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kentopedia · 8 months

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dating port mafia boss dazai

contents: f!reader, implied violence, mostly dazai spoiling you so much, dazai is very soft in this, one litte nsfw scene !!

note: this reeks of self indulgence :,) my current obsession is pmboss!dazai being so sweet & gentle to his s/o

it goes without saying that if you're in the port mafia when you start dating dazai, he’ll probably want you to take less work in the field.

bc his main goal is keeping you safe, and he constantly worries about you when you're going on dangerous missions !!

though, sometimes you miss being in all the action. so, dazai will send you on missions with chuuya or akutagawa from time to time

he still worries, but he has no doubt they can keep you safe!!

he hates being nervous about whether or not you’ll come back to him, but he never wants you to feel like you're a prisoner in your own home.

if you want to go with him, anywhere or anytime, to any meeting, you just have to ask!

bc he trusts you completely <3 and he also knows you can take care of yourself.

if you want to work in other parts of the mafia, whether that be in training, intelligence, or behind the scenes work, dazai doesn’t care

he pretends to be uncompromising on some issues, but you can convince him of anything with a pretty smile.

but, if you're not in the port mafia, he (unfortunately) will make sure you have a bodyguard with you almost everywhere.

you insist its not necessary, but he knows he's made a lot of enemies that would love to use him against you. :(

though dazai has his moments of insanity (lol), he doesn't want to drive you away from him.

if you say its too much, he'll figure out something else. another way to keep you safe.

eventually, you come live with him, so that takes care of that.

dazai spoils you senseless !!

if he's ever late for a mission, he always comes back with something for you.

sometimes its flowers, sometimes its something even more elaborate

loves loves loves giving you jewelry

but everything he buys is very thoughtful!

he doesn't buy you expensive gifts just to flaunt money

its more that there isn't a price tag on things to him. if he sees something he thinks you'll like, it'll be yours, no matter the cost <3

"i'm home!" you said cheerfully, dropping your bag off by the door as you shouted to dazai through the penthouse.

the sound echoed back, and dazai didn't respond.

with a yawn, you headed towards your bedroom, stretching your muscles as you walked. the weather had been miserable that week, and between the heat and the rain, you were feeling more tired than ever.

what you longed for was a nice hot shower and a night in dazai's arms.

"osamu?" you said again, but the apartment remained quiet. there was no one in your bedroom when you opened the door.

you sighed, disappointed that he wasn't home to lay with you as you took a nap. though, your attention was quickly diverted by the newest addition to your bed.

a soft brown teddy bear, the same color as dazai's eyes, held a card, and a dark velvet box, paired with a bouquet of fresh flowers on your nightstand.

the note was short, but it was enough, and you couldn't help but smile as you read it.

i have to go out of the city for tonight. i'll be back in the morning. sorry i can't be with you, my darling. here's a little apology gift. i love you. - osamu

as usual, the gift was anything but small.

you flipped open the delicate box to reveal a gold necklace, a deep ruby dangling from the chain in the shape of a heart.

for a moment, you did nothing more than stare at the glittering gem that was edged by smaller diamonds, and you swelled with more love than your chest could handle.

carefully, you set the box down, wondering what you ever did to deserve something so beautiful. as much as you wanted to wear it immediately, you'd wait until osamu was back so he could help you put it on.

instead, you placed the card and the necklace by the flowers, and climbed into bed with the stuffed animal. as you nestled deeper into the comforter, curling your arms around the bear, you realized dazai had sprayed it with his cologne before he left.

dazai isn't the best about telling you how he feels. he is so much better at showing it.

if it isn't obvious, he loves buying you gifts! he has so much money as the port mafia boss, and he has no idea what to do with it. why not spend it on you!!

if you see an outfit in the store window that you like, dazai will have it tailored to your precise measurements. (which he has memorized, of course).

he loves shopping for you.

when he buys you pretty dresses, lingerie, and so on, all the other women in the store are swooning over him.

he knows exactly what you like and don't.

even if he thinks you'd look so beautiful in something, he knows your sense of style.

dazai doesn't want you to ever feel obligated to wear something just bc he picked it out for you.

of course, dazai always gives you his card to go shopping

and to get your nails done! he's obsessed with how pretty your hands look after getting a fresh set <3

he's loves them whatever color/design you think looks best. but i'd be lying if i said he wasn't obsessed with red nails.

dazai really loves the way they looked wrapped around his-

you rested your head on dazai's shoulder, letting your hands gently splay across his knee, your fingertips moving in a listless, delicate pattern.

though a film played before you, it was forgotten quickly, dazai's breath catching as he exhaled a laugh. "what are you doing?" he asked, and you smiled innocently, drifting your hand further up his thigh.

"nothing."

he blinked at you with wide brown eyes and swallowed, his throat bobbing as you reached his hip. you wrapped a delicate finger around his zipper, pulling it down slowly.

"nothing, hm?" he countered.

you turned to face him, sweeter now, as you tugged at his waistband. though dazai feigned disinterest for a moment, you felt him twitch beneath the thin layer of clothing.

his focus drifted down to your much softer hand, perfectly manicured and smaller than his own. he seemed fascinated, for a moment, by the way your fingers were moving. "your nails look pretty, love."

"i know.” you grinned. dazai's hips shifted, and you lowered his waistband, pressing a line of kisses up his neck slowly, teasing him.

you freed his cock, aching and hard, from his pants, and wrapped your hand around him. dazai let out a small gasp, though he watched as you lazily stroked him, the action perfected from experience.

"you're so pretty, 'samu." you watched his face turn red as he tried hard not to fall apart under your touch.

it was reassuring, really, to know that the most powerful man in the city was wrapped around your finger.

"not as pretty as you, baby," he said, but the word came out strained, raspy as you tightened your fist, running your teeth across the taut vein in his neck.

you laughed and moved onto his lap, kicking the remote off the couch before straddling him. his eyes melted into hearts as he stared up at you, begging for a kiss.

"you’ve been so busy this week,” you frowned. “i wanna make you feel good."

dazai jerked into you, breathing stifled as you brush your thumb over the tip. "you always do." his smile was affectionate, but his touch was desperate, digging into your sides. he was already searching for some sort of release.

"so impatient," you said, but you indulged him with a kiss anyway, his hands fisting in your hair as your tongue met his.

he breathed into you mouth, hot and heavy. "fuck," dazai hissed, lifting your hips to slip off your pajama shorts. "it's hard not to be when you're so fucking perfect, sweetheart. i need to be inside you."

dazai loves loves loves taking you out to expensive restaurants <3

he's not a big fan of crowds, though, so he'll rent out the entire place instead, just to get a private room for the two of you.

and if you don't feel like going out, but you want a nice meal, he'll hire a chef for the evening. one that specializes in whatever type of food you want

dazai's not the best cook, but he’ll do often, just because it makes you happy

he gets so much better over time, though.

whatever you want, he'll make it for you! and if he can't, he'll definitely find someone who can.

but! back to dazai letting you use his account to buy anything.

when you go to any shop associated with the mafia, everything is on the house

bc if the boss is going to funnel money into their pockets, the least they could do is give his girl some gifts !!

"is this... going to be all for you today, miss?" the cashier said, looking at the stack of clothing skeptically. he rang up price tag after price tag, watching as the numbers grew exponentially on the screen.

you nodded, smiling politely as he read off the total, a number that no average person would be able to spend reasonably in one go.

but dazai said you could get whatever you wanted for your birthday, and you hadn't let yourself indulge in a shopping spree for a while. so you'd picked up anything that suited you nicely and decided not to worry.

"how will you be paying today?"

you handed over the card, and the cashier read the name, glancing up at you with skeptical eyes.

"dazai osamu?"

you smiled sweetly. "it's my boyfriend's card."

though, the name had caught the attention of an older salesman across the room, and he was to the cashier in two swift steps, knocking him on the back of the head.

"dumbass," the older man swiped the card from the cashier before he could swipe the payment. "don't you know who she is?"

it took the man three more times of reading dazai's name across the plastic for it to click.

"i'm so sorry," he said, wide eyes suddenly anxious. "i had no idea you were—"

"it's okay. don't worry." you smiled, shrugging. "i won't tell him."

you meant it as a joke, but that only seemed to make the younger cashier more nervous.

"we'll take care of everything for you." the elderly salesman said, holding out the card to return it. "it's on us."

"really?" you pinched your eyebrows together, concerned. the bill was steep. it seemed unfair to let them take such a hit to profits. "at least let me pay for some of it.”

"no, don't worry about it. the boss said it was your birthday, so whatever you want, its yours."

for a moment, you weren't sure what to say. though, realizing that this store was just one of the many in yokohama that partnerned with dazai, you finally succumbed to a smile, and accepted their kindness.

you took dazai's card back and slipped it into your purse. "thank you so much.” you said sincerely, turning to leave with a small wave as you gathered up the bags and bags of clothes. "it was nice to meet you. i'll come back soon!"

though they said nothing, they both stared back at you with wide eyes, as most people did when they found out you were the one that had captured dazai's heart.

when dazai finds out how much you love to read, he clears out an entire floor of the port mafia headquarters to make you a library

its done far too elaborately, with classical decorations, a very intricate chandelier, and a view that looks over the entire city

there are special editions, original copies of your favorite books, books in languages you can't even read and so on

he went a little overboard, but he was just so excited to show you :(

"osamu." you stare, blinking at the vast room, not really sure what to say other than his name.

"what?" he's pouting instantly, wondering if he made a mistake, and you didn't like to read as much as he thought. "do you not like it?"

you don't think your heart has ever felt so full before, and you manage a shaky smile, wondering how it didn't split your face in two. "this is too much. you did all this for me?"

and he seems surprised you would even ask such a silly question, because why wouldn't he give you something you've always wanted? "if it makes you feel better, i'll tell you i did it for myself."

you laugh, and then you're launching yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. you nearly cry, because even though he spoils you far too much, this is the most thoughtful gift you've ever received.

"thank you." you whisper, kissing him all over his face, and he smiles, his cheeks warm from your affection.

dazai leads you to a shelf after that, pointing out a few novels that have his name scribbled in the front cover, all with varying states of penmanship.

he's collected all his favorite books there for you, hopeful you'll read them first.

dazai places you next to him in every mafia meeting

if you're going to be his partner, you're also going to be his equal <3

and he knows that you can keep everyone in the mafia in line. he trusts you to be in charge when he's not there

bc everyone in the mafia likes you more than dazai anyway! (except maybe akutagawa)

and yes, dazai is the sweetest to you <3 but certainly not to everyone else

he disposes of people that bother you... far too quickly

the man at the store made you uncomfortable? he doesn't live in the city anymore. someone was too handsy? they'll lose a few fingers.

but if someone in the mafia says even one unkind word to you, you'll never see them again.

"sweetheart, what's wrong?"

you sniffed, wiping the tears from your eyes as his hands snuck around your waist. he pulled you closer towards him, sliding next to you on the bed.

"it's nothing." you swallowed, but your eyes were still glassy no matter how hard you tried to stop crying. "i shouldn't get so worked up about things people say."

"hey," he coaxed your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up. "if it's upsetting you, it's a big deal to me, my love."

you said nothing for a moment, but dazai remained patient, smiling softly at you as he stroked your cheek.

never able to resist the gentleness that he showered only you in, you sighed. "some people just said…” you trailed off, almost not wanting to tell him. it seemed embarrassing, in some way, to say something lewd about yourself, even if you were merely repeating the words.

“said what?”

you chewed the inside of your lip before sighing, knowing dazai wouldn’t let the issue rest until you told him.

“they just said that you only kept me around to fuck me.” you dropped your gaze to your hands for a moment, letting them rest limply in your lap. “that i was just some stupid bitch you’d leave behind soon.”

you watched the smile slowly fall from his lips, his eyes hardening with a fury that wasn't directed at you.

"you know that's not true." he held your hands tightly, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "tell me that you know that."

you managed something of a smile. "i know. i really do know how much you love me. doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt my feelings.”

he nodded, somewhat satisfied as the cloudiness began to clear from your face. "who was it? if you don't know they're name, just describe them." his expression was icy, dangerous, even if his hands were soft.

"osamu, i told you it doesn't matter—" you frowned, looking away before he interrupted.

“it does fucking matter." his words came out sharp. "those men work for me, and i'm not going to let them treat you like that. they've got no business being here if they can't respect you."

at the end of the day, dazai's reputation remains very much intact. he will always be feared in the city, despite exposing himself as a man who's so so in love

but everyone in the mafia is secretly pleased to see him a little happier, even if its just around you.

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madschiavelique · 9 months

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Okay but picture this, Miguel getting jealous cause of another spiderperson flirting with you

Like he is doing a briefing with a lot of spider people and one of them keeps trying to get your attention and miguel gets jealous, sends everyone away and has a heavily make out on his platform in his office🫣

HIHIHI twirling hair kicking feet at this bestie

summary : miguel gets jealous of a random spiderperson flirting with you (not proofread)

content warnings : posessive!miguel, just jealous miguel, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 1,9k

tag list : @fandom-ash

Miguel had invited a good group of spiderpersons who were still fairly new to the society, to bring them up to speed or simply to remind them of the procedures to follow on a mission.

You were there, just to supervise. Having been part of Miguel's elite group of spiders for some time now, you were perfectly familiar with all the criteria and stages of the anomaly hunt.

Nothing more than a quick briefing. The usual team was there, Hobie, Gwen, Pavitr, Peter B, Jess and you. You stood off to the side, leaning against a wall, arms folded as you watched Miguel give his speech a bit farther away.

"Hey, I've never seen you around before, do we know each other ?

Your eyes went to the person who had just spoken to you. It was an umpteenth Peter, blond-haired, not far from your age, and of course new.

Although you didn't appear everywhere all the time, most of the spiders knew what Miguel's group looked like. So you were a little surprised by his remark, but not enough for it to be too striking.

"You might've seen me on his team," you said, pointing with your chin at your boyfriend, who you hoped wasn't terrorising the newcomers too much.

You tried to refocus on Miguel's speech. Your relationship with him was not public; you had agreed that, for the time being, you would prefer to keep it a secret. There were several reasons for this, such as the fact that you might be seen as a spider with more privileges than the others - which wasn't the case - or the fact that you simply wanted to avoid trouble. This lack of information didn't stop Peter from coming back for a chat.

"So... what's your name ?"

You didn't even look at him, simply giving him your name and alias.

"And you're a new Peter," you sighed.

"You never get enough Peters, am I right?" he smiled, "although I'm obviously unique in my own way.

"Unique?" you smiled with a little chuckle, "how?", because Peters looked and acted the same, they were after all Peters, so you wondered how he would stand out.

"Like this," he approached you, tucking his fingers behind your ear and bringing his hand into your field of vision so that you could see a little flower between his fingers.

You gave a little laugh, taking the flower in your hand. It was soft, light and smelled wonderful.

"A Peter magician?" you pouted, shaking your head, "that's progress."

Miguel was going over the formalities of multidimensional cells when his gaze inevitably drifted to you. But he froze, tensing up as his eyes took in the little scene unfolding nearby.

You, against a wall, an ordinary Peter caressing your ear to perform a crummy magic trick and make a flower come out of it. Too close... he thought, he was too close to you. He didn't appreciate the proximity with which he approached you. Of course, the other team-mates in his squad could allow themselves to be close to you, whether you were in their arms or whatever, but for one of the countless Peters here to allow himself to be at your level? That he could not condone.

He saw a small smile forming on your face, his blood boiling. Wasn't he good enough for you? Was it because he didn't give you enough affection that you let any spider approach you? Or was it that he didn't do you enough favours, like performing magic tricks?

But Miguel was so good to you, it was almost impossible to get out of his arms when he hugged you. He gave you everything he could give you, even loving you to the point of giving you the last empanada left in the cafeteria if there was only one left, no matter how much he wanted it, and that's how passionate he was about you.

So maybe... you didn't realise that Peter was flirting with you?

Ah, maybe that was it, maybe you were just oblivious to what the nerd was trying to do?

And the Peter took another step.

That one step was too much.

"Well, you've got most of the information. We're going to cut this meeting short, you can all go." he warned, teeth clenched.

The elite team itself looked surprised as all the other Spiderpersons scattered to leave the room.

"Miguel? Is there something wrong ?" asked Peter B, concerned that perhaps the reason everyone had just been dismissed was because of something he had received from Lyla that was important.

But his eyes were riveted like arrows ready to be shot at the Peter who was still chatting to you.

"I just have to take care of a little problem," his eyebrows were furrowed, jaw tight.

Peter B's eyes drifted back to where his were, letting out a quiet "Oh" before calling the rest of the team and persuading them to come with him to... whatever it was for, as long as the elite were leaving too.

"And so you caught three anomalies in a single mission?" said Peter, absolutely amazed by the feats you were telling him about.

"Yes, it's becoming routine," you confirmed.

You noticed the room beginning to empty, and deduced that the meeting must have ended.

"I'm so happy that there are Spiderwomen around, and as competent as you are," continued Peter, chatting to you, "especially when I see that they're as beautiful as you are."

"That's very kind of you," you say simply, "the meeting's just finished, I think you'd better leave before you get your knuckles rapped."

Advice from someone with a very strict boyfriend on organisation, you thought.

"Could we meet again? How about the cafeteria?" he offered.

"That's very nice of you to suggest, but-" you bit the inside of your cheek as he cut you off.

"Oh, or maybe the park? I hear there's an ice-cream parlour that sells ice-creams in our likeness." he laughed softly.

"Would you look at that."

You swallow, his voice was strained and falsely interested, your eyes landing on Miguel who'd just arrived near you.

It's almost comical how tall Miguel was compared to him, towering over him in both mass and size to the point where he could crush him like a tin can.

"Oh Miguel O'Hara-" greeted Peter as if nothing had happened.

"I've never seen you here before," Miguel remarked, a vicious flash in his eyes.

He intended to take great pleasure in showing how much better he was than Peter, and above all in making sure he understood that you weren't interested in his advances.

"Oh yes sir, I'm Peter," he said.

"How original," said Miguel in a honeyed, falsely curious tone, glancing at you.

"The Peters must be the best for there to be so many of them," laughed Peter, and you felt like pinching the bridge of your nose.

"I see them more as a weed that hangs around," he said, looking into poor Peter's eyes, Miguel looming over him.

"Well, I think you should join the other Spiderpersons," you simply breathed with a polite smile.

"Yeah um," he swallowed, lowering his eyes from Miguel's to meet yours, he was appalled. "I'll see you sometime maybe ?"

"Never," Miguel decided.

Peter took a few steps backwards, unable to say anything else, and headed for the exit.

"You look upset, what's wrong?" you asked as Miguel headed for the control platform.

"I see you made a new friend?" asked Miguel, his eyes locking onto you with a dark gleam as he stepped onto the platform.

"Not really," you replied, your voice a little smaller as you in turn joined him on it, coming to sit on one of the desks.

"What did he want?" he asked, his tone insistent as he looked at you, standing and taking a step forward.

"Nothing special, he wanted to get acquainted," you said softly as he took a step forward, his eyes gleaming strangely.

"Just getting to know each other?" he said, arriving just in front of you and placing his two hands on either side of your thighs, tilting his head to the side, questioningly. "You're naive if you think he just wants to be your friend."

His face was close to yours, his whole body almost covering you, leaving you unable to move or get away. Your eyes locked with his a little more, and you understood, a small smile forming on your lips.

You put your hand on his cheek, and he pressed against your touch.

"Do I detect some jealousy there?"

He sighed, his jaw contracting slightly, his tongue creating a tent in his cheek. You raised an eyebrow - was Miguel jealous?

His hand came to brush against your thigh, his fingers moving up until they settled and gripped you, pulling you towards him with this simple grip until your noses touched.

"I didn't like very much how he was so close to you," he admitted, his lips brushing yours.

He came to kiss you, demanding, his lips pressing almost brutally against yours as his other hand came to rest on the small of your back, the latter pressing to bring you closer to him.

You tried to respond to his kiss, his lips and jaw so strong that you felt he was going to engulf you.

He came and kissed your neck, a small sigh of comfort coming from between your lips, which were puffed out and moistened by his kiss.

"You know," you said softly as your fingers ran through his hair, "he never stood a chance against... you right ?"

The statement made his ego swell, as if a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders and he felt so light. His lips tenderly kissed your neck, and you felt it.

He sucked at your skin, marking it delicately. He needed, needed the others to know that you had someone. And although you both wanted what you had to be private, he had a terrible desire for people to know that you belonged to him, and not just anyone. He came back to your lips.

"Say that you're mine."

He had to hear it, from your lips that were full of him. You moistened them with a flick of your tongue, his eyes attentive, dark.

"I'm yours," you affirmed softly.

He came to kiss you again, pulling away from your lips to let his fall on your cheek.

"Make me believe it," he said, drunk on your skin. "Say that again."

His kisses covered your skin, wanting to coat it entirely with his lips so that he didn't miss any part of it.

"I'm yours," you whispered, drowning in his adoration as your fingers caressed his cheek.

"Again," he whispered as his lips kissed your eyelid.

"I'm yours," you whispered, your other hand coming around his chest to bring him closer to you.

"Again..." his voice was barely audible, kissing the tip of your nose.

Of course you were his, everything already belonged to him. Did he want your heart? It was full of him. Did he want your thoughts? He had replaced every one of your ideas. Did he want all of you? He would only have a body and a soul that was already attached to him.

When his lips returned to yours, it was you who kissed him, and he melted under the sensation of your lips on his.

"I'm yours."

Your eyes gazed at each other, each living in the other, and he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you hard against him, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment.

He wouldn't let any weeds near his flower.

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hollyhomburg · 2 months

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Before I leave you (Pt.67)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You and Hobi bury a dead body (That's a lie, Yoongi buries it for you).

Tags: blood, gore, body horror, death, dead bodies, everyone is pretty beat-up in this, brief implied self-harm but it's very quickly squashed- seriously it's nowhere near as bad as past scenes but i do have to tag it, Dissociation, tae is in the freeze part of fight or flight. hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns, flashbacks, discussions of past abusive relationships, everything is very fluffy until it's not,

W/c: 12.5k

A/N: Are you guys ready for Hoseok's secret reveal??? I'm really excited!!! But also terrified because this whole series has lead up to this point!!! A good number of people have already guessed his secret so congrats on getting it early <3

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Jimin sits on the stairs going down to the basement. His arm in a sling and bandaged up to the elbow. It aches with every small movement he makes as he peals a tangerine. He hasn't had any narcotics in a few hours and they're starting to wear off.

Jimin needs all of his brain power for this; For covering up the murder.

The fewer things running through his system the less sluggish and fuzzy his thoughts are. Jimin picks his poisons and fewer things make him less coherent than the panic and pain and near constant avalanche of thoughts. Tae, Tae's hurt, Tae's-

Tae's fine, Tae's upstairs with Y/n. he has to remind himself of these facts every few breaths. Tae's going to be okay because you wouldn't let anything happen to her.

There is evidence of that virtually everywhere; In the lines across your hands that Yoongi had dabbed at with a cool cloth, the swollen side of your jaw that he'd cradled. The blood drenching the opposite side of your face that he'd tenderly washed away. Not to mention the blood on the kitchen table, the floor, the ceiling. The blood splattered across your nest-

You don't fuck with an omega's nest; you don't fuck with their packmates.

Jimin quiets his brain with a steady breath as he looks down at Yoongi, Jin, and the body between the three of them wrapped in plastic.

He manages to peel the tangerine in his hand despite how uncooperative his left hand is. Numb at the fingertips just like it’s been since the surgery.

Namjoon had stroked his fingers and tested their give every chance he got, holding onto them and prodding while they waited in the hospital room and then again when Jimin got discharged. He said that they’d probably get better. Probably.

Tae's going to be fine because Namjoon is there too- had checked out her head with that soft alpha grumble croon of his. The most soothing sound in the world, and yet incapable of soothing this.

But Jimin knows nothing’s for certain, he might never get the feeling in his hand back. (This is Jimin's penance; The reminder of these tangled few weeks and how things went will be ever present. The reminder will be the first press of every touch with his non-dominant hand. He will never regain full feeling to the tips of his fingers. Never).

There are a few of noodle paw prints in the dust here, Jimin's ass is no doubt covered in it too from resting on the rickety stairs that lead into the half-finished basement. Little paw print marks that would make you coo and take pictures if you were down here.

But you’re not, you’re upstairs getting the evidence washed off of you.

No one's in that kind of mood right now anyway. No one’s been in that kind of mood for a few hours (or a few days, if he’s being honest, from Jungkook’s seizure, to getting shot, and then coming home to a dead body in their living room).

It’s been 4 hours since you killed someone in the kitchen. 3 hours since Jimin was discharged prematurely from the hospital and the rest of the pack was summoned home via a disturbingly calm call from Jin.

It’s been a tangle of moments even for the people not on hard drugs. Jimin feels like he's doing pretty good at answering the pack’s questions given the circumstances. You'd never know that, given Yoongi's eye roll and Jin's heavy sigh.

"Minnie- we're not asking you how you would have killed him just how you'd cover it up."

They used an old shower liner to wrap the body before they carried it downstairs. It makes a squeaky noise against Jin's rubber gloves (The pink elbow-high ones that he uses to do the dishes) as he pulls back the plastic sheet to reveal what's left of the assassin's head and face.

“I already told you, I don’t know his face- not even a little.” I’d have a pretty hard time identifying his face with the state she left it in regardless Is what he doesn't say.

Jimin tucks his chin, unsettled to look at the man's half-blown apart face for long. "I think he might be the spider but I don’t know. I never met him, only heard his name in passing.”

A small tattoo on the man's wrist reveals as much. A small spider tattoo that someone going to have to cut out and bury separately. Someone's going to have to get all of his teeth too- no identifying marks. None.

He’s a little too impressed with the state you’d left him in when he thinks about it. But once he’d seen your face and Hobi’s neck, not an inch of Jimin had felt the kill wasn’t justified. The whole pack feels that way, he knows they must even though they don't say it. Everyone's a little bit in shock right now.

Even Namjoon hadn’t even given the body a second glance when the pack had tumbled into the house. The pack alpha had simply alternated his fussing from you to Hobi to tae and then Jin. Torn between who needed him first. It was the first words Jimin had heard you speak. Your wet gasp, blood that wasn't yours flashing on your teeth. "Joonie- Hobi needs you."

Namjoon had calmed only once he realized that most of the blood on the three of you was the man’s. Yoongi had a similar reaction and so had Jimin, clutching at Tae. Angry at his arm for its uncooperativeness. About ready to tug off his sling and his bandages and stitches if it meant holding tae easier. He'd even tried it, only to be on the receiving end of a disapproving pack alpha growel too.

“Jimin you can’t; your stitches.”

“Fuck my stitches hyung.”

Numb fingers meet numb faces.

He's a bit ashamed of it, but when he first looked up from Tae to you- where you sat crumpled in Yoongi's hold. Your mate laying down a volley of sweet nothings to you to get you to stop shaking. There was only one sentence running through his head.

That’s my girl.

He'd reached over and squeezed your hand, blood and all. That blood has dried now. Soaked into the lines of his palm. Coloring his fate and love lines all rusty while he eats the tangerine. He should probably wash his hands. All of them probably need too.

Jungkook had been the only one willing to speak, closing the door softly behind him, locking it and treading softly closer. Careful to sidestep both the pools of blood and the piece of a skull sitting next to the couch. He looked down at the 7 of you with a surprisingly calm expression on his face.

"Can't we have one normal fucking day?"

Jungkook was the one who’d gone to the kitchen and gotten one of the hand towels to clean your face. His lips tightened to a line when he wiped away the blood and started to see the bruising, the cut across your temple dripping fresh. Lower lip wobbling ever so slightly.

“Kookie-”

Jungkook had turned to Jin and Namjoon, “I don’t want to deal with the body hyung." His hands were already under your arms, lifting you up, helpless. "Help me get them upstairs. We need to-” he’d let out a frustrated noise. Instincts coming to the full front- instincts he rarely feels.

Who knew blood would incur Jungkook's grooming instincts?

The last time Jimin saw Jungkook; He was helping Namjoon and Yoongi herd the three of you upstairs for a much-needed shower. Hobi hadn't been able to do it under his own power. Namjoon had to carry him.

Hobi; who's choked on every word he's tried to speak. Whose eyes are still red from all the burst blood vessels. Who easily got the closest to dying out of the four of you.

Everyone shakes when they touch Hobi and everyone touches him softly. Namjoon just about snaps his teeth at anyone who tries to get close. His hands turning red from the cold of an ice pack wrapped gently around the alpha's throat.

Jimin knows Jungkook's a lot more unnerved than he lets on, shuffling from foot to foot as he bound Tae up with a towel, taking her delicately from Jimin's arms. Carrying her in the same way Namjoon carried Hobi.

Yoongi was all soft helping you upstairs. Speaking in that quiet voice that he saves for Sunday mornings and stolen moments of quiet. Every moment, all of this is stolen.

And now- the beta is down here, leaning over the body and looking at it like it will tell him something that you won't. After your initial demand that Namjoon he tend to Hobi; you haven't spoken a word. Neither has Tae. Jin's done all of the talking.

There isn’t much to say.

Jimin feels the numbness in his hands and looks at Jin. He hasn't apologized for the bullet yet. But the more time that passes the less Jimin wants an apology. Mating marks come in many forms. Jimin has a scar on his body from one of his omega's- so really? What does he have to be upset about?

The whole house needs to be deep cleaned, and then deep cleaned again. There's blood everywhere; on the couch, the ceiling, the curtains. It's a lot to clean. It's going to be a lot to hide.

That's the only reason why Jimin's not upstairs helping you and Tae clean up right now; the body is unfortunately the biggest threat to the pack's safety at the moment.

There’s a bloodstain on the stairs too, a droplet next to where Jimin sits. he makes a mental note of it but doesn't move to wipe it up. He puts a tangerine slice on his tongue and chews before he answers Yoongi’s next question.

“I don’t know how to dispose of a body, I never dealt with this part. My only job was to kill, not take care of them after. I know there’s a way that you can do it with soap.”

Jin snorts, “You only know that from breaking bad-“

Jimin’s a little miffed, “We already have a plastic tub upstairs-”

“Lye,” Yoongi corrects, looking down at the body before he stoops to retape the plastic over the man's face. It was a bitch to wrap him up, the body stiff and heavy from rigor Mortis. The blood beneath it bubbles and darkens, coagulating. Yoongi's long hair falls over his face and he tucks it behind his ear.

“We could use the soap, but it might take a few days.” Jin clarifies.

“Do you think we can wait that long?”

“Absolutely not,” Jin’s got a similar ice pack to his wrists, the skin there bruised and red and swelling where he fought to get free from the handcuffs, where he eventually ripped down the banisters and broke through them with brute strength and panic.

You’d found the keys on the man’s body soon after and released him from the handcuffs, they're wrapped up in the plastic along with the frying pan, the gun that killed him, and a few other items from the living room that were just too bloodstained, every big piece of evidence will lie right beside him where he rests.

Jimin eats another slice of the tangerine, and Jin shrivels his nose at it. “Isn’t that a little gross?”

Yoongi mirrors his disgust. “Yeah Minnie, weren’t those covered in blood?”

But Jimin just shrugs, “I washed it and peeled it hyung” And keeps eating. After a few days of hospital food, the tangerines taste divine.

Yoongi stands from where he’s kneeling on his knees with a faint crack. “One part kitty litter, two parts concrete should keep out the smell,” Jin says, eyeing the 6 by-six-foot hole in the basement's foundation, already there from the plumbing that needed replacing.

Most of Yoongi's tools are down here too. His scrap pile of wood and the dozen bags of concrete. His hack saw and his circular saw that none of them are looking at. Yoongi had only just fit in the plumbing a few weeks ago. He'd been about to re-pour the foundation anyway.

“I’d rather not have a body buried in our house.”

Yoongi touches Jin’s wrist, so feather-light, removing the ice pack to check the swelling to see if it’s gone down. Jin's left hand is just as useless as Jimin's, the knuckles bruised and ballooned.

“It’s just for a few weeks, we can deal with this once it’s all calmed down, but we absolutely can’t go try and bury it. Who knows what the neighbors heard?”

They're all silent at that, silent at the idea that these few hours might be the last few that the pack spends free.

But over the next few hours, there are no blue and red flashing lights outside or concerned neighbors that come knocking. Your one saving grace is that this all happened during the middle of the day and all of your nearest neighbors have nine to five's. Is it so simple to hope that everyone was just at work? That no one heard the gunshots over the nearby roar of the passing train?

(Maybe they're just too used to the pack next door; the one that has the noisy ruts and noisy noisy packmates. The one whose alphas have a habit of opening the windows in the back room and let the sound of their roughhousing and video games flood the street. The ones who have extra loud movie nights. They're just a bunch of kids, how harmful could they really be? At least the pack alpha and omega look respectable.)

It's a good thing that no one comes; because Namjoon has more important problems, more important things to handle beyond the body in the basement or the police at the door.

Namjoon’s hands cradle Hobi’s neck. He wheeze as he tries to speak, his mouth falling open. He's mostly clean, but a rusty trickle of water from his hair trails down his shoulders.

Jungkook tugged him into the shower first and gave him a rough clean before handing him back to Namjoon. They sit on a towel together on the edge of the nest. they only moved him in here to give him some privacy- to distract him because Hobi kept reaching for you. you'd kept reaching back, tae was already in the shower under the stream.

"Pup- your hands- you're going to hurt yourself."

The Nestroom is dark and quiet. Every single blind in the house is draw. Only the christmas lights illuminate Hobi's injuries. Namjoon will tend to Tae and then you after he's checked out Hobi's injuries. will send him downstairs with Jin for some cold water to soothe his throat once he's done. once he's been cleaned again probably.

Hobi was covered with the most blood, having been just under the man when Tae had blown his throat apart while you- Namjoon doesn't want to think of it, doesn't want to see it.

(Namjoon thinks of every moment, sees them behind every blink. Blink and he sees you sitting in his lap over breakfast squirming happily. Blink and you're kneeling in a bloody puddle looking up at him.

Blink and you're curled up in the nest wearing the first pajama pants he'd given you. Blink and he's watching Jungkook dab at your bloody cheek, blink and you're turning into his hand to nuzzle as he wakes you for sunday morning breakfast. Blink and there’s sunlight spilling across your face and blood slipping down your chin. Namjoon's smallest and most sensitive pup not so innocent anymore.)

Namjoon touches Hobi's throat with no small amount of reverence. it cools the anger in his throat. Namjoon's anger has no good place to go.

When Hobi closes his eyes, he sees it too; the explosion of the bullet and the splat of blood pouring down his face. The shower earlier felt so similar- he almost couldn't handle it. He had to concentrate on Jungkook's voice narrating everything.

"Here Hobi, I'm gonna use some soap now. I like Tae's body wash. You know she always just picks whatever bottles are pinkest because she wants all her toiletries to match. It smells good, doesn't it? Can you take a deep breath for me? Through your nose?"

Endless meaningless Jibber jabber to distract all of them.

Now he shivers and shakes in Namjoon's hold. One part terror and one part near frostbite. Namjoon turns the heat up but Hobi still shakes as Namjoon checks his throat. "Open for me baby- that's a good boy."

He flashes a light down there, listening with his stethoscope. The cold metal end of it presses against his collarbones and the bruises too. Finger-shaped that lace over his jugular like a collar. Over Hobi's heart. Every thump ba-thump ba-thump music to Namjoon's ears.

Namjoon’s growl is soothing as he scoots closer to gather the injured alpha close to his chest. Shushing Hobi as he tries to speak for the dozenth time in the last hour. “Don’t try it, careful- I don’t think he did any lasting damage but-”

Namjoon breaks and his forehead drops to Hoseok’s shoulder, fingers rub out soothing circles on Hobi's wrist even as he starts to cry. Namjoon already stitched up the deep puncture wound there. He had to hold his wrist still as he dabbed the stingy antiseptic, the impulse to pull it away too great. The wound wasn't from a bullet but from the piece of the door that embedded itself in Hobi’s wrist. Blown apart the way he could have been.

Namjoon was so close to losing everything, to losing them.

The bruises, Hobi’s eyes, and his little raspy breaths. Everything both punishment and payment for every violent thing Namjoon wants to do. He feels powerless to do more than hold the smaller alpha right now. The strength in his arms doing little to protect Hobi from the hurts he's already nursing. Hoseok leans his head on Namjoon's shoulder and Just lets the alpha hold him.

If he’d come home to the four of you dead what would he have done? more accurately- What wouldn’t he have done?

Namjoon imagines it- the same way he's imagined it thousands of times. Tae's blood on her lips as pretty as any lip stain. Jin on the floor, his little big love wrapped up in permanent stillness like a mating shroud. Your body turned small and quiet the way you'd been when he'd met you- only so much worse. Hobi with his heart slow and absent of his near-constant music. Bodies stiff as statues, turned alters meant to worship both grief and love.

He’d probably have demanded Jimin and Yoongi tell him everything they knew. And then he’d have gone hunting.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath and pulls away from Hoseok only to continue dabbing at his wounds. The violence of his alpha's instincts calmed by the sanctity of this- of making it better. of being gentle even when namjoon wants to be anything but.

Hoseok’s mute. Throat too swollen to make more than a soft hissing sound on command. Vocal cords not damaged just swollen. Leaving his brain to hurdle through the last few hours. Eyes closed but his mind wide open.

He sees it all behind his eyes; your hand descending with the frying pan, the explosion of wood near his head. The splat of hot blood against the wood floor. Gasping and getting blood in his mouth accidentally. Choking in it- drowning a little. Everything. The sting of smoke on his eyes. Your words ring in his ears like the final notes of a symphony.

“You can take me. I’ll go with you. Willingly. That’s what she wants isn’t it?”

Hoseok’s brain teases through what you might have meant with that. The unnamed she that you mention. Who, why, and what aren’t you telling them? Is it the woman that Yoongi talked to you about before?

He's unable to say anything to Namjoon even as the alpha softy cradles his damaged throat. Unable to even whisper it out through the swelling that threatens to cut off Hobi's airway. It feels like he's breathing through a straw. Namjoon says he's not going to choke, that it only feels that way. The panic is hard to let go of.

But who do you have to go back to there? You've never talked about the family like you wanted them, like they were your pack. Who have you run from? What monsters are here to haunt you? Who is after you? Or is it something darker- more sinister?

Maybe Hoseok's heart has never truly healed from Yoongi leaving them. Maybe a wounded heart remembers. Yoongi always had them to go back to that Hoseok had never questioned. But he's never wondered about you or stopped to consider that maybe, Yoongi's not the only one who left something.

The family doesn't exactly seem like something you can walk away from unscathed. Yoongi managed it, but Jimin didn't.

Hoseok should warn Namjoon, should tell someone but- it's impossible. His airway protesting with an agonizing twinge with every attempt he makes at speaking. He wonders if this is what being nonverbal felt like for you.

The pain pulses dully without adrenaline to dilute it as Namjoon so lovingly examines the marks, again and again. But he shouldn't be spending so much time. You and Tae are bruised and battered too- even if Hoseok’s are by far the worst; you need tending to.

Jin’s hands. Your face. Tae’s head. Hoseok’s throat. Each of you has lost the thing most necessary to your survival.

Hoseok thinks of the body, not the one that sits downstairs, but the one that you found months ago in the ocean. Maybe this wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe none of this was. How far back do the coincidences go? Between Jin and Yoongi who wouldn't have a relationship to stand on without Yoongi's family- how many other things in the pack are because of this?

Hoseok struggles to speak, to talk to Namjoon about what you'd almost done, what you'd almost bartered- but nothing but air comes out, and the pack alpha shushes him. His hands grip Namjoon's shoulders hard.

Namjoon wishes he had more than just numbing cream and sutures for Hobi’s hurts. Jimin’s already offered up some of his opioids for Hobi to sleep and as much as Namjoon hates the idea of anyone swapping medication- Hobi might actually need them.

Jimin’s doctor had been a little bit liberal with them, sure that his 6 on the pain scale had to be at least a 9. He could spare one or two. The truth is that nothing hurts more than this- seeing the people that you love in pain. Jimin and Namjoon save their 10s for days like this.

With the blood cooling, Namjoon’s anger has nowhere to go. The body in the basement has already gone cold.

In the quiet of the house they can audibly hear Seokjin and Yoongi start mixing the concrete. The dull scrape of a shovel against a bucket and the sound of a faucet dripping.

Namjoon wipes at Hobi’s throat, and Hoseok tries again- futile in his efforts to speak. Namjoon shushes him.

In the basement it goes; drip, scrape, drip.

~-~

Jungkook holds Tae up underneath the warm spray of water. The glass is foggy in places and clear and others, occasional spots of red water joining the constellation of them. She rests against Jungkook's chest, her body is prone and almost lifeless. Eyes vacant and glassy.

So shaky and tired as her body rockets down from its adrenaline high. A drop so abrupt that she could hardly hold herself up. A drop so terrifying that Jungkook must do it for her.

He doesn't mind, none of him minds as he cradles the back of her head oh so gently. Tae flinches, whether from pain or the sudden movement. Jungkook meets Jimin's eyes through the foggy glass and then yours. Biting his lower lip before Jimin nods and tells him to keep going.

Evidence is evidence. Washing off can’t wait.

Jimin has joined you upstairs with the body already packed away and on its way to being buried under the foundation of the house. Jimin watches on from outside the shower as he instructs Jungkook in a quiet voice on how to clean Tae of evidence properly. He's been quiet since then. Staring at them while Tae stares blankly back.

You watch them from where you sit. Mostly you just watch Tae. When Namjoon's body doesn’t block your view. He stitches the gash on your forehead, hands pulling the sutures closed in a gentle and practiced way. The pass of the needle through your skin a distant sensation.

The wounds on your hands are in that awkward place of not being deep enough for stitches but still a little too deep to not need something. After a brief debate, Namjoon sealed them with a bit of non-surgical glue that stung terribly and then regular gauze over the top.

Your hands are swelling and clotting. Scabbing although trying to touch anything is too painful. Closing your fingers at all hurts. Namjoon holds you so lightly it hardly feels like he's holding you at all.

Namjoon apologizes after every wince.

The second he’s done he tosses his suture kit into the bathroom sink with a clang the second he’s done. Namjoon gets on his knees before you. The plastic that covers the whole bathroom crackling as he does.

Jimin had the great idea to cover the bathroom with sheets of plastic to cut down on the cleanup. Hoseok's bloody footprints join Tae's trailing from the doorway to the shower. Join the trail that you left. Parts of you are still dripping.

"It's going to scar," Namjoon says, a little sadly. Thumb skimming over the mark on your forehead.

You swallow hard. You still taste blood. You want to brush your teeth; you want to shut the lights off and go to sleep. You want Noodle and you want Yoongi you want everything from the past few hours- the past few years to be gone and over with. You want-

You want to snap at him and tell him that it doesn't matter that it will scar. That you're covered with scars already and you don't care but-

Namjoon kisses your forehead. A lingering brush. The one spot that's not bloody.

You look over at Tae and her eyes flicker blankly to you. Jungkook keeps bringing the boar bristle brush up and down her back in soothing little circles.

When you turn back to Namjoon he's pursing his lips and blinking away tears as he looks down at your hands. You resist the urge to say you’re sorry. You’re not sure what for. The terrible feral hunger in you gone as quick as it's come.

Namjoon’s fingers wrap around the hollow of your knees, and you meet his eyes, even though you don’t want to. It feels too much like a confession already.

“I’m going to say this now, before you get any ideas; This is not your fault and I am not mad at you and Tae for doing what you did-”

“Namjoon-”

He continues on, words rushing out. “I’m proud of you pup, so proud. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here. I promise I won’t disappoint you again as pack alpha-” You cover his mouth with your hand, gauze and all.

The bit of gauze over your palm is already turning bloody. It's hard to tell if it's your blood or if it's his. You’re the last one to shower. The last one to get clean. Namjoon shouldn’t be touching you at all.

And yet he does, yet he cradles your face, brushes the tears from your cheeks, gets blood on his hands. Evidence is evidence, but love has a steeper sort of price if you don't express it when you can.

When you take your hand away, Namjoon doesn’t try to speak again. someone says something that you don't hear, that you can't hear.

Namjoon stands and when you look up, Jungkook has the shower door open for you.

Because the bandages and the glue on your hands can’t get wet Namjoon binds your hands with Ziplock bags and duct tape. The plastic rustles, and you follow Hobi's bloody footprints into Jungkook’s arms. Namjoon closes the door behind you.

Every bit of plastic is going to get melted down later, until all the blood and terror evaporates through something as simple and trivial as fire. Fire will cleanse it of all evidence, as sure as the burning water you step under.

You're not quite sure what you're going to do about the bullet holes in the walls or the blown-apart door to the upstairs bedroom, but Yoongi’s always had a handle on the home improvement stuff.

Jungkook helps you disrobe off your bloodied clothing. Lifting your shirt over your head and stooping, telling you to hold onto his shoulders so that he can take off your sweatpants. You're pretty sure they're Yoongi's but there's no time to get sentimental as he puts them inside a garbage bag along with Tae's and Hobi's clothes.

Everything on your person is evidence. When you look back Namjoon's gone, summoned by Jin's distant call from downstairs. It's just Jimin outside of the shower. watching you, but mostly watching Tae.

You’d be more self-conscious of your nude body if your brain wasn’t still racing. It’s hard to do much with the bags on your hands. But Jungkook squirts out a healthy dollop of your favorite shampoo and gets to work once the conditioner is in Tae’s hair. She sits like a discarded ball-jointed doll on the built-in bench. Her long hair hair stuck like a sheet over her eyes.

Nothing is as important as making sure you’re not found out. And the frothy shampoo turns rusty around Jungkook's fingers. You have to have a lot of blood on your face. All the water that rolls off of you goes pink.

Jungkook is gentle even by your hairline scratching against your scalp with his fingers. The skin there is tender. Namjoon taped a bit of gauze over the sutures too. You don't remember when he did that.

You make a noise. “Too rough?” his voice has something unreadable in it, something soft and concerned.

You don't respond because Yoongi makes his reappearance at the doorway. The black shirt he wears is dusty at the front from the concrete. His eyes single focused on you the second he enters the room. You stare at him the way that Tae stares at Jimin. Jungkook just huffs and pulls you a little more snugly against his chest.

Tae stands in the corner of the shower, still staring at Minnie. Minnie who stares back, practically not blinking. Both of their anguish are hidden behind glass. Like fish in tanks that could never get out. Not really.

Part of Tae gets washed away down the drain. Swirling and gurgling down and down with no one to notice.

Tae stares off blankly into space. Sometimes Jimin talks to her and sometimes he hums through the glass, he'd be in there too if his bandages couldn't get wet either. If Namjoon hadn’t yanked him back from the doorway and told him that he couldn't.

Jungkook takes the boar bristle brush to your body too. Everything has to be scrubbed multiple times until your skin feels nearly raw from it. Tae’s fingernails, her arms, your neck, the side of your face, the hollow at the inside of your arms. Your knees. Everywhere.

He apologizes when he goes over bruises, wincing, clutching you a little tighter, a little closer to make up for the pain. But Jungkook is meticulous as he cleans of evidence until you feel groomed clean. Until there’s no more blood swirling down the drain just clear water, and the light outside has turned pearly and blue in the twilight.

Tae's still silent. She's been quiet beyond the occasional heartbreaking whimper since you both killed that man. Eventually, You push at Jungkook's hands with a pointed look in her direction where she's slumped and he goes with a soft nod. Two omega's taking care of their alphas.

Jungkook’s delicate with Tae’s head, gentle in the way he cradles the bruising, half hidden by her hair. Washing out the conditioner with a quiet hum. Namjoon had diagnosed her with a concussion pretty quickly, it's not a crack in her skull plate but she's not going to go putting her hair up in a bun any time soon.

Jungkook alternates from you to Tae. One moment you're standing, the next Jungkook is taking you up gently from the floor and Yoongi is at the glass, hand on the door- looking at you anxiously. Letting out a volley of cursing. You can't remember the last time you heard him use language like that.

"Hyung she's fine- she's just slippery, I've got her."

Their voices are so soft and grave and so quiet. Or is it just that you can’t hear it? Why are their voices so far away and muffled? Sometimes Yoongi is here and sometimes he isn't. Sometimes Jungkook is holding you, talking to Namjoon about something, and other times he and Yoongi are talking. Keeping their voices low. Your ears ring. It's so loud it deafening.

“Do you need me to take over?” Yoongi asks Jungkook. Jungkook has blood on his feet, from you or Tae you’re not sure, it soaks the hair there. Jungkook’s got hairy fucking feet for an omega- you’re not sure why you’re concentrating on it. Why you’re noticing all these things now. Cataloging little things about them like you might never get the chance to notice them again.

Your heart beats quick, fear still consuming you even though the danger has passed. You look down at the tiled floor and the room spins.

You don’t feel a thing when you close your eyes. You don’t feel anything when you think of the man that you just killed. You don’t feel anything but roaring, like the crashing of the ocean or the sound when you lift your ear to a shell. The hearing in your left ear where the gun went off feels…off, muffled. You put your hand up to toy with it and freeze when you realize it isn't right.

"Guys" You paw at your ear. But they don't seem to hear you.

"No, I've got them.”

“We need to clean up the downstairs. Kookie, where do you keep the oxyclean?”

"Guys"

They still don't hear you. Maybe you're not making a sound at all just mouthing the words. Your movement gets Tae's attention and her eyes focus for the first time in hours. Slumped on the bench, her hand grips the tiled edge hard as she tries to stand but can't. Jungkook hands Yoongi something through the steam, the black trash bag full of bloody clothes.

The notice Tae trying to get to you first. she hits the floor with a small thud and tugs her way over to you. You make a noise in your throat- a distressed chirp that makes the alphas flinch. Tae cups your cheek as you dig your finger in, slippery from the plastic- and pull something small and fleshy out of your ear.

It's soft and squishy. A curved piece of pink and white brain matter. A little bloody but bleached from the water.

You try to stand to your feet but teeter, shaking, staring down at the chunk of person that you just got out of you, that was just in you.

For a second, no one says anything, but then-

“That’s so fucking gnarly.” Your head jerks up in Jungkook’s direction.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tae actually does look a little green, but it's good to hear her voice at the very least. She hauls herself over to the drain and starts to dry heave.

"Oh tae don't-" the sound of vomit hitting the floor joins the sound of the shower. You don't look at her. just at the lump of person in your hand.

"Someone please take it from me," Jimin is already there opening the glass door and holding out a cloth for you to place it in.

Yoongi presses his hands to the glass as he watches you struggle to grab the brush that Jungkook was using on you from the floor after finally getting your feet under you. Jungkook is torn, his hand on Tae's shoulder as she wretches turning from her to you like he doesn't know what to do or who to help first.

You don't care about the state of your hands you just need to get clean. You Ignore the twinge of pain in your hands as you try and get the bottle of body wash open. Ripping off the plastic bags that cover your hands when you can't unclick the cap immediately. frustrated and panicking. You ignore Jimin calling your name. The gauze falls to the floor with a wet thwack and you take the boar bristle brush to your hands. Cuts and all.

Big hands stop you. Hands that dwarf yours. Hands that you'd know blind.

Yoongi's standing under the spray fully clothed, the water pinning down his hair and quickly soaking him. His hands tangling with yours, taking the brush from you. Wordless as he grabs your wrists and jerks you forward hard.

He holds on until you stop shaking. resting against his chest. guiding your face to his scent gland. "Take a deep breath for me now sweetheart- there you go- just like that."

Jungkook doesn't say anything and neither does Jimin, not as Yoongi starts to wash you again. Jungkook just stoops to lift Tae and place her back on the bench. She goes easy, limp, and doll-like. But she's almost done- she's almost clean. Tae pushes at Jungkook’s shoulders.

"I’m fine. I need to wait for the nausea to pass before I try getting out of here.”

With you, it's going to take a little longer.

Jungkook has already shampooed your hair, but he does it again. The telltale signs of rusty red in the peach-scented shampoo. Bubbling orange-pink. Yoongi does it slower, gentler- it feels more normal. Like the slow loving you're used to.

“Do you ever feel like-” your voice is a little crackly from all the screaming you did earlier. You hate how the terror makes you not remember all the details. Did you make any sound while you killed him? Did you say anything through the rage?

The others are looking at you but you have eyes for just Jimin. his hand tightens to fists, knuckles pressed against the glass. eyes darkening ever so slightly. “Do you ever not feel guilty? About killing people Minnie?”

You are nude, as bare as you’ve ever been before him, it's hard to be self-conscious about it. Maybe this would be a little sexier- showering with Tae and Jungkook and Yoongi with an audience if you weren't literally trying to cover up a very violent murder.

You remember the words Jimin had said to you weeks ago now. “Would you kill for me?” “I’d do worse” you wonder if this qualifies as worse. You can’t imagine what would be much worse than this.

Jungkook's hands are rough as they massage a bit of soap down your back but instead of being comforting, it feels like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin.

Jimin hums. Eyeing Tae still sprawled on the built-in bench. Jimin gathers his thoughts before he speaks. “In my contract, at the beginning-” He starts but cuts off as you start to slip. Jungkook's hands find you, helping Yoongi hold you up more properly. Your mate doesn't let Jungkook take you entirely just moves a bit to the side to give him space. Any other day you'd love to be in the middle of a yoonkook sandwich but-

“Your contract?” he nods, blond hair bobbing. Yoongi meticulously removes the dried blood from under your fingernails, careful to hold your glue sutures out of the direct spray.

“I specified that I’d only ever kill bad people. of course I got a little lazier after I got used to it." He shoots an anxious glance in Tae's direction, but she's still just sitting. "But at the beginning, I’d go back and look through their files to try to find out what they’d done to warrant a hit getting taken out on them. I couldn’t always find a reason but most of the time I did."

You can see it in his face, that Jimin doesn't want to say that they deserved it. Because if they deserved a violent ending then you could say the same about the 8 of you. Jungkook's hands get a little close to the nape of your neck and you turn to him and snap.

"Don't scruff me."

"Sorry." You need it. Is what he doesn't say.

“Most of the time it was worth it?” You cling to his words. With Geumjae you’d never had to guess if he deserved it or not but this-

Jimin’s eyebrows are brought into a hard line, “Karma is a fickle thing. Sometimes it never comes but-” his eyes are downcast, "Sometimes it's a good thing, being the karma."

You sit quietly, digesting his words. Your lower lip trembles, and you don’t know if you feel terrible or better when the tears just won’t come. Yoongi delicately cradles your body, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and pulling you back against his chest.

“Yoongi.”

“Let me hold you for a minute.” You do, body sagging under the weight of your exhaustion.

Tae teeters in Jungkook’s hold, but she pushes against his hands weakly when he tries to make her stand again. Her voice sounds warbly and fragile when she shakes her head. “I’m still dizzy.”

He tries to guide her gently back to the bench, but she doesn't make it that far. Pushing away his hands when she descends to the marble floor. Closer to the wall, Closer to Minnie who mirrors her, falling to the floor too. Getting as closer to her as he can without being in the shower.

Jimin lets out a sad and bitter-sounding laugh and Tae smiles in reply while Jungkook and Yoongi share an anxious glance over your head.

He's still grinning, words twisting, eyes shining with sorrow and fondness. “You couldn’t wait 24 hours until you had to make it even, didn’t you?”

Tae closes her eyes as her smile twists and she starts to cry “Where you go, I go. We’re the same now Minnie.” Jimin doesn't mean to ask what she means. He knows.

If you're a killer I'm a killer. If you're damned, I'm damned. Even though neither of them believes in God or heaven or damnation. Not really. Not anymore. It's very half-hearted.

(I don't know if it's worth wondering if the people you love are bad people, I think when worse comes to worse, you just put the heaviness down and keep on loving them anyway).

Jimin’s eyes are soft on her, the way that they only ever are with Tae. He places his hand on the glass fogging around his fingertips. She doesn’t match his hands, just leans her cheek against it. Love is only a thin layer of glass away.

You know it hurts her a little bit, must make the dysphoria a little harder to breathe through, to let Jimin and Jungkook see her like this; just the long hair and nothing delicate to cloth her soul in. A soul that now you’ve irreparably tarnished.

A soul that is damaged beyond repair now thanks to you.

It is your fault. All of this is because of you. all of this pain and anguish and damage is because of the choices you've made. the stupid idiotic childish choices. If you'd never needed it- if you'd just been strong enough- Tae could have been whole. Tae could have been unharmed. Hobi and Jin too- if you’d just-

Back at the hospital, Tae had so many questions about Jimin’s job, so many questions about when and where, and why. But she finds her head empty of them in the aftermath. She has no desire to learn anything else about Jimin’s job. Not now that she knows what killing feels like.

Tae is never going to be able to look at red nail polish the same way again.

Jungkook reaches over and turns off the water.

~-~

Eventually, you finish washing. Wrapped up in fluffy white towels that will have to be burned too. The house smells like bleach and gunpowder. It covers everything.

Even the noodle is looking a little more grubby than usual when he zips by, meowing for someone to give him attention. You hear the saw going and you know that Yoongi is cutting the bullet holes out of the walls while the others clean up the blood.

Your skin feels pink and sensitive were the towel brushes as you go looking for pajamas, you'll get some for the others too. Later, Jin will fuss and ask to put some cream on you. Will massage it in something of an apology and pretend that Yoongi isn't going over the whole house with a blacklight to spot any errant blood splatters.

Later Yoongi will take a wood scraper to the floorboards where the man died, will rip them up, and burn them in the house's ancient fireplace just to be sure that no one finds any evidence.

You'll all pretend that Tae doesn't shake through a panic attack when you have an informal dinner in the nest. jin's rule of "no food in the nest" broken for this. You'll all pretend that Hoseok won't choke choking on all but the smallest sips of water. You'll all pretend. You're good pretenders, good liars too.

Later, Jin will put cream on your skin and dot it all with kisses, the swelling in his hands won't take too long to go down. You'll get the love and You won’t deserve a single second of it.

You don't know how you fooled yourself into thinking you ever deserved it. The last 8 months have been stolen. Not earned.

The one-year anniversary of Geumjae's death comes and passes as you go to the top of the stairs in your towel, Ears straining to hear what's going on downstairs.

There is a lot of talking going on downstairs, between Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jin. About what to do, and how to handle this. Hushed voices kept mostly out of earshot. And other more dangerous questions get asked, with equally as dangerous answers.

One of Jimin's guns sits on the kitchen counter through all of it. No one moves to put it away. They're not sure when they're next going to need it and they'd rather not get caught off guard again.

“I could talk to some people- call them. Some people owe me favors, There has to be some section of the family that doesn’t want her too-“

"Absolutely Not, I am not having you get into some weird ass mafia debt"

"Yeah, jailcell orange is so not your color hyung"

“We stay quiet. For the next 48 hours- it’s likely no one will know what happened. They’re too hurt- we need some time to regroup and think.”

Hobi’s voice is absent from the fray. You hear something quite like he's trying to speak, and someone shushing him softly. Namjoon says that his swelling won’t go down enough to talk until tomorrow. You hear the sound of someone opening the refrigerator to get ice.

The door to the bedroom has been blown apart, and a flurry of bullet holes chewed through the top corner. It sits off its hinges and in two pieces.

You remember watching Yoongi paint the door, sitting at the bottom of the stairs while he worked at the top of it and painted it to match the wallpaper in the staircase, a dark cobalt blue. You remember all of it, every little thing you watched him do to make this house into something worthwhile. To make it into a home and now it's riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood.

It's funny, you hardly remember every little thing he did for you, to make you worthwhile.

You have always been a reminder that you don't make houses out of abandoned buildings, and mates out of monsters that bite.

The water has turned the cuts on your hands white and gummy when you look down at them in the closet room. They’re already oozing, not bleeding, it will be at least a day or two until you can touch anything without discomfort. Namjoon will scold you ever so gently later and re-do your bandages.

The pink curtains are drawn already to keep out any wandering eyes from the outside. This is a dressing room after all. The whole room feels like a blush-toned jewel box and you, the one piece of cheap costume jewelry at the center.

You get up and shut the door before you sit on a small poof- something silky and tufted that Jimin had gotten Tae right after she'd come out.

You sit in your towel and look down at your wounds. Thinking about Tae's concussion. Jin's wrists. Hobi's throat. Both of their blank looks and the violence of death and trying to live. You think it all through, every possible ending to this before you pick up your phone and dial Her number.

Moonbyul picks up on the first ring. It’s like she’s been waiting for your call.

“Did you like your courting present pup?”

Your throat is dry and you don’t know exactly what to say, even less how to say it. She hums at your silence, an alpha's imitation of a purr. Waiting until your quietness builds to a frantic pulse.

In the pack, you've always been the one with the best survival instincts. Geumjae made you this way. Although the pack has spent the last few months trying to heal you; deep down you know you've never been anything more than a scared animal. Fight or Flight. Freeze or fawn.

Bullet to bullet. Tooth to tooth. Heartbeat to heartbeat. This time is different. This time you have something worth protecting.

You stand, no longer able to sit. There is a noise at the door, and you wait with bated breath for someone to come in. They don't come. But you stand and move farther inside. Hoping that the distance will disguise the sound of your whispered conversation.

She continues when it becomes clear you're struggling to speak. “I’ve got another one on the way. Hyejin’s here, wanna say hello? You’re on speaker.”

“Pup,” she giggles, and you feel like you might vomit. It’s a struggle really, not to end the call right there, not to let the fear overtake you. “We haven’t heard back from Spider yet, and I have a feeling someone’s been a little naughty.”

You lift the curtain to look outside, the train chugs past and the cars flit by like the fast small birds searching for seed in the snow. The whole world is grey and flat. The sky is orange from the lights of the city reflecting the clouds. The trees bare of all but a few crumbly leaves. It’s strange how all at once, the train is all you can look at. All you can think about.

You think about hoseok, the night at the train tracks where he stopped you from leaving. When he asked you to stay.

“Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what I need to do to get you to stop this, please.” Your voice sounds off, even for you. Too flat, strange even to your ears.

“I’m afraid we’re too far along for that.”

"Please, please Moonbyul-" You turn, pacing back towards the door. Past Tae’s clothes, past yours, past Jungkook’s, past the alcove where Hobi hangs his sweatshirts for you. You pause there. Looking at them.

“You said- you said when it was over you’d give me anything I wanted. Well I want them alive. Even if-"

Your voice is so shaky, you're careful to make sure you're not overheard. The pack is in the other room, just downstairs. You can hear the distant hum of their sweet voices; the people you love always sound like a melody. Your absence hasn’t been noticed yet.

"Even if I’m not here.”

For once they’re silent on the other end of the line. It’s a full silence, filled with one part lust and one part hunger. Both of them are like Noodle playing with a mouse. Waiting for the right time to drive their teeth in and end this game.

But even mice have teeth. Your hand is holding your phone so hard that the plastic makes your bones ache and your cuts bleed fresh.

“If you don’t let them live, I'll never stop fighting. But if you want me to be willing- If you want me to be your pup the way I think you do."

You can’t even close your hand into a fist with how wrecked your hands are. They hurt with every clumsy movement. you hold the phone. Your every heartbeat lurching with the horror of what you're doing.

I can’t lose them; I can’t be the reason why they die. They'll keep sending people until we're all dead unless I do something.

“All of them, all of them need to be safe, Jimin- you need to let him go of his contract and let him go back to living a normal life and you need to not punish Jin for working for the FBI.” Your words rush over themselves. "Leave my pack alone and I’ll be obedient. I'll be yours. I’ll never try and go back to them again. I won’t ever try and leave. I promise.”

Moonbyul and Hyejin are silent on the other end of the phone. You wait for a few moments. They must be looking at each other, deliberating.

Everything in this room aches. The closet bedroom that Yoongi made he made for you. The wainscotting just so. Everything in this house was crafted with an equal amount of love.

It was never meant to be yours forever, you’ve been keenly aware of this fact since the moment you met Yoongi. Since the moment you met his eyes across the dining room table and the moment his teeth met your skin. Borrowed things don't belong, they never do. Good things do not last. You only get them for as long as you get them and not a moment longer.

You're looking at Hobi's sweatshirts, in the alcove where he stacks them for you to take when Moonbyul and Hyejin respond.

“We'll agree to those terms, but remember their safety depends on your performance."

"You have 24 hours to get to us pup. Make them count.”

The dial tone drones like a funeral drum.

~-~

(Hoseok, a few years prior)

The backroom at the record shop is cramped with all sorts of things from a bygone era;

A mini fridge with a decrepit desktop computer and logbook balanced atop it. Pictures and bulletins glued to the wall from the 1960's. A greasy coffee machine piled high with bags of expired tea. A cramped spot for employees to hang their coats and a yellowing old table with a pair of chairs; both occupied by people also out of place. a beta that has a thing for 1980's rap and an alpha with a broken heart who admittedly loves 2010's pop.

A poster of some glittery showgirl omega from the 20s bats her eyelashes down at Hoseok as he has a mental breakdown. Offering neither comfort nor absolution nor love.

Maybe if he'd been born an omega like that, it would have been easier. Maybe they'd have wanted him then.

Yoongi's hands rub down Hoseok's shoulder, his back, places only lovers have touched. Up and down. An endless circle. An ouroboros of affection nibbling Hoseok's fickle heart. Hoseok aches harder with every passing moment.

Yoongi looks at the clock as Hoseok continues to sob. The shop should be open right now but Yoongi won't let it. It can go out of business for all he cares. As long as no one makes Hoseok get up from this chair before he's ready.

Beta instincts are fickle things, but Yoongi has always had a third sense. Something in him always knows if people are trustworthy and if they need him. Something in their scents or faces or eyes- like small planets reflecting the cosmos back to them. Do planets bear life only when someone is willing to look for them? Do people only deserve help when they're willing to ask for it? or is it like this?

Eventually, Hoseok gets his breath back in his chest and his sobs quiet down. His eyes open bloodshot. All sadness has an expiration date (thankfully). Yoongi's hand slides down his arm and gives his hand a firm squeeze (and stays there).

It's the first time someone's touched Hoseok without wanting something in God knows how long but he's too sad to properly appreciate it or savor it. (Yoongi doesn't want anything from him that Hoseok wouldn't willingly give. Doesn't want anything but his smile. fuck- he's just a co-worker, isn't he?). Who knows when the next touch like this might come? (Yoongi is going to hold his hand tomorrow because Yoongi likes holding people's hands, Jin will give him the tacit permission to do that at least. But all of the pack are keenly aware that Hoseok needs time to heal, no matter how obvious Yoongi's crush and Hoseok's needs).

(Hoseok is definitely not just Yoongi's coe-worker at this point, but saviors come from all sorts of unlikely places)

Eventually Hoseok's sobs quiet and Yoongi sighs, pulling back. He takes one look at hoseok's red nose and pale cheeks and puffs up. "I'm making your hot chocolate and you're going to tell me what's happened."

He gets up like he needs something to do. Like he's tired of taking care of Hoseok. He doesn't take it personally, he's tired of it too.

“My mates they- they kicked me out of our den,” Hoseok confesses. Yoongi's got two mugs in his hands, they thud against the counter when he reaches into one of the cabinets.

It’s warm in here but Hoseok is still thankful for the sweatshirt the beta gave him. Not only for its warmth but for the layer of scent it provides; It’s soaked with the smell of chocolate. So comforting and heavenly that it makes Hoseok a little dizzy when he tucks his nose into it and takes a hefty sniff when Yoongi's got his back turned.

Hoseok was never given the other pack's items, never allowed or encouraged to indulge in their scents. They never asked for his either.

Yoongi hangs both their jackets above the radiator in the back so that they’ll dry faster. He bears an impressive bite mark on his arm, visible because of his short-sleeved shirt. It's bruised just ever so slightly- an alpha bite but not a mating bite because betas don't mate. A mark like that on him is as good a claim as any. Even with the other scents that cling to the sweatshirt.

Hoseok hasn’t known him long, but they’re friends even if they’ve never met up outside of work. You can't not be friends with someone you spend upwards of 30 hours a week with.

Yoongi just hums. "Have you been with them long?"

Hoseok appreciates that Yoongi doesn't use the past tense, his heart too tender around the idea of endings. Some part of him is unconvinced that it really is over. A stubborn heart for a stubborn alpha.

His hair is starting to dry when he nods. "It's been a few years." Hoseok bites his lip, "I could lie and say I didn't see signs but-" his hands end up in his hair, elbows leaning against the creaking yellow table. Tugging a little. "I'm so fucking stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid," Yoongi says, hand on the back of his head. warm rough fingers. Touching him ever so briefly as he passes to put the milk back in the mini-fridge. "It's not stupid to want to find more love where you got it."

But in truth, There's not much more than Yoongi can say. Not much more that he knows to say. He'd never met Hoseok's pack. Whereas Namjoon and Jimin and the pups have a general tendency to linger around Yoongi person at all hours and locations. Stopping by to drop off coffee or just to make funny faces at him through the window when they're on their way to work. Yoongi has never met his co-worker's pack and has never seen much evidence at all on him beyond some vague hints of scents.

That alone is enough of a hint; usually, when people have packmates they're soaked in their scents. Visceral claims to keep any wandering eyes wandering still. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't wondered why Hoseok didn't wear his packmate's scents.

It’s not like the alpha smells bad at all- a little strong sure, but less genetically dominant alphas tend to smell a little sweeter like omegas.

At least that’s what Namjoon says when he feels like info dumping. Late at night when the pack asleep around them and only Yoongi's stayed up to listen. Because Yoongi likes the sound of Namjoon's voice when he gets into the details. Stroking across Namjoon’s bare chest just to feel the alpha's words rumble against his fingertips. His heartbeat against his ear the backtrack for all of it.

Whoever Yoongi’s pack is; they surely love him a lot. That much has been evident since the second that Hoseok met him. Evident in the packed bento boxes and the bunny-eyed omega that walks with him to work sometimes. Or in the tall omega and alpha pair that Hoseok has seen perusing the shelves when he comes in to relieve Yoongi of his shift.

Hoseok has worked here for 6 months. It’s impossible not to collect these details. The hickeys on his throat that he wears after weekends, how ruffled but generally loved Yoongi looks when he comes back from rut and heat leave.

“Is there a reason why they left?” Yoongi tries to be as undiscerning as possible. Voice gentle and measured. Stirring the hot cocoa and putting it in front of Hoseok.

Hoseok takes a sip and it feels like he's drinking a cup of the beta in front of him. Yoongi melts a little into the chair at the happy noise Hoseok makes.

It's good. Really good actually, Yoongi uses twice as much Swiss mix as the package instructs and a tablespoon of honey to boot. More chocolate can never be a bad thing.

Before Hoseok has a chance to respond, The phone next to the cabinet rings. And Yoongi takes it off the stand and hangs it up again in quick secession so that it doesn’t ring anymore. It has to be important but he ignores it for Hoseok's sake. Yoongi does a lot of ordering for the shop, the rare records that their boss is always trying to source and sell. It's a lot of chasing down leads and curators.

(This is not true. This is a lie that Yoongi and his boss have fed him. This phone is set up for the family's use. Hoseok doesn’t know that most of the calls Yoongi answers are more delicate than just simple stock orders.)

“I just found out that my brother has stolen from me, what should his punishment be beta?”

“How much did he steal?”

“300k”

Yoongi swallows, fighting his narrow margin of benevolence. The drops of mercy that he's allowed to show without suspicion. He tells himself that the other beta would order a far worse. People only call him when they want lighter punishment.

“A finger for every 100 then.”

The people who call ask him all manner of things. Things like “I think my child might be planning on going to the police, what should I do before anyone finds out about it?” He is both a secret keeper and a jury.

“Send them away. Out of sight and out of mind of anything that they might be able to share. I hear the military academies are lovely this year. So much snow. Yes, they take omega recruits.”

“My firstborn child presented as an omega instead of an alpha. They're my firstborn and heir, how should I proceed?”

“I can ask around for an advantageous match but I’m sorry, there is no fixing presentation.”

Hoseok hasn’t seen a phone like that in years. Didn’t even know they made old-fashioned ones like that anymore. Ones with a dial, the blue plastic worn from the number of times Yoongi's had to pick it up. It doesn't stay silent for long, ringing soon after yoongi's hung it up.

“I'm the only- they’re an all-omega group.” As if by the mention of his sub gender Hoseok’s angry burning sugar scent fills the room. In reply, Yoongi’s sweetness rises. Hoseok takes another sip and pretends it's just the hot chocolate warming his cheeks. “I guess they wanted to keep it that way.”

"I've got two omegas and they keep me on my toes, I can't imagine four." That gets a laugh out of Hoseok.

"You've got a bunch of alphas in yours though, right?" A bunch already, I wouldn't be needed. Hoseok has seen them, the tall one with dimples that looks like something out of a soap opera. The scary-looking one with the chubby cheeks who's always holding hands with the pretty academic one who likes the jazz in the corner.

Yoongi nods, "That must be nice," Hoseok's eyelashes are all clumped together from the tears. "Having so many people to take care of you."

Yoongi hums, knuckles brushing Hoseok’s hand on the table. It’s just one tender touch but Hoseok starts to break. To crumple.

Yoongi senses Hoseok breaking, pulling him in close before he has a chance to really fracture (he comes just in time, Yoongi loves Hoseok just in time). Yoongi’s scent alone is enough to soothe him- beyond the way he guides the alpha to rest against his throat. Hoseok fights it only a little, what's a little scenting among friends?

They're not just friends, it's not just scenting.

Hoseok wants to bury his nose in the beta’s throat, but that wouldn’t be appropriate, not with the scent of so many others clinging to him. He still sags into the hug. Turns his face away to avoid the temptation.

“They didn’t even tell me- and now the lease on the apartment is up and I can’t afford it on my own and-“ I’m so scared and I just wish there was someone to take care of me. I wish I was a pup again.

They sit like that at the table and Yoongi just lets him cry, He pulls back after his sobbing has cooled. They hug until they both smell like gooey chocolate chip cookies with too much brown sugar.

Hoseok sniffles, “We have to open up the shop,” Yoongi's arms tighten around Hoseok's shoulders in reply.

“It can wait a few more seconds.” Hoseok wants to say that the owner wouldn’t like that but he doesn’t.

Yoongi sips and hesitates. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Hoseok pauses for a second, flushing before he shakes his head. “Okay, it's okay. You can say with me.”

“Are- are you sure they won't mind?” But Yoongi is already typing away on his phone, shooting a quick text to the pack group chat (a chat that Hoseok will be added to in exactly 23 days, but who's counting?)

“Not at all. It’s a bit cramped with all of us but we have a spare bed in the closet room that Tae likes to read on sometimes- Jungkook's boss slept there last night after they came back from drinking and Namjoon was so mad- he won't be mad about you though- it's just that Jungkook- he just really shouldn't be drinking."

"Is he underaged?"

"No, he's just got health issues."

"Oh." Yet another person who gets the love he needs, the care he needs. Hoseok tries and fails miserably not to be jealous over Yoongi's omega whom he's never met.

He won't be jealous for long. Later Jungkook is going to challenge him to an arm wrestle just to prove he doesn't need babying. Beating alphas in feats of strength is his favorite thing. He'll feel Hoseok’s hand in his and get completely distracted. "Wow, you've got like- really pretty hands!" and drag them close to his to compare sizes. He'll be smitten nearly instantly with Jungkook- for what it's worth. The jealousy only lasts for a few hours.

Within a few seconds his phone is ringing off the hook, he shows Hoseok the chorus of, “Yes it’s okay!” and “Poor thing, tell him he can stay as long as he wants.” "Of course hyung!" "Does Hoseok like kimchi-jjigae or should we just order pizza?" “Oh! Can we get some with pineapple?” “Gross Jk.” "Yeah we all know Minnie doesn't like the aftertaste of burnt fruit."

And Hoseok can't help but feel like he doesn’t deserve this kindness and such an effortless acceptance. There is a knock at the front door before he can say anything. A few short taps against the glass. Yoongi tells Hoseok to stay put while he goes to deal with a pushy customer who wants in. Leaving him alone in the backroom with his cooling hot coco and the poster still staring down at him.

(They say two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, but that's not the only way a secret stays buried; the best secrets are the ones you’re not even aware of.

Out of all the people in your pack. Hoseok is the only one in possession of a secret like this. The best kinds of secrets are the ones you don't even know are secrets see- he doesn't even know that this memory is enough to save you. Hoseok is entirely unaware that in his mind lies this memory.

Hoseok was the first person to get on the no-kill list, and it wasn’t because of Yoongi.

All packmates of a Don get put on the list;

no matter if they're active or past.)

Sitting at that yellowing wood table; Hoseok feels more settled now that he knows he has a place to sleep tonight that isn’t this backroom. Pulling the sleeve of Yoongi’s sweatshirt over his palms and sniffing at the collar where it was pushed up against Yoongi’s scent gland.

If he thinks hard, he can pick out a few scents here and there soaking the fabric. (Milky Omega Jin, Honey Sweet Puppy Jungkookie, Cinnamon sweet Alpha Tae and vanil-lalalala Jimin, Coffee Alpha Namjoon and Chocolate Yoongi).

It's so different from his ex-pack's scents. Their sugary sweet omega peppermint and sharp lemony evergreen, winter berry and pine, the cold smart of snow against his nose. His burning caramel scent- so off-putting. The one scent not Christmas-themed. The one that didn’t fit.

By comparison- Yoongi's pack smells like a bakery in summer. Every scent that could be added to a cake maybe (one day, in the kitchen, he’ll eat your tiramisu and realize yes- that’s exactly what it’s missing. Your cakey scent makes them all complete, the warmth of baking things).

He has somewhere to go now. Somewhere to be. Someone to trust. He trusts Yoongi- even if they’ve only known each other for a handful of short months.

And Yoongi’s pack can’t be worse than his last one.

As if in reply to Yoongi’s phone (buzzing with more texts that he doesn't check because Hoseok is nothing if not respectful of people's digital privacy. If he checked he would see "Is that the hot coworker you're always talking about? The one who always looks a little sad?")

Hoseok’s phone buzzes with the notification he's been waiting for.

Pack Omega 🌙 calling.

Pick up? Decline?

Hoseok hasn't yet gotten around to changing her contact information. He scrambles at it, spilling the hot cocoa across the table as he rushes to pick it up. Scrambling to get to it before it goes to voice mail. Blood pounding in his ears.

Hoseok’s voice is broken as he says his pack omega’s name, his old pack omega’s name.

“Byulyi- Moonbyul please-”

Moonbyul is cold on the other side of the phone. Maybe she’d have liked him more, and wouldn’t have given up on him if he didn't beg. But Hoseok has never been above begging. Not for love. Not for the thing he wants and needs the most. Hoseok needs love more than air and as Yoongi said- it's easiest to go looking for love where you once got it.

Even when you know it could hurt you.

Her voice is flat and unaffected. “I just wanted to make sure you found a place to stay tonight. Are you still going to be around to give the landlord the keys?”

Hoseok finds himself nodding even though he knows she can’t see him. “Yes- I can do that, I can do anything you want. Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Moonbyul please-”

“Goodbye Hoseok.” She says, hanging up after a second. Hoseok looks at the phone. Pushing the button to redial. It doesn't go. She’s already blocked him.

It will be a long time until Hoseok hears from his last pack again, a long long time until he says their names again. He will remember the way he’d begged, the way her name had sounded smack dab in the middle of it. And hate hate Hate how it makes him feel. He won't ever say their names, regret and self-disgust getting in the way.

It's a little funny, thinking of how different things might have gotten if he'd just told yoongi their names. If he hadn't let his alpha pride get in the way. A few days from now they'll talk about it together. "I don't like the way saying their names makes me feel- it feels- I hate how much I want to say it- to see them again- saying their names just reminds me of the power they had over me."

Never again, will Jung Hoseok beg for someone to give him the bare minimum. This is his lowest point. The moment where it shifts- for good.

His head is in his hands when Yoongi comes back into the room. Still sniffling, crying yet again. Yoongi sets a palm in his hair, ruffling it. Eyeing the spilled hot cocoa with a raised eyebrow.

“If you wanted coffee you could have just said so-“ he makes an attempt at levity and is rewarded with Hoseok’s small snort. Wiping his wet cheeks. Neither of them is aware of the secret. Neither of them is aware and so much worse off for it."

Hoseok grins, “Are you buying hyung?”

~-~

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Notes:

in the story there has always been this question- mainly raised by jimin during his secret chapters- if the m/c is actually in love with them or if she's just manipulating them- at the beginning of this chapter- we actually see jimin finally dispel the last bit of him that thinks even a little bit that this is the case. once he sees how much she put her body on the line- that question isn't even in the back of his mind- even a little. i ended up re-editing this part alot because of it.

every time i write something from jimin's pov i'm always like "why is everything so meandering? why are things disjointed?" and then i remember that's literally jimin's character- that he is in a lot of ways an unreliable narrator.

(TW) i have this idea in my head that namjoon DOES NOT become a good person in the event that all of them die like- a whole separate idea of him becoming a doctor for the family through yoongi's connections with the soul purpose of one day killing moonbyul and her entire pack…including their pups on accident which ends up destroying the last bit of namjoon's innocence as a person…and he ends up becoming one of the families assassins alongside jimin as a result, in this event jungkook does not stay with them and instead moves on and yoongi stays and tries to get them to stop only to ask them to kill him as their last kill because he's unable to cope with the loss of jin, hobi, the m/c and tae. BUT ANYWAY I DIGRESS THAT IS NOT THIS STORY.

i think in this story there is this really interesting dynamic of femininity and death and morality- that being said red nail polish is definitely a metaphor for whose comfortable killing and who isn't. i like the contrast between tae who will never wear red nails again- vs the moon pack who all are not allowed out of the nest if their nailpolish isn't perfect like- thats another layer of the fucked up shit.

are you suprised that the m/c is going to leave? Did you see it coming from a mile away? i mean...it is in the title of the series 😈

….the parallel between hobi losing his voice and the m/c not having a voice at the beginning of the series- you can project whatever meaning you want onto that <3

also on that subject the line "Jin’s hands. Your face. Tae’s head. Hoseok’s throat. Each of you has lost the thing most necessary to your survival." it's worth mentioning that thats not what i think is the most necessary thing to their survival but it is their own interpretation of what keeps them alive. like i for one actually think that the m/c is a lot more pragmatic than anyone gives her credit for but i digress. i could go on about all of their strenghts.

what did you guys think about hobi's secret reveal???? a fair amount of people have guessed it and i think when someone got it at the beginning of the series i lied and said it wasn't- i'm allowed to be an unreliable narrator too!!! kudos to everyone who got it! i feel like it could have been revealed better and originally the big one off was slated for next chapter but i decided to shift it to this one (mostly because i think the next chapter is about to get up there in terms of word count tbh 😭) but T-T its done now! please give me praise because i'm baby and this week has honestly been really hard

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floralcyanide · 15 days

Text

ʙᴏʙʙʏ's ɢɪʀʟ

(joe rantz x fem!reader)

Joe has a major crush on you, but you're Bobby's girl. Or so he thinks.

✣ warnings: cursing, mentions of fighting

✣ word count: 1.4k

✣ author’s note: I wish I had more time to work on this, but I've been busy with work, and a friend has been in town so ): I will definitely post more Joe though. hopefully it'll be better quality lol I just wasn't sure of what to write for Joe specifically so this is sort of a brain dump.

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

Joe Rantz has a major crush on you, but you’re Bobby’s girl- or that’s what he thought.

The first time Joe sees you is when the team meets Bobby, their new coxswain. You had tagged along as you followed Bobby everywhere he went, as he did you. The two of you were as thick as thieves. It made Joe a little jealous because he thought you were attractive, and Bobby didn’t seem like the type to have a girl on his arm all the time. Don’t get him wrong, Joe respects Bobby. But he seemed more focused on other things rather than dating. Joe watched you that whole day when his attention wasn’t on rowing. As the weeks of practice continued, the more the boys got to know you. Plus, the more they improved, the more you cheered them on. You took pride in getting the boys in the boat to do better than before. And the more you pushed them from the dock, much like Bobby did in his seat, the more they showed out for you, especially Joe. Joe would catch you smiling at him, and he’d smile back but would quickly recover. You’re Bobby’s girl.

After the team’s first win, you’re glued to Bobby’s side at the celebratory party. Joe tries to keep his eyes off you and your stunning outfit but fails most of the night. At one point, you separate from Bobby to converse with Don and Chuck for a little while. Then, you find Joe, who is tucked away in the back of the gymnasium. He quickly looked away from you, not to give himself away.

“Enjoying the party?” you ask, nursing your punch glass.

“Not really my scene,” Joe shrugs.

“Oh,” you nod, “What is your scene, then?”

“The library, usually. Or the boat, of course.”

“I’d say so. You’re great at rowing. I love watching you all.”

Joe blushes at that, “I’m glad.”

Suddenly, Bobby pulls the needle off the record player on stage, forcibly introducing Don as the live music for the night. You and Joe watch, amused, as the boys shove Don across the stage and to the piano bench. Don dug his heels into the stage floor the best he could, to no avail. He nervously looks out at the crowd before beginning to play.

“Wanna dance?” you ask Joe.

He hesitates for a moment before answering, “Sure.”

The two of you dance along to the music, singing along as well. Joe tries not to let himself get too deep in his head about how close you are to him. You sense this, trying not to get too handsy despite your inner desire to. You leave room between the two of you for it to be casual. When the song ends, you kiss Joe on the cheek and go to find Bobby. Joe’s cheek burns the rest of the night as he reaches up to brush his fingers across it a few times. He wanted to make sure what had happened was real.

Bobby encourages you to tag along with the team to the East Coast. This race was significant for the boys and would throw them off if you weren’t there. Bobby especially- Joe even more. On the train there, you sit with Bobby. You’re mid-conversation about the paper he’s reading when suddenly, Joe lunges at Chuck. You hurry to stand from your seat and pull them apart, following Joe to the other side of the train when he hurries away from the group.

You stand there momentarily as Joe catches his breath, his face beet red.

“What was that all about?”

Joe brushes you off, not making eye contact. You sigh and sit next to him.

“Chuck probably didn’t mean it like that, Joe,” you put a hand on his shoulder, “Even if he did, you know his jokes are shit anyway.”

Joe cracks a smile at that, glancing over at you without moving his head, “Yeah.”

Before you can say anything else, Chuck comes to apologize, and you get up and leave them to it. When you return to your seat, Bobby is smirking knowingly.

“What?” you ask, already knowing what’s gonna come out of his mouth.

“Nothing,” Bobby says, returning his eyes to the paper he was still reading.

“Just say it,” you sigh.

“You guys should kiss already.”

You snort, “I don’t think Joe likes me like that, Bobby.”

“It’s so obvious,” Bobby slams his paper down on his lap, “He’s so obvious, you’re so obvious. Just get together!”

But of course, it’s not that easy. Joe keeps his distance, so you keep yours out of respect for him.

Securing the win to head to the Olympics meant preparing to go to Berlin. So, training and practice is never-ending. The stress is, too, and it bleeds into you and Bobby’s usually chill dynamic.

Everyone had already left the gymnasium except Joe one day after strenuous practice. He decided to piddle around for a little while. He had nowhere else to be, anyway. Joe sees you and Bobby getting into it by the boat and hangs back to eavesdrop.

“You have got to get your head in the game, Bobby! Stop worrying about everything else and keep your focus on the team.”

“It’s kind of hard when he’s making mistakes because he can’t stop thinking about you. It’s becoming a problem, and I think you need to fix it.”

Joe’s ears perk up at that. He couldn’t possibly be talking about him, right? That’s when you shove Bobby into the water. You wish he’d realize it isn’t that easy to solve.

Bobby resurfaces, pushing his hair from his eyes, “You bitch!” he squeaks in shock.

You start laughing like a maniac at his expression, and Joe is left wondering what is really going on between you and Bobby.

“What’s going on here?” Joe steps out, walks to the dock, and offers Bobby a hand from the water.

“Typical sibling banter,” you wave Joe off.

“Sibling?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m Bobby’s adopted sister.”

Joe’s face is one of shock. Bobby is behind the blonde, keeping him from throwing you into the water next.

“Makes sense now,” Joe chuckles, blocking Bobby, “If I were you, I’d skedaddle.”

You make a run for the gymnasium quickly, Bobby trailing just a little behind. Joe shakes his head, relieved that you aren't Bobby’s girl. From then on, he paid more attention during practice now that he wasn’t plagued with thoughts of you and Bobby together.

The Olympics come quickly, and you’re nearly as nervous as Bobby. Berlin is an interesting sight, considering every surface is covered in Nazi propaganda. You can sense Bobby’s nervousness about it and try your best to ease him. Being someone of Jewish descent in a place like this was not easy. Don isn’t doing too well health-wise when you all arrive and skips out on the opening ceremony. You watch the USA walk with pride from the stands, your eyes on Joe the whole time.

You’re a ball of nerves during the qualifying race, but of course, that goes away when Bobby pulls his magic stunt, and the boys win yet again, making an Olympic record. You’re beyond proud and can’t wait for how they compete for Gold.

The day comes for the final race, and when Bobby starts off delayed, your heart jumps out of your body. You’re on pins and needles the whole time, urging the boys to push. When the results of who won aren’t immediately apparent, you hold your breath and hope and pray, even, that your boys won. And sure enough, the USA takes the gold. You shoot up from your seat, cheering louder than anyone else around. When you finally are able to meet up with the team, you slam into Bobby full force in a bone-crushing hug.

When you pull away, Joe immediately approaches you and wraps his arms around you.

“You did it!” you grin.

“We did it,” Joe smiles, “But we couldn’t have done it without you and Bobby.”

You and Joe stare at each other momentarily, and Joe seems to be deep in thought about something.

“Just kiss me, Joe,” you blurt, your arms still around his neck.

Joe throws caution to the wind and kisses you in front of the whole world, finally able to breathe with you pressed against him. The boys cheer, and Bobby stands there with his arms crossed, shaking his head with a smile. Finally, you have taken your leap of faith. But you were a stubborn Moch, after all.

#joe rantz #the boys in the boat #joe rantz x reader #joe rantz x you #joe rantz x y/n #joe rantz fanfiction #joe rantz fanfic #joe rantz fic #joe rantz imagine #the boys in the boat fanfiction #the boys in the boat fanfic #callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fanfic #callum turner fic #callum turner imagine #floralcyanide writes

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blueparadis · 9 months

Text

꒰ I HOPE THAT YOU THINK OF ME ꒱ ⋮ GETO SUGURU →[ CONTENT & TAGS ] :: f!reader × geto suguru, angst, unrequited feelings, mixed feelings, first kiss, suggestive, slice of life, canon divergent, no manga spoilers but I wrote his character based on the first scene of the first episode. characters_ mention of gojo ( there is no Suguru without Satoru), mention of shoko, utahime, mei mei, yu, nanami. back to blog navigation.

Rain in Tokyo has always come with a touch of melancholy for Geto Suguru. It reminds him of the dread in the eyes of mundanes. It reminds him how in weather like this cursed spirits pop like soda bubbles, it is everywhere. But certainly, sometimes it becomes a little less desolate with Satoru, Shoko, and his beloved juniors around, that is, Yu and Nanami; only a little though. Today's downpour is nothing spectacular. The splattering raindrops are hitting the window pane persistently. It has been like that for hours even though the weather forecast did not foretell such heavy rainfall. The college hours have already been over but he is stuck here due to rain along with some other students and teachers. He thinks it might be a curse to be the cause of such poor weather. Heck! If this continues some might have been asked to go for a scrutiny. Teachers at Jujutsu High are extremely fond of practical work. If only the rain had started just after he reached his home, he would not have hated it so much. Every time it rains, either he is outside or stuck somewhere or forgets to bring an umbrella. And, on the days when he is cautious enough for bringing a raincoat as well as an umbrella, there are roses and sunshines everywhere. It is annoying. Why does the weather always be so treacherous?

“What's up?” Satoru asks leaning against the the desk, “Did you two fight again?” He takes his place beside Suguru keeping one foot on the bar of his friend’s chair. He loves the rain, in fact, he would not have bothered to run in the rain just to go home but then, he would have been greeted by a cold soon; enough to miss some days for college. So, he always carries an umbrella. But he can not leave his dear friend alone, especially in the times of wailing agony. He refuses to give him some moments of peace.

Suguru who was staring at the rain shifts his head towards his friend with no dunes and crescents over his forehead. His forearms are now resting on the desk which was supporting his sad face before. His eyes gauge Satoru. “Suguru, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Again with the theatrics. If his mind would not have been occupied by you, he would have been definitely annoyed by Satoru.

“with whom?” Suguru deadpanned. He can not let Satoru be a part of this, he can not let Satoru know what happened between you two the last weekend. So, he tries to play safe by asking ‘whom’ instead of ‘why do you think so’ which would have meant the gulf between you two is highly bothersome to him and Satoru would not have shut up about it for days.

“You know who,” Satoru can not help but smirk. He was just standing near your desk with Shoko before coming to him. Normally, you either sit in front of Suguru or by his left side. The right side is always occupied by Satoru. Shoko sits beside you. It's fixed. No one dares to dismantle this chain of friendship. But today, you sat at the first bench at the rightmost corner. The whole class has come to know the turbulence between you two by now. If that is not the case, some would have assumed it and some who are curious might have asked you why are you sitting here? So away from your dear friend. . .

Suguru rolls his tongue inside his mouth being cornered by Satoru like this. He does not have the energy to fight or avert him. He wants to but right now he can not afford to do so. He is trying his best not to look at you and make it obvious for Satoru, to confirm his confusion that something is going on between you two. “oh! C’mon ya'know you can tell me about it...” Satoru presses further.

A thunder flashes breaking the sky apart illuminating the classroom like being in the brightest daylight. Your shoulder reflexively contorted, heartbeat gets louder as if your heart just shifted in your ears. Shoko composes herself as she laughs seeing you jerk, enough to feel tears at the edge of her eyes. It is not natural for you to be frightened by lightning.

“Are you okay?” Shoko tries to breath in between her laughter ceasing it momentarily. “you startled me too” She mutters and glances at Suguru for a second. Many others also got shocked by the sudden tremendous thunder. It is natural but you had the most reaction almost losing your balance on chair probably because of the headsets you had. Rain and music always made you forget about this wretched world that you belonged and no matter what you could never turn your back to it. But even if it is just for a moment, would it really hurt?

Shoko is not the only one who had a reaction to you. Suguru had too. His eyes are now on you, your face that is marked with wide eyes and a warm laughter looking at Shoko. He almost left his seat when you lost your balance. Damn it. Why do you always affect him in the worst possible ways?

“Is y/n here?” You recognise that voice. Kouske enters the classroom with Mei Mei and the bruised skin of you heart are in tatters now. He looks around for a few seconds till his eyes land on you. “I was here for work but with this weather, i figured I might as well drop you home, or take you home.” He stated with a warming smile keeping his hand on your desk leaning a bit.

Seeing Mei Mei, Shoko might have gone to look for Utahime so Kouske can not be kept occupied like usual. Suguru’s jaw muscles shifted. He stretched his arms forward on the desk dipping his head in between them. “I kissed her.” Satoru’s eyes dilate at the confession. “Last Saturday.” Suguru raised his head to look at his friend and then at you. “At the cafe near her house. She was crying over—

“Are you seriously serious? You know the risks of your—

“—of my feelings? my actions? Yeah, I know. I know Sah-toru.” Geto takes a glace at Satoru before leaving his seat. Walking toward Kouske he exclaimed with a neutral tone,“What’s up Kou-san?” He stands beside your desk. “I heard about your first job. Congratulations on your first paycheck — As they kept talking Suguru rested one of his arms at the back of your chair. If you lean you would feel his skin burning against yours, just like that day, just like when he kissed you.

That day, it was raining like this too. At the back alley of the cafe near your house when you told him how your family wanted you to marry the next family head of Hirahara, when you told him that it was Kouske, when you were bowing your head down unable to meet his eyes because yours were so full of woe Suguru held your hand. He held your hand making you pause your talk and when you looked at him his fingers found it's way in between yours filling the gaps. He squeezed your hands, his lips distorting in guilt before it touched yours.

The first kiss tasted nothing like you had read or heard and indeed, nothing like you had imagined. He slipped his palm through your loose hair along your cheeks to get more of you but you pushed him, turned around, and left. You kept running and running and running; never looked back.

You had not picked up any calls, neither reapended to any messages since then. Suguru must be thinking you were avoiding him but that was not the case. You were avoiding your ex-boyfriend, Kouske. You wish you could curse him, like normal people have the privilege, when talks of your marriage started to unfold around the Hirahara family. The rainfall became more vivid coating the streets and the playground in white. Kouske pauses Geto for a second and takes your hand in his and places a soft kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you in my car, love.”

“Let’s go.” He states and Geto tags along. He waves at Satoru and he joins too. Before exiting the classroom, he looked back and a shiver ran down your spine. His look was so full of rage and jealousy minutes ago and now there is only disgust. It was hard to understand if you were the stimulus or was it Kouske? About an hour after you see Geto walking alone through the corridor. As you get out of the room, you found him leaning against the wall. You walk towards him while his eyes focused on you.

You open your mouth trying to thank him for cutting in and saving you from his attention earlier because the more you avoid Kouske, the more he gets irritated and greater are the chances of this marriage proposal to fail.

But seeing you avoiding him, he caved in finally. “The rain stopped. Shouldn't you hurry to your fiancé ?”

“He is not my fiance.”

“Well, not yet.” You sigh heavily letting him know that his presence is as suffocating as Kouske’s. “but he is your ex.”

“I just wanted to thank you — You start and instantly regret. You turn on your heel without wanting to see his reaction. He is surely unaware of his mistake he committed last Saturday and he is not showing any signs of it till now. You just kept overthinking about something which was not worth it.

Suguru turns around and walks close enough to stand behind you. “don't get the wrong idea, princess. I didn't do it for you, I did it for myself.” He whispered near your ears rousing goosebumps on your nape. When you snapped your head back at him he was already walking away. You were still standing in the corridor, watching your friend walk away. He must really hate you for what you did.

Suguru smiled to himself. He might be selfish for stealing your first kiss, ruining the friendship you had with him, but at least every time it rains you will think of him. There is a strange sense of satisfaction for what he did and why he did. Of course he has no chance of winning you, neither get at par with Kouske but the jealousy of seeing you with another man drives him nuts. He will devour every touch, every voice and every pair of eyes that has on you but will never give you the power to shoo him away. He will do that by himself, so that every time a man haunts you he is the only one to put an end to it, to be the cause and then cease it, the suffering.

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tinycozycomfort · 7 months

Text

where you sleep

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day three of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: hand kink -> read her day three here

summary: When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see.

warnings/tags: pwp!, hand kink, oral sex (m recieving), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (m), exhibitionism, misuse of underwear/underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), creepy!joel (/dark!joel?)

word count: 1.7k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: gotta give an extra kiss to @pascalisbaby for not only saving this from the delete button more than once but for always being the best person alive!!!

main masterlist

You hear him, first—the end of a damp squelch, the sharp intake that breaks between coupling breaths, on a loop—from your place at the front door. It’s only clear enough to be interpreted as motion, disjointed pieces of noise that make you think he might be struggling, or hurt—so you follow.

Padding lightly down the hallway in the dim afternoon, a twinge of anxiety leans lamely against your heart with all its dead weight; guilty already, even with no cause. Your chest thrums as it tries to hold up, picturing all of the ways he could have ended up wounded while trying to fix your shower, but when you reach the bathroom, it’s empty. No blood, no horrific scene, just a pile of loose tools and a smattering of fine plaster from where he’d dug around in the wall—yet the sounds persist somewhere further.

You continue down, not quiet by any means, a little disturbed by his lack of interest in your arrival. He’s in your room, you deduce—the only occupiable space left in the home—coming into view now with the aid of long, heavy steps. Announcing yourself, just in case.

The door is split open enough to see a long strip of empty space—the corner of your unmade bed, the swirling edge of your dresser, a sliver of mirror posed straighter than usual.

As you sidle up to the frame, the sounds pitch up—strained hissing and sloppy glide of skin reaching a peak—and so you risk a deeper lean to see what it is he’s gotten himself into; what it is that isn’t worth hiding.

A weak wash of daylight squeezes through the kinks in the blinds, allowing you only the fuzzy edges of what he’s doing.

Joel sits on the far side of the bed, body angled so that you can see just a little more than profile, hunched roundly over his lap. He’s almost fully dressed—button-up intact right up to the neck, crinkled tops of his jeans still upright on his legs—everywhere except his center.

He has one hand braced on his stomach, wide and solid and threaded with thick cords of vein, the fabric of his modesty folded up into his thumb. The waistline of his pants is zipped and peeled open at the thigh, the buckle of his belt jolting with faint clinks on every off-beat. A crude frame for the action resting within it.

His cock is slick in his right hand, a band of bright wet flashing between his fingers as he makes rough passes along it, stuttering minutely when he moves down to the base. He fucks the column fervently, the hard muscle of his clutched fist sending a push of arousal between the tops of your thighs.

He touches himself as roughly as he seems able to tolerate—the sinew between his first set of knuckles dipped harshly, peaks white from strain, the tips of the hand on his stomach turning in against his own flesh enough to ripple.

Something pink, unnaturally so, peaks between his fingers every so often, calling you away from your observation of his abdomen. He’s particularly enamored with whatever it is—panting every time it swirls over the head, dulling the sheen of his pull.

Fabric, you realize, absorbing the slip on his skin. You squint, assessing the texture of the material as it darkens with each stroke. Lace fabric; scallop-edged lace fabric that looks starkly familiar to what had been discarded in a shallow grave on top of your too-full hamper the night before.

He shoves into the cloth, webbing it around the points of his fingers like a pocket, canting his hips off the bed to slot into it and he huffs in frustration when he manages to miss a few times, stunted.

You glance up to see he’s maneuvering himself blindly; despite his intricate goal he looks straight ahead, eyes still open from what you can make out, concentration elsewhere as he fumbles against the make-shift cunt.

You track his focus, only half-way across the room when you remember just how much the door had been left open, the crease of the frame very visible in the newly-positioned mirror at your bedside—the intention of it.

The realization rushes between your ribs like ice-water, little knocks of frozen pellets as they swim between the bones on the way down. The force is so fast you feel like you’re going to keel over—not assisted by the way your knees already feel tight from the strain of keeping yourself motionless.

You hit the end of the line, his expression wild where he meets you in the reflection, pleased.

“You just gonna watch, sweetheart? That’s all?”

When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see.

“Joel—Fuck, I’m… I didn’t mean to-”

He uses his unoccupied hand to help him rise to his feet, his right not ceasing to work himself as he rounds the edge of the mattress. You cower, still mostly inaccessible behind the wood, so he reacts accordingly—slows, tames his grin, knits the inner corners of his brow to look disarming.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You caught me in a bit of a bind here, honey,” he pumps lazily, head bowing to direct your attention as if you would need the assistance, “No big deal. Wouldn’t hurt if you offered to help—might as well work for the show.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, afraid to pierce the illusion, the dream in front of you a few words from melting away, and he pouts something disappointed.

“Don’t need to invite you into your own room, do I?”

“Joel,” you try again, weak.

“Heard you the first time—didn’t mean to. We’re past that. I forgive you. Now c’mon, come take a closer look—like I know you want to.”

Hesitantly, you hook an ankle around the edge of the door, willing yourself forward. Joel nods encouragingly before cutting the distance with his own wide steps.

He uses his clean hand to cup the swell of your cheek, thumb twisting to dig into the fullest part, the pads against your neck pressing down like a suggestion, and you fold without question, tucking a knee beneath you to guide yourself to the floor.

Joel releases you, draping the curve of his shirt up into his palm again to reveal what had been only momentarily concealed beneath it. Even so, your eyes stay fixed on the spread of his fingers against his belly, right past the place where his cock hangs between his legs.

“Didn’t seem to have a problem looking when you thought I didn't know. Don't be shy.” His words are encouraging but his tone is laced with annoyance, frustrated maybe that you aren’t responding with the enthusiasm he wants.

He resumes playing with himself, the stretch of lace in his clutch not enough to claim your favor—the way his nails pierce his stomach far more intriguing.

He seems to understand, trailing his palm up to his chest, still holding the hem, a smile curling on his lips when you follow the movement.

“Oh, that’s what you like?”

He releases his length, letting the lace slot between the crease of his thumb like a bracelet. “You want me to touch you with these, sweetheart?” He waves the wet hand lewdly before offering it to you, “Want me to put them in your mouth?”

You nod, and he lets the rough tips of his pointer and middle tap on the center of your bottom lip, watching shamelessly as you open up for him on instinct.

“Look at that. I think we can figure out something here that works out for both of us, hm?”

He doesn’t bother letting you answer, lining the row of his longer fingers outward against your lower lip, his thumb braced against the upper. You stick your tongue out, curling it around his first finger to try and coax him inside but he has another idea. He spreads his legs, settling his weight before leaning to feed the tip of his cock through the channel he’s created with his hand, breaching the open space of your mouth.

You take him enthusiastically and he makes a choked sound, the plane of his chest pushing out hard between firm breaths, a stripe of pink crawling up his neck and across his face. He’s ruffled, composure broken, his own mouth agape in veiled mockery.

“There you go. So pretty. You wouldn’t say no if I asked you to come down your throat, would you?”

You do your best to shake your head, working him deeper, the row of your bottom teeth secure under the line of his pointer.

He shudders, the nail of his thumb pushing you open wider as he slides in as far as he can manage at this angle, with so much already occupying the inside of your face.

“That’s right, honey. Good girl for me, aren’t you? Walked right into my little gift, eager. Let’s reward you, hm?”

You hum in response, lost to anything other than the brush of his hand against your chin when he thrusts too quickly, the drag of the inside of his knuckles against your tongue.

“Fuck. You like it, too. Should’ve come by sooner.”

Pressure builds in the pit of your stomach, hot and rolling as where it falls over into the cradle of your core. You rub your legs together in an attempt to relieve it and he whines, bucking up quicker into the hollow of your cheeks, the fabric of your forgotten underwear slipping in with the rest of his mess on a jostled punch.

Joel starts to unwind, heaving in hard gulps and elbow craning out in a jagged, rhythmic sway. He unhinges his jaw like he wants to say more but you bend, taking more of him than you should be able to, the soft wedge of his head prodding your throat and he grunts, rounding out his spine as he comes as far down as he promised to.

You puff up your cheeks around him, an almost-smile, swallowing as much as you can before pulling off of him with a gentle pop, your own palm sliding up to take hold of his forearm. He lets you, deflated from his orgasm, and you run your tongue over what you couldn’t catch on his skin.

“Should’ve known,” he chuckles, peering down at you between soaked lashes before assisting, sliding two fingers into your parted lips, “Let’s find out what else you like.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller/reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #dark!joel x reader

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halcified · 3 months

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left some tags on @/ahmobbu's post here but wanted to expand over on it separately, particularly on this scene because this bit of dialogue during the teru and mob fight FASCINATES me

the thing is that teru... did this himself. he is the reason why mob is unconscious here, and, like ahmobbu's post points out, he also asks to move out alone. this is not a singular instance of pushing other people away. teru does this over and over and OVER. fighting mob here was as much as a show of power as it was a desperate act of selfishness, to find another esper his age who evaded claw and LIVED. mobs speech doesnt make it through to teru because teru, at this point (and arguably throughout the rest of the show), isn't able to view his life critically without falling apart. this kid is allergic to asking for help to the point where his apartment is torn to shreds and he (presumably) stays there overnight anyway. he figures out his city is being brainwashed and instead of turning to people he Knows could help him (like, you know, mob?) he fights psycho helmet himself and pays the price for it terus hyper-independence is as heartbreaking as it is because it WAS necessary. no adult has been reliable to him and that is why watching him demand that kageyama, the only other esper hes known, fight him is so telling; his life has demanded violence and its only when hes shown kindness in mob that things start to break apart. when he distances himself (particularly from his parents) he blames himself for it even when we can tell thats... Not really his fault and it only incriminates his parents further for acting so indifferent. but teru NEEDS to blame himself, needs to push kageyama, because if he can blame himself hes still in control of the situation. and this need for control is present everywhere-- he wants to be black vinegar's shadow leader, he wants to be part of claw's fall, he wants to help the awakening lab kids. teru is not content to sit by the sidelines, its just that post-mob, he (tries to) put that energy to good use. but... in this scene its different-- hes still blaming the world for everything but where it has Actually failed him. its only when hes standing over the only possible ally (and friend) he could've had, does he acknowledges his loneliness in the only way he knows how-- to someone who cant (or wont) hear it

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mp100 meta #mp100 analysis #teruki hanazawa #image description in alt #text #Hiiii . are we still on the teru angst train

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candy616 · 3 months

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Souvenir from the Battlefield 💖

~Phillip Graves x fem!Reader~

❌NSFW ❌ MDNI ❌

I wrote it because you asked me, love @xxavengingangelxx 💖 I'm sorry it's a pure disappointment though.

Y'all are invited to witness my embarrassment of a work. @bellgraves 💖 @rekakamado 💖 @phillip-graves-wife 💖 Please feel free to ignore even if I tagged you, my lovelies.

Warnings: An extremely UNSATISFYING (you've been warned) smut scene, a poor writing of a fifth grade, unsafe knife play (don't try this at home plz), not exactly about a knife play though, I don't know what is it all about to be honest… huh.. Slice of life maybe? I'm no Milton, but this isn't Paradise Lost either. Please don't throw stones at me. I wrote this instead of sleeping haha.

You've been dating for almost a year now, but you still lived in his penthouse that Graves barely could call a home before you appeared in his life and made this place much cozier. Before you've met, he practically lived in HQ, bases and hotels all over the world, not thinking much about having his own place. His place has always been on the battlefield. Graves didn't even have any hobbies, his passion laid only for one thing: making a difference in the world. And he was damn good at it. But being the Number One comes with price - he could never feel at home anywhere. Yes, Shadows were his home, but it was different... Until he met You. You changed his life completely. He found himself craving for more than battles, he started to want his own family, his own home. And You became that home for him. You've planned to buy a huge house, a mansion maybe, somewhere far away from city. A sweet secret place just for the two of you. But this was a rough and busy year. The war was everywhere, no rest for the wicked. And less he could do for now is trying to get home as soon as possible every time. Just like today.

Another quiet, lonely evening, you were sitting on the couch, wearing your nightgown, almost ready to go to sleep, staring at your laptop, mind absorbed with your boring work routine, trying not to think that you have to live without your ridiculously handsome bf for three days more, unable to even contact him this time due to the mission. You were so frustrated and immersed in the screen, you didn't hear someone approaching from behind.

“Honey, I'm home...” His hands were on your shoulders.

You shrieked and jumped, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Phil?! What the Hell?! I thought you are returning only in three days! Why didn't you call me? I would have greeted you properly! God, love... You scared me to death but I'm so happy you are home!” You immediately threw your arms around him, embracing him tightly.

He chuckled hearing your excited babble.

“Sorry, babe. I couldn't call. I came to ya as soon as I could. Besides, ya've been complaining 'bout the lack of excitement, so I thought I could deliver." He grinned, revealing his adorable little fangs. You let out a small, infatuated sigh and leaned into him. His eyes darkened, and he grunted, pulling you closer with his strong arms, holding you tightly in a bear like hug. He leaned in and began kissing you passionately, devouring your mouth as if he were a man starving, making you melt immediately and completely. He kissed you for a few minutes, filling your mouth with his tongue and saliva, not willing to let you go. Eventually, he sighed and loosened his grip, gazing into your eyes and gently stroking your hair. "Damn, babe, I missed ya so bad." His arms squeezed you tightly as he held you close.

“I missed you more... I wish you'd never leave me ever again.” You looked at him and noticed how pale his face was. He looked extremely exhausted. “Jeez, Phil, you need rest. Now.” You took his hand and led him to the couch, making him to sit down.

“Yes, ma'am.” He plopped down heavily on the sofa, leaned back, closed his eyes, stretched out his legs and sighed. You stroked his cheek affectionately, looking at him with love and sympathy. Your poor man deserved a vacation.

“What would you like to eat, love? We have everything you like.” You asked, already pouring him a glass of favorite, extremely expensive whiskey.

“I'm not hungry, sweetie. Well, 'cept for ya, as always.” He grinned showing his fangs again, making you want to drop everything and just take him. But you contained yourself and continued pouring whiskey, wanting to add some ice. “No, no. No ice, sugar, give it to me.” You handed him the glass and he downed it in one gulp.

“Wow... That tough?”

“Ya have no idea, sweetheart” He smirked, returning the glass to you for another one. “Well, I had t' push myself a li'l harder t' return to ya sooner. Definitely worth it.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, love. But I don't want you to exhaust yourself like this...” you gave him another glass, this time with ice.

“So, ya sayin' I shouldn't come back sooner?” He takes a sip and looks at you slyly.

“What? No! You know I didn't mean it like that.”

“'Course, I know, darlin'. C'mere.” He pulled you to sit on his lap and kissed your forehead. You put your hands around his neck and started to kiss his cheek, going down to his jaw and neck, ending on his ear. You bit it and licked it, listening to his satisfied groans and feeling his hands roaming around your body, groping your butt and pulling you closer. You whined softly, nibbling on his ear harder.

“You smell like war.”

“Yeah, sorry, doll, I haven’t changed, went straight home.”

“No, I love it...”

“Ya love it, huh?” He smiled amused and, suddenly you felt something cold against the back of your neck.

“Don't move, sweetheart.”

“Phil...? What are you doing?” You froze, a bit confused.

“Just don't move, hon, alright? Ya wanted a bit of excitement, so I’m gonna give ya some. I'm just playing with ya. You trust me, right?” The tip of his combat knife started to trace down your neck, grazing your skin slightly, not breaking it.

“Of course, I trust you, love. Always. But... Are you going to cut me?”

“Ha! Cut ya? Never. I'd rather cut off my arm than hurt ya, sugar. I'm getting off on the blood of my enemies, ya know me. But seeing my sweet little girl bleed would be such a turn off. So, no, I'm not gonna cut ya, sweetheart.” He started to cut the back of your nightgown to trace your spine down further, giving you goosebumps and you shivered slightly. He stopped and put away the blade.

“Shh... I said don't move, darlin'. Not even the slightest. This thing here is extremely sharp. Don't go makin' me sad, and hold perfectly still, ya hear?” He kissed your forehead again and waited for you to nod. You relaxed your body leaning against him completely.

“Good girl.” He continued to move the knife down your spine, ripping your nightgown and pressing your body tightly to his chest with the other hand. You shut your eyes, trying to hold your breath.

“What if I want you to cut me?”

“Ah-ah. No way, sweetheart. I won't do it, even if ya beg me... Though, I'd like t'hear ya beg right now. C'mon, sugar, beg me.”

“Please...” You whined.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please, love me, Phil.”

He growled loudly.

“My fucking God, baby girl. What are ya doin' to me…” He grabbed you and lifted you, turning you around, your back pressed against his chest now. One hand was around your neck, holding you gently but firmly, the other was pulling up the edge of your nightgown, his fingers caressed your abdomen lightly, slowly going down. His mouth pressed against your ear, the hot breath burns your skin, making your squirm, as he whispered.

“Oh, I'll love ya. I'll love ya so fuckin' good, baby girl.” His fingers started to stroke you slowly.

“My, my, ya're so wet for me, babe...”

You let out a loud moan, quickly covering your mouth with your hand.

“Oh, no, no, no, my darlin'. Lemme hear every sweet sound ya make...” He removed your hand from your face.

“On second thought, ya know what? Suck on it. Like a good girl, c'mon.” He put two fingers in your mouth and you started to lick and suck on it, making him growl.

“Fuck, hon, what a good, obedient girl I have here, huh? Good sweet thing...” You leaned back on him, whimpering and melting while he was stroking you with one hand and making you suck on his fingers with the other. He hadn’t touch you for two months so you were absolutely ecstatic right now, moaning loudly, your eyes rolled back.

“Good girl, good girl, my good little thing...” He stopped stroking you for a moment, shifting his hand to open up the zipper of his jeans and pull out his hard shaft. He started to grind between your butt cheeks, continuing to stroke your hot wet spot. Your breath hitched when he slid his thick finger into your core firmly and start to move it, caressing you inside. You moaned louder as he stretched you, adding the second and the third fingers, praising you, kissing your temple tenderly, his other hand groping and feeling your breasts, pinching your nipples occasionally.

“Alright, now...” He lifted you slightly and guided his length inside you, making you sit on him offhand with one swift motion. You whined and started wreathing, but he stopped you.

“No, no, sweetheart, don't you move. Stay perfectly still for me. Stay good girl for Daddy, yeah?” He held you firmly with his arm, and taking the knife again. “Now, I want ya not to move an inch, or we'll stop this. Understood?”

“Yes, love.” You whispered, out of breath.

“Don't hear ya, darlin”

“Yes, Daddy” You said louder.

“Atta girl, sweetheart.” He kissed your temple again and opened your legs wider with his knees. You both panted, moaned and sighed with every little motion of your bodies.

“Mmm... What a perfect bod ya got here, sugar. Real nice and soft, so ready for me... Close yer eyes, darlin” He murmured seductively and pressed the blade to your stomach carefully, starting to trace it slowly down your sensitive skin. You held your breath, trying not to move, as soft, muffled moans escaped your mouth.

“Do ya feel it, sweetheart? Do ya feel my hard love inside and outside? All over ya, hm? Ya like it? Ya like it, my darlin'?” The blade started to trace your inner thighs so slowly and teasingly, making it almost impossible for you to not flinch, but you managed to stay still.

“Say it.” His now rough demanding tone forced your mushed brain to focus on his voice.

“Yes, ah... Yes, I love it so much!” You whined in reply.

“My good girl.” He caressed your cheek tenderly. "Oh, my, babe, what a mess, what a perfect girl for me...”

You looked down and saw an embarrassing sticky puddle leaking from you. The sight of it made you even hotter, shutting your brain down completely. You closed your eyes again, feeling his left hand holding you across your body steadily, and his right hand slowly dragging the knife along your breasts now.

“That's right, love, ya're so good for me. Keep staying still, don't want to hurt ya even a bit. So good for me, my girl.” He grunted, bringing the knife to your neck and pressing the flat of the blade slightly against your throat. You held your breath and froze completely.

“Now. Do ya wanna say something to me, sugar?” He kissed the crook of your neck, sill pressing the blade gently. You moaned and took a deep breath.

“I love you, Phil. I love you so much.” You whined needlingly.

“Fuck, babe... I love ya more. Ya're my whole damn world, ya hear?” He took away the knife and lifted you up rapidly. His shaft slid out of you with a loud squelching sound and you let out the dirtiest moan possible. He grunted and laid you down on the couch, getting on top of you immediately. “I'm going to fuck ya so nice, babe, ya won't be able to walk for good two weeks.” He growled right in your ear, crushing you under him and nuzzling your neck. Then he stopped, his breath hot on your skin.

“Phil…? Love?” He didn't answer. “Honey...?” The only response was the sound of his calm, deep breathing. You turned your head and looked at him. Your poor exhausted love was sleeping soundly. You chuckled and hugged him tightly, letting him sleep on top of you. “Goodnight, love.” You kissed his cheek and closed your eyes. He mumbled something making you laugh a bit. You kissed the scar on his other cheek and fell asleep peacefully, your arms around him.

…………………………………………….

P.S.: Graves woke up in the middle of the night, extremely horny and fucked you silly, cumming inside you and making you cum for 3 timed in a row. Then he lifted you up from the couch and brought you to your bedroom, fucking you again in your bed. You both fall asleep in each other's arms, completely drained but satisfied. You woke up in the afternoon and took a shower together, trying hard not to start fucking again. One of the Shadow security detail brought you breakfast in bed. You were naked, covered with only a thin blanked. Both the Shadow and you were embarrassed, while Graves were grinning slyly. What a lovely bastard :c

🌸The End🌸

#I'm not gonna write a thing anymore #no sir nope #I'm so sorry #Call of Duty #COD #Phillip Graves #Phillip Graves COD #Phillip Graves x Reader #Graves x Reader #phillip graves x you #Graves x You #MW2 #MW3

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ginnsbaker · 7 months

Text

Bulletproof - Alternative Ending

Summary: Starts immediately after Chapter 5 where you unwittingly sacrificed yourself to keep Wanda alive.

Word count: 5k+ | Tags: Angst and character death(s) | Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Author's Note: This was suggested by @dogsandlife, and I'm super glad for it because I was already toying with this idea. I just couldn't bring myself to hurt most of you so I went ahead with the other plot. But for my angst-loving readers, I hope you enjoy this alternative ending :)

Series Masterlist

The compound is anything but quiet.

One can hear hushed whispers, the shuffling of feet, and the distant drones of machines. It's not loud, but there's a heavy feeling in the air. Grief. Everyone's dealing with the recent destruction—surgeries, reports, nights where sleep just didn’t come. Death.

Today's supposed to help them find some closure, but it's obvious a lot of them aren't there yet.

Steve stands at Wanda's door, fist raised. He hesitates, almost knocking a few times, but eventually just taps softly with his knuckle on the wooden panel. “Wanda?” he asks, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Nothing.

She hasn't been seen since the first night they arrived at the other base, where Wanda went straight to the room she was assigned to. The only clue that she's still managing is that Vision leaves food outside her door every day, and when he returns later in the day, most of it remains untouched, but he can tell Wanda has taken at least a bite or two.

It’s far from the ideal diet of an Avenger, which leaves Wanda being indisposed in the meantime; though the rest of the team was successful in neutralizing and the people who masterminded the attack on the compound two weeks ago.

Out of concern for how she might react, especially given how deeply your loss affected her, the team has kept this news from Wanda. They want to ensure the prisoners are safely relocated to a hard-to-track location before she learns of it. There's a shared apprehension that if Wanda discovers this prematurely, she might take matters into her own hands.

Steve senses that Wanda might already be aware, and her chilling silence may not just be due to grief. Part of it could stem from her resentment towards the team for withholding the information, preventing her from seeking the second thing she desires most after having you back—revenge.

(What Wanda yearns for the most is your return, but that's a reality no longer possible in this universe.)

Despite this, Steve pushes on, “The ceremony's about to start. Everyone's waiting. We don’t want to start without you. They were important to all of us, but I get that they were even more to you.”

The stillness from the other side of the door is almost suffocating.

Steve’s voice becomes impossibly softer as he tries again, “Wanda, I can't imagine how you feel right now. But we're here for you. We're family, remember?”

Steve strains his ears, hoping to catch the faintest whisper from Wanda, but the only sound that meets him is the steady hum of the central air conditioning. Time drags on awkwardly, and just when Steve is about to leave, a faint, broken voice emerges from the room.

“They're gone, Steve.”

Swallowing hard, Steve nods, voice thick. “I know, Wanda. I know.”

He does know. Perhaps more than anyone on the team, save for Natasha. He's experienced profound losses throughout his life: his best friend, the woman he loved, even time and an entire era.

He wants to impart all of these to Wanda, but he’s afraid of invalidating the pain that Wanda’s feeling right now.

And so, a brief, quiet moment passes between them before Steve rejoins the others.

The scene is chaos—the aftermath of unimaginable power unchecked.

Dust fills the air, and broken debris is scattered everywhere. The once-familiar corridors of the team's quarters are now unrecognizable. Everything is obliterated. The structure has been reduced to fine dust, making it impossible to discern that the remnants were once beds or lamps. Not even sound escaped her wrath.

The others soon rush in, Steve, Natasha, and Sam at the forefront. The sight that greets them is unlike anything they’ve ever seen before. Everything is utterly pulverized, and at the epicenter is Wanda, holding your limp body close to her.

For a moment, the scene before them leaves them at a loss for words, until Steve's gaze locks onto you, covered in blood with your arms hanging lifelessly. Steve radios the others, quickly outlining the situation. He struggles to describe it without revealing the full extent of Wanda’s powers, of which they were previously unaware.

Sam surveys the area for potential threats. “All clear!” he announces, not realizing the hidden danger masked by the visage of a mourning ally. Steve, however, spots it immediately from a distance.

The situation isn't volatile due to enemies nearby.

It's volatile because of Wanda.

“Wanda, what happened?” Natasha ventures, attempting to cut through the escalating tension. Yet Wanda's eyes stay locked on you, murmuring unintelligibly under her breath.

“Wanda!” Natasha's voice sharpens with alarm. “Snap out of it!”

But Wanda refuses to budge, ensnared in her own maelstrom of anguish and remorse. As her hands begin to glow with a familiar red hue, she whispers, her lips curling in a crazed half-smile, “I can save you.”

Recognizing the imminent danger of Wanda's erratic powers, Natasha lunges forward to intervene. “Wanda, no!”

Her plea is met with an almost tangible wave of force. The sheer power from Wanda's emotions sends Natasha hurtling backwards, taking her off her feet. Recognizing both the immediate peril and a fleeting chance, Steve reacts without hesitation. He gathers you into his arms, holding you close to shield you, and makes a break for the Quinjet's safety.

Sam, after a momentary stagger, hurries over to Natasha's side. He extends a hand, helping her to rise. Together, they turn their attention back to Wanda, eyes fixed as they witness the raw display of her struggle, the internal battle to regain control over her formidable powers. Eventually, as if a storm subsides, Wanda's energy recedes. She collapses, emotionally and physically spent. Her eyes glisten with tears that soon spill over.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry…” Wanda stammers, bringing a hand to her mouth in horror at her actions.

Natasha cautiously approaches, ignoring the lingering pain from her fall. She carefully wraps an arm around Wanda, offering what comfort she can. “It’s okay,” she whispers, trying to sound more confident than she feels.

Sam surveys the scene, taking in the devastation and recognizing that not all of it was the enemy's handiwork. “We can't stay here,” he warns urgently. “We'll have company soon, and not the kind we want.”

Emerging from the Quinjet, Steve's motions for them to hurry. “Let’s go. Y/N needs help. Now.”

Natasha quickly takes in Wanda's dazed state and knows she needs to act. “Come on, we need to move,” she says, gently guiding her friend by the arm toward the jet.

As they get closer, Natasha throws a glance over her shoulder at Sam. “You coming?”

He hesitates, scanning the area. “I'm staying. Someone's got to help out here.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but with everything going on, she just nods, helping Wanda up the ramp. As the jet's engines ignite and they ascend, Sam's focus shifts back to the ground, the sheer magnitude of Wanda's episode hitting him. A distance away, he spots a few incinerated bodies, possibly caught in the sphere of Wanda’s wrath. Walking cautiously among the fallen, a chilling realization dawns on him: he can't tell who was with them and who was against. Allies and enemies, all indistinguishably mixed in the wake of Wanda's powers.

He feels a knot in his stomach. “Oh, Wanda,” he murmurs to himself, “what happened here?”

Though the clear skies suggest fair weather, the ceremony feels grim, leaving behind an eerie atmosphere that steadfastly clings to the hallways and corners you once roamed. All attendees are dressed in their finest black attire, but the pristine garments can't hide the profound sadness of the occasion.

Everyone is present except for a seat in the first row. Every now and then, Steve's eyes would drift toward the entrance, half-hoping, half-dreading that Wanda might walk in. The funeral begins with a brief sermon from a priest, despite no one being certain of your religious beliefs. Yet, it's protocol. It has always been the manner in which they bid farewell to a comrade, so everyone quietly follows suit.

Each of the Avengers, save for Wanda, takes a turn at the podium, sharing humorous and touching stories about you. They all wear the same regret and guilt on their faces, wishing they could have done more, could have treated you better, could have gotten to know you more. The eulogies are largely light in tone, and it's unclear whether it's because they wish to remember you fondly or if their bond with you was merely superficial and insincere.

Except for Daisy, the last person to speak, who seems to be taking it particularly hard. She gets choked up talking about how you took her under your wing, always sharing what you knew and helping her train. And when she needed a place to sleep, you gave her your own bed. She returns to her seat, tears silently streaming, and there's a brief, uneasy moment when no one steps in to comfort her.

They all glance around, seeking out Wanda. Their eyes eventually land on Steve, who simply responds with a solemn shake of his head.

The entire ceremony lasts just under an hour. As the last notes of the eulogy fade and people start to head out, everyone gradually returns to their routine. For many, it's the last time they'll reflect or speak about you.

That same night, as Steve is about to wind down in his office, lost in thought, Vision phases through the wall. There's a resigned expression on Vision's face, momentarily making Steve forget that he isn't human. Reflecting later, Steve appreciates how Vision's virtue and outlook are more human-like than many individuals he's encountered throughout his life.

“Captain Rogers,” he starts, “Wanda has…chosen to sequester herself in Y/N's former cell.”

Steve looks up sharply, a crease forming on his brow. “Why would she do that?”

He had anticipated something like this might occur, but he's baffled as to why Wanda would choose your old cell over your bedroom, where all your belongings still remain.

“I can't say I fully grasp the intricacies of the human heart, but maybe she's looking for a connection or a spot to grieve. Y/N’s room, with all its memories, might just be too overwhelming for her,” Vision offers, seemingly reading Steve's thoughts.

Hearing this, Steve glances at the approval document he must sign, allowing the compound's admin office to begin clearing out your bedroom. He's been putting off signing it, thinking Wanda might need more time with your belongings around. But now he wonders if erasing traces of you might help her come to terms with the loss.

Steve considers Vision’s words for a moment before nodding slowly. “Thanks, Vision. I'll go see her.”

Wanda is glued to your side, her fingers so tightly interwoven with yours that it's hard to tell where one hand ends and the other begins. Every now and then, she gently squeezes, perhaps hoping to feel a reassuring squeeze back. Her face is contorted, every line etched deep with raw pain, her eyes wet and reddened from endless tears. She looks at your hand, pale and devoid of its usual warmth, resting lifelessly in her grip.

But it's the faint, almost timid pulsation under her touch that keeps her from completely breaking down. Each breath you take is slow and labored, barely noticeable. But the quiet beep of the monitors serves as a constant reminder that there's still life within you. From time to time, she leans in, pressing her ear close to your chest, cherishing the gentle thud of your heartbeat, willing you to hold on just a little longer.

A while later, a group of nurses and doctors rush in, ready to prep you for surgery. Their hands move with purpose, reaching for various instruments and adjusting the array of machines beside your bed. That’s when, as if propelled by an invisible force, equipment flies off tables, and a few of the medical staff are pushed back against the walls. A nurse, caught off-guard, drops a syringe, its contents spilling onto the pristine floor.

Natasha, having been alerted by the commotion, slips into the room, swiftly placing herself between Wanda and the medical staff.

“Wanda,” she implores cautiously, her eyes seeking the sorceress's, “let them do their job. He needs them.”

For a moment, it seems like she might snap, but then her gaze drops to the floor, tears spilling. As soon as they feel it’s safe, the medical staff decide that they need to move you immediately. The wheels of your bed squeak in protest as they begin to shift it out of the room.

Wanda's grip tightens on your hand, her knuckles white. She tries to follow, as if an invisible cord binds her to you. She mutters, almost inaudibly, “I won't leave them.”

One of the nurses, recognizing the precarious situation and the potential for Wanda's powers to erupt again, glances around hesitantly. They're all clearly apprehensive about telling Wanda she can't accompany you. It’s just in time that Steve finally arrives, quickly taking in the scene before him.

“Kid, it’s okay,” he murmurs quietly.

She turns to him, her eyes a storm of emotion, as she pleads, “No, it’s not. I need to be with them.”

“It’s not,” he confirms, offering her a sympathetic look. “But right now, they need to do their job. We have to trust them.”

But her grip on your hand doesn't loosen.

With a deep breath, Steve gently pries her fingers away from yours. It's a slow, agonizing process, each finger unlocking a fresh wave of sobs from Wanda. She resists, but Steve’s reassuring grip gives her no choice. Finally, as your hand slips away from hers, the reality of the situation hits anew.

As the medical team wheels you out of the room, Wanda collapses into Steve's arms, her cries a haunting sound in the tenebrous hallways of the hospital.

The long hours of surgery find Wanda staring into the void, her eyes wavering yet alert, even as exhaustion begins to bear down on her. A few feet away, a wall clock ticks on, displaying the agonizingly slow passage of time. She's acutely aware of each second, each minute, as they stretch into what feels like eons. Occasionally, her fingers would twitch, itching to do something, anything, to change the course of events. But they remain clenched in her lap, her knuckles white from the pressure.

Wanda isn't accustomed to the drawn-out dread of potentially losing someone. Her parents were taken away in an instant. Pietro saved Clint in a split-second, paying with his life. So, when the surgeon finally emerges, the expression on his face already giving away the news, Wanda can't stand it. She bolts.

Outside, the cold night air hits her, but she hardly feels it. Her feet carry her to a secluded spot in the hospital's garden, where the shadows from the trees envelope her. She sinks to the ground, her hands digging into the grass, seeking some form of grounding.

The rest of the team, still in the waiting room, exchange worried glances. Steve takes a step forward, as if to follow, but Natasha places a gentle hand on his arm.

“She needs a minute,” Natasha says quietly.

While they give Wanda time to process, the surgeon starts explaining the details, the clinical terms merging with the reality of what happened. The Avengers might face world-ending threats on a daily basis, but this personal loss, this kind of pain, hits different.

Little do they know that in the distance, Wanda's grief is causing ripples that are about to change everything.

Making his way through the maze of hallways, Steve's steps slow as he approaches the familiar penitentiary. He nears the familiar cell door, taking a moment to brace himself before nudging it open just slightly.

Inside, the room is dim, with just a small lamp fighting off the darkness. It's chilly, the sort of cold that seems to seep into your bones. There, on the simple bed, is Wanda, curled up and looking so small and vulnerable. Pushing the door open just a touch more, Steve walks in silently and sits beside Wanda. He doesn't say anything, instead he allows Wanda to acclimatize to his presence, to give her space and time to figure out that she’s not alone in this, never was.

After what seems like an eternity, Wanda, without looking at Steve, simply murmurs, “It's cold here.”

Steve just nods, at a loss for words. He takes off his jacket, trying to wrap it around her shoulders for comfort. But Wanda pushes it away, letting it drop to the ground. Steve clenches his jaw, recognizing that right now, reasoning with Wanda might be impossible.

Several beats pass before Wanda finally speaks up. “It should have been me,” she says, her voice as steely as the temperature of the room. “I should be the one in that grave.”

“Don't say that,” Steve insists, carefully placing a hand on her tense shoulder. “You couldn't have known.”

Wanda's eyes blaze with anger and sorrow. “I allowed it, Steve. I allowed Y/N to help me, to heal me. I let them drain their life to give to me.” Her voice wavers, and she trembles visibly. Steve can feel warmth where he's holding her but trusts that she won't lose control. “If Y/N hadn't found me, I'd be as good as dead. But now... they're gone, and I'm here.”

“Wanda, look at me,” he mutters, placing another hand on her other shoulder and twisting her gently so she can properly face him. His blue eyes seek out hers but she refuses to meet his gaze, eyes transfixed on the floor, lost and empty. “We make choices everyday. Choices that we think are for the best. You couldn't have predicted this outcome. None of us could.”

She angles her head, strands of hair partially covering her face, but one eye peeks through with a dangerous glint. “I let them step into danger, more than once. So try and tell me it's not on me.”

Steve, visibly unsettled, takes a ragged breath. “Wanda, I know it’s hard to understand now, to accept that what happened to Y/N is beyond your control. But we're all here for you, and if you need—”

“I don't want or need your help, Steve,” she retorts with an icy edge. “What I need is to be alone.”

Seeing the resolute, almost manic determination in her eyes, Steve hesitates before nodding slowly. “Alright,” he says.

“But remember this, Wanda,” Steve says, pausing at the threshold of the cell, a deep sadness in his eyes. “Y/N wouldn't want you to be alone, especially not like this.”

Wanda's lips twitch into a bitter smile. “What Y/N wanted doesn't matter now, does it? They're gone.”

Steve doesn't say anything else. He gives Wanda a long look, then walks out.

The pain is worse when she dreams.

In one of them, she relives a reality from before. She's transported back to a familiar morning. She remembers waking up in your room, the warmth of the sheets reminding her of the night before. Trying to push away her burgeoning feelings for you, she recalls inviting a stranger into her room, sharing some wine. But as he got closer, she pushed him away, realizing he wasn't what she truly wanted.

In her dream, she does things differently. Instead of slipping away like she did in reality, she lingers. She takes the time to study every detail of your face as you sleep—the freckles on your nose, the subtle movement of your lips as you mumble incoherent dreams, the occasional twitch of your eyelids. She gives in to an urge she had suppressed for the longest time, wrapping her arms around your waist, drawing you close.

After what feels like hours, you stir. When you open your eyes, there's a brief moment of surprise before your lips curve into a soft, genuine smile, happy to see she's still there. Your fingers reach up, gently caressing her cheek. She leans into it, eyes closing for a moment as she takes in the sensation. “You stayed,” you murmur, your voice soft and filled with wonder.

Just as she's on the verge of promising to always stay by your side, Wanda jolts awake. Her smile fades the instant she grasps that it was all an illusion, a fleeting could-have-been.

The knife in her chest buries itself a little deeper after that. It does so again the following morning when she dreams of another memory, and in every version, she doesn't turn away from you.

One day, a woman approaches Wanda, offering to help her uncover the secret to inhabiting her dreams.

“Not merely dreams,” the woman clarifies, “but alternate realities.” Her name is Agatha, and she persuades Wanda that these realities are rightfully hers, waiting for her to claim them. Desperate for a way to be with you again, even if it's in another reality, Wanda listens intently.

“Each reality is like a page in a book. Some might be nearly identical to yours, with just a slight deviation. Others could be drastically different. The key is knowing how to navigate and control them,” Agatha explains.

"How?" Wanda questions, hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, walking alongside Agatha on a nondescript street in Westview, New Jersey. She'd made her way there upon discovering you'd purchased property, curious to envision the life you'd planned for yourself, had you lived.

“It's not as simple as snapping one's fingers,” Agatha says. “But with the right guidance and knowledge, you can access these realities, live in them, even mold them to your desires.”

Wanda hesitates, sensing the potential dangers of meddling with the fabric of existence. “What's the price?” she asks.

Agatha doesn't look too pleased with Wanda's display of intelligence and her knack for spotting the early signs of manipulation. But she gets the feeling that Wanda might not care if she's being used, as long as she gets what she wants out of it.

“Every powerful spell comes with its costs,” Agatha replies cryptically. “But isn't a chance to be with Y/N, to have a life where grief doesn't consume you, worth any price?”

Living day to day, clutching onto moments of happiness in her dreams, only to be jerked back into a reality she can't stand—it's wearing on Wanda. The dreams are great, sure, but they're just that—dreams. And when they're over, it's back to the harsh light of day, and the reality that you’re gone. She's stuck in this loop, bouncing between what she wishes her life could be and the real world that just won't let her catch a break. Every dream feels like a tease, a brief escape before she's pulled back into the grind.

“So? I don’t have all day, dear.” Agatha's tone is dripping with impatience, her sharp eyes fixed on Wanda.

Wanda swallows hard, her gaze darting around the empty street, as if cautious to anyone who might be eavesdropping on the conversation, before settling back on the older witch. “What do you want in return?”

A slow, sly smile spreads across Agatha's face, making the air around her grow even colder. She takes a deliberate step closer to Wanda, their faces now mere inches apart. “You’re a sly witch than I made you out to be, aren’t you?”

Wanda holds her ground. “I need to know.”

Agatha chuckles softly, her breath caressing Wanda's face. “We'll get to that,” she purrs, drawing the moment out just to relish Wanda's discomfort. She then leans in even closer, her voice dropping to a hushed, almost seductive whisper. “First, let's talk about how we can make your dreams come true.”

Wanda hesitates, torn between the desperation of her desires and the voice in her head urging her to decline the offer, to grieve and move forward like anyone else would.

To forget you.

“And why would I trust you?” Wanda counters instead, buying herself more time.

Agatha straightens up, her smile unwavering as she finally takes a step back. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t. But sometimes, our wants make strange bedfellows. And right now, I'm the best chance you've got.”

Wanda's footsteps are hesitant as she approaches the rubble-strewn site, each broken brick and twisted piece of metal echoing memories of that fateful day. The boundaries between realities have always been thin for Wanda, a mere whisper away. And on the 436th day since your sacrifice, she finally musters the courage to cross them.

Witnessing it all from this vantage point—that of an observer—feels utterly surreal.

She remembers the pain, the slow dimming of consciousness, and the sensation of life slipping away. But in this reality, it was her other self who had been impaled, left to bleed out beneath the rubble. And you, who she loved dearly in every universe, had been spared.

Or at least, that’s how she intends it to happen for this reality.

Wanda's fingers twitch, and with a fierce concentration of her magic, she lifts the heavy boulder trapping her other self. A bright crimson glow surrounds it as it's lifted and tossed aside, revealing the horrific sight beneath.

The other Wanda is a haunting reflection of what she might have been, pale with trails of blood smeared across her lips. The fabric of her clothes is stained with the vivid red of her own blood, which pools around her. It's a sight that should send a wave of nausea through Wanda, but truthfully she feels nothing.

Gently, Wanda cradles the injured version of herself, her hands shaking as they brush away the dirt and blood from the other's face. She can't stop herself from checking for a pulse, even though ironically, she’s there to make sure it stops beating.

“Hey,” she murmurs, patting the alternate Wanda's cheek softly, urging her to focus. “Look at me.”

Slowly, those familiar eyes flutter open, clouded with pain. The shock and fear in them are palpable when they take in the sight of her savior—especially the distinct headpiece that marked her transformation into the Scarlet Witch.

“Who... are you?”

“I'm you,” Wanda says, and without waiting for a reply, sparing her other self the pain of speaking, she continues, “Y/N sacrificed so much for you. For us. They became our greatest pain, and our love. And they will be here any minute now.”

“W-What are you talking about—”

“They will be here to save you and make themselves vulnerable in the process. And they will die,” Wanda's breath hitches at that, causing her to pause momentarily. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Her fading counterpart shakes her head, tears streaming down her face.

“Good,” Wanda says, offering a comforting smile. “Then let go, and I’ll take care of Y/N. Okay?”

Without waiting for a response, Wanda turns the body in her embrace into red wisps that dance around her in the air.

Then, aware that it'll only be moments before you reach the scene, Wanda morphs into the likeness of her younger self. She looks just like the other version, but without any injuries that might spur you into action.

“Wanda!” she hears your voice from a distance and her eyes water at the sound.

She's done the unimaginable, claiming the identity of this universe's Wanda, seconds after she erased her very existence. She takes deep, shaky breaths, trying to get into character. She needs you to believe it’s her, even though she’s forgotten herself how she used to be.

Your steps quicken, shoes crunching on rubble, until you're right in front of her, surveying her from head to toe, searching for any signs of injury. “Wanda...how?” Your eyes are wide, filled with disbelief and relief. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“I managed to shield myself just in time when—” She doesn’t get to finish her practiced response when you pull her into a tight embrace, and she leans into it, her body shaking with genuine sobs. Her face buries into the crook of your neck, feeling the warmth and familiarity of your smell and touch. It's a grounding sensation amidst the madness she has just endured and inflicted.

“It's okay,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You're here now, and that's all that matters.” You can feel the dampness on your shirt where her tears have soaked through, and you tighten your grip around her.

“We need to get out of here,” you say, casting a glance around the ruins. “Let's find safety first, then we'll figure everything out.”

She nods, taking a deep breath to steady herself, wiping away her tears. “I'm sorry,” Wanda says, her voice catching in her throat.

“For what?” you ask, confused.

“For making you worry,” she says, avoiding your eyes. The guilt she feels is so much deeper than what you perceive, but now isn’t the time to delve into it.

She only recalls the next moments when the bullets are headed your way minutes later. But this time, they don't touch you. Wanda swiftly neutralizes the assailants, and you stare, a mix of shock and awe at the display of her powers that appear to have been amplified overnight.

You blink, trying to process what you just saw. “Wanda, what was that? I've never seen you...”

“We need to move. Now,” Wanda interrupts, a hint of panic in her voice. She grabs your hand, tugging you forward roughly.

You resist for a moment, glancing around. "Don't we need to wait for the others?"

She glances back at the devastation she caused, her face drawn. "There’s no time. They're not coming.”

“But—”

“Please," she pleads, her eyes darting to the oncoming imaginary threats in the distance. “We'll figure it out once we're safe.”

It’s your weakness, your inability to say no to her, that makes you yield to her wishes. With one last uneasy look around, you let Wanda pull you away, but a slew of questions bubble up in your mind, waiting for a safer moment to be asked.

Wanda leads you somewhere faraway.

In time, you cease to question her actions.

Gradually, the dreams stop haunting her nights.

But she finds herself unable to stop hunting for them every now and then.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #captain america civil war #the avengers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #vision #daisy johnson

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 6 months

Text

this is halloween || felix x reader

Summary: Felix's world is filled with nightmarish, energy-stealing creatures that others cannot see. In this cold, dark world that's made him who he is, you're the only thing that's warm and bright.

Word count: 4k

Genres: and they were roommates, urban fantasy

Warnings & Tags: angst, bad boy!felix (ish), non-descriptive sex scene (rated M), hurt/comfort (i think?), horror themes though nothing gets too explicit, potentially disturbing descriptions of monsters

A/N: Third installment in my Halloween mini-series, or: the author has whump!felix brain-rot and insists on making it everyone else's problem

I.N. · Seungmin

Felix walks like he has nowhere to go and no one to come home to. Hands in his pockets, shoulders lax, leaning back, lollipop stick between his lips, leisurely pace, eyes straight ahead. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, not in a light-hearted, innocent, naïve way, but in a nonchalant, bored, cynical approach. Truth be told though, you would be closer in saying that the world does not care for him. Of that he’s well-aware.

He sees it in the looks he get by the well-meaning, law-abiding citizens that naturally make way for him, scared away by his long, bleached blonde hair, his ripped jeans or his leather jacket. He heard it in the whispers about the ‘problem child’, his mother’s crying, all of his teachers’ stern tone as they told him he needed to stop causing issues. He felt it in the way people tense around him, in how they changed their attitude once the atmosphere he brought with him everywhere he went settled on them and started eating at them the same way it cannibalized on him.

More than anything, he knows the world does not care because, as the tentacles of the creature that latched on to him earlier today tighten on his shoulders, as he crosses path with a disembodied, rotting ghoul that leaves a trail of mold behind it, as he notices from the corner of his eyes the nightmarish swirl high up in the sky of bat-like hope-eaters, if the world did care, he would not have been cursed with the ability to see all of these things when no one else did.

He rolls one of his shoulders, trying to make the grip looser. It works, barely, but all he can do is hope that it didn’t spark the creature’s interest. If there’s one thing he’s learned, in his years of life with this this accursed talent, it is that it is never a good idea to catch their interest. It’s not like there are no ways of getting rid of them once you do, but the ones he’s found have always been long and painful and he’s not in the mood for fighting tonight.

He picks up the pace to make it to the other side of the street, and gets a rush of fresh air when, for a second, the entity lets go of him. It doesn’t last. It gets its hold back on him, and he grits his teeth to make it less obvious how aware he is of it. Other people don’t realize it when those things happen, not as acutely. They get tired, they get depressed, they might get sick, but they don’t know. He does.

It’s no trouble for him to get into the building he was headed towards. The crowd of people in disguises doesn’t resist him any more than that of the commuters. Behind him, the entity shrinks itself to follow him inside. He doesn’t look up at it, doesn’t want to. The disgusting mass of tentacles that part only to reveal a wide mouth filled with too many teeth aren’t any worse than the shit he deals with every day, but it’s not a sight you get used to. Not fully.

He climbs the stairs that are filled with drunk college students, chatting college students, laughing college students. Some of them have gone heavy on the make-up, but none of them, not even the ones that tried their hardest to paint gaping wounds on their faces, get close to his reality. It’s probably better off that way.

Finally, he gets to the apartment for the party you’ve asked him to come to. Well, that’s not exactly how it went — you said ‘I’d love it if you were here’, ‘You don’t have to’, and when you’d last seen him ‘I’ll see you tonight?’ in a hopeful tone that had gone right to his heart. He gets some looks as he gets in. Some of them are interested ones. He’s well-aware that people find him attractive, that the energy that surrounds him works as a magnet on some. He also knows that it doesn’t do people any good to be around him. It’s not long before the creatures start wearing them down, digging black circles under their eyes, hollowing their cheeks. Turns out, Felix is shockingly resistant to all that shit, insistent on surviving it. Ha. What a fucking joke.

He finds you on the edge of a room, chatting with a few people. You’re dressed as a witch, long black dress, hoops earrings, a black, pointy hat on your head. Your signature big, round glasses, are perched on your nose.

When you spot him, you wave him over, and he comes without giving it a second thought.

“You made it!” you chirp. You wrap one of your hands around his arm to pull him in the small circle, and he almost shivers at your touch. You’re warm. Felix’s world is cold, energy sucked out of it by more monstrous beings that he’ll ever meet. Other people are always warmer than he is. The difference is, you don’t get drained around him. “That’s Felix,” you introduce him to the others. “My roommate.”

Felix sees their faces light up in recognition. Obviously, they've heard about him before. There’s a short round of introduction from their side before they resume to their previous conversation.

“I’m getting something to drink,” he tells you, leaning in to speak in your ear, both because he likes the way you react and because the music’s so loud. “You want some?”

A smile, you shake your head. Your hand brushes against his back as he leaves and fuck, it’s embarrassing that he knows that this is what will keep him going. He glances in your direction as he walks away, checking that nothing that was following him has attached itself to you. It hasn’t. There’s an entity curled lazily against the ceiling, dipping long, skinny tentacles around the room, feeding on the energy, but you and your group seem to be mostly left alone. It makes him feel more relieved than it should, and he hates that he knows it’s less because you’re safe and more because he thinks it would kill him if he lost your warmth and the safety you provide him.

You’d come in his life as a blessing with no warning. He had recently been evicted and was couch-surfing in other people’s apartments when Wooyoung had first mentioned your name to him. You had a free room, he’d said. You were looking for a new person to fill it, he’d said. You were ‘a bit shy, but sweet’, he’d said. Felix had not thought for a second that it would work out. It never did. He’d be lucky if he found a one-bedroom apartment with no heating in the shittiest area of the city.

Then he’d met you and had immediately distrusted your soft, distant attitude, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes and how you shrunk yourself around him. You wouldn’t last, he thought, but since you didn’t oppose his presence, he had accepted the offer. Even if you threw him out two weeks later, that was two weeks of security that he usually wasn’t afforded.

That had been a year ago now.

As he grabs himself a beer — he’s learned the hard way that it’s better to stay sharp when you’re affected by his, ah, condition — he finds it hard not to find you in the room. No matter how much he tries, his eyes always land back on you. The only way to escape you is to move to another room, so he does, because he finds it fucking embarrassing, how affected he is by you, and because he never loses the nagging fear that the things that follow him around will latch on to you.

When he lands on the couch, he feels the creature tightening his grip on his arms. He grits his teeth as the cold bites him harder, as everything feels a little darker around him. Shit, that thing isn’t letting up. He takes a sip of beer, ignores the gargoyle perched on a girl’s shoulder, the imp lying on a dude’s head. He’s been long forced into indifference about these things. He can’t make a difference anyway, he’d know, he’s tried it before, so why bother? He doesn’t know them, and they’d leave him to die in the gutter if they were given the chance. He won’t dedicate a second of the energy he could use on saving himself on them.

There’s a blur of time and movement, before, eventually, you fall on the couch next to him, and his world takes colors again.

“Long day?” you ask with a sympathetic frown.

He scoffs. He only ever has long days.

“Yeah,” he just says. “You?”

A shrug.

“It was fine, actually. I’m just… not a huge Halloween fan.”

The mundane of the conversation is such a hard punch to the gut. He’d talk about how his day’s gone and how you feel about things all the goddamn time if he could.

“Why not?”

You lean closer against him, your shoulder brushing against his. He shifts so the creature doesn’t touch you. He should move away completely, he knows, that’d be the safe thing to do. He just doesn’t have the strength for it.

“It feels a bit like a circus,” you say, sounding pensive. “I get that people want to enjoy a party though, it’s not that deep, just— my family’s pretty big on traditions, it’s a big symbolic date for them. It’s weird to see other people treat it so differently, but it’s just my hang-up, you know. I don’t want to make it anyone else’s problem.”

It’s one of those things you keep bringing up, this nebulous part of your life, the ‘family’ that he’s never seen around. You’re not on speaking terms, as far as he knows, but you never bring them up, and he doesn’t ask. It’s funny, how you’re the one who visibly walks on egg-shells at all times yet he’s sure he’s more afraid of losing you than you him.

Then his phone vibrates in his pocket. He wishes he could ignore it, but it’s not a luxury he has these days. One glance at the screen, and he feels his heart freeze over. He looks up, and on the other side of the room, there’s Hyesung, staring and with a tight, forced smile on his lips. He would look perfectly inconspicuous, a young man in a sea of young people, if not for the winged demon hovering above him, its tentacles reaching out towards different members of the crowd. Unlike the entities Felix has seen around on his way here, this one is more defined, closer to representations of demons you find in human art. He knows that these things are far more of a threat than the abominations like the one feeding off of him right now.

Shit. Shit. Felix wasn't supposed to run into anyone from that group tonight. He was supposed to be around you, and normal people, and get to fucking breathe. But now, not only has Hyesung seen him, but he's looking at you with intrigued eyes, and that's about the worst thing that could happen.

Felix stands up, grabbing your hand to pull you with him.

“Let's go home,” he throws to you over his shoulder as he starts pushing his way through people without paying much attention to them.

“Already?” you ask, confused, though you don't resist him. “But you just got here.”

It wouldn't be a lie if he told you that as far as he's concerned, he saw you, which was all he cared about, but he doesn't say that.

“Not a huge fan of this crowd,” he says instead, which isn't a lie either, considering Hyesung is part of it.

“Oh,” is your answer, right as you reach the door to the apartment. Just a few more steps and you'll both be out of here, and able to find a better place to be.

If fucking Hyesung didn't appear in front of it with that superior, fake smile again.

“Long time no see, Felix,” is the first thing that make it past his lips, and Felix hears the jab for what it is. It's true that he hasn't showed up at the Headquarters in a while, true, too, that he hasn't participated much in Venom's activities as of late. Hasn't wanted to, nor felt the need to do it. When he'd joined, he had been enticed by the promise of a place free of the monsters. Knowing that he'd have to do some unsavory stuff to get it had seemed a low, low price to pay then.

A price that hadn't stopped growing since. He'd taken the wrong bargain, and now he couldn't back out. It'd be fine; he'd pay it again, he'd pay twice the price later on. He had no illusions on his ability to escape punishment. Others might have that kind of luck, but he didn't, he never had.

He just had to make sure that you wouldn't be around when he paid for it.

When Hyesung tilts his head to get a better look at you and his lips stretch out into a wider smile, one that is unsettlingly cheerful.

“Hi, I don't think we've met, I'm—”

“Yeah,” Felix interrupts him, taking a threatening step towards him without letting go of you. “You haven't met.”

Hyesung's expression shifts. Above him, the demon gives a lazy flap of wings. Felix doesn't have long.

He feels you squeeze his hand, and your silent support allows him to breathe in again. He hasn't even explained anything to you, yet you're giving him your trust, and that makes him feel like he can fly. Which is more or less the kind of miracle he's going to need if he wants to make it out of here.

Demons, like the kind hanging above Hyesung's head, are somewhat able to interact with the physical world. The others are here, but they can't do anything, can't move objects, definitely can't make humans do things. Demons... might. It's not true of all of them, but Felix suspects that Hyesung's climbed the hierarchy within Venom high enough that his companion is one of the powerful ones. It makes him dangerous. It also makes him easier to outrun.

He tightens his grip on you. He can only hope you're ready.

“I'm just trying to make a new friend!” Hyesung says with dishonest warmth. “You know, we're always looking for people to join—”

When Felix's fist catches him in the jaw, he really, really should have seen it coming. After pulling that kind of shit, it's 100% on him if it caught him by surprise. It seems to, since he stumbles back as conversations around you quiet down and all eyes focus on the three of you — the three of you others can see, that is. Felix has no intention of sticking around to entertain though, and next thing he knows, he's running.

He feels the brush of the demon, feels the mouthy abomination's tentacle push him off as if to say 'hey that one's mine', which, ha, isn't that ironic. He doesn't doubt that the demon could kill the other thing in a fight, but it slows him down enough that, when Felix flies down the stairs with you in tow, it's not right behind him, and that's all he needs. It's not his first rodeo.

You certainly keep up surprisingly well, considering this isn't a daily occurrence for you. You also don't seem to hesitate as Felix darts into an alley way and presses you against a door. He doesn't have long, the abomination makes him too easy to spot, but that doesn't mean he's going to drag you with him.

“Go back to the apartment,” he orders, urgency in his voice. “Don't go back in there, okay? I'll meet you there.”

“But what about—”

“I've got this,” he promises, and no matter how tired he gets, it's still the truth. He's always made it out okay. There's no reason for this to be any different.

“Be careful,” you whisper. He wishes you hadn't, because, fuck, how he's supposed to not give in now?

He kisses you, hard and rough, tries to get everything he can out of that stolen moment. You're soft and warm against him. He wants to melt into you and never have to step foot into his life again. Instead, he tears himself from you as you gasp for air.

“Go home,” he tells you again, and then he takes off. The demon takes the bait, passes by you without even seeing you, and Hyesung isn't far behind.

As Felix runs for his life, the thought that in doing that, he's keeping you safe, gives him, for the first time in forever, someone to run home to.

It's late when he makes it back to the apartment. His legs carry him more out of habit than through conscious thought — of that, he doesn't have much left. A fresh burn, left by the demon, runs over his forearm. Over him, the abomination's worse for the wear, but it's refused to let go of him through the entirety of the run, and it fought like hell to keep him to himself, when the demon briefly caught up.

Eventually, Felix managed to lose him by barreling through one of these tight alleys filled with shops. The obstacles both on the floor and in the air had allowed him to effectively get rid of both the demon and the human and as far he knows, they don't know where he lives. Not yet anyway. He didn't know how long he still had for that. He knows that he can't let that aspect of his life catch up with you but, fuck, he thinks it just might kill him. To know that he had you and to now lose you again— he doesn't know how he's supposed to ever get over it.

His feet slowly take him up the stairs, dragging more and more until finally he grabs the doorknob. Almost immediately, the door's pulled open, and you're there, standing in front of him, taking him in, eyes searching his face first, then the rest of his body. Finally relief overtakes you and you pull him inside.

Behind him, the tentacles snap one by one as he walks through the door. The last few ones still holding on break off when the door closes. That is another one of the miracle, one he cannot explain. Going to sleep used to be the worst part of his day, the one when he knew he'd have to close his eyes despite the fact that the monsters were all around him, feeding off of him. He'd have to feel his energy being slowly depleted as he laid there, desperate for sleep to take him so he could wake up without feeling rested.

The monsters never come in here. He doesn't know why. It's not quite the first time he's seen it; clearly some people are less targeted than others. As far as he's concerned, you are the one that keeps the monsters at bay, and that's why, as your hands reach up for his face like you want to check that he really is there, that he's safe, whispering quiet 'thank you's under your breath he, once more, cannot hold back.

His fingers wrap around your wrists, because he'll crumble if you keep touching him like that, and he kisses you again. He's got less adrenaline in his system, so it's not as harsh as the previous one, and you meet all of his desperation with softness. You intertwine your fingers with his, let him take the lead. You whimper when one of his cold hands sneaks under your shirt, brushing against the hot skin of your stomach.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into your lips, without taking his hand off, and then he kisses you again.

You both stumbles through the hallway before your back hits the door to your room. That is always where the two of you end up on nights like these. Not that he gets chased home that often, but on the nights when he just can't resist the thought of having you, it's on your bed that the two of you come crashing down. Neither of you ever speaks of these nights. He makes sure he's gone by the time you wake up, and he's not in a situation where he can be the person you deserve. You have nothing to do in his world anyway, you're an anomaly, a miracle that a God who took pity on him must have wanted to send his way.

He always wonders if you know how badly he cares, if you know you're the only one for him. He wonders if he should tell you he loves you, or if it would be unfair to you, when he knows he won't stay around in your world for long.

So as he strips you of your clothes with feverish hands, presses biting kisses against your neck while you arch into him, whines and whimpers falling from your lips, he does his best to let you know. 'I love you', his careful movements say as he kneels between your legs. 'I love you', his eyes when he takes in your panting silhouette. 'I love you', his open-mouthed kisses trailing down all over your body.

He revels in the way your body trembles under his tongue, and when he finally pushes into you with a grunt, no matter how much he tries to keep himself from falling deeper into you, he can't help it anymore. You push yourself on your elbows, fingers tracing his jaw, and you pull him in for a kiss, and Felix is just gone. You're too soft, too caring, too good for him.

Later, with his arm wrapped around you, while you're lying on his chest and he's letting his fingers run over your back, he hears his own voice rise up in your room.

“You're not going to ask? About earlier?”

There's a long silence. He wonders if you've fallen asleep.

“Do you want me to?” you ask after long seconds have passed by, your voice quiet.

He— He's not sure, if he's being honest. He, selfishly, wants you to care. He wants you to want to know. But if you do, if you find out about everything that crawls and flies and walks in this world by your side without you being able to see them, if you're pulled in his world in worse ways, it will only ever hurt you. No good can come out of it.

He's mulling over it when you look up at him.

“If you tell me, you'll regret it when you wake up.”

There's such sadness in your voice that he feels like he's just been kicked in the chest. He's sure that you're talking about how he flees in the morning, how he never talks about these late nights, how distant he can be. He doesn't want you to feel that way. He doesn't want you to think, even for a second, that it's your fault.

Because it's all too much, because he can't tell you all that, because he knows the words will come out all wrong if he tries, he kisses you again, and he can only pray that you can tell from the strength of it, from how he cradles your face. You let yourself sink into his kiss and into his arms.

“I never regret it,” he tells the room much, much later, in the dead of night, when your breathing is even. And his voice cracks when he tests the way other words sound said aloud for the very first time.

“I love you.”

so this felix is very similar to my jealousy, jealousy felix but this is a story that i've had in mind for an eternity. i absolutely loved writing it, felt fun going for something outside of my comfort zone. i don't know yet if i'll write more for this universe. would love to know your thoughts on it since this story was very precious to me, and if you don't feel like leaving a comment, please consider reblogging to help the story circulate <3

permanent taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

#felix x reader #lee felix x reader #lee yongbok x reader #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #felix imagine #felix angst #stray kids angst #skz angst #candywrites

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scuderiadream · 6 months

Text

in between

reader x oscar piastri

⊹ ࣪ ˖ summary : oscar and y/n has been friends ever since their childhood but as time grew their feelings grew too but they're too afraid of losing their friendship, eventually they take a leap of faith and risks everything

⊹ ࣪ ˖ faceclaim : sabrina carpenter

⊹ ࣪ ˖ author's note : sorry for not being active these days lolol i've been busy lately anyhow, happy reading this friends to lover au! <3

ᝰ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

oscar piastri was regarded as one of the most gifted drivers on the circuit in the thrilling world of formula 1 racing, where emotion and speed meet. he lived a life of adrenaline and triumph, surrounded by the sound of roaring motors and the smell of burning rubber. but despite the fame and glamour, there was one person who saw oscar differently - y/n, an ordinary girl who had been his friend since childhood.

oscar and y/n had many adventures together while growing up in a tiny town, and their bond changed as time went on. over time, their friendship only got stronger as they helped one another through all of life's ups and downs. they encouraged one another through adversity and shared in each other's victories. they had an unshakable bond.

oscar soon had the chance to follow his goals of being an f1 driver as time passed quickly. he put in endless hours of training, giving it everything he had to become the best in motorsport. throughout the trip, y/n stood by his side throughout the journey, cheering him on from the sidelines.

as oscar's career took off, his life became a whirlwind of speed circuits, international races, and press conferences. he found himself becoming the center of attention, attracting the eyes of countless fans and the media. but amidst all the glamour, oscar always made time for y/n.

oscar had it all, trophy after trophy, sponsorships after sponsorship, and the love of fans everywhere. nevertheless, despite the successes, he felt an unsaid yearning in his heart. he yearned for something more—a love that transcended the confines of friendship.

many fans loved oscar and y/n's friendship, but they were unaware of what was going on behind the scenes. they would often catch themselves blushing and stealing glances at each other, late-night conversations turned from laughter to lingering gazes and held secrets. the tension between them became undeniable.

they both knew they were falling in love, but they were too scared to talk about it for fear of ruining their close friendship.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

after a grueling race in monaco, as oscar stood on the podium after winning the race, he looked into the crowd, his eyes locked with y/n's as her eyes starts to glimmer admiring him. in that moment, he realized that life was too short to hold back.

when the evening came, oscar and y/n found themselves alone on a terrace overlooking the shimmering harbor after their post-race party. the gentle sea breeze carried their whispers, as if the universe itself eavesdropped on their unspoken desires.

"the world sees us as just friend, y/n" oscar confessed as he fidgets with his hand as his eyes reflecting vulnerability, "but my heart yearns for more—i cant imagine my life without you by my side"

y/n smiled, the moonlight illuminating her face with a soft glow "oscar, you've always been the one constant in my life, i've loved you for as long as i can remember, i was just afraid—afraid of losing what we have, maybe its time we take that leap of faith"

with those words, oscar pulled her into a passionate kiss with his hands around her waist, embarking on a brave new chapter of their lives. they took the leap, their hearts intertwined, as they ventured into uncharted territory. the world held its breath as the news of their blossoming romance spread like wildfire.

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris, mclaren and 420.443 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri i'm happier winning over you than winning the race

view all 3.243 comments

yourusername not the cringy ass caption💀

⤷ oscarpiastri shut up and appreciate it.

mclaren cutest couple! ❤️

username NOT THE SUDDEN HARD LAUNCH LMAOO

username damn what took them so long to realize

landonorris FINALLY, after years

⤷ oscarpiastri you weren't helping mate

their newfound love took them on a whirlwind journey. y/n began joining oscar as he traveled from one race to another, the thrill of the speedway now shared between them. with every victory, oscar's eyes searched for y/n amidst the cheers of the crowd, finding solace in her unwavering support.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

credits to pinterest for the pics .

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jayteacups · 8 months

Text

Levi Week Day 3: Shy & Blushing | Affections & Fondness

@leviweek2023

To celebrate your second anniversary together, Levi takes you to see the beach for the first time.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!Reader

Tags and warnings: Back on my soft Levi agenda :3 Fluff, established relationship, canonverse, civilian!Reader, takes place a short while after the beach scene in S3. Mild NSFW (very brief descriptions of oral sex, F receiving). Mild as it may be, I still don't want minors interacting.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: So I haven’t written anything in a while but this event is helping me get over my writer’s block little by little! I missed the first two days sadly, and this is also a day late, but I wanted to at least get something done for Day 3 lol. This is based off a really cute dream I had a few months ago about a beach date with Levi, but I never got around to writing it, so this was the perfect chance to finally put it into words. I am absolutely incapable of writing anything other than soft sappiness lol. Hope you guys enjoy reading!

Before today, the biggest body of water you’ve ever seen was the lazy, winding river that runs right down the middle of your home village, where all the merchant boats come in, where all the kids go to play in the sweltering heat of the summer. You practically grew up in the river. It is a second home to you.

And yet it doesn’t hold a candle to the ocean in the slightest.

Miles and miles of pure blue stretch out far beyond the naked eye, the rolling waves on the horizon glinting as they catch the sun’s rays. Untouched by mankind, there is a serene quiet to the air, punctured only by the splash of water making land and the occasional bird cry.

Such a place could only ever exist in myth, or so you thought.

“It’s like something out of a fairytale,” you whisper in awe.

You feel Levi’s eyes on you from behind. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, it is.”

The two of you are coming up on your two-year anniversary as lovers, and the Survey Corps’ last expedition to the coastline a couple months ago had inspired him to take you out to the beach to celebrate. He had wanted to show you it’s raw, untouched beauty, before the infrastructure development plans are put into motion.

The way the dry sand shifts under your bare feet catches you off guard. Soft, warm and pliant, which isn’t what you expected at all. The sensation makes you giggle. You can’t help but lean over and touch the sand with your hands, picking a handful of it up and letting the tiny grains slip through your fingers.

“Beware of the sand.” Levi says next to you ominously, taking off his forest-green cloak. “Before you know it, it gets everywhere.” He’s decked out in full uniform and gear. Even though Paradis Island has been declared clear of titans, Levi refuses to take any chances.

You look over your shoulder back at your lover, grinning giddily. “Guess we’ll just have to wash it off in the ocean, then,” you declare, heading right towards the sea. Gone is the soreness from days of camping and riding through endless grasslands, your arms clenched like a vice around Levi’s waist as you tremble atop his horse, feeling all too exposed without the safety of the Walls. Only curiosity and joy remain, propelling your feet towards the water.

“Shit—wait, don’t go too far,” Levi calls. You turn back. The reins on his horse are gathered in one hand, both of your cloaks and your shoes in the other. “I’m going to set us up under that tree over there. It’s hot and Mercy needs some shade.”

You tilt your head. “Okay. Need a hand?” You reach for your shoes and cloak to carry them yourself, but he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I got it. Besides, I can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with excitement to go frolic around.”

“Mm.”

“So you can go ahead. Just not too deep, I know you can swim but the waves might be stronger than you think. And watch out for poisonous shit and don’t pick any sea creatures up. Hange got stung by this weird-ass blob called a jellyfish because they got too cocky after picking up several non-poisonous things despite me telling them every five seconds to not do that, and their hands were covered in welts for a fortnight.” Revulsion passes across his face for a moment as he recalls the memory.

Confused, you frown. He hasn’t told you this story yet. “What’s a jellyfish?”

“Fuck if I know. That’s what Arlert said they were called. Just watch out.” He leans forward and kisses your cheek tenderly. As he pulls away, you notice his ears are flushed. How cute.

“Alright, alright.” You laugh, and follow it up with a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be careful. Come join me soon, yeah?”

The slightest of soft smiles graces his face as he nods, before you turn around and jog back towards the sea, lifting your skirt above your knees.

The sand grows colder, wetter, firmer under your feet, a change that rips another joyous laugh out of you. As you approach, the sea moves forward, as if to greet you, and a small wave splashes gently over your feet. You giggle.

“Hello, ocean,” you murmur, kicking the water to gently splash it back. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

A quick scan of the shallows revealed no sea critters. Bummer, you were hoping to at least see what a jellyfish looked like—what kind of an explanation is ‘weird-ass blob’?—but you suppose not seeing one is better than an accidental sting. Lifting your skirts up higher, you wade deeper into the ocean until the water reaches your thighs before looking back at the shore.

On the beach, Levi spreads out his spare cloak as a mat underneath a tree. Next to him, his horse, Mercy, sits and takes a well-deserved rest in the shade after a long journey. He then strips himself of his jacket and boots, before folding them neatly into a pile next to your camping packs. He does the same for your cloak and footwear that you’d discarded carelessly earlier, too caught up in excitement. As he loosens his cravat, Levi’s head turns back towards the sea, evidently looking for you, and offers you a little wave.

You wave back enthusiastically. “Come join me!” You call. As fun as frolicking in the water sounds, you don’t want to do it all by yourself.

Another handful of minutes is spent taking off his gear and straps, before he walks out towards the sea. You wait excitedly, as he slows to a stop, just a hair’s breadth away from where the water stops.

Levi rolls up his trouser legs and tentatively tests out the waters with the tip of his toe.

You grin.

“Don’t laugh.”

You purse your lips. “Not laughing.” He’s just so endearing.

He was like this too with the river near the Queen’s Orphanage, where you work as a teacher. One day, Historia took the orphans to the riverbank to play and invited Levi Squad to spend the day off there with her. You’d waded into the water and beckoned him to follow, only to find him standing hesitantly on the riverbank, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There aren’t many rivers and lakes down in that shithole where I grew up, are there? I can’t swim to save my shitty life, you remember him saying. Eventually, you’d coaxed him into standing ankle-deep in the river, and he’d ended up watching over the children that didn’t want to venture any deeper either. After all, they had all come from the same place he did. On expeditions and even now on this camping trip, Levi uses a bucket and rag to wash instead of submerging himself in rivers or lakes like everybody else does.

“It’s okay.” You say reassuringly. “It’s hardly any different from standing in the river.”

He gives you a very familiar look of exasperation. “Give me a break. I didn’t get into the ocean when I was here with the others, and I still can’t fucking swim.”

“That’s fine. We don’t have to go any further than knee-deep.”

He nods. Despite that, Levi still lingers with his toes barely in the water. Slowly, you get the feeling that his hesitation has nothing to do with his inability to swim.

You purse your lips, holding in a laugh. “I see. You’re scared of jellyfishes, aren’t you?”

He blinks, deadpan. “You’re hilarious. I’m not scared of jellyfishes.”

Your face splits into a grin. “Yes you are.”

“I am not. This is ridiculous.”

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, what would you do? Hide behind me?”

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, you’d be the one hiding behind me, just like you do whenever there’s a spider in the house.” Levi crosses his arms and gives nothing away with his expression, but his ears are turning redder by the second.

You give him a teasing look. “Sure, sure.” And even if you did end up being scared of a jellyfish, you know Levi would help you without a second thought. Just like he does with the spiders. “You know, I still have no idea what a jellyfish is. How would I hide behind you if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be hiding from? What even are they?”

“Freaky little fuckers, that’s what they are,” he grouses.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let a stupid freaky sea creature ruin our fun, yeah? We know that they exist now, and since you’ve seen one, you know what to look out for.” You hold out a hand. “We’ll be okay.”

Levi’s eyes drops towards your hand, clearly debating on whether or not he should take it. He’d been too shy to show any sort of physical affection towards you when Historia and his subordinates were also present, even though everybody was off-duty that day.

Now, though, there is nobody watching.

Just how the both of you like it.

Levi searches your face for a moment, before he quickly snatches up your hands, and takes another step into the water. A new wave rolls in, harder than the rest, and crashes against both of your calves, soaking the hems of his trousers and your skirt.

“See? All fine.”

Still holding onto your hand so tightly his knuckles begin to whiten, Levi scans the waters with narrowed eyes. “Mm hm.”

This won’t do. He’s still far too tense, far too on edge. What you wouldn’t give for him to be able to relax without feeling guilty about it. Concerned, you squeeze his hand.

“Hey. How about we get out of the ocean for a bit? You said we were going to stay here tomorrow for the actual anniversary too, so there’s absolutely no rush. For now, we can walk along the beach as far down as possible and then back up here again. The sun looks like it’s going to set soon too, so it won’t be too hot for us. You won’t have to worry about leaving Mercy alone for a short while, she won’t overheat.”

Bit by bit, the tension seeps out of him as he considers your offer. He squeezes your hand back.

You smile. “Let’s go.”

———

As you walk along the beach, two bright red, shelled creatures make you yelp as they abruptly cutting the two of you off in your tracks, scuttling sideways. You also come across the occasional pretty seashell that Levi offers to hold in his pocket, before eventually stumbling across a strange mass washed up on the sand.

Levi flings an arm in front of you. “Stop.”

“What the—” Realisation strikes you quickly. “Is that a jellyfish?”

He nods stiffly.

“So that’s what it looks like… well, you’re right. It is a weird-ass blob.”

“This one’s triple the size of the one Hange picked up.” Levi informs you in a whisper.

“Um, is it dead? It’s not meant to be out of the water, is it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.” Levi looks back out at the sea, tugging on your hand slightly as he slowly inches backwards. The sun is beginning to set. “Should probably turn back anyway.”

“We could just walk around the poor thing, if you want to keep going.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “But I don’t mind either way.”

He shakes his head, the tugging on your hand growing stronger. “It’s been too long since I’ve fed Mercy. And the sun is setting; we need to set up our tent before dark. Come on, let’s go.”

He’d fed his horse not long ago, but you just suppress a smile of endearment and let Levi eagerly steer you away from the beached jellyfish. You squeeze his hand in comfort, and he squeezes back in thanks.

As the sun sets, the sky burns. Above you lies every shade of red, orange and yellow imaginable. The sight is gorgeous.

But not more so than Levi himself.

You’ve always attested to his beauty, though he’s always quick to say otherwise. But if he could see himself today, alight from the sunset glow, you aren’t sure even he could deny that whatever higher forces are out there took their time shaping every feature of his to perfection.

And he says he’s the lucky one.

As the two of you walk, hand in hand, you both gradually drift sideways towards the ocean, until the two of you walk ankle-deep in water, feeling the sand get drawn in and out under your feet as the ocean ebbs and flows.

Despite his nerves from earlier, Levi had chosen to walk on your left side, the side exposed to the big expanse of ocean. Content to stroll in silence, to simply take in this beautiful feat of nature around you, you notice Levi looking out to the sea every now and then, admiring how the light glints off the waves. Even the curve of his cheek—which is all you can see when his head is turned away from you like this—just fills you with an inexplicable joy. As Levi looks back in front of him to see how much farther the two of you have to walk, you notice his expression is softer, content. Dare you say it: he’s happy.

“It’s really nice seeing you like this.” You murmur, voice barely audible above the breeze.

He looks back at you. “Hm? Like what?”

“Like you’re at peace.”

His breath hitches. At a loss for words, Levi’s pinky curls around yours as he looks back out at the ocean for a moment.

“I have you to thank for that.”

The words are accompanied with an awkward clearing of his throat and a blush so undeniable he could not possibly pin it on the reddish glow of the sunset.

“The last time I was here, it wasn’t like this. It was… All I could think about was…”

He pauses, exhaling harshly, as his feet come to a stop. You come around to face him, taking his other hand. In times like these, you’ve found it’s best to not say anything, to give him the room to gather his words. It’s hard for him to express his feelings and thoughts, and from the small glimpses of his past he’s revealed to you, it’s not difficult to see why. There is no room for vulnerability in the life he leads. And yet, he tries for you. You’re so incredibly proud of him, beyond what your own words could ever express.

“Hange and my squad were having the time of their lives. Armin’s dream to reach the ocean came true. But all I could think about was how everybody who didn’t live to see the ocean should have been there to see it. How much they would’ve loved this place, just like you do.” He swallows thickly. “Then Eren, that brat, he… he goes and ruins the mood for everybody else. He goes and reminds us all of what awaits on the other side of the ocean. As if we could ever forget.”

You remember reading the article about it in the papers. How your blood had gone cold. How faint you felt at the realisation that everything Levi and his comrades fought for, shed blood for, offered up their hearts and lives for, had been for a truth uglier than anyone could possibly imagine.

No. It’s not like you could forget either.

“And if that wasn’t enough, he goes and contemplates what it will take to finally reach the freedom he thought was beyond the ocean. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what his first thought was.”

You feel sick to your stomach. The hurt and shock on your face must be clear as day to him, for Levi shakes his head and pulls you in closer to him, a hand rubbing your back.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have told you that,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I just… before today, that was my first and last time seeing the ocean. This time… this time is better.” Voicing it makes him blush once more. He looks away again. “Much better.”

Reeling from his words, all you can do is bridge the gap and pull him in close for a hug. Inside, there is a sinking, sickening feeling that things are only going to get worse for the Survey Corps from now on.

You close your eyes. “I wish this could all be over,” you mumble into his shoulder. He’s warm under your touch. “You must be so tired.”

In response, he holds you tighter, his body melting into yours, and sighs.

———

On your way back, you feel Levi taking quick, stolen glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere. Every time you turn back to look at him, he’s whipped his head in the opposite direction and is looking out at the ocean, presumably to hide his blush.

You grin to yourself, and look in the opposite direction. Beyond the sand lies a more firm, grassy area with those unfamiliar-looking trees just like the ones you left Mercy under. You and Levi quickly agree that once you get back, you’ll go a little further inland to set up camp, since he’s wanting to avoid getting sand in the tent.

In your mind, you replace a patch of the grassland with a cosy cottage facing out towards the sea. You can almost hear the sounds of joyous laughter being carried by the wind: yours, Levi’s, and perhaps a third voice, much younger, much less burdened by the weight of the world.

The two of you make it back to where you started with still some daylight to spare. You give Mercy some water, and prepare dinner from the packed rations, whilst Levi, having proven himself capable since he does this every time he goes on an expedition, walks a little further inland and puts up the tent.

The moment you two crawl inside and lay down your sleeping bags, Levi presses a searing kiss to your lips. It isn’t long before his head is between your thighs, bringing you to the edge. Always willing to give. Your fingers weave through his silken hair, and tears of pleasure—tears only Levi has ever managed to draw from you—sting at the corner of your eyes.

When you come, he comes—untouched. And after the two of you gather yourselves and clean up, he’s looking at you ever so fondly, like he will never get the chance to look at you again.

“If I could give you the world,” you say, pulling him closer (it will never be close enough), “I would.”

“I don’t want the world,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you, “I never have. I want you.”

———

Long after you’ve fallen into slumber, Levi lies awake, mind racing.

I want you.

He means it in every sense.

Out on the beach, walking beside you and admiring your breathtaking radiance, he’d come to a realisation he should’ve come to a long time ago: he wants to marry you. The question had lingered at the tip of his tongue the entire way back, but he had managed to hold back on asking you right there and then by looking away, catching his breath, letting his burning face cool with the breeze. He couldn’t let himself ask you in that moment. If he was going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, he was going to do it properly, with a ring that shines as brightly as you do.

It’s kind of ironic, how this entire trip to celebrate your two-year anniversary as lovers, would’ve been the perfect time to propose, yet he’d been too slow to realise it until now. He decides that the moment he gets back to the Walls, he’s visiting the nearest jewellers.

He’s always been that way, Levi supposes. It had taken him years after your first meeting at that teashop to tell you how he’d felt, and he almost never told you at all. For so long, he had been convinced this could never be in the cards for him. Everybody he has ever loved meets the same tragic fate, and he’s scared that one day, you will too.

But if you ever do meet that fate, he knows in his heart of hearts he will never regret loving you.

He reaches over to pick up his pocket watch. It’s dark inside the tent, but his eyes have always been keen, and he can make out the positions of the hands.

Fifteen seconds to midnight.

He takes a moment to look down at you in fondness. Your cheek is squished against his chest, soft lips parted to let out slow and deep breaths, your arm loosely draped over his side, legs entangled with his.

Ten seconds to midnight.

He dares to mouth the words. Will you marry me?

As if in response, you snuggle up closer to him with a sleepy sigh.

Three, two, one.

“Happy anniversary,” Levi whispers, heart full, and closes his eyes.

Masterlist

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