glasses in the following year, and both helped tremendously, but his eyesight will still never be the same.

he eventually went back to his job (then resigned and went for something more relaxed and pertaining to his interests) and im thinking at a certain point he brought a square back into the third dimension again for whatever reason. maybe a square's taste for interdimensional living became too strong or whatever. then they live happily ever after AAWAWWWAWAWAW (jk still developing what happens after all this)

thats a sphere fixing a piece of his flying car (with a guest appearance by a square)

[glorious-spoon]

Hi :) I hope I'm not too late, I'd love prompt no.7 for buck and eddie :)

hi, and thank you! sorry it's so late! <3

7. a kiss to shut them up

-

"Your timing is fucking terrible," Eddie hisses, sounding halfway to laughing his ass off.

Buck dissolves into giggles, pushing his face into Eddie's warm shoulder in a futile attempt to muffle them. Partly, it's sheer surprise; for someone whose career trajectory has consisted of war zones and emergency services, Eddie really doesn't swear that much. Buck assumes it's mostly for Christopher's sake, plus maybe a lingering childhood terror of what his abuela would do to him if she ever heard the word fuck leave his mouth.

Mostly, though, it's because—shit, he's right, he really is. Buck has never had so much as a nodding acquaintance with good timing. He fell in love with Abby while her mom was dying in her living room. He fell in love with Eddie—well, a long time ago, in retrospect, but he realized he was in love with Eddie when they were still both dating other people. 

And right now, he's got Eddie backed into a literal storage closet at his sister's literal wedding. He's supposed to make a toast in about ten minutes. Chimney is never going to let them hear the end of it if he catches wind of this.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he hiccups, and Eddie snickers and pats his back in the close darkness. Buck can feel the shape of his grin against his forehead. His plush lower lip, which Buck was just kissing.

"Shush."

"I was gonna wait for the reception. Honest." He had an entire plan. He was going to give his toast—his notes are still crumpled in his jacket pocket—and finish his glass of champagne, and ask Eddie to dance. After that, his plan loses detail, but he did have one.

"Mm. Glad you didn't."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Well," Eddie says, catching his cheek and turning him slightly. "Means I can do this again, for one thing."

He's being kissed again a moment later, languidly sweet and somehow even more thrilling than the first one was. It's not like he thought Eddie wasn't on board with this; Eddie kissed him back then, too. But now there's no surprise in it at all, and that makes it better.

"You could do that on the dance floor," Buck says, then cringes a moment later. Because just because—this doesn't mean Eddie wants an audience. Or wants anyone to know. Or wants anything at all, other than to make out with Buck in this linen closet in the nice outdoor venue that Maddie and Chim chose while the loudspeakers play some sweetly forgettable pop song over the sound of the wedding guests filtering in.

"Definitely can't do everything I want on the dance floor," Eddie says, low and dark and promising.

"Eddie."

"Just saying."

Buck laughs again, a little hysterical. "You've, uh, you've been thinking about this, huh?"

"Yeah," Eddie says easily. "Glad you finally did something about it. I would have just wound myself up with nerves forever."

"I was going to ask you to dance," Buck blurts.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks. He's smiling; Buck can hear it in his voice. Wishes suddenly that he could see it on his face too. It seems suddenly ridiculous that they're crowded in a fucking closet. Not the metaphorical vibe he was going for.

"Yeah," Buck says.

"I would have said yes."

"Oh," Buck says, and it's shaky, a little. Tellingly shaky. Eddie's hand is warm and gentle on his cheek, his voice soft.

"I'm still gonna say yes. If you ask."

Buck breathes out softly, relieved. "Maybe you'll ask me."

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe we should get back out there before—oh shit," he adds, when the nearest door swings open. Footsteps clatter on the flagstones, and realistically Buck really should shut up now, but he's never been good at that. "Eddie, if we get caught in here Maddie is gonna—actually, you know what, Chimney is gonna kill us, and—"

He can't keep talking, abruptly, because he's being kissed again, with a thoroughness that makes him dizzy. Eddie's got his hands fisted in Buck's lapels, and his mouth is hot and insistent, and Buck could stay here happily forever, he thinks dizzily.

"Shh," Eddie whispers when they finally break apart, so Buck kisses him again instead of talking. They lose a happy few minutes like that before finally breaking apart, breathing quietly.

"I think the coast is clear," Buck whispers after a moment. Eddie hums a quiet assent, so he pushes the closet door open.

The coast is clear, for now. The terracotta flooring echoes like crazy; nobody's gonna sneak up on them now. But Eddie looks exactly like someone was just making out with him in a storage closet, and Buck suspects he's not much better off, by the glint in Eddie's eyes: half familiar fond amusement, half something else entirely.

"I have to go make a speech," Buck says, as much to his own libido as anything else.

"Uh huh," Eddie says, and does not stop looking at him like that.

Before either of them can try to fix their clothes, or take a step closer, there's a sharp rap at the door. They jump apart just as Hen ducks her head in and gives them a deeply amused look.

"They're asking for you, Buckaroo," she says.

"Oh, I, um, yeah," Buck says, and pats his pocket frantically. He's desperately glad he kept his notes; his entire speech has flown out of his head.

Eddie starts laughing quietly. Hen scoffs and steps into the room.

"Come here," she says, briskly twitching Buck's collar straight and tugging her fingers through his hair.

"You're not gonna fix Eddie up, too?" Buck asks, because there's clearly no point in denying what they were just up to.

"He's not giving a speech," Hen retorts. She steps back, pats his cheek lightly, and smiles. "Not that it would matter, honestly. Those two don't have eyes for anyone other than each other right now. You could show up naked and I doubt they'd notice."

Eddie sputters; Buck laughs out loud. Because he gets that; he gets it intimately. Even now, he can't stop looking at Eddie. Doesn't ever want to stop looking at him, but especially now, in this moment of thrilled wonder. "Yeah, okay."

"Come on," Hen says. She starts back out of the room, toward the reception, and as they fall into step behind her, Buck reaches shyly for Eddie's hand and finds him already reaching back.

-

(from these kiss prompts)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 2003 house was built by an artist and is certainly colorful. It’s in Vershire, Vermont, has 3bd  3ba & is listed for $579,500K.

You take 2 steps down to a sunken living room with built-in sofas. 

I like the yellow kitchen, especially the purple accents. He also included plenty of storage. 

He built this large dining table. I wonder if stays with the house. Maybe it does, b/c it fits perfectly. Notice the tree trunks he used for support columns.

The stair railings look like recycled fencing and look at the lights strung around the tree trunk and brances.

The artsy windows have colored glass panes.

This area is being used as a game room. Note the balcony railing plus another style of salvaged iron. Stairs to the upper loft are blue alternating stairs.

This is a very large, open children’s room. 

Another spacious children’s room. The bedrooms are all open spaces.

The main bedroom, however is cozy an private. Door open to the yard.

The bath is colorful and has mosaics that look like they were installed by a layperson, if you look at the tub. I like the red faucet, but there’s also a commercial kitchen sink in here with holes where the faucets should be.

This looks like a guest room.

The room has sliders to a deck and what looks like salvaged mirror closet doors. I can’t tell if the ceiling is peeling or if it’s decor.

This is a nice spacious, partially covered deck. 

There’s a patio made with loose stones.

A pond runs thru the property.

And there’s a homemade salvaged swing. There’s a lot land- 39.80 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/148-Private-Road-7-Tunbridge-VT-05077/2057083137_zpid/

[c0smoshit]

Hi! Sorry to bother, but I would like to ask if you still write? If so, would you mind writing a part 2 of “I wanna live” with snake? Thank you so much in advance in any case! I loved the one you posted :)

Ofc sweetie!! Thanks for the request 🫶🫶

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Solid Snake/fem!reader

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff and kinda angsty towards the end

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Writting this made me wanna play mgs all over again

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 604

⋆ ࣪. part I / part II ࣪.⋆

"Snake this is not-"

You were interrupted by your own laugh as he stumbled his way into the guests room, thinking it was the bathroom. He gave you a flushed smile before you saw his pleading eyes, begging you to guide him.

"It's right at the end of the hall, on the left"

And by that, he finally got there with you, both naked and definitely sticky and bothered.

It was cute, he was so cute like this. You couldn't even remember the man that was feared by many, the one who had commited a parricide. Whose hands were soaked in blood, now brushing tenderly a strand of hair out of your face as he sat you down on top of your sink.

"You're beautiful you know that?"

Many have told you that exact same phrase, however, his gruff voice sliding through your ears with that lopsided smile of his was as if you were listening to new formed words.

Quickly shushing him with a small peck on his lips you felt his little dimples on your cheeks.

"Stop- I'm gonna ruin the sink"

Peppering your still sensitive neck with kisses, stopping to give your hickeys some sort of apology you could feel a dense liquid oozing out of you.

"Don't worry princess, the bath is ready by now"

What.

Taking a peek you noticed that in fact, water was flooding what you thought was the empty tub. Sneaky bastard.

How much time had it passed already?

Standing up, you now felt the effect of sleeping with the man who was a clone of Big Boss.

"Easy there"

He chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully as he helped you sit down on the warm water, him following switfly sitting right in front of you.

Squinting your eyes you looked at his face, memorizing the way droplets of water cascaded from his cheeks to his stuble and down his neck. He looked way too mesmerizing under the dim lightning of your bathroom.

"Wanna take a picture better?"

You chuckled, rolling your eyes again before you stretched your arms, sighing as your back cracked.

"I just- this feels way too unreal"

"What? You didn't think I'd be into aftercare?"

You looked at him with a warm smile before your eyes travelled to your hands, fidgeting under the water.

"No silly, It's just that... Seeing you here, with me, being so loving after all that has happened"

His cheeks started to warm up.

"I guess I gotta make Solid Snake's domestic side familiar"

He chuckled at your response as he laid his head down on the end of the tube, closing his eyes, seemingly taking in your words.

You were right, he wasn't used to this, all his life spent seeing others suffer thanks to him, taking away any glint of hope in many eyes.

He often came to the conclusion that he, in fact, was unlovable.

Not because of his looks, he wasn't insecure, but because how ugly his soul was to him. He didn't deserve someone as pure as you, he felt as if he was corrupting you badly.

And it pained him, deeply.

That's why he had you standing by so many days, rethinking the possibility of even seeing you once again. Maybe you had already fallen in love with another man, maybe you weren't even interested in him after all these weeks.

However, he thanked deeply that last ounce of sanity his brain had storaged, that last glint of what love had been erased over the years inside him.

He was so thankful life had given his dirty soul another chance with someone like you.

[gifts-of-isis]

Irrelevant questions I got from reading TSC that are incredibly important to ME

Who's room at Abby's was Jean staying in? At first, I assumed it was just a guest room, bc Abby has to have at least a 2-bed house to host the monsters all summer, but Jean mentioned there was jewelry on the dresser and stated several times that it was someone's bedroom. I'm thinking that it is a guest room but maybe the stuff was on the dresser because Abby uses it for storage or Renee had put some of her Jewelry there and Jean just assumed it was someone's room (maybe Andrew leaves his jewelry at Abby's during the season)

What does Jean's hair look like??? We know Riko ripped several chunks of it out but by the time he gets to the Trojans it just looks like some sections are significantly shorter than others ig, Cat and Laila cutting his hair 4 him when?

[frostbitebakery]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

I got tagged by the wonderful @imrowanartist and @cacodaemonia 💜

Watch Obi-Wan go through the seven stages over his skincare routine. Don’t worry, Obes, that alive looking gentleman in the background has had weirder crushes he won’t admit to. You still have a chance. 🫶

STILL NIGHT 1, FOLKS

In Cody’s humble opinion, he spends too much time staring at the ceiling of his apartment.

There’s a louder than usual-for-the-past-two-hours thump coming from his office/guest bedroom/storage.

The living room ceiling could use a new coat of paint.

“Arm?” Wolffe yells from Cody’s bedroom.

He should do some dusting first.

Gurgling.

He definitely should dust first. He can’t even remember the last time he dusted the tops of his bookcases.

“Leg,” comes the guttural reply eventually.

He really should take a day off and deep clean, Cody thinks, fingers clenching in the blanket he keeps on the couch for when he needs to hide from the world for just a minute.

“…h…elp?”

“Coming!” Wolffe sounds far too gleeful. All the highly unprofessional comments about his patient looking— “So gross!”

That.

“Cody, get your ass in here and hold the leg in place.”

Wolffe genuinely cares about people’s wellbeing, Cody can attest to that. But somehow his brain to mouth filter got turned off while growing up. Maybe Cody had dropped him one too many times. They’re not that many years apart in age. Cody had been a kid as well when he accepted the role their father inadvertently pushed him into.

“Lower your goddamn voice,” he yells back, “before I get complaints from the neighbors.” He throws the blanket off himself and rolls to his feet to help caring for the zombie in his guest bedroom.

——

No pressure tagging: @adiduck @elwenyere @meebles @merlyn-bane @bluemaskedkarma @cacodaemonia (if I may request some linework when you have some? My soul needs soothing)

[sangwooooh]

can u do another bruce x male reader angst

Definitely 😌 I’ve got a lot of angst in me.

Since you didn’t specify, I took it and ran with it. Anywayss Enjoy 😉😮‍💨

Soo, this is longer than I planned 🧝🏻🥹 And there’s gonna be a part 2, probably 🫣😮‍💨

Warnings of sorts: major injury, character death, diverging from canon.

Small summary: After an attack by the Joker, the bat family is thrown into an unlikable situation, unfortunate even. M/n is stuck in the hospital, barely living. And who knows what happened to the rest? Alfred won’t really talk about it.

“This is your legacy. Watch careful, love, as it all falls and burns. To the ground with your house of stone.”

They were tied together by the moon, under the stars of a clear sky, on the rooftop of the manor. A lapse in time, a glimpse of the universe. They were happy in that moment. Only them and the quiet world.

M/n recalls it being a clear sky. Yes, it had to be in order to light up Bruce’s face just so. Or maybe it was the man’s eyes, those who lit up the whole sky. Often times, M/n thinks about this and that, and everything is muddy, but the brightest memories still shine through.

That’s what makes him sure they’re real. They are too strong to be stomped down by the heaviness, too alive to dissipate.

There are days in which he feels he forgets everything, but then Alfred visits, and the memories are alive again. Painfully so.

“Master M/n,” Alfred would say, “How is your morning?” And M/n would understand it was indeed morning.

“Hello, Alfred.” Momentum, he remembers both of their names. “I see you better today.” He tries for a smile, uncertain of the success.

“That is great news, sir.” M/n can’t make out the details of Alfred’s face, but he hears the extension of a smile in his voice.

Later, they are drinking tea, the tension in M/n’s shoulders not soothed by the liquid, “Alfred, when can I come home?” Silence follows.

M/n sees the movement of Alfred placing down his cup, “Soon, sir. Probably next week, if things go well.”

“Yes, but you’ve been saying this for a while now.” He recalls in the haziness. “I reckon, if I stay here more, I’ll go crazy, Alfred. I wanna come home. I wanna see Bruce and the kids.” His voice is overwhelmed with tremors. He can’t feel his face half the time, but now he feels the stinging in his eyes.

M/n is almost startled by Alfred’s hand over his own. “Master M/n… I’ll see what I can do. I’ve been trying, remember?”

Right. He… remembers. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Later that week M/n is allowed to go home. Happiness fills him. Like fireworks on the night sky, his chest is filled with emotion.

Home.

Yes, he is finally going home.

Alfred comes to pick him up around 1 p.m. He is moved in a wheeling chair through the hospital. He can’t see all the faces around him, but the doctor and the few nurses he does see and recognize, he says goodbye to. He is happy, so he leaves them all with a smile.

In the car, Alfred tells him all about the changes around the house and the land around it. Like how the rose garden is gone —there is a momentary pang in M/n’s chest, but he doesn’t let himself be deterred by it—, or how the paintings from the hallways had been moved to a guest room now turned storage room, or how Jason moved all of his stuff back into the mansion, but he didn’t actually come around to inhabit his old room, or how Damian is now taking care of most of the affairs of the mansion and company.

“Since you’ve been gone, young master Damian has been given a lot of new responsibilities.” Alfred adds, not as an after thought, but carefully building up to it. “He should be home, at the moment, but there is always the possibility of him being away. He is leaving two weeks from now, for a conference in Vienna.”

“That’s wonderful. Such a nice place. I… Bruce took me there. Yes. A few years ago. Very nice.” M/n is sure his smile persists. How could it not? He is finally going home. To his Bruce. To his sons. To his life, after the endless time in that horrid hospital room with white walls and shadows and the buzzing of the fluorescent light above, barely perceptible.

The car parked, Alfred helps M/n up the ramp and into the foyer.

The door opens before Alfred goes for the handle. Beyond the opening door, the tired face of one Damian Wayne comes as the most welcoming sight. As soon as the boy’s —he is still the small boy M/n used to read to sleep, or sing to— eyes landed on his parent, he visibly relaxes. His stance falls into something more fitted for his age. M/n can’t see a smile on his face, but that isn’t saying much. He can’t really see much anyway, in the light. Nonetheless, even through the sting caused by daylight, M/n can’t help the unabashed happiness slipping onto his every feature. He extends his arms, wide and welcoming. And Damian falls to his knees, into his parents arms.

“Hi, dad.” The boy whispers softly.

“Hello, baby.” M/n feels tears soak his shirt. “Oh, baby. What happened, love?” The man gives Damian’s head comforting caresses.

“I just missed you.” Damian gets out through a shudder. Oh, why is his baby crying? No, he shouldn’t be crying. M/n is here now, it’s okay.

“I missed you too, honey.” Damian lowers himself until his head rests in his father’s lap. M/n’s hand still moves through Damian’s raven locks.

Damian squeezes M/n’s waist, “I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry.” His son is trembling. He must be so tired. Did he sleep well? His poor baby. M/n should’ve been here for him.

“Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for, love.” M/n feels his own eyes sting harder, but not from light.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you. I’m so sorry.” Damian’s voice is muffled by him being pressed against M/n.

“Hey. Hey. Honey, it’s okay. Alfred told me you’ve been working so hard. My baby isn’t a baby anymore. You’re taking care of the family. I’m so proud of you, Dami.” M/n feels a tear falling. Alfred places his warm hand on M/n’s shoulder, but he can only look at Damian’s blurry form falling apart at his feet.

“No, dad. I… I didn’t come because… I was afraid. Of what I’d see. So I used everything as an excuse to stay away. I’m sorry, dad.”

M/n’s lower lip is filled with tremors, tears glistening in his eyes, “It’s okay, it’s okay, Dami. I’m home now.”

M/n holds his son for a while, caressing him, trying to reassure him with all the love he has.

“Where are the others?” M/n asks as Damian raises to shaky feet.

Damian visibly freezes, but forcibly relaxes himself, “Well… I’m not really sure what Todd is up to, but he literally moved his stuff here, then proceeded to up and go.” The boy pauses as he moves behind M/n, wheeling him to the stairs, where there is already a built in type of elevator just for him, one you see in movies. Damian attaches the back of his wheelchair to the machine. “And father… Father doesn’t leave his room during the day, only at night, but as Batman.”

“What?” M/n stares at his son incredulously, as he is raised by the machine, Damian following closely by, walking up the stairs.

“I know Batman is doing a great job, as always. But I don’t know how father is doing. He wouldn’t talk to us.” Damian looks into his parent’s eyes pleadingly. The boy can guess that his dad doesn’t see this detail. But, still, he can’t help but want to beg for M/n to make things better, like he always did.

“I’m sorry, baby, that you had to go through this. I’ll talk to Bruce myself. Only with a bit of help.” M/n chuckles as the machine gets to the top of the stairs.

Damian’s lungs and heart finally seem to realize that M/n is home, that he isn’t alone, that maybe they can do this. Call it false hope, but it’s everything the boy can cling to.

Once at the door leading into the master bedroom, M/n looks at Damian with the intent to reassure. As if telling him ‘it’s okay, you can rest, I’ll take care of things now’. And so, he is left alone by his son, followed closely by Alfred, who also seems different all of a sudden, lighter even. He is gonna make them a nice dinner, for four, and not for one.

M/n would be lying if he says he doesn’t hesitate. Because he does hesitate. And he hates himself for that. His Bruce needs him. This is no place or time for backing away.

“Bruce?” The silence is deafening. “Are you there, honey?” He wheels himself —his arms are weak, so he finds it a tiny bit more difficult than he originally thought it would be— closer to the door. Where he places his open palm on the hard oaken door. There is no answer from the other side, but M/n isn’t known for giving up easily. It’s how him and Bruce got together, then married. He knows when to push and he knows when Bruce is keeping himself from his own happiness.

“Bruce, I’m home now. You can open the door.” M/n says a bit louder. And this time he is startled by the sound of hurried steps and crashing from beyond the door.

The door opens before he can say anything.

And his Bruce is there. He looks tired, and his features are clearer because in the manor there is darkness. And M/n sees how much Damian is becoming more and more like his father, for Bruce falls to his knees in front of him, hands grabbing at his face and hair, cupping his cheeks in hurried strokes. M/n believes the tears that fall from Bruce’s eyes and onto his blotchy cheeks. He doesn’t know how many times he’s seen Bruce cry before. It hasn’t been much, but there were plenty times to know that M/n’s husband doesn’t trust people with his tears and his pain. And most of the time, he doesn’t even trust himself with it. It pains M/n to see the man he loves in pain, so he ends up placing his hands over his darling’s hands, keeping them on his cheeks.

“… M/n” His husband’s voice is coarse, unused.

“Bruce.” M/n says his name, to ground Bruce with his own voice. “What happened to you, my Bruce?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything at first, but after long seconds, there are those same two words that came out of his son’s mouth, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love.” He has never seen Bruce like this. This broken. Falling apart. What happened? Where are Dick and Tim? Nobody said anything about them yet. What were his memories trying to keep away from him? M/n really needs to know. “I can’t remember what happened that well. Please, tell me what happened, my Bruce.” M/n squeezes Bruce’s hands into his own and brings them to his lap.

M/n is afraid of the unknown. What is he missing? Why is everyone so down? Why was he in the hospital for weeks on end?

“What did you do, love? Why are you upset?” Bruce raises to his feet, slowly and weak, and M/n has never seen him like this. Bruce goes behind him and wheels him into their bedroom.

Bruce lifts him up with care. Closer to his face, M/n can see his expression better and it hurts him to see his husband in this pain. Bruce places him on the bed, with soft movements and soft touches.

“Talk to me, Bruce.” M/n cups Bruce’s cheeks in his palms when the man sits next to him on the bed.

“No, no, I can’t, M/n, I can’t, no.” Bruce shakes his head. M/n can’t help but feel out of balance, out of place, out of touch. He has never seen his husband this startled. They’ve had moments in which they’ve shared their fears and problems and what not. But M/n has never seen his Bruce this shaken up.

“Come on. Talk to me, Bruce.” He presses on.

“I.. Oh god…” Bruce whispers through a clenched jaw.

“Love, please…” There is desperation in M/n’s voice.

“God… God, how, how can I tell you? How can I possibly tell you?” Bruce puts a distance between them as he rises from the bed. Covering his face, he blocks away M/n’s view of his expression.

“Bruce? Bruce… Bruce!” M/n raises his voice, feeling his tongue become numb and surplus in his mouth.

“Ah, I, I…” Bruce takes a deep breath looking at the ceiling, “Di…” His voice fades. “Dick and Tim,” M/n fees the air become stale around him, and the constant pressure in his chest that never seems to go away increases. Breathing suddenly becomes harder and there is the faint feeling of suffocation. “They are gone. Because of me. I …killed them.”

And that suffocating feeling is back tenfold.

The world is swimming around them and he can feel it all flowing beyond the ground, and he is falling too, into his own hell. He doesn’t know where he is anymore, but his body is too small for him and his heart is so big and so loud it breaks at his thoracic cavity. His lungs aren’t big enough, however, cowering before his beating, pumping heart, smaller and smaller by the second. There isn’t enough air. There will never be enough air. This is how he is dying. He wants to die. He wants to die now, to disappear.

He hears screaming. After long seconds it becomes obvious it is him who is screaming, clawing at his throat, eyes hurting with tears that burn him to the core. He scratches his throat like he wants to get out of his own skin. And if he were any more conscious, he would now exactly how to kill himself in that moment. The words keep repeating in his head, however, in an endless loop that wants to keep him there, caged in his disbelief.

He must’ve passed out.

Because, when he wakes up, he is in the rose garden, somehow.

[lookinghalfacorpse]

In both itwall and ttdtn you mentioned that you motified their houses to be more livable for people but ,at least for me, it's not all that clear how? And how does Dream's new house connect to Phil's side of the cabin(s)? Do you maybe have like a visual(drawing, pic, minecraft replica, etc)?

yea all i mean by that is that i was writing the cabins less like the lefthand image and more like the right:

i knew someone was gonna be like "🤓☝um actually, philza doesn't have a bathtub in his basement" yeah he doesn't have a bathtub anywhere in that house, actually, because you don't need one in minecraft. but when i'm writing a fic that features semi-realistic injuries and bodily needs, i need to insert things like that or else it feels insincere. similar to how i assume that a potato diet would cause starvation, when it's technically not an issue in minecraft, but the way dream talks about it leads us to assume that that actually causes harm. gotta de-blockgame-ify some details.

i put more thought into the layout of phil's house since more scenes occur there. he has a living room and kitchen on the first floor, and the upstairs has phil's room, a small bathroom (no tub), and a guest room. the guest room was likely wilbur's at some point. the basement is underground and has some storage space and a large tub.