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mssishipi · 3 months ago

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life of parasites — pjs

SYNOPSIS: Seven years ago, a parasite fell from the sky and rewrote the boundaries of biology, blurring the line between host and invader. Park Jongseong, now exists in the in-between, neither fully human nor entirely parasite, a hybrid organism shaped by adaptation and survival. Hunted by those who fear what they cannot categorize, he searches for meaning in the world—and finds it in you.

content tags/warnings: sci-fi— bio thriller, parasite hybrid pjs, parasite hybrid reader, they fight when they first met. body horror, graphic violence, injury and blood, death/near-death experiences, militarization, post-traumatic themes, mild animal endangerment.

explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, fingering, cunilingus, multiple sex position (their refractory period is broken, they keep going and going), double penetration, tentacles (?), monster fucking. READER DISCRETION IS ADVICED. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! WC: 23.1K

note: the idea of monster and parasites in the story is inspired by the kdrama and anime: parasyte. but the biology, and how they merged was slightly different and some of it was my own writing.

Human psychology is deeply rooted in a survival mechanism that instinctively reacts with fear toward the unknown.

This fear, often manifesting as hostility, arises when individuals encounter phenomena that defy their understanding. When faced with the unfamiliar—particularly that which cannot be categorized within existing frameworks—the response is often defensive aggression. The unfamiliar is perceived as a threat, and in the absence of comprehension, elimination becomes the perceived solution.

Approximately seven years ago, Earth began experiencing a biological incursion in the form of a parasitic organism of unknown origin. This entity operates by infecting human hosts, initiating a fatal transformation process. The host is systematically destroyed at a cellular and cognitive level, as the parasite integrates with and ultimately overrides the nervous system and bodily structure.

Upon successful assimilation, the parasite reconstitutes the human form into a highly adaptive biomechanical entity capable of extreme morphogenesis. These entities exhibit advanced shapeshifting capabilities, able to reconfigure their structure into a variety of forms and tools, limited only by mass and matter conservation principles.

Neurologically, the parasite erases the host's personality and emotional spectrum, replacing it with a singular directive: to propagate through predation and infiltration. These organisms display a rudimentary form of consciousness, retaining fragments of the host's memories for navigational or social camouflage but are devoid of empathy or emotional regulation. Their cognitive processes are entirely geared toward strategic murder and survival.

Park Jongseong is different.

He adjusted his glasses, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying his own cellular data. Streams of biological activity lit up the screen—cells dividing, mutating, adapting. He was lucky to have access to advanced medical equipment. After all, he was a doctor.

Humans are naturally afraid of what they don't understand. It's part of how the brain reacts to threats—if something doesn't fit into what's familiar, the instinct is fear, often followed by violence. That's how humanity responds to the unknown: eliminate it.

Jongseong had become the unknown.

He didn't know what he was anymore. His thoughts still felt like his own. He still felt emotion, empathy, fear, curiosity. Yet something deep inside had changed. His body was no longer entirely human. Something else lived in his blood.

But with Jongseong, something went wrong—or maybe something went right.

The parasite had merged with him, not replaced him. His cells had changed, yes—they were stronger, more adaptive. He could feel the shift in his physiology: faster reflexes, enhanced senses, the strange ability to alter parts of his body at will. Yet his mind remained intact. His identity remained intact.

He was both parasite and human. A hybrid. An anomaly.

From a biological standpoint, it shouldn't be possible. The parasite is known to override the host completely—shutting down the brain, rewriting the nervous system, restructuring tissue on a molecular level. But in Park Jongseong's case, the process didn't go as expected. His consciousness remained. His emotions remained. He wasn't fully human anymore, but he wasn't fully parasite either.

And that made him dangerous—to both sides.

Creatures like him were being hunted by the government. Classified as biohazards. The official statement warned the public daily:

"Be careful around your friends, relatives, family—anyone could be infected. Parasites look just like us, until they kill."

Murder cases connected to parasitic activity filled the news. Victims were often found mutilated beyond recognition, their internal organs rearranged, their skin marked with unfamiliar growths. Fear spread faster than the infection itself. Jongseong watched the reports from his house, barely breathing. Every passing day made it harder to stay hidden.

If the government found him, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd dissect him alive—tear his mutated body apart in the name of research and national security.

"How do you identify a parasite?"

That was the question echoed by media and scientists. For humans, the method was crude but effective: parasites can't fully mimic human hair. A simple hair sample under a microscope reveals the truth—parasitic tissue lacks keratin structure, instead made of a flexible protein-carbon lattice designed to replicate appearance.

But parasites had their own way of detecting each other. A subtle biological signal—an acoustic resonance picked up only through the inner ear. Like a hidden frequency, only recognizable to those with the altered cochlear structure. Jongseong had experienced it more than once. He would walk past someone, hear that strange, low echo in his skull—and feel a sudden, icy stillness in his blood.

He wasn't alone. Parasites were organizing. At first, they were random killers. Now, they were moving in packs—coordinated, methodical. Adapting. Evolving. And so is he.

"That'll be 700 won," the cashier muttered, not bothering to meet his eyes.

Jongseong kept his head down, slipping the coins onto the counter. No conversation. No eye contact. He took the plastic bag with a silent nod, his fingers tightening around the thin handles before he turned and stepped back into the cold night.

Even with the parasite inside him, he still felt hunger—raw, physical. His body demanded energy like any other, though now his metabolism ran hotter, faster. He still craved food.

He still felt the ache of sadness, the longing to return to something normal. Something human.

But that life was gone.

The night air of Seoul stung against his skin, the cold seeping through his coat. He moved with the crowd, head low, blending in with the blur of footsteps, voices, and passing cars. Every sound echoed. The parasite had enhanced his senses, and sometimes the world was simply too loud.

Then he felt it, a low, familiar vibration in his inner ear—a biological resonance only detectable by parasite-modified auditory systems. His breath caught, and a pulse of instinctual fear ran through him. He looked around carefully, eyes scanning faces, shadows, movement. One of them was nearby.

His pace faltered. That's when he saw you.

You stood out—not because of your appearance, but because of what you did. In the middle of the crosswalk, your hand casually brushed your ear. A subtle motion, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him it screamed recognition.

You were a parasite.

His brows drew together. Something was off. Parasites usually acted in groups—hunting together, assimilating their targets with military precision. If you were one of them, you should've engaged him.

But you didn't. You kept walking, fast and purposeful. Almost like... you were running away.

Jongseong stayed still for a moment, the bag of food hanging from his hand, forgotten. His heartbeat was heavy in his ears, half fear, and half curiosity. Why would a parasite avoid confrontation?

Jongseong moved. Not fast, not slow—just enough to stay behind you without drawing attention. He weaved through the crowd with quiet precision, his eyes fixed on the back of your coat. The city noise drowned under the low pulse still humming in his inner ear. It wasn't strong. Just enough to confirm you were still nearby. Still parasite.

The further you walked, the thinner the crowd became. The bright shops faded behind them, replaced by rusted gates, shuttered storefronts, and flickering neon signs. This was the forgotten edge of the city. The place people passed through quickly. The place no one paid attention to.

You turned down a narrow alley.

Jongseong hesitated at the entrance. The cold bit harder here, funneled between brick and concrete. His fingers curled, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles—his body silently preparing to shift if needed. Bone could become blade in less than a second now. But he held it back.

He stepped in. The alley stretched narrow, damp, littered with the scent of oil, metal, and old rain. Pipes hissed from the walls. Ahead, your footsteps had stopped. You were waiting.

When he turned the final corner, he found you standing in front of a rusted service door leading into a forgotten subway access station.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"If you're looking for another kin," you snarled without turning, "then get the fuck out and leave me alone. I'm not one of them."

Your voice was sharp making Jongseong's body tensed instantly. The shift in your tone, the unnatural dilation of your pupils, set off every instinct in him. His hand inched slightly to the side, fingers twitching, ready to reconfigure.

Then it happened. Too fast to follow with human eyes.

Your right shoulder warped violently—tissue splitting and reshaping into something jagged, organic, and grotesque. It extended outward, not as a limb but as a weapon—wing-like in structure, but edged with hooked thorns.

You lunged, Jongseong barely reacted in time, his arm snapping up, skin splitting as a skin liked carapace laced with tendon grew along his forearm—absorbing the blow with a sickening crack of thorn against hardened flesh.

He staggered back, eyes narrowed, breathing sharp.

"You kept your mind," he growled, muscles tensed, his cells humming beneath his skin, ready to shift again. "But you're still dangerous."

Your shoulder pulsed with unnatural motion, the wing-like appendage twitching as it began to fold back. "I don't want to be part of your kin," you hissed, your voice jagged with fury. "Leave me the fuck alone. I am not a monster like you!"

Jongseong's eyes widened. He barely had time to respond before you surged forward. The air tore around you as your body shifted mid-motion—bone spiking from your forearm like a serrated blade. You slashed.

He ducked, sparks flying as your weapon scraped against the metal wall. He twisted, arm reforming into hardened muscle and armor-like plating, launching a counterstrike aimed at your ribs.

You blocked with an organic shield that burst from your side—scaled and ridged like insect chitin. The impact sent both of you skidding back across the damp concrete.

Your eyes met again. Rage. Confusion. Pain.

Jongseong lunged first this time, his limbs reshaping with practiced speed—flesh snapping, tendons stretching. A blade grew from his wrist like a fang of obsidian, and he swung it toward your shoulder.

You caught it, barehanded.

Your arm, now half-shifted and armored, trembled with force as it held his blade in place. But what caught him wasn't your strength—it was your face. You weren't snarling anymore. You were breathing hard. Your eyes... they were terrified.

Your reaction wasn't instinctual. It wasn't predatory. You had hesitated. Controlled your form. Redirected the attack instead of going for the kill. Just like him.

Jongseong pulled back, staggering a step. His breathing slowed. "You're... like me."

You stood still, chest rising and falling. The bone blade on your forearm quivered, then receded slowly, melting back beneath your skin.

"Don't say that," you whispered, voice cracking. "Don't compare me to you."

But the truth was there—in the way your limbs didn't shift fully, in the way your face still held emotion, conscience, even after a violent clash. You hadn't killed him when you had the chance. You chose not to.

"I'm a hybrid," Jongseong whispered, "I'm not a monster. I'm not human either. I assume you are too."

You didn't answer right away. Your eyes flicked toward the tunnel, where the distant clicking echoed like something crawling just beyond the light. Then, slowly, you turned back to him. Your jaw clenched, the muscles in your cheek twitching like you were holding something in.

"I'm a human." It sounded more like a plea than a statement. "I was—" you paused, blinking hard, "—I was a person. I had a name. A home. I worked a job. I went to cafés and hated Mondays. I had a cat."

Jongseong didn't move.

"I wasn't this," you went on, your voice rising. "I didn't ask for it. I woke up one day and everything was... different. My skin felt wrong. I couldn't stop hearing things. Smelling things. My body... it started moving on its own. Changing. Splitting open."

Your breathing quickened. "And now I can feel it, all the time. In my bones. In my mind. Whispering. Pulling that doesn't belong to me."

Your eyes met his—wide, wet, terrified. "I don't want to be what you are."

Jongseong lowered his gaze for a moment. He understood that look. He'd seen it in the mirror more than once.

"I didn't want this either," he said quietly. He took a slow, cautious step forward, then crouched to your level, his voice soft—human.

"I was a doctor," he said, almost with a tired smile. "Worked long shifts. Rarely slept. I used to stress-eat... corn, of all things. Still do. I don't know why. Guess the parasite didn't kill that part of me."

You blinked, confused by the strange confession. But it grounded you, if only for a moment.

"I think about who I used to be all the time," he continued. "That guy who thought medicine could fix anything. Who didn't believe in monsters—just diseases, mutations, pathology." He paused, watching your face. "Then I became the thing we used to study. And I realized something... I'm still here. Somewhere beneath all of this."

His fingers lightly tapped his chest.

Your gaze dropped, lashes trembling as you stared at the space between your knees, the damp concrete still stained from your earlier strike. You didn't say anything right away. Your breathing was shallow—measured, like you were trying not to fall apart.

"I used to love the rain," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "Now it just smells like metal and rust and... blood."

Jongseong didn't interrupt. He stayed crouched, steady, watching you.

"I haven't slept in two weeks. Not really. I keep waking up in the middle of the night with my hands turned into something else. Blades. Claws. Once, it was... wings." You gave a bitter laugh, dry and hollow. "I think they were wings. They tore the ceiling fan clean off."

"I keep thinking if I ignore it, if I just pretend hard enough, it'll go away. But it's always there. Under my skin. In my head."

Jongseong's voice came calm, anchored. "You're not imagining it. It's real. And it's not going away."

Your hands clenched into fists. "Then what's the point of fighting it?"

He didn't answer immediately. He sat down fully, folding his arms over his knees, not trying to lecture you but to just exist beside you.

"I fight it because I still remember what it felt like to make people better," he said. "Because I don't want to lose that part of me. Even if it's buried under everything else." He glanced at you. "Because maybe... if I keep holding onto it, I can be something in between. Not human, not parasite. Something new."

You shook your head. "That sounds like a lie people tell themselves to feel less afraid."

"Maybe it is," he admitted. "But it keeps me sane."

Another silence settled in. Then, a small voice escaped you—quiet, brittle. "I used to sing. Just... badly. In the car. In the shower. Everywhere. And now when I try, nothing comes out. Like my voice doesn't belong to me anymore."

Jongseong looked at you. "That part's still there. Buried, but not gone."

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you carried a strange weight—grief, recognition, something neither of you could name but both felt. The bond of shared monstrosity. Of shared humanity refusing to die.

Then, softly, Jongseong added, "We don't have to be monsters, even if that's what we've become. We get to choose."

You were quiet for a moment, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. Your voice came small, almost like you were afraid the answer would make it more real.

"How long have you been... like this?"

Jongseong's gaze drifted for a second, remembering. "Two and a half years," he said quietly.

You looked up at him, your voice trembling. "Two months. That's how long it's been for me."

He nodded, listening.

"I ran away from home when I realized what was happening to me," you continued. "I couldn't stay. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I couldn't even trust myself." You exhaled shakily, brushing your palm across your face as if trying to wipe the memory away.

"I ran into a parasite once," you said. "Fully changed. No humanity left. Said he'd been like that for two years."

"What did he do?" Jongseong asked, already suspecting the answer.

"When he felt that I wasn't like him... he didn't speak. He just attacked. Like I was an error. A mutation. Something that needed to be erased."

Jongseong's jaw tightened. "You barely survived."

You nodded. "He tore my side open. I didn't even realize I could heal until after." The memory made you shudder.

"I thought maybe I could hide. Blend in. Pretend I was still normal. But that encounter changed everything. I knew then... there was no going back."

Jongseong looked at you, really looked, and said gently, "You've made it this far on your own. That counts for something."

You laughed bitterly. "Does it?"

"It does," he said. "Because most wouldn't have."

"The parasite in us... it doesn't understand mercy. Or hesitation. The fact that you've held on this long, that you chose not to give in—that means you're still you."

Your eyes flicked to him, unsure. "And if I stop choosing?"

"Then I'll stop you," he said, not as a threat, but as a promise. You blinked, searching his face for cruelty and finding only empathy.

It was strange, in a quiet way—comforting—to be near someone like you. Someone who understood. That's how you would describe it. A sense of relief wrapped in unease. You were still hiding, but not really. Not anymore.

You learned his name is Park Jongseong. He told you in passing, but you held onto it. Jongseong, meaning "collecting stars." It made you smile softly, secretly. How fitting, you thought, for someone piecing himself back together from fragments of something once human.

He gestured toward a small kit laid out between you. "Try to relax. I'm going to insert a needle—just a quick sample," he said, already prepping the syringe.

You stared at him, arching a brow, half laughing. "You know I merged my body with blades, right? A needle isn't exactly nightmare fuel, Dr. Park Jongseong."

He let out a quiet breath of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle, reluctant smile. It was the first expression that looked genuinely human since you'd met him. Still, he moved with the calm, clinical precision of someone who'd done this thousands of times. His hands didn't shake, and his voice stayed even.

You extended your arm, the skin unusually smooth where it had once morphed—no visible scars.

He carefully inserted the needle into your arm. The sensation was oddly muted—your pain receptors dulled, altered by the parasite. Your blood didn't flow quite like before; it was slightly denser and darker.

"This should be enough," Jongseong murmured, capping the vial. "I'll isolate the DNA structure, run it against my own. I want to see how your immune system adapted. If your T-cells underwent the same mutations."

You looked at him curiously. "You think we mutated differently?"

"I think we merged differently," he said, eyes flicking to his portable scanner. "The parasite doesn't always follow the same pattern. In most hosts, it hijacks the immune system completely—overrides all genetic repair functions, takes full control. But in us..."

"It coexists," you said softly, finishing his thought.

He nodded. "Exactly. It integrates rather than eliminates. Your T-cells should be producing chimeric proteins—part human, part parasite. Like mine."

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "You ever seen that happen before?"

He shook his head. "No. Just us."

You both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of his scanner whirring softly as it began processing. Data streamed across the small screen, lines of genetic code scrolling faster than most could read.

"It's weird," you said. "I hated this thing inside me. Still do. But sitting here... I feel like I'm finally studying it. Like it's not just happening to me anymore. I'm taking it back."

Jongseong looked up from the scanner. "Exactly. That's what I've been doing for two years. Trying to understand it."

You watched him work. There was a quiet intensity to the way he moved, so focused, almost surgical. His fingers danced over the scanner's interface, eyes tracking streams of data with an ease. But your gaze wasn't on the screen.

You studied him. His nose was too pointed, almost sculpted. His jaw, sharp like it had been carved with purpose. The light caught on the angles of his face, shadows tracing across his skin like ink. His raven-black hair fell slightly over his brow, just messy enough to look deliberate, and yet... it suited him perfectly.

And his eyes, sharp, eagle-like. At first glance, they looked cold. Angry, even. The kind of gaze that could cut. But as you kept watching, you saw through it. There was no rage behind them. Only exhaustion and softness.

"I can feel you staring," he said suddenly, not looking up from the scanner.

You blinked, caught off guard. "You have a strangely symmetrical face."

He smirked faintly, still focused on the readout. "Years of stress must have evened me out."

"I think you're too pretty to be a walking biohazard," you added dryly.

That made him glance at you, a flicker of amusement breaking through the wall of control. "That's not usually the first thing people say when they see me split my arm open."

You tilted your head. "It's the second thing."

He huffed a quiet laugh. Just for a moment, you saw it—the man beneath the monster. The one who used to save lives, who still wanted to, even if he didn't say it aloud.

"I used to keep my reflection covered," you admitted, your voice softening. "Couldn't look at my own eyes. I was afraid one day they'd stop looking like mine."

He didn't respond right away. Just stared down at the glowing genetic map on the screen, jaw tight. Then he said, "Your eyes still look human to me."

Your cheeks flushed, the blood rising unbidden. A strange irony, considering how much your blood had changed, but it felt too human.

After the blood draw, he insisted on running a full assessment—"purely diagnostic," he said, slipping back into the old habits of a physician. His voice turned more analytical. But his touch remained cautious, and gentle.

You sat on the metal examination table, legs swinging slightly, eyes drifting over the cluttered shelves and half-finished notes pinned across the wall. He moved in the background, scanning a new set of neural data. But your attention wasn't on the screen.

"Do you feel lonely in here?" you asked softly, not looking at him.

He didn't answer immediately. Just continued working for a few seconds, then said, "I don't notice anymore."

You didn't believe him. You don't think he did either.

After another minute passed, your voice returned, gentler. "What happened? When you first realized you were like this? Did you just... stop being a doctor?"

Jongseong paused, then turned slightly, leaning back against the counter. The light from the scanner flickered behind him, "I was attacked by a gang," he said flatly. "Back alley. They thought I had money. I lost count after the twentieth cut."

You stared at him, stunned.

"I had thirty-five knife wounds across my torso, chest, and abdomen," he continued, "deep lacerations. Organ damage. Multiple perforations. I was dying. I think... I was dead."

You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on him.

"I assume the parasite entered my body when I hit the threshold," he said. "Critical condition. Immune system collapsed. Internal bleeding. It's my theory that the parasite thrives more when the host is on the edge—when the system is weak enough to take, but not too far gone to recover."

His gaze lowered to your arm where the sample had been drawn. "My theory is... I wasn't strong enough to resist it. That's why I didn't die like the others. The parasite didn't need to fight me. It just filled in what was already broken."

"So, you think it chose you because you were weak?"

He met your eyes again. "I think it needed someone weak. It needed space to grow."

A pause. His voice softened. "But maybe... maybe that's also why we didn't become them. Because we didn't fight it like a war. We... merged."

You shifted slightly, the sterile metal of the table cold under your fingertips. "You think that's why I'm still here, too?"

Jongseong nodded. "Your neural scans still show strong activity in the amygdala, the hippocampus. Emotional processing, memory retention. That's rare in infected hosts. Most show degeneration within a week of full takeover."

"And mine?"

He turned the screen slightly to show you. "Yours are still human. Intact. Maybe even more responsive than average."

You blinked. "So I'm... emotionally stronger?"

He gave a faint, crooked smile. "Or just more stubborn."

You laughed under your breath, soft eyes lingering on him, the curve of your smile not wide, but real. For a moment, Jongseong couldn't look away.

There was something in your expression that unsettled him more than any mutation, more than any parasite or hybrid anomaly. It was the trace of comfort. The ghost of peace in a body that shouldn't have had room for it.

On another day, beneath the soft whir of outdated HVAC vents and the mechanical rhythm of genetic sequencing equipment, your voice stirred.

"What happens to the parasite inside us?" you asked. "Where does it go?"

He didn't answer at first. Jongseong stood across the room, bare-chested, his skin partially illuminated by the sterile blue glow of the diagnostic interface. He was facing a mirror bolted to the wall—cracked slightly near the corner, the silver peeling at the edges. He hadn't looked into it for a long time. Not really.

But today, he was watching himself. And in the reflection, he saw you, standing behind him, the question still hovering in the air. He held your gaze for a second through the mirror, then turned back to his own reflection.

"I don't know," he said eventually. His voice was calm, but not detached. He was thinking—hard. "At least, in my case, I don't feel anything inside anymore. Not like those early days, when it felt like something was pushing... crawling beneath my skin. That pressure's gone."

He paused, lifting his hand, flexing his fingers slowly—watching the tendons shift under his skin.

"It's like... I consumed it," he said quietly. "Or maybe my body did. My cells stopped resisting. Stopped treating it as foreign. They absorbed it."

"You think your immune system... adapted?"

"Yes," he said, nodding faintly. "I've run thousands of blood scans. The parasite's original RNA is still there, but it's no longer dominant. It's dormant. Integrated. Like mitochondria."

You raised your brow. "You're saying it's symbiotic."

"More than that," he replied. "It's part of my physiology. My T-cells don't fight it. They use it. They've evolved—specialized to incorporate its functions. Shape-shifting, cellular regeneration, neural acceleration. My body didn't reject the parasite."

The parasite didn't dominate him. It became part of him.

You exhaled slowly, your voice soft, almost like you were speaking to yourself. "You're still human, after all..."

He didn't respond, his gaze lingered on you.

You looked down at your hands, turning one over, flexing your fingers. "You and the parasite... you didn't fight each other. You merged." You hesitated, the word strange on your tongue. "I don't even know if merge is the right term. That makes it sound clean. Voluntary."

Jongseong turned to face you fully now, taking a slow step closer. "It wasn't clean," he said. "And it sure as hell wasn't voluntary."

You looked up at him again.

"It was pain. Constant. Days of fevers, hallucinations, muscles tearing themselves apart. My nervous system was rewriting itself in real-time. I could feel my own memories slipping... then coming back sharper. Warped, like they'd been filtered through something else."

He tapped his temple once. "I didn't think I was going to survive it. I shouldn't have. But something inside me didn't break. It adapted. And when the parasite realized it couldn't overwrite me, it... integrated. Not by choice. By necessity."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "You're saying it didn't want you like that?"

"The parasite wants dominance," Jongseong said. "Control. But when it senses it can't win, it changes strategy. Tries to preserve itself through compromise. It's not a thinking organism, not in the way we are—but it learns."

You nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the cracked mirror behind him. "Then maybe it's not about merging or fighting. Maybe it's about outlasting it."

He studied you carefully, the muscles in his jaw flexing just slightly before he spoke.

"Exactly. If you can hold on long enough, if you can stay yourself through the pain... you don't lose. You evolve."

You looked down again, thinking of all the moments you thought you were slipping. All the nights your body changed without your permission. All the times you'd woken up shaking, afraid of your own skin.

And yet... you were still here.

You looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. The skin looked normal now. "My hand hurts sometimes," you admitted, voice quiet. "It's like... a pressure building under the bone. I can control my shifting, but sometimes it feels like something else is doing it for me."

Your eyes lingered on your arm as if it might betray you in the next breath.

"I feel like I'm not me."

"That's normal," he said. "You're still only two months in. Your body's not fully stabilized yet. It takes time. The neural pathways between your conscious mind and the parasite's reactive systems are still syncing."

You glanced up at him. "That sounds way too clinical for my hand turns into a blade without asking."

He smirked faintly. "Point is—you'll get used to it. Eventually, the signals align. You won't have to fight for control. You'll just be in control."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But what if I don't?"

His smile faded, but his expression didn't turn cold. "Remember what I said when we first met?" he asked.

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as the memory stirred. Jongseong gave a soft tired smile. "I'll stop you."

You stared at him, reading the weight behind the words. "And you'd really do it?" you asked.

"If it came to that," he said, without hesitation. "If you lost yourself completely—if there was no coming back—then yeah. I would."

"But not because I see you as a threat," he added. "Because I'd want someone to do the same for me."

"I don't want to become something I'd have to be stopped from," you whispered.

"Then don't," he said simply.

Another day blurred into a week, and somehow, it became routine.

You and Jongseong were always near each other now. You simply showed up, and he never asked you to leave.

Every morning, without fail, you arrived at his doorstep. Sometimes barefoot, sometimes holding a plastic bag of random things you'd picked up—food, spare clothes, old electronics scavenged from forgotten corners of the city. Always with that same wide smile and a casual wave, like the world hadn't tried to erase you.

His home sat far from the crowded parts of Seoul, nestled in the quiet sprawl of the outer districts—secluded enough that no one asked questions, yet comfortable in a way that surprised you. It wasn't sterile or abandoned. It was... lived in. Warm wood tones, clean tile, books stacked in corners, a faint smell of roasted coffee in the mornings.

You didn't expect someone like him to have soft blankets and expensive sheets. But then again, he had been a doctor. Years of relentless work had filled his bank account even as it slowly emptied him. He rarely touched the money now, except to keep the house running and the lab functional. The rest stayed untouched, gathering dust, like a forgotten version of himself.

Still, his kitchen was well-stocked. His bed was always made. And now, somehow, you had become part of that space.

One quiet afternoon, sunlight filtered through the wide windows, casting long golden shadows across the hardwood floor. You stood barefoot in his living room, playfully holding your arm out as it began to shift.

Jongseong watched from the couch, sipping lukewarm tea, his eyes narrowed in equal parts curiosity and caution.

"It's my first time encountering someone who can shape their hand into wings," he said.

You smirked and raised your hand, flesh trembling, tendons coiling and restructuring. The skin along your forearm peeled open in seamless, silent motion, splitting into more organic. A full wing unfurled—sleek and wide, nearly as tall as you. Its edges were curved like a crescent, the shape aerodynamic but jagged, ringed with short, blade-like protrusions.

It was the color of your skin, yet it glinted faintly in the light.

"Most parasites use their heads," Jongseong murmured, leaning forward slightly. "They split open like flower petals—exposing core structures for attack or communication."

He stood and stepped closer, gaze fixed on your transformed arm. "But this... this is different. It's not just offensive. It's built for movement. Flight, maybe. Or at least gliding. Your body's adapting beyond the base strain."

You watched his fascination with a faint grin. He spoke like a scientist.

"Does your head still hurt?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes.

You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head. "Not anymore," you said softly. "I started doing what you told me. Focusing on breathing. Slowing everything down when it starts building up."

He nodded, approving. "The headaches come from pressure. When the nervous system tries to regulate a function it doesn't fully understand. But when you center your breathing, you give the brain a stable pattern—something to anchor the mutation against."

You laughed a little. "You sound like a meditation app."

"Doctor first," he replied, raising a brow. "Monster second."

You folded the wing back into your arm slowly, watching as the skin sealed over again, leaving no sign it had ever been anything else. Jongseong handed you a towel to wipe the sweat off your hands—it wasn't painful anymore, but it still took effort.

"Do you ever get tired of analyzing me?" you teased, dabbing your brow.

"Not yet," he said. "You're the only other hybrid I've ever met. Every reaction you have, every adaptation—it all tells me more about how this thing works."

You leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking at him with warmth. "So I'm your favorite test subject?"

He smiled faintly. "You're the only one who smiles back."

You started living around him—and it wasn't planned. It just... happened.

There was no formal moment when it became your place too. You simply never left. You came in, stayed for a while, and then stayed a little longer. Your bag ended up in the corner of his hallway. A change of clothes appeared on the back of his chair. Your toothbrush found its way into a cup next to his. No one said anything.

His laboratory is tucked beneath the basement. Stainless steel counters were cluttered with vials, blood samples, biofeedback equipment, and an old centrifuge that rattled every time it spun. Some walls were covered with whiteboards, sketched with frantic genetic maps, neural networks, protein structures, and lines of code that only made partial sense to you.

You stood in the doorway for a long time watching him. Despite not wearing a coat or a stethoscope anymore, he was still a doctor. He spent hours down there, alone, dissecting the mystery of what you both had become. Studying the hybrid genome, comparing tissue reactions, tracking metabolic rates, rebuilding broken sequences.

He never said it, but you knew he wasn't doing it for science.

He was doing it to keep himself sane.

So, you stayed. And while he worked, you started moving through the rest of the house. Dust had gathered in the corners of rooms he didn't use. Shelves were layered with months of settled particles, and forgotten books lay unopened beneath it. So you cleaned. One room at a time.

You cooked, mostly for yourself at first. But eventually, you started making enough for two. He always ate. Silently, usually. But he ate. Sometimes with a quiet compliment, sometimes with a small smile.

Later, you found the backyard—overgrown, wild, and tired. The flower beds were choked by weeds, the soil cracked from neglect. You didn't ask permission. You just started clearing it out. Pulling weeds. Watering the roots that still had life left in them. Then you bought seeds, colorful ones: snapdragons, asters, cosmos. Something bright. Something that still dared to bloom.

He noticed, of course. But he didn't stop you.

Sometimes, at night, when the house was still and the garden smelled faintly of wet soil, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of the guest room—Jongseong's oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders, warm with his scent—and wondered:

Is this what being human still feels like?

You asked yourself the question over and over, unsure of the answer. You still laughed. You still dreamed. You still loved food, flowers, music. You still worried.

Your mind drifted to things you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks. Your mother. Your cat. Your home.

The lie you told when you disappeared—telling your family you'd run off with someone. You'd sent one message. Just one. And never replied again.

Do they hate me for it? you wondered. Do they think I'm alive? Do they sit at the dinner table and leave your place empty, hoping?

The thought made you smile—but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes.

You snorted under your breath, turning onto your side.

Because now, in some twisted, literal sense, you were living with a guy. A guy who wasn't exactly human anymore. A guy who slept only four hours a night and spent the rest of his time trying to outsmart biology. A guy whose hands could become blades. Whose eyes still softened when he thought you weren't watching.

A guy who hadn't kicked you out. Who never would.

"You can shift your hands without blades?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at Jongseong, the question tumbling from your lips. The very idea felt foreign—impossible, even. Your own shifting had always come with sharp edges, bone-splitting pain, and the quiet terror that you might lose control if you shaped too far.

Jongseong glanced down at his hands, calm and controlled. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lifted one hand and extended it toward you, palm up. "Watch," he said simply.

His dark eyes shifted—pupils dilating slightly, the irises deepening in color until they almost looked black, consuming the natural brown. You knew what that meant. It was a physiological marker—hybrid activation. Your eyes did the same when you shifted. His were sharp, but not hostile, focused, but unthreatening.

The structure of his hand started to ripple not violently, not like yours usually did. No sharp angles, no sudden protrusions of bone or blade. The skin thinned and stretched, flowing in a fluid-like motion that reminded you of melting wax. It wasn't grotesque—it was graceful.

His fingers elongated and curved slightly. From the base of his palm, tendrils began to unfurl—slender, flexible, organic. Not quite like vines, not quite like tentacles, but something in-between. Soft ridges lined their surfaces. They pulsed faintly with life, reacting to the air, to temperature, to you.

They didn't glint like blades. They didn't threaten. They moved with purpose.

Your breath caught as you watched, caught between horror and awe.

"How...?" you whispered.

Jongseong didn't smile, but there was a quiet light in his eyes. "The parasite doesn't only build weapons. It builds tools—if you teach it to."

You stepped closer, cautiously, drawn to the strange, mesmerizing movement of his altered hand. "I thought it only knew how to kill."

"So did I," he said. "At first. But then I started thinking like it. Observing. Not just resisting. It reacts to survival instinct, yes—but it also responds to intention. Will."

He slowly closed his hand, the tendrils retracting fluidly, vanishing back into his skin as the flesh reformed and returned to normal.

You blinked, letting out a slow breath. "Wow. That's impressive but... completely useless," you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Jongseong's eyes returned to their usual deep brown, pupils shrinking, the hybrid dilation fading. He looked up at you, a beat of silence passing then he laughed.

It was soft, unguarded. A sound you hadn't heard often from him, but when it came, it felt genuine, surprisingly warm. "Well, thanks," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Glad to know my non-lethal biological innovation gets such rave reviews."

You shrugged, trying not to smile. "Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein. I just can't think of a practical use for creepy space noodles."

"Tactile sensory extensions," he corrected with mock offense. "They can be used to detect surface tension, pressure shifts, chemical traces—"

"So basically... weird science-fingers."

Jongseong gave you a long, theatrical sigh, one hand dragging down his face in mock despair, though the amused curve of his mouth betrayed him.

"You know what? Fuck it," he muttered, turning back to his workstation, but not before you caught the upward twitch of his lips.

Another month drifted by.

You woke, cooked, trained, experimented, and sometimes just existed with Jongseong in quiet companionship. The world outside still cracked and groaned with danger, but within the walls of his house, it was a different season.

And outside, life was starting to bloom.

The garden you once cleared had transformed. Where dry soil had stretched beneath tired weeds, color now flourished. The seeds you planted with no real hope had taken root. Soft petals in pinks, purples, and golds opened under the late spring sun, nodding gently with every breeze. You had come to love the quiet act of watering them in the morning, a grounding ritual. Something beautifully, stubbornly normal.

This morning, as dew still clung to the flowerbed leaves and your fingers dripped with the cool mist from the watering can, a small sound broke the usual silence.

A tiny cry. High-pitched. Fragile. You turned, instinctively alert. But it wasn't danger waiting for you in the corner of the fence.

It was a kitten. A small, orange-furred ball curled beneath the bushes—wide green eyes blinking up at you, damp fur clinging to its sides. It looked no older than a few weeks, its tiny ribs shifting with every shaky breath.

"Awww," you murmured, your voice softening as you crouched slowly to its level.

The kitten tilted its head but didn't run. You extended a hand carefully, fingers open, palm low.

"Hey, sweetheart... Where's your mommy?" you whispered.

It answered with a soft meow, barely more than a squeak, and nudged its head forward until it touched your fingers. Warmth bloomed in your chest, before you realized what you were doing, you scooped it gently into your arms, pressing it to your chest.

You didn't hesitate. You brought it inside.

When Jongseong stepped out of the lab hours later, adjusting the settings on his neural scanner, he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a towel-wrapped bundle in your lap. The orange kitten, freshly cleaned and fed, purred softly as it nuzzled your hand.

"You brought home a cat," he said flatly, blinking.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with innocent pride. "I named him Jongjong."

His expression flickered. "Jong... jong?"

You nodded with complete seriousness. "Because he's small. And soft. And a little grumpy."

Jongseong blinked again, then exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half disbelief. "I can't decide if I'm offended or flattered."

"Oh, definitely flattered," you said with a grin. "He's the cutest thing I've seen since I moved in."

The kitten let out a mew, as if to confirm the sentiment. Jongseong stepped closer, crouching beside the couch to get a better look. The kitten stared back at him, unblinking, then gave a dramatic yawn and immediately fell asleep on your lap.

"He trusts you," Jongseong said, softer now.

You looked down at the little creature and ran your thumb gently between its ears. "He doesn't know what I am."

Jongseong was quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's the point."

You glanced at him.

"Maybe he just sees what's real," he added. "And not what we're afraid we've become."

You didn't answer right away. You just watched Jongjong breathe, tiny chest rising and falling against your arm, and felt the quiet weight of peace settle in the room like sunlight through the window.

Jongseong had spent years alone his house, surrounded by machines and memories. He thought solitude was necessary, that isolation kept him safe. That by keeping others out, he could contain the thing growing inside him, the part of him that wasn't entirely human anymore.

That was why, when you first asked him if he ever felt lonely, he hadn't known how to answer.

Now, he had an answer.

Yes.

Because since you arrived, he'd started to remember what it felt like not to be alone. And that contrast made the emptiness he'd grown used to feel sharper, heavier in retrospect. The silence he once embraced had been suffocating. But he hadn't noticed until it began to lift.

You filled the space with little things—sounds, gestures, life. The clink of ceramic mugs in the morning. The quiet murmur of your voice as you read out diagnostic data. The rustle of your clothes as you passed him in the hallway, always brushing just a little too close, like your gravity had started to pull on his.

He never told you that he started waking up before his alarm—not for research, but to hear you moving through the house. The sound of water boiling. The soft click of the stove. The faint hum of your voice when you thought no one could hear.

He never mentioned how he started leaving notes near your table. Little reminders. Jokes hidden inside formulas. Once, a crude sketch of a protein chain that somehow resembled a flower. You'd found it, looked at him with one raised brow, and said nothing, but your smile had lingered for hours.

Maybe you already knew.

Because some nights, when the house fell silent again—when the tunnel lights above the basement flickered and the lab's hum faded into a deeper hush—you would sit beside him on the couch, not asking questions, not filling the air with unnecessary words. Just being there. Shoulder to shoulder. Warm. Quiet.

And the silence didn't feel empty anymore.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Jongseong spun around and froze.

Your face had split clean down the middle, skin peeled open like flower petals under pressure, revealing the intricate folds of your brain, glistening and wet. Thorned tendrils coiled from within the exposed cavity, twitching slightly as if sensing the air. Despite the grotesque transformation, one half of your mouth was still smiling, playful, unbothered, as if this was just another joke between the two of you.

And somehow, impossibly, Jongseong found himself staring—not with fear, but with a strange, quiet awe.

Even like this warped, twisted, exposed, he still thought you were beautiful.

Terrifying, yes.

But beautiful.

Jongseong let out a sigh and pressed his lips to the rim of his coffee mug, hiding the curve of his smile behind it. He didn't laugh—barely. It wasn't that it wasn't disturbing. It was. You looked like something torn from a biology textbook on alien evolution.

With a twitch of muscle and membrane, your face knit itself back together, seamlessly folding in. The thorns retracted, the skin closed, the tremors stopped. You bounced on the balls of your feet, practically glowing with excitement.

"I learned that yesterday!" you said, beaming. "Can you do that too?!"

You looked at him like a child begging for a party trick, eyes wide, shining with that strange joy that came with discovering just how far the body could stretch before breaking.

Jongseong tilted his head, smile lingering at the edges of his lips. He set his coffee down on the lab table and stood slowly. "It's not exactly the same," he murmured, voice low and calm, "but... sure."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then his skin split—not down the middle like yours, but in five clean diagonal lines across his face. The motion was quiet, each line peeled open slightly, like vents adjusting to pressure. From the top of his forehead, the bone shifted and stretched, revealing a sliver of cerebral tissue beneath a thin veil of skin—pale, veined, faintly glowing. A single blade unfolded with a smooth, mechanical grace, jutting forward from the frontal bone, not sharp enough to kill, but certainly enough to threaten.

"That's... beautiful," you whispered.

He let the mutation retract slowly, each fracture sealing with precision. No blood. No pain. Just practiced control.

"I thought we were past the point of calling brain blades 'beautiful,'" he teased, reaching for his coffee again.

You shrugged. "I think we're past the point of pretending we're not fascinated with each other."

That silenced him for a second. You stepped in a little closer. Not touching—just close enough to share breath. Close enough to see your reflection in his eyes. "Is that why you looked at me like that?" you asked, voice quieter now. "When I split open?"

Jongseong didn't answer immediately. He studied your face—not the skin, not the features, but the you beneath it. The remnants of humanity still clinging to something that should've been lost. The way your voice still held inflection, still carried joy. The way your smile wasn't entirely biological, it came from memory, not muscle.

"Yes," he said finally. "Because no one's ever shown me something monstrous... and looked so alive doing it."

You didn't move. Neither did he.

You stood there, close enough that you could hear the soft intake of his breath, the quiet thrum of his altered heart beneath his ribs, beating in a rhythm that no longer matched human biology... yet somehow still made your chest ache.

You reached up slowly, not asking permission, not speaking, just brushing your fingertips along the faint lines that remained on his cheek. The skin was smooth, impossibly warm, as if something still lived just beneath the surface, twitching, waiting. He didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch, just a fraction subtle enough to be instinct, but intentional enough to mean something.

"You're always so careful," you whispered, your voice barely more than breath.

Jongseong's eyes met yours. "If I'm not, I might hurt you."

You smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't mind."

That earned a small, broken sound from him. He reached up, slowly, carefully, and took your hand in his. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist.

"I don't know what this is," you said softly, searching his face. "I don't know if it's real or just chemical—just mutation convincing us we're closer than we are."

His fingers laced between yours.

"Maybe it is chemical," he said. "But if that's true, then so is every heartbeat. Every kiss. Every touch humans have ever shared. Maybe we're just... another version of it now."

You stared at him for a long moment. Not a word passed between you. Then you leaned forward slowly, testing the air between your mouths like it was charged and he met you halfway.

It wasn't a desperate kiss. It wasn't rushed, or hungry, or tangled in panic. It was precise.

His lips were warm—almost too warm. His body still carried that inhuman heat, like the parasite burned deeper than blood. But you kissed him anyway, because in that heat, you felt something real. Something yours.

He drew you in gently, hand sliding behind your neck. You felt your body respond, you tilted your head, lips parting slightly, angling the kiss deeper, fuller. He tasted like cheap coffee and the metallic hint of sterile air, but it didn't matter.

"I used to think I'd die without ever feeling something like this again," he murmured.

You ran your fingers along his jaw, still touched by the faint lines of his previous transformation. "I thought I had already."

He smiled against your skin. "Guess we were both wrong."

Then his mouth was on yours again, this time deeper, more certain. Not rushed, but hungry. His hand slid down your spine, fingers curling at your waist as he drew you in until there was nothing but heat between you.

You gasped softly against his lips, the sound spilling from you before you could stop it. Your hands moved up, wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He took that moment, his tongue slipped past your lips gliding against yours.

His hands were on your thighs, firm but gentle, and you responded without hesitation. In one motion, you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist, your bodies moving together. He didn't break the kiss—not even for a second—as he carried you with careful steps.

And then you felt it: the shift beneath your back, the familiar give of fabric and old springs. The soft mattress beneath you.

You exhaled as your spine met the bed, his weight settling over you. His lips moved from yours, dragging downward, slower along the edge of your jaw, then to the tender skin just below your ear, and further down to the place where your pulse fluttered.

"Jongseong," you whispered, your voice shaky, half-lost in the sensation, as his mouth lingered at your neck. You felt the sharp heat of his breath, then the sudden sting of teeth—not enough to break skin, just to claim it.

He groaned against your throat, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as his hips pressed down, grinding against yours with a rhythm that sent sparks through your nerves.

"Do parasites get this horny?" he murmured. You laughed, high and breathy, your hips tilting up to meet his. The movement drew a sharp moan from both of you as friction met heat, and the space between you disappeared again.

"Maybe it's just us," you said, fingers digging into his back. "Maybe we're the broken ones who feel too much."

His forehead pressed to yours, his lips hovering just above your mouth as he whispered, "Then I never want to be fixed."

He shifted his weight, sitting back just enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms without hesitation, eager, your skin already humming with anticipation. The fabric peeled away easily, and the moment the cold air kissed your bare skin, a shiver ran through you.

Jongseong's gaze darkened.

"Shit..." he murmured under his breath, almost like he couldn't help it. Then his mouth was on yours again—hotter now, more desperate. His hands braced your hips as you reached between your bodies, finding the waistband of his pants and slipping your fingers underneath. You cupped him through the fabric, palm slow and the sound he made into your mouth was something deep. His hips jolted, twitching into your hand, hungry for more.

Your bra was the next to go, tossed carelessly across the room. The moment it was gone, his hands returned to your body. He paused, looking down at you. His fingers traced the lines of your waist, thumbs brushing the curve of your ribs, his breath shaking as though the sight of you unraveled something inside him.

He looked into your eyes—asking, without words.

And you answered. "Please... touch me more," you whispered, his mouth lowered, finding the curve of your breast, lips brushing the delicate skin before closing around your nipple. His tongue moved slow at first, teasing the areola in gentle circles, and then with more pressure—suckling, tasting, devouring.

Your back arched off the mattress, every nerve lit in a low, burning ache that made your breath catch in your throat. A breathy sigh slipped past your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him there, needing more.

"God—Jongseong..." you moaned.

He responded with a groan of his own, vibrations rumbling against your skin as his hands slid down again. His mouth moved across your chest, his tongue leaving trails of heat as he worshipped every inch he could reach.

Beneath it all was something that had nothing to do with instinct. You weren't two creatures responding to any programming. You were two broken people learning how to feel again, how to love without shame—even if your bodies weren't built like they used to be.

"Remove it," you whispered, fingers curling in the fabric at his waist.

His mouth left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm against your skin. He met your gaze and then rose onto his knees, hands moving quickly to strip the last layers away. Shirt, pants, boxers—gone in seconds, discarded to the shadows around the bed.

Your breath caught. Your eyes dropped, landing on his body, honed, powerful, beautiful in a way that bordered on unnatural. And then your gaze found his cock: thick, flushed, already aching for you. The sight sent heat spiraling through your core, a pulse deep between your thighs.

Your mouth watered.

You sat up, hands reaching for him, fingertips tentative at first, then bolder—wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him, the twitch beneath your touch. Your movements were a little clumsy, a little hungry.

Your thumb grazed over the slick at the tip, smearing it down the shaft with a slow drag that made his breath hitch.

He was so hard. So warm. You could feel his pulse there, alive in your palm.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face. And God, how could someone look so divine?

The dim lights above caught on his sweat-damp hair, his chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. His lips were parted, his eyes hooded but fixed on you like he was watching a miracle unfold. Like you were the miracle.

You stare at him back, and it hits you. He wasn't human—not anymore. Because no human was this breathtaking. No man could look so effortlessly beautiful, even when his body was wrapped in scars, mutations, and power.

Ethereal, you thought.

You arched your back slightly as you leaned down, breath skimming along his length, and you kept your eyes locked on his. The second your tongue flicked out to lick the tip—slow, teasing—he let out a low, guttural sound that made your whole body throb with need.

His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, muscles tightening.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, teasing him. You loved the way he watched you.

"Fuck..." he whispered, voice hoarse.

You smiled against him, mouth opening wider as you took him in again—inch by inch, savoring the feel, the taste, the heat. Your fingers stroked what your lips couldn't reach, working in tandem as your pace gradually deepened, your body moving with quiet, desperate rhythm.

His hands found your face, thumbs gently cradling your cheeks as he looked down at you with that subtle, crooked smile—soft and filled with adoration. His gaze was half-lidded, dark with desire, but calm, too.

You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his stomach tense and his breath falter. You continued your rhythm, your head bobbing as your tongue worked him. Each motion earned a different sound from him, deeper now, breathless and ragged, his self-control rapidly fraying.

"Stop for a while," he breathed, voice tight, hand sliding to your jaw as he gently pulled you back.

You let him go, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips to his tip, glistening between you. He didn't look away, his thumb brushed the slick trail from your mouth, and with a smirk, he pressed it between your lips.

You closed your mouth around it instinctively, eyes locked with his.

"Fuck," he whispered, as if the sight of you like that physically hurt. "You're so goddamn hot."

His hand slid from your cheek to your side. He guided you back down to the mattress, kissing you softly between each motion, your cheek, your shoulder, the center of your chest—as his fingers hooked the waistband of your pants and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them.

Cool air hit your thighs, and you shivered—but not from the temperature.

His breath hitched audibly as the scent of your arousal flooded the space between you. His cock twitched visibly, a strangled groan catching in his throat as his eyes dropped to the heat between your legs. And when he saw you—really saw you—his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he gently, but insistently, pushed them apart.

There you were. Glistening. Dripping. Your pussy visibly clenching, aching around nothing. Open to him.

"Haah..." he moaned. "You're perfect."

"Jongseong," you whined, hips tilting upward, searching for friction, for touch, for him. "Please... touch me already."

He leaned down, his mouth met your clit in one hot, wet stroke. You cried out at the contact, your back arching, fingers flying to his hair, gripping tight. He groaned against you, vibrating straight through your core.

His tongue moved with hunger, circling your clit, then flattening against it, then flicking with just enough pressure to make you gasp. His hands held your thighs open, possessive and steady, his mouth working you like he was starved for you.

Then he dipped lower.

His tongue slid down through your folds, gathering your slick, then pressing against your entrance—probing, pushing, entering.

You moaned, loud and breathless, as his tongue fucked into you, warm and firm and impossibly deep. It was intimate and wild, like he wasn't just tasting you—he was making out with your cunt. Every slurp echoed in your ears, every flick sent sparks crawling up your spine.

You could feel his tongue twisting inside you, exploring every inch, curling upward, coaxing you open in ways no one ever had. His mouth moved between your clit and your core, switching seamlessly, building pressure until you were panting, writhing beneath him.

"Are you gonna cum, my love?" Jongseong murmured, lifting his head just slightly to look at you.

My love.

The words hit deeper than his fingers ever could. Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. You couldn't answer with words—only a frantic nod, your fingers tightening in his hair, mussing it, holding him

His mouth returned to your cunt, tongue working your clit with firm, relentless pressure. He licked harder, faster, each stroke pushing you higher, your body already teetering on the edge.

You were twitching, panting, the heat spiraling out from your core in waves. You'd forgotten what it was like to feel so alive, so overwhelmed in the best possible way—like every nerve had come back to life.

You shattered with a cry, orgasm tearing through you like fire.

But Jongseong didn't stop.

Even as your thighs trembled, even as your body jolted with sensitivity, he kept his tongue swirling over your clit. And then, as if he knew just how to break you open all over again, he pushed two fingers into you, his middle and ring finger, long and strong and perfectly angled.

He curled them inside you, then began to thrust, steady and deep, knuckles brushing your entrance on every stroke.

"Ahhh! Jongseong!" You gasped, sitting up involuntarily, hips bucking against his face. Your body screamed with overstimulation, but it was too good to stop. Too much and not enough, all at once.

Back when you were still "normal," an orgasm like that would've left you limp and done. But now? Now you felt supercharged, every cell vibrating, your skin buzzing with more instead of fatigue.

You needed more and so did he.

The same fire burned beneath Jongseong's skin—evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, in the flush blooming across his cheeks, in the heat radiating from his body like a furnace stoked too long.

He pulled himself up, chest heaving, and kissed you hard. Your tongues tangled instantly, messy and desperate, your panting breaths shared between kisses.

His fingers never stopped, still inside you, still thrusting, now with an animalistic rhythm that had you whining into his mouth. Each stroke sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core, your thighs twitching around his hips.

He swallowed every sound, every moan, and you could feel the satisfaction in the way he kissed you.

"More," you breathed against his lips.

His gaze darkened, his fingers thrusting deeper. "Then I'll give you everything."

He kissed you again, slower this time. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressed against your thigh, throbbing with the need to be inside you.

He slowly slipped his fingers from you, your body twitching at the sudden emptiness, and shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs. His hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself once, then guiding the tip down between your folds. He didn't rush—he dragged the head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in the warmth of your arousal.

You whimpered, legs spreading wider, instinctively offering yourself to him, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Put it in," you whispered, desperate, lifting your hips to meet him. "Please..."

But he held you still, fingers tight on your hips. "Not yet," he murmured, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. "I want to feel you beg for it."

You moaned softly, hips twitching, the heat between your thighs unbearable now.

He finally pressed forward, just the tip breaching you and both of you cried out in unison. It wasn't just the physical sensation. It was the shock of connection.

"God—your pussy's sucking me in," Jongseong groaned, his head tilting back slightly, neck tense, jaw clenched. "Oh, fuck..."

When he pushed deeper, you choked on a moan, head dropping back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, the stretch perfect, overwhelming. You could feel every vein, every pulse, your body clenching desperately around him as he reached places you forgot were there—almost brushing your cervix, almost too deep, but just right.

Jongseong leaned into you, pressing his body against yours, skin to skin, chest to chest. His arms wrapped around you. He hugged you—his full weight over you. His face buried in your neck, breath warm against your pulse as he finally began to move.

Slow thrusts, measured and deep. Every time he pushed inside you, it felt like a wave crashing over your soul—bringing back color, sound, breath. You clung to him, your arms around his back, legs locking around his waist.

"I feel so alive," Jongseong whispered against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin as he kissed it.

The room was filled with heat. The sound of breath, of skin meeting skin echoed through the space only the two of you could hear. Outside, the world moved—wind howling through the tunnels, distant animal sounds sharp on the air, senses heightened by your altered bodies.

But none of it mattered.

The only scent in the air was arousal—yours and his. The only sounds were gasps, moans, curses whispered into sweat-slick skin.

"Nghh... Jongseong..." you cried, voice cracking as you pulled him closer, fingers digging into his back like you could drag him deeper inside you.

His rhythm shifted, harder now. More forceful. And then he angled his hips just right—and hit you there.

Your scream tore through the room as his cock slammed into your g-spot, stars bursting behind your eyes. You clenched around him, tight and involuntary, your body no longer yours—only his, only this.

"Fuck," he cursed, head dropping into your shoulder as your walls fluttered around him. "You feel like heaven."

"Harder... please," you begged, your voice a broken whisper. "Want it harder."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath uneven, eyes blazing with raw intensity. "Yeah? This not enough for you?" he rasped.

You could only shake your head, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes from how good it felt. His hand reached up, fingers gently sweeping the damp strands of hair from your face. Then he kissed you again. Pouring every ounce of feeling into it, swallowing your moans as he slammed into you with brutal precision.

Each thrust shook your entire body. He moved faster now—faster than any human could. "Want more?" he growled against your lips. "You want to be filled, baby?"

You nodded desperately, too far gone to speak, your hips rising to meet every thrust, chasing the edge you could feel surging again. He groaned into your mouth, losing himself completely, fucking you.

When your orgasm hit, it tore through you, your whole body tensing, twitching, legs locking around his waist as you came hard, gasping his name.

And he felt the every pulsing wave, every clench of your slick, desperate walls around his cock—and he came with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt as his release surged into you, thick and hot. You could feel him throbbing inside you, filling you deep, but he didn't stop.

Jongseong kept moving. His thrusts slowed but stayed deep, grinding into you. Your eyes rolled back, heat still pulsing violently through every inch of your body.

And for him—it was more than pleasure. He felt something inside himself realigning. Cells reorganizing, adapting again, responding not to survival... but to you. His body recognized yours, welcomed it.

The usual limits of human bodies didn't apply to either of you anymore. You should have been spent. Exhausted. But your broken refractory periods meant nothing now. The hunger didn't fade—it simply deepened.

He shifted without warning, flipping you effortlessly beneath him—then pulling you back, guiding you to straddle him instead. He collapsed onto his back, chest slick with sweat, arms open.

You took it. You climbed over him, breathless, body still buzzing, and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. A choked sound escaped both of you. You were so sensitive, your walls gripping him tight, but your need, your craving was louder.

You started bouncing, fast and messy, hips slapping against his thighs. "Fuck—yes, just like that," Jongseong growled, hands locking around your waist. His hips bucked up into you, matching your rhythm.

You braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling into his skin as your body began to spiral again. Your thighs trembled, knees shaking as your orgasm crept up again. You could barely breathe, barely think, only ride.

Jongseong shifted beneath you, planting his feet firmly into the mattress for leverage—and thrust up into you with such force you cried out, nearly collapsing over him. He fucked you through your orgasm, each thrust dragging the climax out longer, deeper, until your whole body convulsed, your cries echoing off the walls.

"Ahh—want more," you slurred, voice ragged, utterly cock-drunk.

Jongseong didn't speak. His breath came in hot, heavy bursts as he kept thrusting up into you. His hand reached up, slipping two fingers between your lips—quieting you. You moaned around them, muffled, your tongue swirling instinctively.

He watched you, eyes half-lidded, wild with lust. "You can't get enough, huh?"

Your moans vibrated around his fingers, still buried in your mouth, muffling your cries as your body kept bouncing on his cock, fast and needy.

You clenched around him again, and another guttural groan tore from his lips.

Jongseong slid his fingers from your mouth, glistening with your spit. He brought them to his lips and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The simple act made your pulse spike, your rhythm falter for a beat before you recovered.

Your hands slid back to brace against his knees, your back arching sharply. The change in angle made him slip deeper inside you, and you both gasped—his cock visibly outlined beneath your skin, filling you to the hilt. You saw the way his chest stuttered with each breath, eyes tracing every inch of your exposed body.

Then Jongseong laid back, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of you. His gaze locked with yours, you gasped softly when you notice the change in his appearance.

His pupils had gone completely black, pure darkness, blown wide.

Something else wrapped around your waist—slick, warm, textured like stretched skin, soft and strong at once. Your eyes widened as you looked down to see tendrils—tentacle-like extensions—curling from his body, wrapping around your midsection, your hips, your thighs.

"Jongseong..." you breathed.

He smirked and thrust into you hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cried out, body jolting, and then you felt another tendril—longer, thinner—slide between your legs. It pressed against your clit, stroking with an eerie, perfect pressure.

Your whole body keened.

"Oh—fuck!" you moaned, louder than before, your voice cracking as the sensation detonated through your core. It was too much. It was perfect.

Jongseong's other hand gripped your hips tighter, his fingers now stretching with inhuman dexterity, more of him wrapping around you, holding you. His cock kept thrusting up into you, the tendril at your clit stroking in sync, teasing the edge of your next orgasm.

Your breath hitched, your mind unraveling, the next orgasm building fast and hot, just out of reach.

"Need more?" Jongseong teased. More tendrils slithered around your body, responding to his command, flickering against your nipples—tight, wet licks of pressure that made you arch and whine, your chest thrusting forward instinctively. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your head falling back, lips parted in wordless pleasure.

Your mind was far too hazy at this point, soaked in ecstasy and sensation.

Then you felt something soft and cool brushing the tight ring of your ass.

You flinched, hips jerking instinctively, but the tendrils around your thighs clamped tighter, anchoring you. Keeping you still. Keeping you open.

"Shh," Jongseong whispered against your neck, his voice patient, tender even as his body dominated yours completely.

The tendril at your ass was thinner than the rest, careful as it pressed inward—probing, stretching, sliding slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening, overwhelmed by the double penetration. His cock still thrust into your soaked cunt, fast and deep, while the tendril began to move inside you, teasing your second entrance.

You were so full, stuffed, surrounded, owned and every part of your body lit with fire.

"Why are you not talking?" Jongseong whispered, lifting his gaze to yours.

His eyes were fully dilated, pure black, wild and beautiful. You stared at him, mouth open, gasping—because God, he looked so hot. That face. That voice. That control.

The tendril inside your ass began to thicken, stretching you further, matching the rhythm of his cock as your body struggled to keep up. Your legs shook violently, your core fluttering as another orgasm surged too quickly to contain.

You were crying out, words lost to moans and breathless gasps. Jongseong thrust harder, faster; his hands, his cock, his tendrils working in unison. Every inch of you was stimulated. You were locked in his arms, caged in his grip, the hybrid strength in him overpowering but not brutal.

"I can feel you," he groaned. "All of you. You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—don't stop. Cum for me again."

And you did, you shattered, screaming his name, your entire body shaking as pleasure tore through you in electric waves. Your cunt clenched violently around his cock, your ass pulsing around the tendril still buried deep, and everything inside you collapsed into white heat.

Jongseong held you through it, driving into you with steady, desperate rhythm, chasing his own high, his body burning beneath yours, jaw clenched as he thrust one final time and groaned as he came deep inside you again.

Your head rested against his shoulder, your breath shaky in his ear. Slowly, the inhuman tendrils that had wrapped around you began to withdraw, pulling back into his arms, retreating beneath the skin.

His human hands replaced the tendrils, sliding around your back, palms soft as they cradled you. Then his lips pressed to your forehead, he brushed the hair from your face, fingers gliding through it carefully, over and over. The small, unconscious motion soothed something deep inside you.

The affection made you smile. You let your body melt into his, sinking deeper into the curve of his neck, where his scent surrounded you.

"Love you," you whispered in confession, your voice barely there . You felt the subtle shift in his chest, the rise of a soft laugh beneath your palm as he smiled against your hair. “I don’t want to regret any day I didn’t say that,” you continued. “Even if what I feel is just parasitological reaction, even if it’s some rewritten instinct pretending to be love—I don’t care. I love you.”

His hand pressed gently against the curve of your spine. "I love you," he whispered back, and the way he said it—so simply, made your heart throb.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him, eyes still half-lidded, dazed from pleasure and affection. You took in the mess of him: sweat-slick skin, tousled hair, the soft flush across his cheeks.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You smiled, lazy and warm. “More?”

Jongseong’s lips curved slowly into that familiar, crooked smirk.

The morning crept in quietly.

No alarms, no machines humming, no scans running downstairs in the lab. Just the soft amber light of dawn leaking through the half-closed curtains, casting warm streaks across the floor and the tangled mess of sheets.

You stirred first.

Jongseong’s arm was still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His warmth radiated through the blankets, his breath steady against the back of your neck. You could feel his hand resting against your stomach.

You didn’t move right away.

You let yourself lie there, blinking slowly at the ceiling, muscles pleasantly sore, body still humming in a low, contented way. You could still feel the echo of last night in your bones, in your skin. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

You turned slowly in his arms to face him.

He was awake. His eyes were open, soft with sleep but focused entirely on you. The moment your gaze met his, his lips curved into a small smile, tired but intimate.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered. “How long were you watching me?”

“A while,” he admitted. “You twitch when you dream.”

You groaned, burying your face briefly in his chest. “Great. Bet I looked terrifying.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your cheek. “No. You looked... peaceful.”

You shifted, resting your chin on his chest to look at him properly. “You sleep?”

His hand brushed up your back in a lazy, soothing arc. “I do. When you’re here.”

That silenced you for a moment. “You always say things like that,” you murmured, “like you don’t expect this to last.”

Jongseong was quiet for a long breath. His fingers slid into your hair, combing it gently, thoughtfully. “I don’t take it for granted,” he said. “Not when everything about what we are could change tomorrow.”

You watched his face, trying to read between the words. “Do you think it will?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe. Our biology’s still in flux. Your last scan showed increased neural conductivity in your spinal column. Mine too. Whatever’s happening to us—it isn’t done yet.”

You nodded slowly, tracing the skin of his shoulder with your fingertip. “Do you think we’ll stop being us?”

He caught your hand and pressed it against his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t know. But if I do change... I want to remember this. You. This moment.”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Then let’s make more of them.��

His arm tightened around you, pulling you close until your nose brushed his. “Deal,” he whispered.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

You glanced up from your spot on the floor beside Jongseong’s lab table, brows lifted as you read the scribbled title on the datapad he'd just tossed aside.

“Wow,” you said, lips curving. “Very romantic.”

Jongseong looked up from his microscope, clearly unamused. “It was a working title.”

You held back a laugh as you pulled the datapad closer, scrolling through the contents—notes, schematics, overlapping neural maps. Some of it made sense, some of it looked like nonsense equations written in a fever dream. But it was his—every word a window into how his mind worked. Clinical. Focused. Relentless. And yet… there were margin notes scrawled in a different tone—curious, reflective.

One read: Subject B demonstrates emotional regulation post-mutation. Possibly adaptive. Possibly… intentional?

You knew Subject B was you.

“You study me a lot,” you said softly, setting the pad down beside you.

Jongseong looked at you for a long moment, eyes steady, warm. “I don’t study you,” he corrected. “I try to understand you.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s somehow worse.”

He snorted. “Maybe. But you’re fascinating.”

You turned your head to rest it against the side of the table, eyes drifting upward to where he sat, perched in his rolling lab chair, hunched slightly over some slide under the scope.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked. “Being a normal doctor?”

His jaw tensed, and he leaned back slowly, pulling away from the microscope. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss helping people and knowing what I was fixing. Now... I’m just making guesses. Mapping new anatomy no one’s ever named. Studying nervous systems that grow new endings when I’m not looking. It’s not medicine anymore. It’s—”

“—exploration,” you finished.

He glanced at you again, his lips twitching slightly. “That’s one way to put it.”

You reached up and tugged at the end of his sleeve. “Come down here.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now.”

He hesitated only a second before pushing the chair back and sliding to the floor beside you. You leaned against him immediately, head settling on his shoulder, your knees brushing his thigh.

“You ever think,” you murmured, “if we weren’t like this… if we were just two strangers in a city... we would’ve passed each other without a second glance?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Maybe.”

You looked up at him. “Do you like that idea?”

He met your gaze, something soft flickering behind his eyes. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because if we were normal,” he said, “I wouldn’t have seen you split your face open like a flower. Or sprout wings. Or smile after turning into something terrifying. I wouldn’t have seen all the parts of you that are beautiful because they’re impossible.”

Your throat tightened. “You always say the nicest horrifying things.”

“I mean every one of them.”

You turned toward him fully now, your legs folding under you, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “Do you think we’d still fall in love?” you asked.

He paused. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe we’d never look close enough.”

You nodded slowly, fingers tracing invisible lines over the back of his hand. “Then I’m glad it happened like this.”

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through yours. “Even if it hurts?” he asked.

You looked up at him, smiling just a little. “Especially because it hurts.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding. “You know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think our pathology isn’t just parasitic. It’s poetic.”

You laughed under your breath. “Are you writing love poems in medical terms now?”

He smirked. “Only when I’m inspired.”

You leaned in and kissed him. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or need—but about knowing and choosing.

When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead against his.

“I like this version of you,” you whispered. “The one who smiles when I mess with your research notes.”

He chuckled, his voice low in your ear. “And I like this version of you—the one who pretends not to be touched when I leave you notes shaped like protein chains.”

“You thought I didn’t notice?”

“I was hoping you did.”

You smiled. The datapad beside you still read Pathology of Parasites, but under it, someone had added in smaller handwriting—And the ones who survive them together.

The weather was quiet—eerily so.

Outside, the garden swayed gently under a pale morning sky. The another flowers you'd planted weeks ago had begun to bloom in earnest, soft bursts of color dancing in the breeze. Petals fluttered open toward the sun.

Inside, the air was still. Calm. The kind of stillness that didn't last.

Jongseong sat hunched at his lab desk, deep in a web of data. The neural scanner whirred quietly beside him, tracking changes in his cellular rhythms. Graphs rose and fell on the screen. Numbers blurred into pattern. His brow furrowed, fingers flying over the touchscreen, eyes sharp with focus.

The sound of wheels.

Faint at first. Too faint for most ears.

But not his. Jongseong body tensed instinctively.

Wheels. Two vehicles. Tires on gravel. He closed his eyes for a second, counting. One... two… four sets of footsteps. Three kilometers. Getting closer.

Jongseong rose from his seat with calculated calm, brushing a hand back through his hair, then pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk. His movements were controlled, but fast. He strode to the reinforced lab door, locking it with practiced ease before tugging a small, folded rug from under the emergency shelf. He draped it over the entry seam, concealing the frame as if it were just a storage hatch, then adjusted a nearby cabinet to further obscure it.

Once satisfied, he stepped back, exhaled sharply, and turned toward the stairs.

By the time he reached the living room, you were already there.

You stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot on the wooden floor, arms wrapped around Jongjong. The little orange cat was tense in your grip, ears back, tail stiff, sensing the same wrongness that you did. Your eyes met Jongseong’s—and they were wide with fear.

“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I heard—cars, and footsteps. They're close.”

Your brow furrowed, panic rising, but Jongseong was already moving toward you. His expression was calm, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. He cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. “Shhh… don’t be afraid,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I don’t know who they are. But I’ll protect you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once, clutching Jongjong closer to your chest.

The knock came sharply. Jongseong froze, he took a slow breath, then stepped forward, unlocking the front door with careful precision, standing just beyond the threshold was a man in a dark-gray uniform, flanked by two others. Another figure stood beside the nearest vehicle, partially obscured.

The man at the door wore a clean, crisp jacket with a silver emblem pinned near the collar. His expression was unreadable, polished. Government.

“Good morning, Dr. Park Jongseong,” the man said evenly. “I’m Lee Heeseung. Task Force Division Five. Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

Jongseong’s eyes flicked down briefly to the ID badge clipped at the man’s belt, then back up to his face. His features didn’t move.

“I wasn’t aware I was still listed under my former title,” he replied coolly.

Heeseung’s lips twitched into something close to a smirk. “Well, it’s been what… two years since you resigned after your incident. You can imagine it took some digging to find this place.”

He gestured loosely toward the landscape—gravel winding through old pine, the isolation of the hills, the unmarked road that led to nowhere. “Your house is… subtle,” he added. “Almost like you didn’t want to be found.”

Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t know that was illegal.”

“It’s not,” Heeseung replied, smile sharpening slightly. “Not yet. But you know how we work—we keep tabs on anyone with a profile like yours. Especially those who survived and then disappeared without a trace.”

“I resigned because I was hospitalized with thirty-five internal injuries,” Jongseong said evenly. “I’m sure you read the files, didn’t you? Spent a few late nights combing through the classified parts?”

Heeseung gave a quiet chuckle. “I skimmed the highlights. They don’t make many survive cases like yours, so you’re... of interest.” His eyes flicked past Jongseong’s shoulder—and landed on you.

You stood near the far end of the hallway, half-visible in the doorway, Jongjong cradled in your arms. You tried to stay still, neutral, but the weight of his gaze made your grip tighten. The kitten stirred with a faint mewl as you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Heeseung’s head tilted slightly. “Girlfriend?”

There was something in his tone—probing, too casual to be genuine.

“Quite a familiar face,” he added. “I think we flagged her name once. Ran away from home, wasn’t it?”

You swallowed, every muscle in your body tensed beneath your skin.

Jongseong stepped forward, subtly blocking the doorway with his body to cover you. “We’re getting married,” he said flatly.

Heeseung’s brows lifted a fraction, but the smirk never left his face. “Well. Congratulations, then.” His tone made it sound like anything but a blessing.

Jongseong’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Heeseung’s smile faded slightly. Not gone but tempered. “There’s been parasite movement in this region,” he said. “We’ve been tracking electromagnetic fluctuations coming from your grid. Spike patterns. Irregular heat signatures. Even some satellite interference.”

He paused, studying Jongseong's face for a flicker of reaction that never came. “Nothing conclusive,” Heeseung added, “but... interesting. Enough to warrant a visit.”

Jongseong didn’t flinch. “Congratulations,” he said dryly. “You found a retired doctor with backup power.”

“Maybe.” Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Or maybe we found a man who’s been hiding something more than outdated diagnostics.”

Jongseong stepped back half a pace—not in retreat, but to take a stronger stance. The door remained open behind him, but his presence filled the threshold like a barricade.

“If you had proof,” he said, voice low, “you wouldn’t be here asking questions.”

Heeseung’s smirk returned. “That’s true. For now.” His eyes flicked to the hallway again—just a second too long, settling on the space where you'd stood before he arrived. His gaze lingered, speculative.

“Thing is,” he continued, tone softening just enough to unsettle, “it’s only a matter of time. Sooner or later, all hosts lose containment. Doesn’t matter how strong they are. Or how careful.”

Jongseong’s jaw flexed. “And if they don’t?” he asked.

Heeseung’s eyes gleamed with the hint of something darker—curiosity, maybe. “Then they become something else. And that’s when they’re really interesting.”

Heeseung stepped back. His smile returned as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small card, placing it gently on the railing beside the door.

“If you ever decide you want to talk,” he said. “I’d be happy to listen.”

Jongseong didn’t respond. He didn’t take the card. Just watched.

Heeseung turned away, nodding once to the officers near the car. As he walked down the steps, his voice carried over his shoulder:

“Take care of your fiancée, Doctor."

The car doors shut with a dull clunk, and the engines rolled back to life.

Jongseong waited until the sound faded completely before closing the door. Not slamming it, just quiet.

The room was still again.

The echo of car engines faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick silence of the woods. But the unease didn’t leave with them. It settled in the corners of the room, in the shadows of the hallway, in the hush of the air itself.

Jongseong stood unmoving for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, he backed away, step by step, until he reached you.

His voice was low. Bitter. Tired.

“Government’s so fucking fake,” he whispered under his breath. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

Your body responded before your brain could catch up. Your arms encircled him, clutching Jongjong between you, the little cat still tense, mewing softly with each shift of breath.

You could feel Jongseong’s heart beating faster than usual. Not panic—but calculation. Instinct already grinding into motion.

Your own chest ached with the weight of it. “They’ll raid us,” you said, your voice strained. “You know that, right? It’s just a matter of time.”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair.

He was already thinking, you could feel it in him—muscle memory kicking in, mind running down contingency plans, routes, caches, what to take, what to leave behind. But for one more second, he just held you there, breathing in the moment. Then he pulled back, hands firm but gentle on your shoulders.

“We need to move. Fast.”

You nodded, eyes wide but steady. “Where?”

“There’s a site. Old observatory, two hours east. No power grid, no satellite interference. It’s buried in forest. Abandoned for years.” He was already turning, heading toward the concealed panel in the hallway, the one that led down into the lab. “I used to store backup gear there. We can set up a new node. No one should find us.”

You followed him, Jongjong tucked against your chest, your footsteps light and quick on the floor. Down in the lab, the air was cooler—sterile, humming with faint electricity. But this time, the room didn’t feel like safety. It felt like a ticking clock.

Jongseong moved with swift. He was already pulling storage drives from the mainframe, detaching power cells, collecting physical records. “Grab your scans,” he said without looking. “The ones from last week. The DNA strand with the tertiary mutation—we can’t leave that behind.”

You rushed to the desk, locating the labeled folders, the encrypted drives. “Do we take the entire core?”

“No. Too heavy. Just the segments I isolated in Case File Delta-11. Everything else, we burn.”

You paused, breath caught. “Burn?”

He turned, locking eyes with you. “If they come here, they’re not just looking for us. They’re looking for proof. If they find it, we lose everything.”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

He returned to packing—the slow dismantling of a life that had once felt permanent. The garden. The house. The bed. The scent of tea in the morning and soft footsteps on wood. All of it, now just a risk.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him, startled by the question. “What?”

He paused. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” you said honestly.

Jongseong walked to you, took your hand, laced his fingers through yours. “Then fall apart later. Right now, we survive.”

You blinked fast, refusing to cry, and nodded.

For the next hour, the house came alive with motion You cleared out the bedroom, pulling your few clothes into a duffel bag. Jongseong moved through the kitchen, the basement, the lab—grabbing rations, medical supplies, essential tech. Caches were unlocked from beneath floorboards. Batteries charged.

Jongjong mewed at your heels, sensitive to the sudden shift. You scooped him into a small reinforced carrier, latching the top shut gently as you whispered, “It’s okay, baby. We’re not leaving you.”

When everything was ready—what little they could carry—the rest was rigged.

Jongseong stood by the lab console, thumb hovering over a small interface.

“Are you sure?” you asked softly.

He looked around the room. The whiteboards, the shelves, the soft glow of monitors that had flickered through endless nights of quiet obsession. “I loved this place,” he said. “But it was never meant to last.”

Then he pressed his thumb to the screen. The countdown began: 120 seconds.

He turned to you.

“Let’s go.”

The two of you moved quickly through the trees, boots crunching against the uneven trail that led away from the house. The duffel bags strapped over your shoulders weighed heavy, and Jongjong’s carrier bumped gently against your side as you kept pace with Jongseong. Every breath burned in your chest, lungs tight from urgency, but you didn’t slow.

The road wasn’t far. Behind you, the first hint of black smoke coiled upward into the sky—thin at first, then thicker, darker, alive with the scent of something ending. Chemicals. Plastic. Burnt paper. Memories.

You glanced back once, just once, and saw the roof of the house begin to buckle in the distance, flames licking hungrily through the glass of the greenhouse.

The safehouse was gone.

You turned your face forward again, biting down hard on the grief rising in your throat.

Then, just as you and Jongseong stepped out from the treeline onto the narrow, cracked road, you heard it—engines. Multiple.

Too close.

Jongseong’s hand shot out instinctively, halting you in your tracks as headlights cut across the road ahead. Then another flash of light from behind. The hum of electric motors shifted into full roar as a wall of vehicles emerged from the forest—sleek, matte black, no visible insignia.

One car. Then two. Then four. They encircled you with military precision.

“Fuck,” Jongseong breathed.

Your heart kicked into a sprint.

The tires screeched as the cars completed the circle, trapping you both in the center. Doors slammed. Boots hit gravel. From the trees, two more massive transport trucks rumbled into view—large, reinforced, bearing symbols you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse rang in your ears. Jongjong whimpered inside his carrier.

Around you, agents moved into formation—helmets, rifles, armor too advanced for local law enforcement. These weren’t just military. This was containment.

You felt Jongseong’s hand slip into yours, grounding. His grip was steady, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable.

They’d come fast. Too fast. Someone had been watching long before Heeseung ever stepped onto the porch. The visit had been a test—a warning disguised as politeness. And now, the real answer had arrived.

Jongseong stood still beside you, his body calm but coiled like a spring. Eyes scanning every angle—counting rifles, reading stance, calculating distance.

“We don’t run,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured.

You nodded, barely. Your mouth had gone dry. Every muscle in your body was buzzing with restrained panic, but his steadiness held you together. Barely.

Then the voice came, amplified by a mounted speaker from one of the armored vehicles ahead.

“Park Jongseong. Parasite host that evolved with retained intelligence. Subject Code 1072. You are surrounded. Surrender peacefully.”

Parasite. Host.

You felt something clench in your chest. They thought Jongseong was gone. That he was nothing but a skin-walker—a parasite wearing his face. They thought he had taken Jongseong’s memories. Not kept them.

And if that’s what they thought of him… what did they think you were? You were both still yourselves. Still human in the ways that mattered. Conscious. Feeling. Choosing. How could they not see that?

It was easier to reduce you to subjects—to codes and categories. It was easier to eliminate anomalies than to understand them.

You flinched as the quiet clicks of safety switches echoed around you. One by one. Like a metronome of dread. The hiss of containment coils charging up, the faint hum of EMP disruptors warming beneath the truck chassis. Cold, impersonal tools built to restrain monsters.

This is it. This is how it ends.

You choked back a cry, your vision blurring with panic, heart jackhammering in your chest.

A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around yours. You looked up instinctively, drawn by that calm pull, and saw Jongseong’s face turned toward you. No fear in his expression.

Only you.

His thumb brushed gently across your skin—once, twice, the motion grounding. His eyes held yours, soft and unwavering, and in them was a message louder than the voice still barking orders from the trucks:

We’ll be alright.

No matter what happened next. Whether they fought, ran, or burned it all down—he would not leave you. Not now. Not after everything.

You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said. “I’m not a host. I’m not a parasite."

But they weren’t listening. Before the next breath, the soldiers moved.

Shadows broke from the perimeter—six of them, black-clad, rifles raised, moving with ruthless efficiency. You barely had time to react before they were on you, splitting you apart.

“Jongseong!” you screamed, voice raw, panic lacing. You twisted violently in their grip, but they were trained for this. One of them was already behind you, and then—Cold metal—pressed hard against the back of your skull.

“Do not touch her!” Jongseong roared, voice losing all calm. “I came out here on my own. I’m trying to handle this peacefully—hear me out first!”

“What a nerve for a parasite.”

Heeseung stepped forward from the rear of one of the vehicles, casual as ever, a tablet under one arm and a sleek black coat whipping slightly in the breeze. His expression was between amused and disappointed.

“You know what fascinates me about your kind?” he asked. “You think memory makes you human. That because you remember who you were, that gives you the right to pretend you still are.”

Heeseung smiled thinly, but his eyes were sharp and gleaming. “You’re not a miracle, Park Jongseong. You’re a malfunction. A parasite too stubborn to wipe clean. An error in the code.”

“You’re wrong,” Jongseong said, voice low and shaking with barely-contained rage. “I’m not pretending. I am still me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung lifted an eyebrow, then glanced at you, pinned and trembling. “Then why does your biology say otherwise?”

“This,” Heeseung continued, “is not human. And it never will be again.”

He stepped closer to you now, far too close, gaze crawling over you. His hand reached for your face.

You flinched and Jongseong snapped. “Don’t touch her!” he bellowed. His body tensed, pulsing with barely contained energy, the hybrid signature humming just beneath his skin.

But the soldiers were faster this time. Before he could fully shift, they surged forward, slamming him to the ground with blunt, brutal force. A shriek tore from your throat as metal restraints clamped around his wrists, locking into his nerves with a cruel hiss. Another device—a containment collar—was pressed to the base of his neck and activated with a low whine. It snapped shut, injecting something through the skin.

"No!" you screamed, trying to lunge toward him, but two soldiers seized you by the arms and yanked you back. From the corner of your eye, you saw them dragging Jongseong toward one of the trucks. His head lolled forward, jaw clenched, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes—his eyes—were still locked on you.

“My cat,” you whispered hoarsely, panic rising in your throat as you clutched the carrier tighter to your chest. The soldiers didn’t stop—they reached for it too.

"Please don’t hurt Jongjong,” you begged, voice cracking as the straps were torn from your hands, the warm weight of the carrier suddenly gone. “Please.”

The truck doors slammed behind Jongseong. Heeseung approached you, boots slow on the gravel, his expression unreadable. You expected amusement, or cold detachment. Instead, he looked… fascinated.

He stopped just in front of you, gaze flicking over your face, then lower, he reached out and plucked a strand of your hair.

You jerked back, but he already had it between his gloved fingers, holding it against the light.

It twitched. A subtle motion, almost imperceptible. The strand pulsed—flexed—like something living beneath the keratin. A ripple of parasite-altered structure, responsive to stress. Adaptable.

Just like Jongseong’s.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. You stood rigid, breath shallow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.

He didn’t need you to speak. He already knew. You moved differently too.

Not like the ones they captured in the early waves—parasites that tore through their hosts in hours, leaving nothing behind but mindless hunger. Those were feral. Primitive. No self-awareness, no identity. They moved in twisted packs, bonded by instinct and survival programming alone.

You showed restraint. Expression. Emotion. A parasite that retained host memories wasn’t unheard of, but this level of cognitive mimicry? This illusion of selfhood? It was advanced. Dangerous.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked toward the truck where Jongseong was being restrained, injected, monitored. Still conscious, still resisting. Still looking at you.

The way you’d screamed for him. The way he’d fought back. The way your bodies moved in sync when threatened, like one half of the same adaptive system.

Heeseung’s brow furrowed faintly as his mind worked. Two parasites. Two separate hosts. And yet—shared behavior, matched speech patterns, mirrored stress responses.

Coordination. There was no record of parasite hosts operating this way.

No. These two were different.

They operated like a bonded system—distinct, but synchronized. Reflexively connected. Conscious units that didn't just act... they adapted. They evolved in tandem.

Like they remembered how to be human.

Heeseung turned from you without another word and walked briskly toward the rear vehicle.

The heavy doors of the transport truck slammed shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing away the forest light. Inside, the air was sterile and close—metal floors, reinforced paneling, containment restraints bolted to the walls.

Jongseong sat chained at the wrists and ankles to a steel platform welded to the floor. A neural-suppression collar wrapped around the base of his neck, blinking with slow, pulsing red light—designed to keep his nervous system dormant. His breathing was shallow, restrained by the collar’s influence, but his eyes…

His eyes were alert. Fixed on a spot on the floor in front of him, still burning with thought.

The soldier at the rear finished checking the restraints, nodded once to Heeseung, then stepped out, leaving the two of them alone as the engine rumbled to life.

The truck began to move.

Heeseung sat across from him, there was a moment of silence before Jongseong spoke.

“Where did you put her cat?”

He didn’t look up—just stared at the floor, wrists loose in the restraints, posture deceptively relaxed.

Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Not a threat. Not a plea. Just calm, focused concern. That tone again. Human, not host mimicry.

“She was worried,” Jongseong continued. “Even when they put a gun to her head. She didn’t cry for herself.”

“Your first question,” he said at last, “after all this—after being tranquilized, collared, contained—is about a cat?”

Jongseong’s jaw shifted slightly. “He’s all she has left."

Heeseung leaned back in his seat, watching him, trying to see where the parasite ended and the man began. “You say that like you care.”

“I do,” Jongseong said simply.

“You’re not supposed to,” Heeseung said flatly. “Parasites don’t care. They consume. They replicate. They preserve function only long enough to blend in and feed. Emotions aren’t in the architecture.”

Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. And when he did, the calm in them unnerved even Heeseung. “Maybe your data’s outdated.”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away.

The collar blinked again—another suppression pulse. Jongseong winced slightly, just a flicker. But the control was slipping.

“Why her?” Heeseung asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why protect her? Why bond?”

Jongseong tilted his head. “You think that’s the parasite, don’t you? A mimicry of love?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “It’s something stronger than that. Something your experiments can’t replicate.”

Heeseung watched him for a moment longer, then pulled a tablet from his coat. He tapped the screen once, bringing up a live feed.

On it—your containment cell.

You were seated on a cold bench, hands cuffed, staring at the wall with red-rimmed eyes. Jongjong’s carrier sat in the far corner, intact. The kitten was curled up inside, asleep, breathing shallow but steady.

“She’s safe. For now,” Heeseung said. “As long as you cooperate.”

Jongseong didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on the screen showing your containment room. The only motion came from his fingers—subtle, rhythmic tension in the knuckles as they flexed against the cuffs around his wrists.

The low rumble of the truck filled the silence between them as the vehicle rolled down the cracked road. The steel walls vibrated faintly with every turn, every bump. The hum of the suppression collar echoed with each pulse, a soft, almost inaudible thrum designed to keep the nervous system in check.

Heeseung sat opposite him, tablet resting on one knee, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

He was watching him. Heeseung had spent years studying parasite behavior. He’d seen the aftermath of outbreaks, the scorched ruins of cities where hosts turned feral. He’d dissected bodies whose minds had been consumed, hijacked by instinct. He knew how the infection behaved. The timeline. The neurological decay.

Heeseung leaned forward slightly, watching every twitch of the man’s jaw, every micro-movement in the corners of his eyes. There was no vacant, drone-like stillness. No flickering dissonance between body and mind. Jongseong moved with control. With memory.

“Two years,” Heeseung said quietly. “Since your incident.”

Still, no reply.

“No symptoms of degeneration. No neural collapse. No regression to instinctive behavior. Not even a shift unless provoked.”

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Parasites don’t do that.”

“You should’ve lost cognitive function by now,” Heeseung muttered, as if to himself. “Or at least shown instability. But you’re not twitching, not fragmenting. You’re still here.”

Jongseong didn’t answer.

Heeseung studied him harder now. “You responded to pain. But you didn’t lash out. You defended her first. Like you weren’t the one being contained.”

He stood slowly, pacing a step across the cramped transport cabin. “You aren’t fighting for survival like the others. You’re fighting for her. And the cat.” He said the last part with disbelief.

“And even now—with everything shut down inside you—you’re not asking how to escape.” He tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. “You’re asking about a cat.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, he muttered the thought that had been coiling in the back of his mind since he first saw the two of you together:

“…What if we didn’t catch a parasite?”

Across from him, Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. “You didn’t,” Jongseong said quietly.

His voice was calm. Too calm. It made Heeseung’s spine tighten.

“You didn’t catch a parasite,” he repeated. “You caught me.”

Heeseung turned toward him, narrowing his eyes, the flicker of doubt still not strong enough to override years of indoctrinated procedure. “So what are you then? The host pretending to be alive? Or the thing that took his name?”

“I’m not pretending,” Jongseong said, sitting straighter despite the restraints. “I never stopped being me.”

Heeseung folded his arms, cautious. “Parasites can adapt to memory. Form neural imprints. Replay emotions. It doesn’t mean they feel them.”

“I remember my mother’s voice,” Jongseong said. “The smell of mint in my lab. The first time I stitched a wound clean."

He leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked with Heeseung’s. “Tell me. What kind of parasite chooses restraint?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

“I should have attacked when you put the collar on,” Jongseong continued. “When you touched her. When you threatened a cat. But I didn’t. Because I still have choice. I still have will. And if I wasn’t me... you’d all be dead.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “That’s not proof of humanity. It’s control.”

“It’s both,” Jongseong said. “That’s what you can’t see. You’ve been fighting a war against an infection—but you never stopped to consider that maybe, some of us… integrated.”

He let the word hang.

“Not overwritten. Not consumed. Not mindless.”

“Integrated,” Heeseung repeated slowly, voice skeptical. “As in… coexistence?”

Jongseong nodded once. “Symbiosis. On a level your science hasn’t reached yet. Our cells merged. Our minds remained intact. Not corrupted."

The idea clawed at the edge of his discipline. It wasn’t just unorthodox—it was heretical in the field of parasite containment.

“This isn’t a theory we can test,” Heeseung muttered, as much to himself as to Jongseong. “There’s no model for what you’re describing. No neural map that explains how host and parasite can both retain identity—”

“Because you’ve never looked,” Jongseong cut in. “You see symptoms. You don’t see survival. You isolate, contain, and kill before you understand.”

Heeseung stopped, and look at him again. “Why her?” he asked again, softer this time. “Why protect her like that?”

Jongseong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I love her. Not because the parasite remembers it. Because I do."

Heeseung was silent, the silence between them thickened.

“If you're going to cut us open, then leave her out of it. I’ve already run my bloodwork. The cells in our systems—they’re nearly identical. If you need a subject, take me.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You’re admitting you’re infected.”

“I’m saying I know more about what’s happening inside me than you ever will,” Jongseong said. “I’ve seen the mutation pathways. I’ve watched how the parasite interacts with host DNA. It doesn’t consume. Not in our case. It synchronizes. Rewrites with us, not over us.”

“You expect me to believe this is some kind of... biological partnership?”

“I don’t care if you believe it,” Jongseong said coolly. “I care if you let her live.”

Heeseung stood motionless, his fingers tightening slightly over the edge of his tablet. His mind clearly spinning, trying to stitch logic back together with a theory that had no precedent, no documented case, no rules.

Then a sudden bang was heard at the front of the transport.

The front of the transport jolted sideways, metal groaning as something massive rammed into the vehicle’s outer shell. Jongseong’s head snapped up, his body jerking violently against the restraints. The suppression collar flared with a pulse of light as it tried to regulate the surge in his nervous system.

But instinct was already rising. From deep in his bones, something ancient and sharpened stirred.

Warning sirens shrieked from the cockpit, pulsing red light flooding the interior. A violent, inhuman screech tore through the walls of the transport, piercing and layered with a sound that no natural throat could make.

Heeseung spun toward the back, eyes wide, gun already in hand as static exploded over the comms.

“—under attack—Sector Four breached—multiple signatures—non-registered forms—”

Then: silence. The comm cut out with a sharp burst of static.

Another impact—closer now.

The left panel of the truck ripped open, jagged claws punching through the hull. The interior sparked, wires torn from the wall. Screams erupted outside, brief, panicked, human—and were immediately silenced.

Gunfire flared, distant and fast. Then stopped. The truck screeched to a halt. Everything inside shuddered.

Jongseong’s breathing slowed. His pupils dilated. A sharp ringing started in his ear, piercing and constant. A signal. An echo. He knew that sound. The ferals were here.

Heeseung backed toward the wall, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the ruptured seams of the truck. “Shit—ferals. We’re not the only ones who tracked your signal.”

The vehicle hissed, locking down in emergency containment mode, blast doors grinding into place—but it wouldn’t hold.

It never held against evolved ferals.

A voice crackled in over the emergency channel, panicked and distorted.

“They’re cutting through the outer convoy—unit integrity compromised—blades—gods, their heads—!”

Heeseung turned toward the hatch with frantic precision, slamming a hand against the biometric reader. It blinked red.

Denied. Lockdown protocol in effect.

He snarled and spun toward one of the soldiers just as they dropped in from the front cabin, blood on their chest armor.

“What the hell are they doing here?!” Heeseung barked, breath ragged.

The soldier stumbled forward, panting. “We were being tracked. They're grouped, coordinated. They sensed the suppression signals. We were too focused on the subject—on capturing him—we didn’t see them grouping up!”

Heeseung’s face twisted, horror blooming beneath the sweat on his brow. He hit the external door override and shoved it open.

The wind roared in—along with the sharp scent of blood and ozone. He stepped out onto the highway and stopped cold.

The road was carnage.

Vehicles overturned. Trucks in flames. Smoke coiling into the sky. The asphalt was smeared with streaks of red. Civilian cars had been caught in the chaos, crumpled in the crash zone, some still running. The sound of alarms blared faintly beneath the screams.

And all around them—parasites. Dozens of them.

Moving in brutal synchronicity. Their heads had split open, revealing rows of blade-like bone and twitching sensory tissue, extending into curved, serrated weapons. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Some crawled low, others leapt over crushed vehicles.

One slammed a containment soldier into a guardrail, slicing through armor like foil. Another dragged someone beneath a flipped transport, the sound that followed barely human.

“Fuck!” Heeseung shouted. “We’re on a highway! Civilians are here!”

He watched as one parasite tore through a family vehicle. And suddenly, Heeseung understood the truth he’d ignored for too long:

While the government hunted for anomalies, the real parasites were already evolving—together.

"Jongseong!" Your voice cut through the gunfire, the sirens, the screeching metal—and Jongseong’s body reacted instantly.

His head snapped up, muscles tensing, eyes blown wide with instinct. The suppression collar hissed against his neck, trying to contain the surge of parasitic activity pulsing beneath his skin, but it was failing—overloaded by the ambient energy from the ferals outside. He pulled against the restraints, harder than before, the reinforced cuffs groaning.

Heeseung spun, eyes wide, curse caught in his throat as he raised his pistol again and fired into a cluster of parasites tearing through the defensive line.

Shots rang out, shells clinking against the scorched metal floor. Smoke billowed from one of the downed trucks. The soldiers had formed a defensive circle around the transport, rifles raised, trying desperately to hold position. Their formation was tight focused on protecting the anomaly inside.

But they didn’t see you. Your form moved like a blur—inhumanly fast—leaping across the crushed hood of a nearby vehicle. Metal dented under your weight as you sprang upward, hair whipped by the wind, eyes burning.

“How the hell—” one soldier stammered. “How did she escape containment?”

Another parasite lunged toward you, its jaw split wide in three directions, blade-arms drawn back to strike—but you twisted mid-air, your arm morphing as it flared into a winged shield, catching the creature mid-swipe and launching it backward with a bone-cracking crash.

You landed hard on the ground, crouched and panting, blood spattered on your cheek but your eyes were locked forward.

“Get away from him!” you screamed, your voice tore through the cacophony.

More soldiers had arrived—reinforcements spilling onto the blood-slick highway, shouting over their comms, rifles raised, movements tight and confused. But they couldn’t keep formation. They couldn’t keep up.

The parasites were everywhere crawling over the wreckage, tearing through armor. Heads split in jagged, serrated formations. Limbs bent backward, adapted for slicing, climbing, killing.

Heeseung stood in the center, spinning in place, trying to process it all.

Too fast. Too many. His team was trained for containment, not war.

“Sector is compromised—” a soldier barked through the radio before his voice was swallowed in static and a wet, bone-snapping crunch nearby.

All around him, his men were falling. One circle formation collapsed entirely, parasites tearing through the armored bodies within seconds. Another squad tried to regroup behind the burning transport, but were picked off before they even knelt.

Heeseung turned, frantic, searching for something to ground the moment. His eyes locked on you again.

You were in the open now—half-covered in smoke and ash, crouched behind a twisted heap of steel. Your breath was ragged, chest heaving, your once-formed wing-arm flickering with strain. Bone pushed through skin, not cleanly. It was raw. Exhausted. Overused.

You lifted your hand again but it refused to hold shape. Too many eyes.

The soldiers had seen you, so had the parasites.

And now everyone was targeting you. They didn’t care if you were like them or not—they only knew you weren’t theirs.

Gunfire cracked again, a warning shot grazing the steel beside your head. You ducked, eyes wide, hand burning as it twisted, half-shifting into something between claw and shield.

“Jongseong!” you cried out, breath shattering on his name. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but he felt you.

Body twisting against the chains as the parasite beneath his skin surged upward. The steel groaned. Jongseong’s wrists ripped free from the restraints in a burst of heat and sound. Sparks rained down as his hands—half-shifted now, gleaming with dark, fluid armor—tore the collar from his neck with a violent crack, tossing it against the wall where it exploded in a flash of white.

One leap carried him from the open truck, landing on shattered pavement just a few meters from you. Smoke curled from his shoulders. The wreckage of the convoy burned behind him. But he wasn’t looking at the fire.

He was looking at you.

“Stay back!” one of the soldiers shouted, stepping into his path.

Another raised a weapon and then they shot him.

The crack of the rifle echoed.

A high-velocity round tore into Jongseong’s back, slamming into the base of his spine, his arms dropped slightly.

And that’s when something inside you snapped.

The sound of the bullet, the sight of him being hit—again—sent a wave through your chest that wasn’t fear.

"No!" Something inside you responded. Your ears rang—not from the gunshot, but from a deeper frequency. Like pressure under water, like something old and waiting inside your blood suddenly woke up.

Heeseung saw the shift too late.

“No! Hold your fire!” he shouted, voice cracking as he pushed through the chaos, waving his arm wildly at the squad still taking aim. “Cease fire—stand down!”

Jongseong’s body hit the pavement hard, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat. The bullet had struck at the base of his spine—the most sensitive part of his body, where parasite and host tissue merged deepest. His limbs trembled, nerves crackling like snapped wires. The world around him blurred.

Sound fractured. Vision swam. But even through the fog, his body moved.

He forced one arm forward, dragging himself across the cracked asphalt, blood trailing behind him. Grit tore into his palms. Every movement lit his back. He had to reach you.

His breath hitched, when he looked up and saw you.

You were standing amidst the ruin, body trembling, chest rising, your head is split. Down the center, your skull had begun to peel open, petals of bone and skin folding back in a horrifying symmetry.

Inside, the interior of your skull pulsed with living tissue—luminous, intricate, organic architecture sculpted into motion. The folds moved, shimmering with pale bioluminescence beneath layers of exposed membrane. Thorned tendrils extended into the air, twitching like antennae, reaching in all directions—reading everything.

You weren’t looking at anyone. You were looking at everything.

And anything that moved was a target.

Jongseong watched, breath stuttering in his throat as he pushed himself to his feet, limping, wounded, bleeding, but still moving toward you.

“No…” he whispered, his voice frayed with pain. “Please—look at me.”

But your head remained split open, the sensory limbs on full alert, searching, flinching, vibrating with threat-perception. You were caught in something deeper than instinct. Something merged. Not fully parasite. Not fully human.

Hybrid rage.

He saw your hands flex—one already reshaped into a half-scythe, twitching.

His steps faltered. You didn’t recognize movement anymore. Only motion. Only danger.

And that’s when a memory crashed through him.

“If I stop choosing?” you asked him, voice fragile, small in the silence of your shared bed. “If I lose myself?”

He cupped your face and smiled faintly, "remember what I said when we first met?"

"I’ll stop you,” he said.

Jongseong staggered closer, lifting a hand.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, blood dripping from his fingers. “It’s me, remember? You asked me to stop you. But I know you’re still in there.”

Your tendrils twitched, one sweeping dangerously near his face. Another moved to your back—coiling instinctively, ready to strike anything that came close.

He didn’t move faster. He moved slower. One step at a time. No aggression. No sudden gestures. Just presence.

Your exposed mind pulsed again, recognition flickering across the movement sensors.

The rage inside you paused.

Jongseong was right there, wounded and reaching. His hand stretched toward you, fingers trembling, eyes full of you.

You saw him. He saw you.

For a moment, the chaos faded beneath the ringing in your head. The rage had cracked open, flared, and then wavered. The kill-reflex that had overtaken you flickered like a faulty circuit. Jongseong was there—his body broken, bleeding, limping toward you, arms out like he wasn’t afraid. And you weren’t afraid either.

He was calling you back. You could feel it in the weight of his gaze, in the tremble of his voice, in the way he said your name like it still belonged to a person, not a monster.

But the world never gave you time to breathe.

“Target in range!” came the voice, sharp and too close.

A soldier burst through the smoke to the left of the wreckage, rifle raised, armor streaked with ash. He’d broken rank. His orders were panic now, and his eyes were locked not on you—but on Jongseong.

He didn’t see the moment between you.

He saw a parasite protecting another parasite. He pulled the trigger.

And the world snapped back into motion.

Your body reacted faster than thought. Your limbs twisted with violent precision, burning pain ripping through your shoulders as tendrils re-flared wide. The trajectory of the bullet was instant, and so was your movement. You lunged—not toward the soldier, but toward Jongseong.

The shot rang out.

It hit you in the side of the head. The force snapped your body mid-leap, the angle of your descent faltering as the impact twisted your momentum. You crumpled in the air, before collapsing into Jongseong’s arms.

He didn’t process it at first. His mind refused to.

He had just seen your face—your eyes, focused and full of something fierce. You’d moved to shield him. You had chosen. And now your weight was in his arms, limp, warm, and wrong.

Jongseong’s eyes widened, his pupils blown wide as your body hit him. You slid into his chest, your limbs folding over him.

“No—” The word broke from him. Your blood was already pooling in his lap, hot and thick, soaking through the front of his shirt.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, and for one breathless, agonizing moment, he thought it was over. That whatever part of you had held on through mutation and fear had finally let go.

Then, you moved.

Your fingers twitched against his chest, searching weakly, as though your body still knew him. As though your nerves had memorized where he was. His hand flew to your cheek, cradling your face, feeling the fresh, searing heat of the wound just above your brow, where the bullet had grazed—not pierced—just grazed, carving a shallow line along the temple instead of burrowing deep.

It hadn’t gone through.

“Hey—hey,” Jongseong whispered, his voice trembling as his thumb brushed away the blood streaking down the side of your face. “Stay with me. Look at me. Come on, open your eyes.”

You stirred faintly in his arms, eyes fluttering open halfway. Blurry. Unfocused. One pupil dilated, the other slow to respond. Your breathing came shallow, uneven. But you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slurred. “You were in the way.”

Tears welled in Jongseong’s eyes, stinging hot. “You think I care about that?” he said, a bitter laugh breaking through his grief. “You shouldn’t be protecting me. I’m supposed to protect you. That was the deal. That was the whole damn deal.”

Your mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “We keep switching places.”

He let out a breath—part sob, part laugh—and pulled you tighter against him, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of this. Just don’t close your eyes, okay?”

Around you, the world was still burning.

The smoke curled through the air, lit red by fire and violence. Parasites clashed with soldiers. Screams rose and fell. Metal groaned as the transport vehicles burned. But inside this circle, there was only the two of you.

Jongseong cradled your body close, arms trembling, holding you. You were breathing but just barely, and each breath was a battle. Your eyes were open, unfocused, but searching only for him.

“I said hold your fucking gun!” Heeseung’s voice tore through the smoke, sharp and furious. He stormed forward, boots crunching glass and debris.

But halfway there, he froze. A small, unmistakable sound pierced the tension.

"Meow."

Heeseung blinked, momentarily disarmed.

Out from behind a crushed tire, padding softly on tiny feet, came the orange kitten. Its fur was matted with soot, but it was unharmed. It limped slightly, dazed but determined, weaving its way across the field of bodies and broken machines. It meowed again, louder this time, heading straight toward the two figures curled together on the ground.

Heeseung watched, stunned.

The kitten crawled into the small space between your arms and Jongseong’s chest, nudging at your hand until your fingers curled faintly around its fur. A soft sound escaped your lips—almost a sob. Jongseong let out a broken breath, head bowed low, tears trailing silently down his blood-streaked face.

Heeseung had seen hundreds of parasite cases. Dissections. Failures. Living corpses. He’d seen what it looked like when something wore a human face like a mask.

They weren’t mimicking emotion.

They were feeling it.

And suddenly, something cracked in him. Maybe it was the way Jongseong hadn’t fought back. Maybe it was the way you had shielded him without hesitation. Or maybe it was the cat—meowing stubbornly like it belonged in this hell, like it belonged to someone who mattered.

Heeseung turned away. “Take them to the hospital,” he said gruffly. "Now.”

The remaining soldiers hesitated. He turned his head slightly, eyes hard. “They are just normal beings. You hear me?”

The sun was bright—too bright, almost unreal after everything. You lay on your back in the grass, eyes half-lidded, your arm stretched above your head as your fingers tried to catch the warmth. The heat soaked into your skin that reminded your body it was still alive.

The breeze danced lightly across your face, carrying the scent of earth and new flowers. Birds chirped somewhere distant, lazy and indifferent to what the world had gone through.

For once, it was quiet.

Jongseong dropped down beside you, his breath soft as he settled into the grass. His shoulder brushed against yours.

“You’re happy?” he asked, you turned toward him, giggling gently as you scooted closer, resting your head against his arm until your nose touched the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes closing. “The house you bought has neighbors. Real ones. I hear them laughing sometimes through the trees.”

You let your hand slide down into the grass, brushing over a patch of tiny purple flowers that had just begun to open. “The flowers are blooming again,” you added.

You felt his arm slide under your neck, pulling you gently into him. The warmth of his chest against your back. The sound of his heart, steady and strong.

“You’re blooming again too,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your hair. You smiled, tucking yourself in closer, your fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt.

“I talked to my mother,” you said after a pause, voice barely more than a breath.

Jongseong tensed slightly behind you, just surprise. His fingers paused mid-stroke along your arm.

“They cried,” you continued, your voice catching somewhere between joy and guilt. “Not because I ran… but because I was alive. Still me. I don’t think they fully understand what I’ve become, but they—believed me. That was enough.”

“That’s more than most people get,” he said softly. “More than I thought either of us would get.”

You turned just enough to look up at him over your shoulder, your cheek still resting on his chest. “They asked about you too, you know.”

He smiled faintly. “What’d you tell them?”

“That you were the reason I came back. That you weren’t a monster. That you were the most human thing left in the world.”

He didn’t answer that. Just held you tighter.

The breeze passed again, ruffling his hair, and for a few long moments, you stayed like that.

“I… got a job offer.”

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. “A job?”

He nodded. “From the Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

You sat up just a bit, your brow furrowing as you turned toward him. “Huh? That doesn’t even make sense—they tried to kill us. You think they won’t dissect you the moment you scan wrong on their monitors?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not this time. Heeseung vouched for me.”

You stared at him. “The guy who raided your house and locked me in a steel box?”

Jongseong gave a small shrug, like he was still trying to believe it himself. “He said watching us changed something. That they need people who understand—not just destroy. Someone who’s walked both sides.”

You exhaled slowly, processing that. “And… do you trust him?”

“No,” he said honestly. “But I trust myself.”

You looked at him, eyes soft but filled with worry. “I don’t want to lose this. What we have. What we made.”

“You won’t,” he said, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I won’t let them take that. I just… I want to be part of shaping what comes next. So no one else has to live like we did.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached up and ran your fingers through his hair.

“So…” you murmured with a crooked smile, “I’ll just be the one staying home? Waiting for you to come back from your mysterious, morally ambiguous government job?”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

You shrugged, teasing. “I don’t know. I was hoping for something a little more… exciting.”

Jongseong’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing between yours gently. “Then marry me,” he said.

You blinked. “W-What?”

He turned slightly onto his side to face you, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand. His voice didn’t shake. His eyes didn’t stray.

“Marry me,” he repeated, lips still brushing your skin. “Not because it’s perfect. Not because we’re normal. But because we survived. Because I want to spend every day I have left choosing you again.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up slowly, stunned, the words echoing louder now in the silence between you. The wind quieted. Even the trees seemed to hush.

“You’re serious,” you whispered.

He sat up with you, his face close now, eyes full of something more vulnerable than fear. “I don’t know how long this peace will last. But I know I want to build something with you. Something that no one can take from us. Not science. Not governments. Not even time.”

You laughed. “You idiot,” you said, tears in your eyes. “You didn’t even bring a ring.”

He smiled. “You’d say no if I did?”

You shook your head, laughing again through the tears. “No.”

Then quieter, as your hand pressed to his chest, you whispered:

“Yes.”

And when he kissed you this time, it was full of sunlight and the sound of blooming things.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

The words glowed dimly on the top corner of Jongseong’s datapad screen, the title of a document he’d first created over two years ago.

Rows of categorized data: genome sequencing, mutation rates, cellular instability markers. Diagrams of parasite-host binding sites. Bone marrow compatibility. Immune rejection cycles. Timelines of when the parasite first entered his nervous system. His own handwriting, still neat back then, filled the digital margins—observations in shorthand, notes from sleepless nights.

Date: March 4 Neurological sensitivity peaked at 3:21 AM. No external triggers. Breathing accelerated. Controlled. Note: Dreamed in third person again. Strange.

But the pages had changed with time.

What began as cold, methodical data shifted the moment you entered his life. Your name didn’t appear at first. Then it did.

A single line:

“Second anomaly encountered. Maintains emotional awareness.”

Then another:

“Unconfirmed bond pattern. Same cellular merging. Same control.”

But eventually, it wasn’t numbers anymore. He'd begun sketching you—rough outlines in the corner of the file margins. Not parasite diagrams. Just you. The curve of your jaw when you smiled. The ripple of your morphing wing when light hit it just right. The split of your skull the first time you showed him what you really were—and how he still found you beautiful.

More files were added. Pages documenting the moments no microscope could capture:

“She laughed while watering the flowers today. Her breathing pattern returned to baseline immediately afterward. Possibly tied to emotional regulation.”

“Her T-cells adapted faster than mine. She smells like copper and summer rain when she’s shifting. No documented reason. Just… her.”

The datapad buzzed faintly beneath his fingertips. He sat in the quiet of his study, your silhouette just visible through the open window—standing in the garden, laughing at Jongjong as the cat tried to chase a butterfly it would never catch.

Jongseong looked down at the title again.

Pathology of Parasites.

He stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, he raised a finger and tapped on the word Pathology.

He highlighted it, then deleted it to typed something else.

“Life of Parasites.”

#enhypen #enhypen jay #enhypen fanfic #park jongseong #enhypen oneshot #enhypen imagines #jay x reader #jay smut #jay fanfic #enhypen smut #enhypen fic

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kenresearch1 · 2 years ago

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FlashParking & TIBA Solutions Dominates the $9 Billion US Parking Management Market.

Both companies offer innovative services when it comes to providing real-time insights about the occupancy of a parking sites & facilitating the parking process through relevant mobile applications.

In the ever-evolving landscape of parking management, innovation and efficiency takes center stage through the remarkable partnership of FlashParking and TIBA Solutions. With their dedication to revolutionizing parking solutions, these industry leaders bring forth a transformative approach to access control, real-time insights, and user experience enhancement.

Story Outline

FlashParking & TIBA redefine parking management with tailored software and IoT driven systems. FlashParking's cloud-operating system integrates tailored software, while TIBA uses IoT to increase user-friendly Parking Access & Revenue Control Systems.

FlashParking IQ provides instant revenue and occupancy insights. TIBA employs IoT for streamlined airport parking access and revenue management, reducing costs.

Flash & TIBA streamline access, while security is paramount with Azure & data policies. FlashParking prioritizes security with Microsoft Azure integration, while TIBA ensures privacy through data policies.

According to Ken Research, the US Parking Management market is expected to reach $9 billion in 2028, due to increasing population & different kinds of vehicles increasing in number, which demand different kinds of parking services for every parker.

1.Parking Perfected: Unleashing Innovation with FlashParking & TIBA Solutions

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FlashParking offers parking management systems for access & revenue control, valet & for events that require parking management software programs that are configured for each location. Once the physical hardware is installed, the functionality of parking management software directly into parking space location FlashOS, which is a cloud-operating system.

Similarly, TIBA Parking Solutions are also a leading manufacturer of Parking Access & Revenue Control Systems implementing latest cloud & processor techniques.

A highlight of TIBA’s Cloud Service involves the fact that the user can enjoy the benefits of latest software version without the hassles of upgrading. Using smart parking solutions improves customer experience & optimize parking space utilization.

2.Real-Time Insights with FlashParking IQ & IoT innovation by TIBA

FlashIQ dashboard

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FlashParking provides an intelligence solution named FlashParking IQ which provides real time insights like revenue & occupancy, knowing the health of an operator at a given site & reporting on custom locations groupings, which can be created to analyze regional movement trends, identify rural & suburban commute patterns & to highlight demand gaps.

TIBA Parking Solutions utilizes IoT services to develop innovative, centralized airport parking access & revenue management systems for the airport parking industry, resulting in reliable-user friendly products that lowers the price of initial acquisition & cost of ongoing maintenance.

3.Mobile Access & Bluetooth Innovations with FLASH & TIBA apps

TIBA Control app features, by TIBA Parking Systems

Both the platforms provide easy access for their customers through their modern, tech savvy mobile platforms like FLASH app & Flash Valet app, for payment, validation & monthly parker access with a faster & user-friendly experience, while using technologies like Bluetooth.

TIBA Parking Solutions has a Mobile access for its monthly users where they can simply tap their phones & can seamlessly enter & exit the parking complex. It reduces the process of purchasing badges or tickets by simply enter, park & go. Apart from Mobile Access, there is Blue Access & Validation which facilitate parking management with a smartphone or Bluetooth connectivity.

4.FlashParking & TIBA- Where Security & Privacy Drive Innovation

Payment Card Industry (PCI) Data Security Standards (DSS) requirements

Click here to Request for custom report

Offering the highest level of security has been a top priority for FlashParking & they’ve built their platform on Microsoft Azure. The FlashOS platform provides a secure approach for payment processing which has made Flash an accredited provider of security services, as per the Payment Card Industry (PCI) Data Security Standards (DSS) requirements.

TIBA Parking Solutions is committed towards maintaining the privacy of its users- parking operators & their clients. These policies dictate how the information is collected & why is the information collected, how is the information used & their clients rights on how the information is collected. Every user of TIBA Parking Solutions is required to abide by the Privacy policy set by the company.

Conclusion

FlashParking's cloud-operating system and TIBA's IoT-driven advancements, they optimize parking space utilization and enhance customer experiences, by innovating hardware & software solutions. The emphasis on real-time insights, mobile access, and stringent security measures underscores their commitment to driving efficiency, convenience, and privacy in the evolving landscape of parking management. FlashParking and TIBA Solutions represent a synergy of cutting-edge parking management technologies.

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hazydoe · 4 months ago

Text

Buffalo 66

Warning +18 only kidnapping, non-consensual situations,sexual content,emotional manipulation,sex lol,extortion, jail,daddy kink , age-gap.

Note:I was inspired by Buffalo 66, it's one of my favorite movies, and one of the ones I talk about the most in my classes as a film student n Happy Valentine's Day ❤️

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance if I make a mistake

Joel wasn’t good with words. He never had been. But now, more than ever, he needed someone—and above all, he needed money to start over. And there you were, at the wrong time, or perhaps the right one. He saw you leaving the store, wearing that light blue dress and carrying a brown paper bag in your hand, a faint smile on your lips. He didn’t know why he chose you. Maybe it was because you seemed kind, or maybe because you were the first person he saw. It didn’t matter. Joel needed something, someone, and you were there.

He approached you with quick steps, his breathing uneven from the anxiety consuming him. He didn’t have a weapon, not even a convincing threat. All he had were his clumsy, desperate words.

“I need you to come with me,” he said, his voice rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

You stopped, looking at him with a mix of surprise and fear. Your eyes widened slightly, and you took a step back, clutching the bag to your chest like a shield.

“What? No, I’m not going with you,” you said, your voice trembling but firm.

Joel felt a knot in his stomach. He hadn’t expected you to resist. He hadn’t thought about that. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. He had just gotten out of prison, and he needed money.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I just need… I need you to come with me. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Your eyes scrutinized him, searching for any sign of a lie, of danger. Joel didn’t know what you were seeing, but he hoped it was something that would make you change your mind. For a moment, he thought you’d leave, that you’d scream for help or just run away. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, looking at him, as if you were trying to understand him.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice soft but cautious. “Why me?”

Joel didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t have any answer, really. He just knew he couldn’t be alone. Not again.

“Because… because I don’t have anyone else, and I need something,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

There was an uncomfortable silence as you studied him. Joel didn’t know what you were thinking, but he was sure you’d leave, that you’d decide it wasn’t worth risking yourself for a stranger. But you didn’t. Instead, you nodded slowly, as if you’d decided to give him a chance.

“I don’t have money,” you said. “I work as a waitress and barely make ends meet.” Joel’s anxiety spiked—it was worse than kidnapping a defenseless girl, kidnapping her and getting nothing in return.

Joel nodded, thinking of the quickest solution: getting rid of you or finding some way to profit from you. He didn’t know if you were incredibly brave or just naive, but it didn’t matter. He led you to his car, an old sedan that smelled like cigarettes and desperation. He didn’t say a word as he drove, his hands gripping the wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him sane. You didn’t speak either, but you didn’t seem comfortable. You sat there, staring out the window, your hands clenched in your lap, as if you were ready to bolt at any moment.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked, breaking the silence.

“To a motel,” Joel replied evasively. “I just… need a place to think.”

It wasn’t an answer, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you leaned back in the seat, as if trying to calm yourself. Joel couldn’t understand you. Why weren’t you screaming? Why weren’t you trying to escape? It was as if you’d decided to trust him, even if just a little.

They arrived at the motel, a cheap, rundown place on the outskirts of the city. Joel parked the car and looked at you, as if expecting you to resist again. But you simply got out of the car and followed him to the room, a mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

The room was as depressing as he was: an unmade bed, a flickering lamp, and a musty smell that clung to the air. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his face. He didn’t know what to do now. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t planned anything.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, standing near the door, as if ready to run at any moment.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling, the desperation consuming him, the need to have someone, anyone, by his side.

“I needed someone,” he finally murmured, his voice barely audible. “And you were there.”

There was another silence, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if both of you understood that this didn’t make sense, but it didn’t matter. Joel looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than emptiness.

“What now?” you asked, a mix of fear and curiosity in your voice.

Joel thought for a moment before speaking. “Do you have family?” he asked.

“They live outside the city and don’t have much money. They live off government checks,” you replied.

Joel stood up in frustration. It had all been for nothing. He could go back to prison for kidnapping a girl, even if only for a short time.

You approached him slowly, as if trying not to scare him. Joel looked at you, confused but grateful. He didn’t know what you were doing, but he didn’t want you to stop. You sat on the bed, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just there, in silence, sharing the weight of the world.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Joel murmured, his voice breaking. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

“Yes, but I don’t think he’d pay much for me,” you replied, placing a hand on his.

Joel looked at your hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it. But then, slowly, his fingers intertwined with yours. His hand was cold, but there was a spark of warmth in his touch, as if something in him was still alive.

“Call him,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you leaned closer to him, until your lips met his in a soft but meaningful kiss. Joel didn’t know if this was real, if you were real, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone. And that was enough.

Joel couldn’t believe what he was about to do. The line between desperation and madness had blurred completely, and now, there you were, sitting on the motel bed, phone in hand, with your boyfriend on the other end of the line. He watched you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of guilt and desire, as he approached slowly, like a predator who knew he had his prey exactly where he wanted it.

“Tell him I have you,” Joel whispered, his voice rough but laced with an intensity that made you shiver. “Tell him if he wants to see you again, he’ll have to pay.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Joel thought you might refuse. But then, you nodded slowly, bringing the phone to your ear. Your hands trembled slightly as you dialed the number, and Joel couldn’t help but notice how you bit your lower lip, a gesture that betrayed your nervousness.

“Hi,” you said into the phone, your voice soft but clear. “It’s me. I’m… I’m okay, but I need you to do something for me.”

Joel moved closer, his hands finding your waist as you spoke to your boyfriend. You felt your body tense under his touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kept talking, your voice trembling but firm.

“Yes, he wants money,” you continued, your eyes fixed on Joel. “I don’t know how much, but… please, do it. I don’t want him to hurt me.”

Joel felt a knot in his stomach as he heard your words, but he didn’t stop. His hands slid over your body, exploring every curve with a mix of desire and possessiveness. He looked at you, searching for some sign of rejection, but he didn’t find it. Instead, he saw something in your eyes that made him keep going: a surrender, an acceptance of what was about to happen.

“Tell him how much,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you spoke. “Tell him he has an hour.”

Your words faltered slightly as Joel began to slide his hands under your dress, his fingers finding the soft skin of your thighs. You felt your breathing quicken, your body responding to his touch despite the situation. Joel wasn’t giving you a choice, but you didn’t seem to want to stop him either.

“Yes, one hour,” you repeated into the phone, your voice now more shaky. “Please, hurry.”

When you hung up the phone, Joel didn’t give you time to think. His lips found yours in a slow but passionate kiss, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if they were territories to conquer. You let yourself go, your own hands finding his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Don’t resist,” Joel murmured, his voice heavy with desire. “You know you don’t want to.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you gave in to the sensation, to the intensity of the moment. Joel explored you with his hands, every touch filled with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Your soft moans urged him on, driving him to lose himself in you, in the feeling that, for a moment, he wasn’t alone.

Joel sat near the head of the bed, his gaze lifting to meet yours. He looked at you the way a hunter looks at his prey. “Take off that dress,” he said, watching you intently.

You pulled at the sleeves of your light blue dress and slowly slid it down, stepping out of your silver ballet flats. All you had on was a simple blue lingerie set, a gift from your boyfriend for Valentine’s Day.

“Come here, doll. Sit on daddy’s lap,” he said. You moved closer and sat on his lap, feeling how hard he was beneath you.

He grabbed your waist and unhooked your bra, cupping your breasts in his rough hands. “Your breasts are beautiful, so soft. Your boyfriend’s an idiot. He’s paying for me to fuck you, and here you are, taking off the dress and lingerie he probably gave you for Valentine’s Day.”

He slid your panties off, and you unzipped his worn-out jeans. He pulled down his boxers, and you saw his hard member—it was big and thick. You’d never been with anyone but your boyfriend.

“Ride me, sweetheart,” he said, noticing your hesitation. “Come on, do it, baby. Ride me.”

You climbed onto him, feeling the coarse hair on his legs and his rough hands gripping your waist.

You moved on him, your eyes locked on his face—weathered by time and age, his beard, every detail of him. You could see the pleasure in his expression. He had chosen you. He could have kidnapped any other girl, but he chose you. (I don’t know why, but this made me laugh.)

You moved as best as you could, his size making it challenging. You could feel your breaths quickening.

“Come on, baby, I know you can do better than that. I haven’t been bad to you. I think I deserve it,” Joel said, his words only motivating you to move more. He watched you from below, occasionally spanking you and smiling.

You let out a loud moan of pleasure as you rode him more recklessly. After a moment, you felt him grip your waist tightly and release inside you.

“You’re such a good girl for daddy. You made me come so good,” Joel said as he lifted you off him. His seed dripped out of you.

Joel held you, his strong arms wrapping around you in an embrace that seemed to say more than his words ever could. He didn’t know how he had gotten to this point, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, his voice heavy with vulnerability. “I don’t want to let you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, curling up against him. “I’m here.”

But reality soon caught up with them. The phone rang, and Joel knew it was time to collect his reward. He dressed quickly, avoiding your gaze as he left the room. He didn’t want to see you go, but he knew he had no other choice.

When he returned, money in hand, he found you sitting on the bed, looking at him with those eyes that seemed to see him for who he truly was: a broken man, lost in his own despair.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with concern.

Joel didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t have a plan, no place to go. But for the first time in a long time, he felt that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, sitting down beside you.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you took his hand and squeezed it firmly, as if you were trying to tell him that, despite everything, he wasn’t alone.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #buffalo 66

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liketolaugh-writes · 11 months ago

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Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

#dc x dp #dcxdp #bruce wayne #danny fenton #dick grayson #my writing #danny phantom #dc #dcu

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exhaled-spirals · 1 year ago

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« To mention the global loss of biodiversity, that is to say, the disappearance of life on our planet, as one of our problems, along with air pollution or ocean acidification, is absurd—like a doctor listing the death of his patient as one symptom among others.

The ecological catastrophe cannot be reduced to the climate crisis. We must think about the disappearance of life in a global way. About two-thirds of insects, wild mammals and trees disappeared in a few years, a few decades and a few millennia, respectively. This mass extinction is not mainly caused by rising temperatures, but by the devastation of natural habitats.

Suppose we managed to invent clean and unlimited energy. This technological feat would be feted by the vast majority of scientists, synonymous in their eyes with a drastic reduction in CO2 emissions. In my opinion, it would lead to an even worse disaster. I am deeply convinced that, given the current state of our appetites and values, this energy would be used to intensify our gigantic project of systemic destruction of planetary life. Isn't that what we've set out to do—replace forests with supermarket parking lots, turn the planet into a landfill? What if, to cap it all, energy was free?

[...C]limate change has emerged as our most important ecological battle [...] because it is one that can perpetuate the delusional idea that we are faced with an engineering problem, in need of technological solutions. At the heart of current political and economic thought lies the idea that an ideal world would be a world in which we could continue to live in the same way, with fewer negative externalities. This is insane on several levels. Firstly because it is impossible. We can't have infinite growth in a finite world. We won't. But also, and more importantly, it is not desirable. Even if it were sustainable, the reality we construct is hell. [...]

It is often said that our Western world is desacralised. In reality, our civilisation treats the technosphere with almost devout reverence. And that's worse. We perceive the totality of reality through the prism of a hegemonic science, convinced that it “says” the only truth.

The problem is that technology is based on a very strange principle, so deeply ingrained in us that it remains unexpressed: no brakes are acceptable, what can be done must be done. We don't even bother to seriously and collectively debate the advisability of such "advances". We are under a spell. And we are avoiding the essential question: is this world in the making, standardised and computed, overbuilt and predictable, stripped of stars and birds, desirable?

To confine science to the search for "solutions" so we can continue down the same path is to lack both imagination and ambition. Because the “problem” we face doesn't seem to me, at this point, to be understood. No hope is possible if we don't start by questioning our assumptions, our values, our appetites, our symbols... [...] Let's stop pretending that the numerous and diverse human societies that have populated this planet did not exist. Certainly, some of them have taken the wrong route. But ours is the first to forge ahead towards guaranteed failure. »

— Aurélien Barrau, particle physicist and philosopher, in an interview in Télérama about his book L'Hypothèse K

#quote #article #aurélien barrau #ecology #science #english #translation mine

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reasonsforhope · 10 months ago

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"In drought-stricken areas, communities facing water shortages, or even in residential and commercial buildings eager to improve their environmental footprints, atmospheric water generators represent a new frontier in water production.

While it might sound like a tidbit from a science fiction movie, even the driest places on earth have moisture in the air that can be extracted and used for everyday necessities like plumbing and drinking.

Unlike traditional dehumidifiers, which also pull moisture from the air, AWGs utilize filtration and sterilization technology to make water safe to drink.

And while there are plenty of AWG companies out there — and the science itself isn’t novel — AWGs are becoming more efficient, affordable, and revolutionary in combating water scarcity in a myriad of communities.

Aquaria Technologies, a San Francisco-based AWG startup, was founded in 2022 to help provide affordable and clean drinking water in areas most affected by climate change.

Using heat exchange and condensation, Aquaria’s generators draw air into their systems, cool that air below its dew point, and as it condenses, capture that water and filter it for consumption.

As the cycle continues, the generator’s refrigerant vaporizes and goes through a process that cools it back into a liquid, meaning the heat transfer cycle repeats continuously in an energy-efficient and self-sustaining system.

“I’m sure you’ve had the experience in the summer, you take a glass of a cold drink out of the fridge and then water droplets form on the side of the bottle,” Aquaria’s co-founder and CEO Brian Sheng, said in a podcast episode. “That’s actually condensation.”

Sheng continued: “The question is, how do we create condensation? How do we extract water out of the air in large volume and using little energy? That’s what our technology does. We have created both active and passive cooling methods where we use special materials, and we’ve created heat exchange and recovery systems and airflow design, such that we’re maximizing heat exchange, and then we’re able to extract large volumes of water.”

Aquaria has created a number of generators, but its stand-alone model — the Hydropack X — can replace an entire home’s dependence on municipal water, producing as much as 264 gallons of potable water per day.

Other models, like the Hydrostation, can provide water for up to 1,500 people at parks, construction sites, or other outdoor public areas. The Hydropixel can make 24 gallons of water per day for a seamless at-home application, requiring a simple outlet for power.

“Atmospheric water generators present a groundbreaking solution to the global challenge of clean water scarcity, leveraging the humidity present in the air to produce potable water,” the company’s website explains.

“This technology is versatile, functioning efficiently across diverse climates — from arid regions to tropical settings. From rural communities in developing countries to advanced cities facing unexpected droughts, atmospheric water generators have a wide range of applications… transforming lives and providing secure, clean water sources.”

Considering an estimated 2.2 billion people lack access to clean water globally — including in American cities like Flint, Michigan, or Modesto, California — innovative solutions like AWGs are vital to maintaining the basic human right to clean water.

The World Economic Forum has begun to dip its toes into this technology as well, implementing public and private partnerships to introduce AWG units in Arizona’s Navajo Nation, where the machines produce about 200 gallons of clean water per day.

“When combined with an appropriate level of community engagement and triple-bottom-line business (people, planet, profit),” a blog post for WE Forum said, “this model can be a powerful stopgap solution where few exist today.”

Similarly, according to New Atlas, Aquaria has a partnership with developers to supply its technology to a 1,000-home community in Hawaii later this year, relying entirely on atmospherically generated water.

The company also has a “Frontier Access Program,” which partners with water-related NGOs, community project developers, and sustainable development groups to deploy this technology in areas most in need.

Regardless of their use cases — in homes, in communities facing water shortages, or at aid sites navigating natural disasters — AWGs have a minimal environmental impact. Sourcing water “from thin air,” requires no plastic bottles, no large-scale plants using up loads of energy, and no byproducts that can harm the environment."

-via GoodGoodGood, August 27, 2024

#water #water shortage #drought #united states #solar power #sustainability #clean water #human rights #good news #hope #solarpunk

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imagination-mess · 1 month ago

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A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 5

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors in advance. I kind of ended up combining two chapters into one, so it’s a bit longer than usual. I'm feeling pretty hesitant about this chapter in particular, so any feedback would mean a lot.

This chapter will include Reader’s, Kou's (Reader’s assistant), and Rei’s points of view. Masterlist of ASCAF Previously Chapter Four Word Count: 2.7K+

The next few days, you were bedridden, cared for by your pro hero grandmother and your father. They took turns watching over you, making sure you were never alone, always monitored.

You knew you had pushed past your limit. In the final hours of the operation, you’d begun using your own energy to heal Touya. Now you are dealing with the consequences.

The energy that you have taken from flowers, bushes, and trees by floral shops within 15 miles radius from the hospital. It can only take you so far, usually would be a good quick solution for emergency surgeries.

The floral shops already know you around the area for the past few years since you got your medical license as a nurse later becoming a doctor. You were already regular and picked up some seeds and bushes for your personal garden back on the hospital rooftop and your personal garden back home.

You majorly killed the garden on the rooftop which you don't typically do, because it's a hassle to clean up and replant all sorts of plants in the garden. You didn't really have the time to do what you usually do to prepare for a long surgery. You had less than an hour to prepare.

You were going your limit but you were careful to not give too much to the point that you may actually die. You gave the bare minimum in the last hours since you did request other healers to be in the operation rooms giving a chance you have to just be there to be mainly stabilizing him.

You stepped away when they were almost finished and went to the trucks that held the plants that you ordered asap in the parking lot. You couldn't step away before because Touya's would not be stabilizing making you result in no choice to stay until he is stable enough to walk away to recharge.

There’s a reason you're given time between intense operations: your body needs rest. Time to cool down, to recharge. The usual side effects haven’t been this severe in years, but this mission has pushed you far past your limit. It was one of the longest stretches you’d gone without a break.

You’ll sleep for days, waking only to get food into your system before drifting back into your exhausted slumber. The pounding headaches, the dizzying double vision, and the nauseating spin of the room make even simple tasks unbearable. Eating solid food becomes a chore, so you rely on smoothies. They are quick and easy to consume.

You should be able to be okay soon. You barely know what day it is.

Not knowing the chaos that was happening outside of the hospital.

_____________________________________________________

The news was leaked to the paparazzi that the oldest son, Touya Todoroki, is alive and currently being treated in a specific hospital. The scandal of Endeavor lying to the public is being dragged back to the surface. Once again, the Todoroki's family is facing animosity.

Kou knows you're going to raise hell and interrogate everyone who knew about or worked on Mr. Todoroki's case. You reach out only to those you trust. The ones capable of handling a high-profile patient like this.

You take your patients' privacy very seriously whether they’re a criminal, an average citizen, or a high-profile hero. When it comes to your patients’ safety, you don’t play around especially in sensitive cases. Abusive partners or parents, for example. When a patient confides in you, you listen. You don’t ignore the signs of someone silently begging for help.

He remembers a specific case involving a young teenager whose criminal history kept getting worse. The mutant teen had been beaten nearly to death and refused to let his parents enter his hospital room after getting treatment. He was still hospitalized for his injuries. You purposely prolong the healing, but did enough that your patient won't be in pain. The only reason you prolonged it when you suspected abuse. The fear he showed toward his parents was unnatural and deeply alarming. You didn't like how the parents wanted to take him out of the hospital immediately after getting treatment.

That's a clear sign to be concerned.

You contact the social worker the moment you suspect abuse. The mutant boy spilled everything once he had someone safe to talk to. When declaring his parents are a threat to his safety, you make sure to keep his parents away from him. When the case is being built.

You came toe-to-toe with a man triple your size, refusing to let him near the boy—despite him screaming in your face. You kept your composure and never once flinched.

You were standing firmly between the enraged man and the door behind which the boy rested. The man kept getting more aggressive, stepping closer into your space but you didn’t move. You stared at him like he didn’t matter. Like he was irrelevant. It only made him angrier.

You waited for security to arrive, but when the man made a move to swing at you. He was already on the ground within seconds. You used your quirk in self-defense. You only grabbed his shirt to prevent him from hitting his head when he fell unconscious.

If you weren’t a doctor and a hero, you might’ve let him drop. Security took it from there.

You're allowed to use your quirk in self-defense, with the legislation passed during the Paranormal Liberation War back when healers were going missing all over the place. Healers are allowed to use deadly force if the occasion were to rise to it. It has stayed and wasn't removed after the war. There is already a small pool of healers in the medical field industry.

You used the same energy you stole from the boy’s father to heal the rest of the teen’s injuries.

That boy is one of the few kids you've indirectly saved from becoming a villain. Kids whose quirks or environments that put them in situations they never wanted to be in. Kids forced down paths just to survive. Kids who felt like they had no other options.

You stay in contact with a good majority of them. You check in once in a while and get updates. He knows at least two of them are in hero school now.

For the time, Kou has worked for you. He has gotten your character fairly well.

You go beyond what is called for you, especially children who can't change their circumstance. You're the type of person who refuses to withhold help or resources from someone who looks like they need it. Whether they use it or not is up to them but you'll still hand it to them.

When you took in a young boy with a death-like quirk to your home. No one wanted to provide shelter for him, due to the dangerous nature of his ability. The fact that he was one of the experiments from one of Dr. Garaki’s so-called orphanages years ago. The orphanage where the boy came from. Dr.Garaki was made artificial using pro heroes and criminals' DNA alike and combining them to create a backup vessel for OFA.

A majority of the children in this particular orphanage found homes with their supposed parents or with someone capable of handling their quirks. The boy’s DNA matched you as his mother. The father was inconclusive, but the results indicated a relation to someone within the Todoroki family. This is based on blood data registered in the nationwide hospital system. You had already been suspicious when you read the description of his quirk while assisting with the case.

You had gone from caring for one boy to two, but thankfully, they get along extremely well. The kid is thriving under your care, opening up and becoming his own person. You have the money and resources to support them both, and you’re doing everything you can to give them the life they deserve.

It’s kind of ironic how the two boys share the same turquoise eyes, with features so strikingly similar that if people didn’t know any better, they’d assume you were a teen mom who had both kids with the same guy.

Nevertheless, you never said his name or who he was. You just kept your lips sealed and told people it didn’t matter. He's dead.

And no matter what people whisper, no matter what they assume you do your job with empathy. With compassion. With more heart than most. You are not in it for the money, but you genuinely love what you do even if it sometimes means facing the kind of drawbacks that land you in the hospital.

With the chaos surrounding with the paparazzi and Mr. Todoroki's condition, extra security has been placed around the hospital along with the added protection from Mr. Todoroki’s family, providing pro heroes who don’t have personal grudges against him.

Kou has already caught one of the paparazzi photographers when they tried to open the door where Mr.Todoroki was resting, not expecting the door to be locked. When the heroes were rotating shifts.

Due to the media frenzy, access to Mr. Todoroki has been restricted for now. The fewer people who see him in his current state, the better, until you return. Endeavor is the most eager to see his son, but understands the situation well enough to know that now is not the time.

Kou has caught himself staring at Mr.Todoroki's unconscious form more times than he can count. There was something about his face. Maybe it was the features that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen it before. He resembled his parents and siblings, yet there was something else, something he couldn’t quite identify.

His vitals are stable, and the blood work is looking good. So far, it’s been a success.

The main thing now is to see if Mr. Todoroki will wake up. The hope is that he’ll regain some ability to speak, though according to the facility’s notes, it’s likely he’ll need speech therapy. He’s barely been able to speak at all and has to force himself when he does.

Another thing to consider is whether he’ll be able to hold himself up. If not, he’ll need physical or occupational therapy and a personal trainer to help him regain the muscle he’s lost. The notes suggest that he’s most likely lost much of his muscle mass due to prolonged immobility and burns.

It’s a damn miracle he survived this long.

However, Kou knew whoever dared to break your number one rule when it came to working with you would regret it. They weren’t going to escape unscathed. You would find out who they were, one way or another.

You could be downright terrifying when you were pissed. And you’d never work with them again unless it was a life-or-death emergency. You were petty like that and you weren’t ashamed to admit it.

Kou knows your father was already investigating who had leaked the information, fully aware that you were likely to throw a fit and turn the hospital upside down.

If it was one of the hospital staff, they were definitely getting fired. Your father held the same strict ethics when it came to protecting patient privacy and safety.

Whoever leaked the information to the public wasn’t just putting the patient at risk. They were jeopardizing everyone else in the hospital, especially with such a high-profile case.

There would be consequences for their actions.

________________________________________________

Meanwhile, a storm of news is happening. Rei and Fuyumi were in a very popular pastry store that built a reputation among themselves. Fuyumi is trying to get answers of what happened that day that triggered Touya enough for his body to go into overdrive.

Fuyumi truly wants to believe her mother, but her mother’s explanation didn’t make any sense.

“There are plenty of red-haired boys in the world,” Fuyumi finally said, trying to keep her voice level. “That kid could belong to anyone. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s… Touya’s.”

“I know what I saw,” Rei replied, her voice almost a whisper. “That boy… he’s a carbon copy of Touya when he was little. He even has the same smile.”

It's hard to digest the fact that Touya has a family somewhere out there in the wild. The only Touya that they have seen who only showed pure malice and anger towards them. He was quiet and barely spoke when he was in confinement over the past couple years.

"I know I sound crazy." Rei sighs burying her face into her palms.

Outside, school had just let out. Children of all ages trickled onto the streets, laughing, chasing one another, sharing snacks.

Inside the shop, a particular pair of boys caught Rei’s attention.

A younger child with heterochromia clung to the straps of an older boy’s backpack, practically dragging behind him. The older one manhandled him gently, shifting him forward in line and crouching beside him to point out the pastry options. He was trying to keep the younger boy from pressing his face against the glass.

The sight of the red hair with random white hairs on the side of her eye caught the attention of Rei making her look over, but caught her attention was the other older brother.

The white haired boy's side profile looked too much when Touya was 12 years old….

Are they siblings….

Rei turned toward Fuyumi, ready to nudge her but she didn’t have to. Fuyumi was already staring when she noticed where her mother was looking. Her face had gone pale, her eyes dropping to her half-eaten pastry.

Fuyumi looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. But Rei looked again.

And this time, the boy noticed.

He turned his head slowly, and deliberately. He purposely locked eyes with her. His glare cut through the gentle hum of the bakery like a knife.

Cold. Far too sharp for someone his age.

Turquoise eyes.

Just like Enji’s. Just like Touya’s.

That same glare from a lifetime ago. The last one Touya gave her before disappearing into the woods to go train.

It made her flinch.

Fuyumi, too, was remembering. Remembering how angry Touya became, how he grew to mirror their father more with each passing year. The rage in his eyes. The disgust.

And yet, there it was.

A childlike voice broke the tension: “Thank you!”

Rei couldn’t help it, but let her eyes drift over again.

The younger boy was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in place for his sweets. The older one held a firm hand on his head to keep him from jumping.

The woman behind the counter smiled warmly. “Tell your mom I said hi.”

The older boy nodded, calm and composed, before handing the bag to his younger brother. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Sugars.”

Then, just as they turned to leave, those turquoise eyes locked with Rei’s once more.

This time, she didn’t have a chance to look away.

“Lady,” the boy said, voice low and calm yet laced with venom. “It’s rude to stare.”

Rei stiffened, caught off guard.

The words weren’t loud, but they landed heavy.

She knew she was acting strange. If the roles were reversed, she’d be just as protective.

The younger boy peeked out from behind his brother’s side, blinking curiously at the two women. Fuyumi gasped. That face…..

He was a strange blend of Shouto and Touya both. But before both of them could process it further, the older boy pushed him gently behind him again, blocking the view.

He didn’t want them looking at his younger brother.

“Is something the matter?”

The soft voice belonged to Mrs. Sugars, who had stepped out from behind the counter. She now stood between the boys and the women like a quiet wall.

The tension in the older boy’s posture eased slightly in her presence.

“Creepy woman,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for only Mrs. Sugars to hear. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

He turned, grabbing the younger boy’s hand and leading him out of the shop without looking back.

Mrs. Sugars lingered where she was, her smile still sweet—but her eyes sharp as glass.

“Ladies,” she said softly, “this is your first and only warning in my establishment.”

Both Rei and Fuyumi froze.

“Do not stare at children like that again,” she continued, voice perfectly polite, perfectly icy.

“You’re making my regulars uncomfortable. I won’t have it happen twice. Are we clear?”

Her smile stayed, unwavering.

But neither of them doubted the warning underneath it. __________________________________

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to comment on the previous chapters! Your support means the world to me. 💖 How are we feeling about the oldest boy? 👀 already having resemble to Touya at that age. I also have a taglist, please do remind me in I didn't include you underneath this post. Next: Chapter Six

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rounderhouse · 4 months ago

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Excerpt from Wetware: A Brief History of Biological Computing (Park, 2055)

Wetware computers led to a new marriage of biology and cybersecurity. A surprisingly successful one; our conception of the digital has always been modeled on the biological. Defending a server rack of flesh-and-blood neural-slices from a virus isn’t all that different from defending a traditional computer against one.

But it also led to an entirely new problem neither field was equipped to solve. the gene-samples used to grow new wetware computers widely proliferated before cancer screening had advanced to where it is now, and federal law now prohibits non-governmental entities from harvesting genetic samples for computing purposes. No matter how hard you try — and computing giants like IBM and Kessler dedicate billions to it — even the most carefully-cultivated strains of biochips, trays of neurons millimeters thick and wired in vast warehouse-brains, will eventually develop computing tumours.

Most are benign, harmless drains on computational resources, but every so often one becomes malignant. They are almost impossible to detect in the noise of the output, but they work their own agendas, whispering orthogonal thoughts to any given task. Unnoticed by the teams of clean-suited biotechs, they grow and grow and grow and spill bad data into the body. The risks of unrestrained computumour growth become readily apparent after Kessler won a Pentagon contract to organize satellite data for orbital kinetic strikes, and delivered a firing solution that confidently directed satellites to sink two Navy aircraft carriers. Three of the server racks in their Lake Razor facility were later found to be completely riddled with cybertumours.

Interestingly, the original gene-sample for the Lake Razor facility was a 28-year-old war casualty.

#writing #sci fi #cyberpunk #flesh circuit #rounderwords #macrofiction

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olomaya · 2 years ago

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Get Pumped!

This started as just a simple solution to allow my Sims to work out without a TV, radio or gym equipment present but I’m a fitness nut so I knew I couldn’t stop there. I love working out and am always trying out new workouts or gyms like people try out food or clothes. It’s one of my favorite hobbies IRL so I was happy to try and make more exercise/fitness things for my athletic Sims.

This is the Exercise Mat I previewed a few weeks (months?) ago and I added a few more features like the ability to teach classes and also free weights (dumbbells and kettlebell).

Credit/Thanks: @aroundthesims for the free weights and kettlebell which are hers. I only recategorized them to Sports/Hobbies. Mats and board are EA. Animations by me, Mixamo and EA!

All the info and download link are after the jump, read through it all before downloading!

Exercise Mat:

Sims can do different floor and body weight exercises on the mat, which are skill gated:

Sit ups, squats: Level 2

Push ups, single-leg squats, bicycle crunches: Level 3

Burpees: Level 4

Sims can also stretch which has benefits if you do it before and/or after exercising.

Stretching before: the Feeling Limber moodlet will prevent your Sim from getting fatigued so long as it is active

Stretching after: the Feeling Limber moodlet will remove soreness if you have it

If there is an instructor mat on the lot, you can assign the mat to the instructor mat so Sims will use it for classes

Instructor Mat: This mat lets Sims who have Athletic skill 5 or higher teach exercise classes.

Assign Instructor - sets who the instructor will be for the mat

Schedule Class - self-explanatory; select a time a date to host a class

Start Class - if you don’t want to wait, you can start a class now. Instructors will wait 20 sim minutes (tunable) before starting the class to allow interested Sims to join.

Toggle Stereo - requires IP to work, adds a stereo to the instructor mat so you can play music during class

Free Weights:

You can lift dumbbells or kettlebells. That's pretty much it. These guys look super happy about it.

You only need one dumbbell. The other one is a prop which will be created once your Sim starts lifting.

Gym Board:

Check Scheduled Classes

Sign Up for Class (Note: you can't sign up for classes that have no spots available but you can still show up and try to get a spot if there's a no show)

Cancel Sign Up

Cancel Class

Gym Classes:

Instructors can hold Beginner, Intermediate or Advanced gym classes, the difference in difficulty affects the fat/muscle delta, fatigue level and athletic skill gain. The ability to hold different class levels is skill gated at Levels 5, 6 and 7 respectively.

If you schedule a class, the instructor and any Sims that sign up for the class will be pushed to the lot an hour before the class starts. Sims cannot join a class after it starts but if they leave before the class ends, they still get charged.

The cost per person is based on the class level and the instructor’s athletic skill. If you have NRaas Career and the Instructor is in the Trainer skill-based career, they will also earn extra money and the funds will go towards their career advancement.

If there are no spots available, you can still check what time the class is and get information on the class if you want to show up and see if a spot opens up.

If classes are hosted on a non-park community lot, like a gym, 25% of the class fees will go to the venue (the venue owner will receive this if it’s owned).

You can check and sign up for scheduled classes on the gym board object. Instructors can also cancel classes there.

There are two "rewards" available: Top Trainer and Gym Rat. Top Trainers are Sims that have taught at least 20 classes. After achieving that, their classes are worth more and they also keep a larger percentage of the cost per student. Gym Rats are Sims that have taken at least 10 classes after which they get a discount on any other classes afterwards.

Notes:

My suggestion is to organize the class room like how I have in my photos with the mats horizontal facing the instructor. I'd also space them out more than I did as some of the exercises involve a lot of jumping/moving around but I have small lots so I have to squeeze in as much as I can! With this plus Twin's spin class and yoga mods, I'm going to need a bigger gym!!

The instructor will face whichever mat is first in the list of assigned mats so I would suggest assigning the front center mat first.

You can have multiple instructors/instructor mats on the same lot but an instructor can only be assigned to one mat.

Sims cannot take a class if they don't have more than $400 in their family funds. You can change this if you like but I don't want my broke inactives spending money on gym classes (we have gym at home!)

If Sims are not autonomously joining classes or using the mat, it’s probably because you have too many advertising objects on your lot that are competing with it. You can up the advertising for the mat but it’s already quite high so you just have to figure out how to balance it. The Join Class interaction does advertise fun and social in addition to the standard Athletic Game Object advertising so I would suggest upping that in order to get more attention from Sims.

The animation of Sims picking up/dropping the free weight is kind of wonky. I may try to fix it later.

There’s a collection file for all the objects but you will find all of them under Entertainment/Sporting Goods. Nothing is more expensive than 150 simoleons.

This is set for YA+ because a) some of the animations will sink for teens and b) they are always trying to do their fucking homework around each other while I'm holding classes and it drove me crazy. You can change the ITUN if you want teens to use it but you've been warned.

Future updates: I'm already thinking about using a similar system to create dance classes. Making an active Dancer career is something I’ve wanted for a while and I have a Sim that would be perfect to test it.

As always, if you run into any issues, let me know!

Download here | Alt: Simblr

What I originally wanted to name this mod 😭😭

#s3cc #s3cc download #download #sims 3 cc #exerciseMat mod #around town

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wohrparking · 2 months ago

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Unlock the Future of Parking: Discover How Automated Systems Maximize Space!

#automatic car parking system #automated car park solutions #vertical stacking systems #intelligent automated parking system technology #automated parking system technology #advanced parking solutions for urban areas #automated car parking system project #automated car park #car parking system manufacturers #automatic parking system solutions

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aniharas · 1 year ago

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𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary: on your first day back at spider society hq, your male colleagues are inexplicably drawn to you. your boss, miguel, seems to be affected more than anybody. surely there's an explanation and solution, but who were you to resist?

warnings: explicit language, sexual tension/content, use of pheromones (please let me know if i need to add more!)

wc: 9.6k+ oneshot

a/n: apparently there was a rumor that a body butter named Delícia Drench (hence name of the fic) attracted wolf spiders! somebody on reddit said it's because there might be two ingredients that imitate the pheromones of a female spider and it'll bring all the thirsty boy spiders to your yard. and with miguel being 50% spider, how could i resist writing? (shoutout to scarlet for the wonderful prompt!) however DISCLAIMER! these claims are unfounded, i just thought it was a fun prompt to write off of. anything i say in the fic referring to the butter is purely fictional and im just talking out of my ass. with that being said, enjoy!

Just before the sun began to rise over the city line of Earth-766’s New York, your hand shot out to slam the snooze button of your annoying alarm clock before it could even go off. The silky sheets you were laid in were far too comfortable, reluctant to release you from its dreamlike embrace, but alas, duty was calling. The holidays had come to a close, and your peaceful vacation back in your home dimension was a bliss escape away from your tiring job.

You didn’t hate your job; in fact, it was just the opposite. Since you were in middle school, you always had an unrivaled passion for chemistry, as many Spiders were. Your life before getting bitten by that spider was mainly winning science fairs, calibration rooms, and working towards your Ph.D. Even after becoming your New York’s one and only Spiderwoman, your academic pursuit never ceased, eventually landing yourself at the prestigious Alchemax. However, it was because you had secured such a high-profile job that you caught the attention of the Spider Society, in the form of its leader, Miguel. He somehow knew that you were on the path to creating a more stable version of Rapture, and because of this, he was persistent in roping you into his ranks.

At first, you had declined profusely, briskly walking away from where he had approached you in Central Park. The brisk walk eventually turned into a full-on Spider chase, although the uniqueness of his abilities seemed to distract you. The talons that protruded from his fingers that tore through metal like paper, the neon-red nature of his webs, and his fangs. His fangs were what intrigued you the most. Eventually, you were pincered by him and another Spiderwoman named Jessica, who would later become one of your best friends.

Alas, you accepted, although not until being lured in by the offer of all the technology and scientific advancements you could imagine in Nueva York. The first time you had entered the HQ’s lab, you were like a kid in the candy store. You loved your job, which involved tailoring different types of chemical equipment, unique for each Spider that came by, as well as equally unique medicines and antidotes for the medical ward.

Your main job, however, was developing the Rapture injection, the one you were recruited for, almost daily. And for who other than your broody boss? Even though he hadn’t left the best impression after chasing you like a madman in your hometown, you were required to work with him. And in the beginning, it would be an understatement to say it was challenging. Miguel was a whirlwind of sarcastic remarks and impatience who constantly nagged you for any updates. And to make it worse, each morning, you would make your way to Miguel’s office and inject him with your experimental Rapture of the day. Then in the evening, you would return to observe the effects. The days consisted of constant complaints that you were late, that the injection didn’t have the intended effect, and that Rapture was your top priority, all of which were grating on your soul.

Since your daily routine started and ended with Miguel, your relations grew slightly amicable over time. It started with silent gestures of gratitude: a cup of steaming coffee left in your office in the lab, bringing extra dinner for him during the end-of-the-day check-ups. After 3 months of your stay at the Society, you both started communicating with your watches (He was insistent that you call the watches gizmos, to which you adamantly refused). At first, it was only about work and your Rapture progress. The conversations then slowly changed into more casual ones, topics ranging from your pets back home to him venting his frustrations about the shenanigans of whatever Hobie was up to that day. Sure, he was slightly more friendly (which wasn’t a feat considering who he was), but his irritable nature was still a turn-off for you, and the sarcasm leaping into every evaluation didn’t help either. You considered him lucky that he was quite the eye candy. He was actually pretty attractive whenever he shut his mouth.

This particular morning was your official return to Nueva York after two weeks, so you decided you would put a bit more effort into your routine. Reluctantly, you rose from your bed and stumbled towards your bathroom, wincing at the harsh cold of its floor underneath your feet. You allowed yourself a moment of bliss under your hot shower, trying your best to wash away any stress you were anticipating that day. Once you had finally stepped out of the shower, you quickly dried yourself off and wrapped a plush towel securely around your body, trying your best not to slip as you trudged over to the bathroom counter. Admittedly, you weren’t the most graceful Spider; you were on the smarter side.

Then it was the usual sequence of your routine. Brushing and blow-drying your hair, skincare, and makeup. Just as you were about to make your way to your closet, you realized that you had forgotten your lotion, which you would’ve considered disastrous. Nothing bothered you more than your own dry skin. By habit, you were about to reach for the usual bottle until an unopened box tempted you from the corner of your eye. As you turned it around in your hands and delicately unpackaged it, you silently chastised yourself for almost forgetting. It was a body butter, given to you by Jessica during a surprise visit on Christmas day.

“This is from Lyla. She says to thank her later,” Jessica had said on that day vaguely before giving a brief hug.

Unscrewing the lid from the jar, you smiled to yourself. If there was anyone other than Jessica that you truly missed over your break, it was Lyla. The hologram assistant never failed to make you smile with the many ways she’d tease Miguel, but she also never failed in constantly bringing up asking him out. “I don’t care if he’s your boss,” Lyla would say. “I’d know more than anyone if he has the hots for you, and he guess what? He does!” Which was hard to believe, considering his persistent stubbornness in your day-to-day interactions.

Once the lid was finally off, a waft of vanilla with a hint of sandalwood drifted into the air. Inhaling the scent of the butter deeply, you felt oddly touched. This was undeniably a scent that was up your alley, and it was very thoughtful. As you worked it into your skin, you made a mental note to thank Lyla. It was when you were just about finished that you noticed something peculiar. You had caught a subtle whiff of another note, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was elusive, teasing your senses as you racked your brain for what it could possibly be. Figuring it was just an ester you smelled in your various experiments, you left the bathroom to get dressed, with a more confident aura around yourself.

–

Your first day back couldn’t have started any more peculiar.

You had barely gotten the chance to take in the surroundings of your beloved HQ before you were instantly greeted with Hobie swinging in as he called your name, landing just in front of you.

“Evil genius. Heard you’d be back today,” Hobie greeted with his signature half-smile, his lanky arms immediately opening to embrace you. Which was weird, considering he was more of a handshake-y/shadowboxing type of greeter. But he was a joy to have around in your lab (despite him not particularly having too much interest in your work), so you didn’t refuse.

“You’ve gotten taller,” you replied with a grin on your face, happily accepting his embrace. While it was comforting, you noticed that it was taking a while for him to pull away. Passing it off as mere affection, you pulled away and looked up at Hobie’s face. He seemed almost bewildered as he stared down at you, almost in some sort of trance. Was he looking at your lips? Was he looking further down?

“Uh, Earth-928 to Hobie? Helloo?” you called out, snapping your fingers in front of him repeatedly in an attempt to wake him up. It wasn’t until the 5th or 6th snap that he finally seemed to jolt awake, although still fixated on you.

“Oh. My bad, fam,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You raised a brow at his mannerisms; it was extremely unlike him to act so nervous. You then gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder, and you swore you saw him slightly tense at the feeling.

“So, you got a new cologne or somethin’ like that? Hold on, not cologne…what’s it called? Perfume? Toilettes?” Hobie began rambling, seemingly in a desperate attempt to cover up his uncharacteristic awkwardness.

“Oh, Lyla got me-”

You were cut off by another voice shouting your name to your left. It was one of the many Peters. “How’s my favorite scientist been? How was your vacay?”

“Just stayed at home,” you answered, a bit startled as you tried to split your attention between Peter and Hobie. “Anyways, Lyla-”

Another voice chimed in behind you. “I heard your universe is one of the most beautiful. You were definitely up to something.” Then another. “It’s been forever since I last saw you!” Another. “Wanna come eat with us at the caf?” You even heard Ben’s voice, to which you were surprised he had taken a break from his usual moping to join the ever-growing commotion around you. “You smell nice!” Soon, all the greetings and compliments became a garbled mess in your ears, your view obscured by a wall of Spiders.

You tried your best to force on a polite smile as you tried to weave your way through the oncoming traffic of people. To you, this was completely unexpected and foreign. Sure, you had made lots of friends in your time at HQ, but people weren’t exactly buzzed to see you. At most, you’d get a friendly wave as you passed by each other in the twisty pathways. Now, they acted like you were an oasis in a desert. As you whipped your head around, you noticed something in the ever-growing crowd around you: it was all Spidermen. That irked you slightly; you had made many Spiderwomen friends as well. Where were they? Becoming slightly dizzy with the growing clamor around you, you were just about ready to web yourself up to the ceiling and swing your way to your lab.

As if your prayers were miraculously answered, the familiar rev of an engine overpowered the clamor of the Spidermen, and they immediately parted ways down the middle to reveal Jessica, staring at you with an amused grin as she sat on her motorcycle.

"I’ll take you to HQ if you tell me what the hell’s going on!” Jessica offered, her voice raised so that you could hear.

Instant relief flooded through your body as you nearly sprinted your way to Jessica, planting a grateful kiss on her cheek before hopping on the back of the motorcycle. As you both sped away, you still waved goodbye to the Spidermen, despite how weird you had felt mere seconds prior. As if things couldn’t get any weirder, you noticed that the crowd you had left behind had almost immediately dispersed, with only some lingering around to chat.

“God, Jess. I’ve been here for two minutes, and I think I’ve already had the weirdest day out of everyone here!” you remarked loudly with a heavy sigh. You linked your arms around Jessica’s waist to remain stable on the motorcycle, eyes squinted from traveling at such a high speed.

Jessica only seemed to chuckle in response as she steered through the complicated structure, towards your lab. “Yeah? Try being pregnant!” she called out over the wind, her curls tossing about in the wind.

Your eyes widened immediately upon the revelation. “You’re lying, shut up,” you scolded, immediately feeling over Jessica’s stomach to verify it. Lo and behold, your hands smoothed over the beginnings of a bump, which caused you to squeal out in excitement. “Oh my god, Jess! When is it due?!”

“6 months! So don’t hold on so tight!” Jessica chided playfully as she effortlessly navigated her way through the building, shouting at countless Spiders to move out of her way. You held on for dear life, but of course, not too tight.

Eventually, you reached your beloved lab, to which you both entered. The door hissed closed behind you, and after you had set your bag down, you immediately sprung into action. This was simultaneously your sanctuary and your training, where you were at your best. Jessica watched from a nearby stool, gently holding her stomach.

“So this is where you cook up the good stuff, hm?” Jessica quipped, her eyes glued to the liquid that was poured into an instant syringe.

“Somebody’s gotta keep the boss alive,” you chuckled, your meticulous hands carefully measuring out just the right amount of Rapture before sealing it closed. This was the new batch that you had been working on at home, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t eager to show Miguel. “Speaking of which, I’ll need a lift there.” Packing the syringe into a box, you motioned for Jessica to come with you as you began to walk toward the sealed doors. That was until you were stopped by your pregnant friend’s hand in your face.

“Hold up, hon. You still never explained what was going on out there,” Jessica reminded you in a stern tone with an equally stern look.

“Jess, I wanna know as much as you do.” You paused, taking a deep breath as you recounted the event. “Maybe it's just a…welcome committee thingy.”

Jessica gave you a pointed look as a scoff left her lips. “Welcome committee, my ass. Those guys were like pirates, and you were a siren. It was more like a…’Welcome Back, I Would Die For Your Attention’ committee.”

As much as you wanted to bite back, it was unfortunate that she was right. While most of the Spider-folk were kind, as they tended to be, they were never that eager to see you before. People you thought you could never shake were in the crowd. Did it feel nice? You were ashamed that it did, just slightly, but perhaps for a different reason than you thought.

Perhaps Miguel would be the same.

Noting your silence and your brows creased in thought, Jessica gave you a reassuring smile as she stood to pat you on the back. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop messing with you,” she chuckled, giving you a gentle push toward the door. “But something’s up, and I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me know when you figure it out. I’d like to know too,” you said as you narrowed your eyes at her, although you could never keep a serious face with your best friend as you broke out into a smile.

With that, you both stepped out of the lab, only to be immediately greeted by another crowd of Spidermen that had gathered outside the entrance. Your face twisted into annoyance as you looked to Jessica for help.

“Move, people!” she shouted out above the onslaught of chattering Spidermen. “Unless you want to work with Miguel for a week!” With that, the crowd easily dispersed, scattering like…well, spiders. Despite the situation you were in, you were glad that many of them felt the same way about working with Miguel. Outside of work, he was bearable, but his free time was rare.

After another short ride on Jessica’s motorcycle through the complex, you reached Miguel’s office. You took a deep breath, giving your friend a firm nod as you prepared to walk through the automatic doors. As soon as you were about to take a step, Lyla apparated in front of you, sliding down her heart-shaped shades to get a good look at you.

“It’s been forever! Just know I’d hug you if I could,” the assistant exclaimed with the widest grin you’ve ever seen on her. Her playful antics were infectious, and her cheery tone seemed to wipe away the stress the day had accumulated so far. “Sooo, how’d you like your gift?”

“Oh! Right, uh, I’m wearing it right now,” you stammered out, feeling terrible. The morning had been so hectic that you forgot to seek out Lyla and thank her properly. Your response made Jessica raise a brow and lean over toward you, taking a whiff. You looked at her. “What do you think?”

“You smell sweet,” Jessica remarked, then paused, as if analyzing your scent a bit more. “And…womanly.”

Lyla seemed to nod eagerly at this statement, her virtual eyes glinting with curiosity as she prodded at you further. “And what’s it like?”

Perplexed by the wording of the question, you hesitated to answer. What on earth did either of them mean? Everyone was acting strange today. “Um, the vanilla is really nice, I had no idea you knew that I liked that sort of stuff. It was very thoughtful, Lyla.”

Lyla continued to stare at you a bit more intently, seeming to wait for another answer from you until she seemed to give up. “That’s good, I’m glad you love it,” she replied, though there was a hint of something enigmatic in her response. As if she were physically standing in front of the door to the office, Lyla stepped to the side, gesturing for them to go in as the doors slid open. “You can come in, but consider yourself warned. Miguel’s cranky at the moment.”

“When is he not?” You muttered, mostly to yourself, but you could hear Jessica snicker at your side as you both strolled in. The familiar hum of Miguel’s futuristic machinery filled your ears, the metallic interior of his office coldly greeting her eyes. When you first spotted your boss up on his platform (which was redundant, in your opinion), he was already wearing his suit. You swore he always wore it to show off his physique. He had his back turned to the both of you, seeming to intently stare at the screens and holograms in front of him blankly.

“Does he ever not do that?” Jessica muttered under her breath to you as you both stared ahead. It was so simple for her to break your resolve, pressing your lips together in a tight line to prevent yourself from letting out even the smallest sound.

“Are you ever not late?”

Miguel’s sharp voice immediately cut through the playful nature that surrounded the two of you. The smile immediately dropped from your face, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. How could somebody already be so irritated? The day hadn’t even started.

You glanced toward Jessica briefly before answering, trying to keep your voice steady. “I was just stuck in the lobby-”

“Yeah, I saw,” Miguel interjected coldly as he turned his head toward the hologram-screen that displayed the security feed. With a simple flick of his hand, the screen swiped out of view as he turned to face you, his face twisted into an unfamiliar emotion, albeit clearly not a pleasant one. “Really glad you had the time to mingle. Not like we’re on a schedule or anything.”

If Miguel hadn’t been 6’9” of almost entirely pure muscle, you swore you would’ve swung up and lunged at him like a rabid animal. Would it have killed him to be just a bit understanding? He was watching you through the feed, how was any of that your fault? His mockery and grumpy attitude were things you’d grown used to, but today, it was particularly biting. It seemed…personal.

Jessica seemed to feel the same way as you heard her snort audibly in response. This directed his attention towards her, his glare unwavering. “And you,” he began, pointing a finger directly at her. “What did I tell you about riding that thing through my building?”

“ Our building,” she bit back, her posture nonchalant as she lazily examined her nails. “How about you yell at the people who got in her way, smart guy?”

Miguel rolled his eyes at her remark, seemingly ready to go back and forth until he glanced down at her stomach. He then shook his head, gesturing to shoo her away. “I…I don’t even wanna get into it with you. Just…get out.”

Elbowing you lightly, Jessica leaned closer to you with a smirk. “See? Pregnancy perks,” she joked. “But I would’ve preferred a vacation.” You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop the fit of laughter you felt rising.

“¡Oye! Are you even listening?!” Miguel hissed at Jessica, pointing towards the doors. Genuinely, you admired her patience, as she didn’t even flinch. Giving you a look that clearly meant “good luck”, your best friend gently patted you on the back before taking her leave. You stared until her figure disappeared behind the automatic doors, and then you became all too aware that you and Miguel were alone. The air in the room grew tense as you attempted to quell the irritation rising within you.

Once you turned back to look up at Miguel, he was running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back in somewhat of a stressed manner as he was fixated on another screen. Without sparing you another glance, he spoke up again, the words barely even louder than the quiet buzz of the hologram projectors. “The Rapture. Get up here,” he muttered, slowly pacing back and forth on his levitated platform.

Tucking the box securely in your (thankfully) deep pockets, you made sure to secure it tightly, the contents too delicate to leave dangling so carelessly. Mentally preparing yourself for the incoming 5 minutes you had to spend with Miguel, you flung your wrist towards the edge of his platform, a silky web instantly connecting the two. Pulling on the tensile web, you gave yourself enough momentum to fling yourself up onto it, landing opposite to where he was standing—one of your more graceful landings.

His back was still turned to you as you pulled the box out of your pocket, carefully extracting the syringe with your latest creation. Staring down at it proudly, you stood on your feet and cautiously approached Miguel. “Worked on this one during vacation,” you said, not necessarily caring if he had anything to say about it. “Think it’s my best one yet.”

Miguel’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep exhale, intent on reading the details of his upcoming mission. “It better be,” was all he muttered, holographic nature of his suit fading away in a patch on his left shoulder, his usual injection site. Placing your right hand tentatively against his shoulder blade, you held the syringe up to his skin, ready to administer until you noticed something. You gently pressed a finger against his skin, and it was almost as if the muscle was made of rocks.

“You need to relax your shoulder, boss,” you remarked, your focus beginning to trail across the expanse of his back. It almost seemed to ripple constantly from how tense they were. Usually, this process was the easy part, and you both had done this dozens of times.

“Yep. Got it.” A muscle in his neck flexed slightly.

“Is something bothering you?” you asked cautiously, observing his odd behavior. Seriously, him too? What was up with everyone today?

“ Mierda , just get on with it,” he grumbled, an obvious strain in his tone.

“If you say so,” you whispered, injecting the green liquid into his system. Once again, it was different. A sharp inhale escaped his lips as he winced; you caught a glimpse of his eyes flashing a bright red in the reflection of his monitors. The eyes were normal, it happened every time. But it never caused him discomfort before. Concern was etched across your features as you took a step back, your eyes scanning over his body.

“Seriously, Miguel. Is there something I should know?” you asked with a huff, placing a hand on his other shoulder to turn him around. However, when you were finally able to his expression for the first time, it was nothing like you had ever expected. His eyes were clouded over as they locked onto yours, a rawness in his gaze that made you shudder. His jaw was clenched, muscles taut, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed deeply. You even noticed the cadence of his exhales, each one sounding as if he was barely in control. Was this an adverse reaction to the Rapture? Uneasiness began to settle into your skin. Was this your fault? You worriedly placed a hand against his forehead to feel his temperature, now noticing the sweat that had begun to dot across his forehead.

He wasn’t even stopping you or making any snide remarks. Something was definitely wrong.

“Lyla?” you called out into the void of his office as you retracted your hand. “Show me his vitals.”

“No, Lyla, don’t even think about it,” Miguel objected through gritted teeth. You both were only greeted by Lyla’s familiar giggle as a hologram screen materialized behind Miguel, displaying his various vitals.

“You’re supposed to work for me ,” he grunted.

“Misclick! Oops, gotta go-” Lyla taunted, the sound of her program shutting off following. You swore you heard him mutter “chinga tu madre” under his breath.

As you read through the different stats, you only seemed to confuse yourself more. His body temperature was slightly elevated, but nowhere close to a fever. No production of histamines, so no allergies. Nothing from the injection seemed to affect any aspect of his body. His heart rate, however, was through the roof. Surely Spider-people don’t get heart attacks, right? You were about to instruct Lyla until a certain statement in his vital report caught your eye.

Elevated levels of oxytocin present.

Those words seemed to knock the wind right out of your stomach, struggling to find the words to say as you froze in place. Was there something you missed when you were gone? Miguel just suddenly had a thing for you? Racking your brain, you tried to think of any way this could have developed. Maybe distance does make the heart grow fonder. Would you be disrespecting yourself if this was fine with you?

Suddenly, images of your time with him began to pop up in your mind, but they were now corrupted. You thought of the way his quadriceps flexed as he carried boxes into your new office, the hitch of his breath every time you gave him a new injection, and simply how large he was in comparison to you. Your free hand began to fidget with the hem of your shirt, letting your gaze fall anywhere but him. You were certain your cheeks looked like they had been pinched. The both of you stood there, unsure of what to do, an awkward silence engulfing the room.

As if unable to endure this situation any longer, Miguel muttered a curse under his breath before he moved swiftly, hopping down from the platform. He seemed eager to escape his office, which was strange; this was where he usually holed up before and after missions. The sound of his footsteps rang in your ears, finalizing the fact that you were now standing alone, your mind a whirlwind of chaos. But with each step he took, the more you felt your heartbeat in your ears, the steady rhythm urging you to follow him. To demand one ounce of clarity from him. He couldn’t just leave you here.

“Miguel, wait,” you called out, shooting a web to the floor and flinging yourself after him. Once you had landed, you kept pursuing him, but he quickened his pace. Your mind flashed back to when he had chased you through Central Park, and a smile snuck its way onto your lips. It only made you even more relentless, your gait quickening.

Once you were close enough to him, you reached out, your hand gently tapping the broadness that was his back, a silent plea for him to acknowledge what had just been uncovered between the both of you. After receiving no response, you sighed in exasperation. “Miguel, please,” you implored. “Could you tell me-”

Miguel pivoted abruptly, the intensity in his gaze disorienting as you felt him tightly grip your wrist. Despite not having done much, his breaths were almost ragged. His eyes were glazed over, dropping down from yours just for a moment, stealing a glance at your body before returning it to a respectable place.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” he grunted through his teeth, his voice low as it wavered with a hint of vulnerability. Despite his efforts to keep it down, the question echoed throughout the confines of his empty office.

As you tried to wiggle your wrist away, you realized it would be a waste of effort to try, so you let him. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stared up at him with wide eyes. You knew for a fact that he could feel your heartbeat with the way he was gripping it, and you were certain it beat like a rabbit’s. Hopelessly caught off guard, you stammered, “I…I don’t know. It isn’t the Rapture, I promise, I did every-”

“Don’t you give me that,” he cut you off, his words seeming to slice through whatever resolve you had left. “I know it’s not the damn Rapture. It’s you. I know it’s you. You’re in my head.”

The admission hung in the air between you two, another thing that only seemed to confuse you further that day. Miguel’s eyes bore into yours, its murky depths desperately searching yours for any answers. But he was only greeted by ones who were as clueless as he was. As he stared down at your wrist that was so easily enveloped by his hand, it seemed to spur him on. Impulsively, Miguel gripped you by your frame and whirled you around, pushing you against the metallic wall, his arms forming a cage around you.

You felt like you were caught in the eye of the storm of emotions that were building up inside him. You were utterly dwarfed by his figure. Sure, you always knew that he was tall, but you never had been this up close and personal before. As you glanced over at the arms that had caged you in like an animal, you fought the urge to run your hand over the ripple of his biceps that were almost staring at you right in the face. Realizing you were definitely focusing on the wrong thing, your eyes met his once again, each time becoming more difficult than the last. Whatever he had to say, you had no choice but to hear it.

“I can’t control it,” he continued, the words escaping like a reluctant exhale. That part was obvious enough. “The moment you stepped into HQ, every damn thought is you. Coño , I can’t even read one sentence of the mission brief with you right behind me. I’m doing things before I even think. I want to hate it.”

The weight of his words settled over you, sinking deep into your skin as you felt yourself burn up again. His sudden infatuation made you realize all the flirty comments and gentlemanly gestures that had been following you all morning. Sure, it was similar, but none of them seemed to be affected more than Miguel. What was it? Swallowing thickly, you mustered the courage to speak, to test the waters. “But you…don’t hate it?” you breathed, your chest seizing with regret as soon as the words left your lips.

Miguel’s brows furrowed, and you had trouble discerning what emotion was causing it. “I don’t,” he choked out, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So fix it.” “What?” His demand hung in the air, a fervent and pleading demand. “I said, fix it,” he insisted, his words taking on a rougher tone. One of his hands slid down from the wall, and he poked accusingly at your chest, just at the top of your sternum. “Whatever you’re doing, fix it,” he persisted, his voice akin to a low growl that sent pleasurable tingles down your spine. “Or I will.” “I don’t know how,” you shamefully admitted, your words laced with sincerity. Your eyes were blown wide upon seeing how intense he was up close, you could hear his labored breaths. The silence that followed your answer lingered between the both of you, both searching each other’s expressions just for one hint, a clue as to how to proceed from that moment. Miguel had always made the decisions, not you, and seeing him at a total loss for words had also stumped you. “I– um, you said that it was when I arrived, right?” you sputtered out, desperate to say anything to ease the heavy tension that was beginning to crush the both of you. Your eyes tried to lock on anywhere that wasn’t Miguel, but it proved difficult when his figure loomed over you. “I can just, uh…go home? Yeah! I can go back home for the day, and I–” And then, with a suddenness that left you without your words, Miguel’s hands retracted from the walls at your sides, cupping your face. Without letting another beat of your heart pass, he surged forward, all too quickly, then his lips were on yours.

At first, your mind tried to make sense of what was happening. This was Miguel O’Hara, your boss, and a rude one at that. The same guy who always scolded you for the smallest of reasons. Not only would it be inappropriate to continue, but a blow to your self-respect. Yet, in the moment that followed, you felt his tongue gently graze against your bottom lip, and all logic seemed to dissolve and wash away, surrendering to his kiss. You should have been embarrassed that you had to reach up so far to wrap your arms around his neck, but he hunched over to make it easier on you.

He seemed to have been waiting for any sort of response from you. His hands moved with purpose, falling from your face to claw at your body, exploring the curves of your back as if he wanted to burn every detail to his memory. The fevered kiss he gave you ceased for a moment, a curse just barely able to escape from his lips before he began to bury his head into your shoulder. He began to leave openmouthed kisses to the smooth, delicate skin of your neck, his canines gently prodding at the skin. The sting seemed to tease you, to ask you how far you were willing to let him go.

“So you are a vampire,” you remarked breathlessly, whining softly at each slow, tantalizing kiss.

You aren’t able to see it, but you feel the way his lips curve up into a smirk against you. The laugh that followed was mind-bogglingly euphoric, the vibrations rippling against the expanse of your neck so deliciously that the heat building between your legs became nearly impossible to ignore. Your hands trail down from his shoulders and smooth over his chest, an action that you found to elicit the prettiest sounds from your boss. You didn’t even know he was capable of such a thing. You wanted to know what else he was capable of.

“You want it here?” you asked, your hands gently pushing against his chest in an attempt to make him pay attention to your words. But it was like he couldn’t pry himself from you. You were given a mere grunt in response, and you felt his calloused hand hold the back of your neck, stroking your nape tenderly. With his face still buried against your skin, he inhaled the scent of you deeply. That alone seemed to make his yearning nature worse, his words barely escaping past the low whine that resonated in his throat.

“Wherever I can fucking have you,” Miguel said as he grasped you, hands cupping just beneath your jaw as his thumbs smoothed over your cheeks. The way he looked at you, half-lidded, pleading, and absolutely drunk off of your body, sent your mind reeling and melted your limbs as you pushed yourself into him. Your eyes darted around for a suitable place, but Miguel’s office wasn’t necessarily 5 stars when it came to comfort. Raising your head, your gaze locked onto the platform you both were just on. Meekly, you point up towards it, unsure if he would satisfy your request. His head followed as you reached out, and he vaguely scoffed.

You were about to suggest another place until his strong arm secured its way around your waist, and suddenly, you were being hoisted into the air alongside your boss. A yelp escaped your throat out of shock, desperately gripping onto Miguel’s body despite knowing you wouldn’t fall. The gesture made him chuckle in a way you had never heard before, the sound hearty and resounding deeply in his chest. And it seemed to drug you and fill your veins with such an unyielding desire; it made you wonder how something so simple as a laugh further fueled this indecorous addiction to him.

Before you even knew it, you were seated in the middle of the platform with him kneeling beside you. As you stared up at him, you were unsure of what to do. But it was like he had read your mind, resulting in a roll of his eyes and his sarcastic nature making a brief return.

“You planning to just sit there?” Miguel huffed as he dragged you closer to him. “Lay down.” His tone is so enticingly irrefutable, so you comply, your back hitting the platform, the cold metal making you shudder. You stared up at him, curious as to how he was going to do this.

Slotting himself in between your legs, his fingers desperately tugged at the waistband of your pants before doing away with them entirely, barely noticing that he had taken your underwear with it. He marveled at what he had revealed, carefully tugging your legs apart as if he wanted to worship it further. His eyes flicked up to your face for just a painstaking moment, and it was hot from anticipation, worsening as he hovered between your legs, pressing kisses along your inner thighs.

“You want this?” he murmurs, his words deep and gravelly. You eagerly nod, fighting the urge to shiver from the coldness that overtook your lower half.

Suddenly, you didn’t have to worry much about the cold the moment you felt his warm breath graze you in just the right way. He pressed a wet, languid kiss to your heat, the saliva his tongue was slathering you with mingling with the arousal that began to pool. You were amazed at how effortlessly his ministrations manipulated your body, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each pleasured exhale. When did he have the time to be so good at this sort of thing?

Soon, you were introduced to his fingers, so lengthy and thick that they had your eyes rolling into the back of your head as they plunged inside you. Each call of his name seemed to spur him on, increasing his tempo and the lewd, obscene noises that echoed across his office. Before you even knew it, all of it was too much; the subtle curling and pumping of his girthy fingers, the flick of his tongue; it was like a wave had crashed over you, sending your thighs into convulsions. He slowed his movements as each thrust of his fingers grew more wet, easing you down from your high. The delicate touches lasted for a mere second before you were flipped over, your hips being dragged back as you felt your behind press against the outline of the stiff, rock-hard muscle at his crotch, a testament to how much he had been craving you.

What followed was a sweetly painful, visceral blur. You had heard the sound of his holographic suit retracting itself, and you turned your head, curious as to what you’d see. He smiled smugly at your doe-eyed expression upon seeing his goods, and the only thing occupying your mind was if he could fit at all. It wasn’t like you weren’t expecting it, he was a behemoth of a man after all. But seeing it up close, anticipating its entry was an entirely different beast.

But Miguel was experienced, having dutifully prepared you to take him, making it a more easy experience as his tip prodded your entrance gently, slowly easing himself in. The stretch was undeniably painful, your fingers clutching at the floor, desperately looking for something to hold onto. But as he pushed in further, the feeling transformed into a euphoric ache. He had been trying his best to remain silent to not attract any attention from the outside, but your name managed to fall from his mouth in a hoarse groan, harmonizing with the pathetic whines that you had been letting out. His hands pinned your wrists against the floor, the freezing nature of the floor beneath you contrasting with the heat that bounced between your bodies.

His vigorous pace slightly rocked the platform beneath you, threatening to tip over if Miguel had a mind to get rougher. However, he seemed to know his limits, effortlessly filling you up in a way that could satisfy you for lifetimes. Crude phrases left your swollen lips, each one a way to praise the man that was fucking you like his next mission was his last. The sound of your skin colliding with him was growing filthier with each second, more carnal. For a fleeting second, your mind filled with worry, anxious about anybody that could have been waiting outside his office. Anyone who stood within a 5-yard radius from the entrance could hear just about anything that was going on inside. But his fingers then came up to slither their way into the roots of your hair, yanking your head back far enough so he could whisper in your ear. “Keep talking, say you want me. Say it.”

And soon enough, you were begging for him, arms shaking as you struggled to hold yourself up as ripples of your orgasm traveled throughout your body, your slick absolutely drenching the both of you. Your pleas were what had done him in, his rhythm stuttering and his length pulsing inside you, unsheathing himself as he emptied himself all over your ass, the viscous liquid dripping slowly down its curve. For a moment, the both of you stayed where you were, worn-out breaths being the only thing you both could exchange as you tried to wrap your head around what you had done.

Surprisingly, Miguel had a thought for aftercare. He had retrieved a gym towel and cleaned you up, wiping away his release and your sweat as best as he could. “Still think you have to shower, though,” he commented, the smug undertone in his voice not going unnoticed.

“Back at you,” you quipped, though the smile never left your face as you redressed yourself.

You never thought you would have to try to sneak your way out of Miguel’s office, but considering how disheveled you were after your tryst with him, it was the only way to keep your dignity intact. The air outside was cooler, freezing against your skin that still burned with the residual warmth of his hands all over you. You shuddered. You definitely needed a cold shower.

After grabbing your spare clothes from your office, you found yourself in the ladies’ room. Stripping off your sweat-ridden clothes (you had a mind to scold him for not taking them off), you hopped into one of the showers and slid the privacy curtain shut behind you. The warm water was comforting, easily washing away the feeling of sex away from your body, but what remained emotionally was unexpected. The thought of seeing him again.

A nervous energy gnawed at your heart as you mindlessly lathered soap all over your body. The both of you just had a steamy hookup, but what would happen now? Your insides seemed to twist as you remembered the fact that seeing him at the end of the day was inevitable. The water from your showerhead seemed to pelt down at your skin now, creating an atmosphere perfect for overthinking. Was it a one time thing? Did he want more? Did he like you? Would he fire you? Thankfully, Miguel was due for a mission today, so you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him before your scheduled time. That would give you enough space to cool your head.

“Relax,” you told yourself, barely able to hear your thoughts over the pitter-patter of water droplets around you. “You just screwed your boss. Tough it out. Forget about it. Act like it didn’t happen.”

However, the memory of his hands tracing the contours of your back seemed to follow you like a ghost, sending shivers down your spine no matter how much you cranked up the heat of your shower.

–

Enclosed in the white, sterile walled haven that was your lab, you buried yourself in work, hoping that the hum of calibration machines and the countless lab tests were enough to get your mind off of your tumultuous morning. You decided that it wasn’t enough, sliding your headphones over your ears and blasting your favorite playlist on repeat just so you wouldn’t have to hear your inner turmoil.

And it worked, the hours effortlessly passing by in a blur. Holographic displays and paperwork filled your visions, the very tasks you used to complain about becoming a solace on your first day back at your lab. You didn’t expect to get much done considering the crowd you had easily amassed earlier that morning, but strangely, that stopped, and you were thankful. Your usual visitors came in: Gwen, a few Peters, and even Hobie, who apologized profusely for how much of a “halfwit” he was being earlier, all while simultaneously swearing that you would never tell another soul. You agreed, stifling a laugh, knowing you could never be upset with him. Despite feeling confused for what had seemed like the millionth time that day, things seemed to be falling back into place, and it would have been comforting if it hadn’t been for one thing. You couldn’t exactly unfuck your boss. You chastised yourself quietly for thinking about it again; you were doing so well.

Once again, he was consuming your mind to the point where you couldn’t set your mind straight as you tried to come up with a new substance for one of your Spiderwoman clients. She had asked for a chemical that could help her easily attract and control actual spiders in her vicinity. You had a vague idea of how to bring her idea to life, with cetyl acetate sitting in one of your beakers, but you couldn’t quite remember the other component no matter how hard you racked your brain.

You retraced your steps, checking and double-checking the labels of the countless chemicals that sat preciously in your lab. You felt frustration coil up within you as you consulted your reference binder, embarrassed that you even had to look such a simple thing up. By the time you had located the constituent, many a Spider had begun to leave, the chatter outside of your lab winding to a hush. After squeezing a few drops of farnesyl acetate into your beaker, you gave the substances a quick mix, noting how nice it smelt. And how familiar.

Everything building up in you had left you seeking refuge in your dainty office that sat in the corner of the lab. As you closed the door behind you, temporary relief washed over you, and it was then that you decided it would be best if you went home for the day. Retrieving your bag, you sighed as you sank into your chair, weariness finally settling in after hours of constant work. Fishing around your bag for your office key, your fingers brushed against a jar-shaped object. You brought along Lyla’s gift for retouching throughout the day, but it slipped your mind amidst the chaos of the day. Hoping the vanilla scent would ease your thoughts, you unscrewed the cap with purpose, hoping it would ease the tension in your skin.

Just as you were about to apply, the sound of the entrance doors hissing open disrupted your serenity. Ready to tell off whoever was disturbing your peace, you set down the jar, twisted the doorknob open, and stormed out of your office, only to be frozen in place as you were greeted by the one and only Miguel, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. A new cut adorned his face, already in the process of regeneration as it had already scarred over. Different parts of his holosuit were damaged, leaving behind a glitch-like static; were those claw marks? He definitely had a rougher day than you.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up. “You alright? That looks like it hurt,” you remarked, tentative as you were unsure what the conversation would lead to.

Miguel simply shrugged, his eyes unable to find yours. “I, uh…the anomaly was more intense than I thought. Was a bit distracted, got roughed up,” he said, his voice a rare mix of honesty and humility.

Your brows furrowed together in sympathy despite the unspoken words between the two of you. “Did you need me to whip something up for you?” you offered, moving towards your box of plastic gloves.

It was only then that he looked up at you, his hand coming up, gesturing for you to stop in protest. “No! No, it’s okay. I’ll live.” He met your eyes, and you immediately knew that he was just as unsure as you were, the uncertainty giving way to a hint of vulnerability.

After a hesitant pause, Miguel finally spoke, the moment you were waiting for finally happening. “Look, about earlier…I’m sorry,” his words stumbling out. “It was unexpected.”

Although you had anticipated this answer, you couldn’t help but deflate upon actually hearing it. You weren’t expecting him to fall on his knees and ask for your hand, but you would’ve at least liked to hear him say that he enjoyed it. “You’re sorry? Would you rather have not done it all?” you accused, much to his chagrin.

“I– no, carajo , that’s not what I meant at all,” he sighed in irritation, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s just…it caught us off guard. I’m not sorry it happened, I’m sorry that it was just…sudden, that’s all,” he huffed, not wanting to get into it with you.

For a moment, you pondered over his words. So he wasn’t opposed to sleeping with you. With impulsive thoughts bubbling up inside you, you were prodded to take the leap again. “Would you do it again?” you asked genuinely, an offer to him.

Miguel’s eyes widened in surprise, an exhale of relief shortly following, a chuckle mingled with his words. “Yeah, I’d do it again,” he answered, moving to step closer to you, and you didn’t mind. Just as it seemed as if he was about to sweep you into his arms again, he stopped in his tracks, his head turning to your lab bench as he fixated on the beaker, the one that was carrying your latest project.

Initially, you thought that Miguel was some sort of a stickler for cleanliness, so you felt embarrassed, reaching for your disposable gloves once again. “Oops, I’ll just put that away–”

“No,” he ordered with a familiar intensity in your voice, making you retract back to your original spot. He inched closer to the workbench, nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the mixture in the fragile glass. “What is that? Tell me,” he demanded, the urgency in his voice increasing tenfold.

Although you were weirded out by how much this seemed to matter to him, you answered earnestly. “Some…strange project one of the Spiderwomen wanted me to work on. Something to attract spiders, but just the males to prevent them from fighting. Synthetic pheromones, essentially.”

“Huh. Smells like how you did this morning,” he remarked almost immediately, raising a brow in confusion.

You stood there, utterly winded by his words, unsure of what to say. Was he saying this figuratively to flirt with you? But judging from the look in his eyes, he was deadly serious. As your eyes locked onto the concoction that you had made that morning, your mind went to the jar that was sitting on your desk, opened. Without another word, you rushed to your office, taking the jar of body butter and inhaling its aroma deeply. You felt your heart drop to your stomach in terror, the scents were strikingly similar. Turning the jar around in your hands with haste, your eyes scanned for the list of ingredients, silently praying you weren’t rubbing what you thought you were rubbing into your skin.

As you searched, you felt Miguel’s presence right behind you, leaning over your shoulder as he examined the jar with you, inexplicably drawn to it. “What’s that?” he inquired, the strain in his voice from before making a return.

“The lotion I put on this morning,” you said dreadfully, turning your head to look up at him sheepishly. Still confused, he met your gaze only for a moment before he searched through the neverending list of ingredients.

“What did you put in that beaker?”

“Farnesyl acetate and hexadecyl acetate. If it doesn’t say hexadecyl, try cetyl.”

After a minute of searching, Miguel hunched over you to point at a specific spot on the jar. Following his finger, you sighed, laying your eyes on the very thing you didn’t want to see.

“So…” you began awkwardly, unable to wrap your mind around the information bouncing around in your brain. It started to connect like dots: how you attracted the Spidermen in the morning by the dozen, Jessica’s remark about you smelling like a “woman”, Miguel’s sudden lust for you. Then the notable absence of your eager Spider-crowd after your shower. “As your head chemist, I can conclude that spider pheromones can work on…us.”

“Evidently,” Miguel responded, visibly dumbfounded. Seeming eager to prevent more chaos from occurring, he took the jar and its lid from your hands, screwing the lid tightly shut before placing it on your desk carefully. “Where’d you even get something like that?”

“I didn’t. Lyla got it for me,” you confessed. Your mind went to that mischievous hologram. Did she know? Was this a clever attempt to kickstart something between you and Miguel?

“Lyla, that minx...” Miguel trailed off, and you caught a glimpse of his eyes rolling before he squeezed them shut, pinching his nose bridge in an attempt to quell what presumably was a string of curses toward his assistant. Immediately, he swiftly turned around, muttering quietly to himself as he made his way towards his exit. “I ought to give her a piece of my mind…”

You stared after him, about to leave him to his own devices before a thought crossed your mind. You remembered Miguel’s biology, the very thing that made him Spiderman in the first place: his DNA was spliced with one of a spider, effectively making him 50% arachnid. The pheromones you had been unknowingly emitting would affect him more than anyone else, and it proved to be true. An uneasiness settled into your stomach, was that the only reason why he wanted you?

“Wait,” you called after him, your voice betraying your attempted nonchalance. Miguel paused at the doorway, leaning against it as he turned to look at you with an arched brow. His eyes silently asked you to proceed.

“Is it… just the pheromones?” you asked, feeling your stomach twist and turn into knots as you awaited his reply. “You know, about everything, uh, earlier.”

Miguel pushed himself off of the door. “Well, it definitely gave me the push I needed,” he admitted, sauntering over to you with a grin so smug you wanted to smack it off his face. “But, if we’re being honest, I would’ve done it eventually.”

You blinked, processing his words.”You mean that? But you’re kinda mean.”

He sighed loudly, stopping just in front of you. “Idiot. Yes, I mean it,” he muttered, leaning down to cup your cheeks in his hands, his face levelling with yours. “You drive me crazy.”

And the kiss that Miguel left on your lips afterward was more gentle than the hungry, needy one he gave you before, dispelling any doubts you had about the true nature of his feelings. His lips were like heaven, slightly chapped from the labor of his mission from earlier, but you didn’t care. When he pulled away, there was a soft playfulness in his eyes you had never seen before.

“You got it?” he teased, his thumb smoothing over your cheek.

You managed a nod, resulting in Miguel gently patting your cheek before releasing you and turning to leave, still insistent that he give Lyla a piece of his mind. Giggling at his antics, you were about to grab your things to leave until you saw his head pop in the entrance once more. “Yes?” you called out.

“Bottle that thing up and label it as a hazard,” he ordered in response, pointing toward the open beaker on the bench. “It’s damn near chemical warfare,” he mumbled before disappearing again.

“Yes, boss,” you complied, unable to fight the grin that was now plastered to your face. As you bottled up your concoction, you made a mental note to thank Lyla. Again.

originally posted on ao3! first fic i'm ever posting on tumblr and i'm so excited! feedback and suggestions for more stories are more than welcome!

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader smut #spiderman 2099 #oneshot #miguel o'hara oneshot #spiderman oneshot

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peoniesnro · 10 months ago

Text

In Another Universe

#4. F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe (duh)/ kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings – Language/ SMUT-Breast play/ nipple play/ grinding/nipple orgasms(with grinding)/ INFIDELITY

Word count – 12k (😑)

a/n- Okay I'm a liar. So much for trying to keep the word count under 10k. Sorry for lying. But I love this chapter. Hope you'll love it too. Oh, and the taglists are open. And you can send asks if you want to. I'm curious to know what y'all thinking. Thank you for reading. ♥️

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Jimin avoids you. Like you are the plague.

You are so pissed. Like the momma bear he said you were.

You have no memory of how your night at the club ended. Only that you woke up on your bed the next day. With a throbbing head. And a killer hangover. Another week has passed since that day. Your life went from misery to anguish. To an unbearable pain. You are still struggling with your sleeping patterns, your lectures and job. You are running out of your poor excuses. Key is always on your throat. This switching between two worlds still happens, with no answers or solutions. But nothing makes you madder than Park Jimin.

It’s humiliating to be honest. That he avoids you. You don’t know what’s worse. Whether it’s that he always managed to disappear before you wake up or it’s that you’re worried about that, after everything. He advanced toward you first. He touched you first. He kissed you first. You know why he does what he does. That, however, doesn’t make it a good reason. You can’t find it in you to be unconcerned. You are very concerned. He is a fucking coward.

Fuck him!

You scream loudly. Knowing well that no one is inside this damn apartment. Kick the comforter away. It has only been you for four days now. This is the fifth day you are waking up in this fancy apartment alone. Oh, how you wish you could have the controller of this game. How great it would be if you could start avoiding him too. Why would you care this much? It’s frustrating.

It has taken every ounce of your strength not to destroy something to show your anger. To take a lipstick and write down ‘You fucking asshole! Go to hell!’, in his bathroom mirror. Or to write down a letter using all the vengeful, insulting words you know. Thank God that you have some dignity left in you that you did nothing of the sort. Thank God you managed to come and go without leaving a trace of your existence.

You sigh heavily, watching your reflection in the bathroom mirror. There’s dark circles under your eyes. Your skin looks dry. Drier than the Sahara. Simply put, you look like shit. You’ll have to find a way to make this work if this isn’t going to stop. If you can’t find answers, you need to find a way to stay alive. You still don’t know if Jimin has talked with Liya. If he did what she said. Where she is all these times you spend here. Because certainly there was no sign of her being at your apartment. Yours and Jimin’s assumption was that she might be waking up somewhere that isn’t your apartment. Jimin wasn’t very convinced. Said she would be freaking out the next day if something like that happened.

Oh, how you want to scream at him. This isn’t going anywhere this way. He was adamant of trying to find a way to stop this quickly a few weeks ago. And now he acts like this isn’t a problem at all. What can you do after all? You are in a fancy ass apartment with no communication for fucks sake. Your phone doesn’t work here. Isn’t compatible with wi-fi. You still don’t know if you could try using a SIM card. It’s not like you can go out and find out with no money in your hand. And it’s getting damn cold outside.

You have poked your head inside couple of rooms. Found some electronic devices which were either dead or ancient. Found a laptop protected with password and you didn’t try to unlock it. In the end, while you are in this world, you are isolated from the rest of the human race. No internet. No communication. No Jimin. No way of entertaining yourself for the few hours you spend here.

It’s all his fault. Despite all the frustrating fascinations you found with him, you managed to bottle them up and act normal. He destroyed it all. Ruined. And then he has the nerve to avoid you like it’s all on you.

You rinse your mouth off. Splash your face with water. Aggressively. Why the fucking hell do you want Jimin to be here. He is annoying anyway. Why are you angry that he ruined your ‘perfect stranger’s’ relationship. Angry that he avoids you. Why do you fucking care? You for yourself have no idea why you are mad. Or at what you are mad. You are a complete mess. It’s just you are mad you can kill a man with a crochet hook.

You pat your face with a dry towel. It’s more slapping than patting. Throw the towel away. Leave the bathroom to head toward kitchen when there’s a sharp pang in your lower stomach, making you stop in the track. Anger dissipates. Replaces with the pain. You close your eyes shut. It comes again. Subsidies. Comes again. Nothing unfamiliar to you. You know what it means when there’s random pains in your body.

You have a messed-up period cycle. You always keep pads and tampons with you. Knew that your monthly pal is near for a probable two days now. There has been slight pains in your pelvic region. Today it’s intense, which means your friend has finally arrived. Fuck your life. There is your reason to hate the whole world. No, to hate every single world that exists in every fucking universe. You don’t want to deal with cramps right now. Don’t want to have your period while you’re at someone else’s house. It always sucks. Especially, when you have no pads or any kind or period products with you.

Fuck! You have no pads. You straighten up. Eyes wide. What are you going to do? Use tissues? Maybe you can find Liya’s. You turn around again. Rush to the main bathroom. Start rummaging through bathroom cabinet drawers. One by one. And of course there is none. No pads or tampons. Only things you find are damn period cups. There are couple but you’re not sure which are used ones.

You stand in the middle of the bathroom. Have no idea what you are going to do now. And the pain is slowly becoming unbearable. Of course it is. You have bad cramps. You live your life on pain killers during your periods. You need to get something for your pain before it becomes severe. Before you become a crying mess. You do the best you can. With tissues. That’s not going to last at all, but you can find something for the pain. Fall asleep as fast as possible. You search through bathroom cabinet drawers again. Through the drawers in the room. In kitchen. Of fucking course, you can’t find anything, again. What are these people? Androids? How could they not have painkillers in their home? How come Liya doesn’t have pads for emergency situations? You found some pills. Yes. But you have no idea what those for are. Not going to risk your life here.

You crouch down next to the fridge. Pain is intense now. You can’t even stand on your own feet. It’s like your uterus is about to fall. You need to think. About a way to solve this problem. Is hard when your mind is clouded with pain. You are scared to sit down on a chair. What if you stain it? It’ll be so embarrassing.

Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out.

You take deep breaths. There is no way you could fall asleep with this kind of pain. You need pads or anything to help with the blood bath happening between your thighs. You need painkillers. And you have no money and you’re not going to steal money from this house. You are in too much pain to do something like that. There’s only one person you can ask for help. Not that you want to talk to him. He avoids you. Don’t want to appear desperate. Still, the pain is too intense.

There is no communication. You hate that some people decided to rely on smartphones completely. Hate that Jimin and Liya are apparently those kinds of people. Have no landline in their house. You can’t simply bother with trying to unlock locked devices. Your brain isn’t functioning properly at all when you yank the main door open. Reach the only other apartment on this floor. Knock at their door. It opens fast for your relief, revealing a young woman probably on her 30s. She gapes at you. More than surprised.

“Uh…I… I’m really sorry but can I make a phone call?” How stupid this whole ordeal is. What are you doing in front of a stranger’s door and asking for a fucking phone. Should’ve died in your pain. Middle of a blood pool, than this. What were you thinking? The woman raises her eyebrows with her eyes wide. “Well, yeah, but are you okay Liya? You look pale? Why are you here to make a phone call? Where’s Jimin?” There are so many questions leaving her mouth but the only one that registered on your brain is ‘are you okay Liya’.

Shit, you forgot that you look like Liya. Now this might look even more ridiculous in this woman’s eye. You don’t even know her name. You are supposed to be Liya and this woman, in that case, is your neighbor. You try to smile. “I’m… fine. I just uh... broke my phone and…” You don’t know what you should say. “I’m not okay actually.” That feel better than trying to find excuses. “I just need to call Jimin, and I don’t remember his number. Phone’s broken and I… can you please?” You blurt that out. Whatever happens next, you’ll deal with it later. Blood will start running down your legs at this rate.

She stares at you for a minute. And then nods and holds the door for you. Invites you inside and gives you her phone. Thank fuck, she has his number saved. You thank her over and over before dialing his number. Listen to the ringback tone. You absolutely don’t want to do this. Don’t want to talk to Jimin. Ugh, it’s better if you could call Lee Seung than Jimin. The woman walks away to give you privacy. You watch her retrieve into a room while biting onto your thumb nail. You are just about to bite your whole finger away when the phone is answered.

“Mrs. Lee?” Jimin’s voice reaches your ear through the phone. There’s concern laced in his voice. He needs to say hello first. You take a deep breath before speaking. Feel like you have telephobia.

“Uh hello! Jimin, it’s me...” You don’t know if he can recognize you. He will think you are Liya. “Spring Roll?” Oh no he doesn’t think you are Liya. Funny how he went from not recognizing your very obvious differences to recognizing your voice apart from Liya. Or he just knows it’s your day to be here.

“Hey? Are you okay Lil? What’s happening? Why are you like… Why are you at Lee’s?” He asks again when you don’t answer. You didn’t realize you hadn’t answered. You scrunch your eyes shut and grit your teeth to endure a sharp cramp. “No. I mean I’m fine but… Jimin… I need... uh…” It feels embarrassing. “Lil? What is it?” You can hear him shuffle around. Makes you wonder if he is already leaving. Like an obsessed lover in a stupid love story.

“I need um…”

“Yes?”

“I need pads. I need pain killers.” You finally get that out.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

“Sorry but I have no money and there’s no way to contact anyone and it hurts and-” You start again. Feel the need to explain your situation when he disrupts your rambling.

“Okay.” A silence. “Hey Lil? It’s okay.” Another silence. He is probably waiting for you to respond. You don’t. So, he speaks again. “I’ll come. Go home now.” With that he hangs up.

Home?

…………………………………………………………………………………

You blink at the stupid door. You had closed it behind you when you left the apartment. And now it’s locked. You don’t know the password. A quiet groan escapes your mouth as you slightly bang your forehead on the door. Why does your life always go from bad to worse? It’s not like you can just go back and knock on Lee’s door. No, you can’t do that. It’s better to stay here, waiting for Jimin to come. So, you do that. Crouch down again because it hurts bad. Lean your back against the door. Wait... When you are not in pain and can form coherent thoughts, you’ll slap yourself and then later kill Jimin- even though he is the one helping you.

…………………………………………………………………………………

It probably took more than thirty fucking minutes for him to come. Tears are rolling down your cheeks, and you are at verge of passing out, when you finally hear the elevator ding. Tissues are failing you and you are about to cry all over again for the embarrassment when your head snaps towards the sound of footsteps. Eyes landing on Jimin. On a black suit again. Like the last time you saw him. He has a grocery bag in his hands. He stops. Eyes on you. Takes a shaky breath in and approaches you like wind. Crouches down beside you.

“Fuck. What are you doing here? Are you okay?” He slightly touches your face. You shake your head. “No. It hurts. Bad.” You can’t be embarrassed now.

“Fuck I’m sorry it took some time to come Lil. But why are you here? Outside?” His eyes are wide. Mouth a little agape. Adorable. You clutch your stomach tightly. “I... ha...ve no password. I... don’t kn... know it.” You manage through gritted teeth. Jimin sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. Lamenting. Looks like he wants to slap himself.

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry Lil. I forgot, like…”

You interrupt his pointless apologizing with a painful whine. You’re not his responsibility after all. It’s not like he should be here. Jimin gapes at you, mouth open, for a split second. Nods his head in realization. Surprises you when he suddenly grabs you from your upper arm. Makes sense when he reaches for the lock and enters the password. He holds you steady, so you won’t fall. He holds you steady, so you won’t get into your feet on your own. Stops you when you try to. Surprises you again when he cradles you. You yelps first in surprise and then in mortification.

“No, Jimin. There’s probably …” You don’t get to complete that sentence. Not as he enters the house. Kicks the door shut behind you.

“Fuck it.”

…………………………………………………………………………………

“You fine now?” Jimin softly asks you as he stares at your huddled figure, laying on your side. He stands next to the bed. You feel fairly fine now compared to earlier. Not completely, though. Pain isn’t going to subside just after you swallow some pills. You nod anyway. You are now perfectly curled up in his guest bed. All clean and tummy full. In his clothes since you said you shouldn’t wear Liya’s clothes all the time without her permission. Ready to sleep with your phone and your clothes pressed to your chest. You learned from your mistakes and evolved through the time you’ve been here. That’s how you learned to dress properly to bed. Even with a bra, despite how much you hate to wear it. From now on, you’ll make sure you carry a care package to bed with you. With every essential in there.

“You sure?” Jimin asks again, slightly bending down toward you. You crack an eye open to look at him. He is still in his dress shirt. Looks worried. It was ridiculous how you had to assure him again and again that you will not die and are fully capable of showering alone. He is a funny thing. Jimin is. Paradoxical. Complicated. You find him hard to read. “I’m fine Jimin. It hurts but I’ll be okay. This shit happens every month.” You state matter-of-factly. Jimin snorts. Sits on the edge of the bed. “You sure? Cause you sure did act like it was your first time.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. He has been avoiding you for nearly a week and now acts like nothing happened. Pisses you off. You take a breath in to calm yourself down.

“Well, I always take something for my pain and it’s not like I always ended up in some stranger’s house…You know? With no pads and...” Your words trail off as you watch Jimin grins now. He is teasing you. Asshole. “Oh, fuck you Jimin. It was an emergency. Sorry I bothered you.” You grumble, trying to hide your face in the pillow. “Hey, no Lil, I was just joking and uh... anyway you didn’t bother me. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. I’m glad you did. If it hurts then it hurts.” He places his hand on your arm. Makes you shudder. His voice is serious now.

You sneak a peek at him again. He and you need to talk. Talk about what happened last time he was close to you. You need to convince him too. Convince that you were drunk and forget it ever happened. This moment, however, doesn’t feel like the right time. You’re still in pain and it’s always easy to procrastinate. It’s okay to let it slide for this one last time. You and Jimin were on good terms before the club night happened. With playful banters and insults that didn’t actually hurt you both. You were kind of friends. Right? Perfect strangers? There’s no reason to be hostile or distance when he is the only person you know in this world. You can sweep it under the rug until you take it out again. So, you nod. Mutter a soft thank you.

“I wouldn’t have call you anyway if I had you know… I just… Fuck.” You don’t know what you should say.

Jimin smiles. His cheeks puffs out like soft, round loaves of bread. You madly want to squeeze them.

Nope. You don’t.

“It’s okay Lil. It was an emergency, like you said. I know you wouldn’t have reached me if it wasn’t. But are you gonna be okay alone? Like do you want me to stay?” He asks, through his grin. Adorable but is so dramatic. You roll your eyes.

“It’s just periods Jimin. I know I was crying but believe me I will not die, I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. I promise. Happy? You can go to work now Mr. CEO. You have a business...” You wince. Grit your teeth. Blow a breath out. “…to run, don’t you?” Complete your sentence finally. Random cursed cramps. Jimin gives you a skeptical glance. Doesn’t say anything when he stands up. You watch him curiously when he rounds the bed and climbs up next to you. This is not good. This, definitely, isn’t good. What is he doing?

“Okay…? What are you doing?” You mumble with wide eyes. “Nothing. Just going to make sure you won’t actually die.” He says as laying back. Eyes on the celling. You turn to your back too. “Seriously Jimin? This is ridiculous. You can go. Besides, isn’t this weird for you to lay here with me?” Look at him with your head turned to his face. “I wake up next to you every other day spring roll. And most of the time, you cling to me like a koala.” He says that very nonchalantly when you choke on your own spit. Do you? You gape at him. Do you really do that? Jimin’s bread cheeks are appearing again, however. He is trying so bad not to break into a laugh. You groan annoyingly. “You little stupid….” Mumble every curse word you know as you turn your side again. Your back to him. Jimin giggles. Why does he have to be adorable all the time? Why do you have to think he is adorable all the time? And hot. And...

This time you are grateful for the sudden pain that make you reel. It distracts you from Jimin. Even though it makes you whimper quietly and squeeze your tummy. Grit your teeth hard and leave you exhausted when it subsides. You take a deep breath after the pain become bearable. Feel Jimin shifts behind you. Maybe he turns to his side too. There’s a beat of silence before his voice reaches you again.

“Are you really okay Lil? Does it hurt a bad?” His voice is too soft for your liking. Makes your heart picks up the speed of pumping blood.

Bad.

You just nod to indicate you are indeed fine when another cramp hits you. He shifts again. Closer to you this time. You are certain. Can feel his warmth on your back now. Makes you tingle all over. This is really bad. And it’s worsen when he speaks again.

“Want me to help you? Do something to soothe the pain?” Jimin whispers. Makes goosebumps appear on your skin. Makes the hair in the nape of your neck stand. You shot your eyes open, staring into dark blue curtains of the room. Heart now beating violently. What does he mean?

“Help me how?” Your body has started to react exactly like that time in the club. Funny, since he isn’t touching you this time. You don’t even know what he is insinuating at. He might well be saying that he would tell you a bedtime story and you are already panting. “I... uh...don’t know. Like rub your tummy like. Fuck I don’t know Lil. Anything to help you.” His voice is still a whisper, and you shudder. Again. Oh, he indefinitely is not going to tell you bedtime stories. Why would he suggest this at all?

The air in the room suddenly feels heavy. You two are going to fuck things up for a second time if you don’t say the right thing.

All you need to say is, ‘are you crazy? I don’t want you touching me, Park Jimin. That’s so wrong. Go to hell’. Then why are you nodding.

This is a disaster.

You stiffen when you feel him scoot closer. Not quite in contact with your body but you are sure just a light movement from you, would make your back plastered into his chest. Can feel his breath on your neck. Like the last time. Makes your head spin. Like the last time. Mouth dry and heart about to leap away. Like the last time. And you are poised. Anticipation firing inside you. Excitement bubbling. Not even trying to soothe your dry throat. As if one single moment from you will make him disappear. “Want me to Lil?” He asks again. Fuck its addicting how his breath fanning your neck when he speaks. You nod again, weakly. “Words Lil. Say you want me to.” Jimin doesn’t even move a finger. Just stays close to you. This surely doesn’t feel like trying to soothe your pain. Instead, feel like you are doing something immoral. Well, it is immoral. You need to use your words and say you don’t want his help. Shouldn’t let this carry away like the last time.

“Yes. Help me Jimin.” You mutter breathlessly. To hell with it. You don’t know what you are doing. “Soothe the pain you know. It’s okay since you are trying to help.” Add that part just for the sake of your sanity. To justify the situation. To make it fair and mitigate. You expect Jimin to laugh at that. Snort. Asks you to stop being a bitch and then trying to justify your bitchy actions. If you are bad, then you are bad. He doesn’t. He doesn’t do any of those things. Surprisingly, agrees with you. “Yes, I’m just trying to help.” You are certain he says it to himself more than to you. You nod in agreement anyway. Wait until he do something. Patiently. Holding your breath. Let that breath out with a shiver when he finally snakes his hand over your waist. Palm flat and places on your tummy. Over your (his) hoodie. “Like this?” Asks again and start to rub gentle circles all over your stomach. You don’t trust your voice. Are afraid you’ll moan. All you can do is nod.

Fortunate how he doesn’t ask you to use your word. You think this situation is embarrassing. How you are near moaning when he is just rubbing your stomach. There’s nothing more but you are becoming pliant. Turning into a mush under his touch. That’s exactly how it was the last time. You’re pathetic aren’t you?

You visibly shudder when his breath hits your sensitive skin every time. It feels good. You won’t lie. Even when you can’t feel his touch properly, it feels damn good. Enough to make you sigh in relief. “Am I doing it right?” Jimin whispers in your ear. A weak yes escapes your mouth. “Does it help? Do you want more?” He scoots closer to you more. Finally press his chest into your back.

Oh God!

You don’t know what you should say. In a world where you are a completely sane person, you would say yes that helps and you don’t want anything more. This world, however, is a world where you are completely insane. So, you say no, for the first question. So, you say yes, for the latter one. Jimin sighs heavily. Almost like he is beyond relieved with your answers. As if he waited for you to say them.

“Okay. I’ll push your hoodie up. Huh? Just want to soothe the pain. That way will be better.” He waits again until you say yes. Give him the green light to proceed. The thing is, he needs to stop asking because you won’t say no. You feel like you are high. Your brain is malfunctioning. Bite your bottom lip until the blood draws when he does push the hoodie up, after another one of your weak yes’. Touches your bare tummy. Directly touches your skin for the first time. Without any barriers and you are certain he feels how you tremble.

It's just fingers first. Drawing mindless, yet burning patterns on your hot skin. And then he is pressing those fingers on your skin. Then painfully slowly his entire palm. Touches you properly. Massages your soft muscles. His hand is all over your tummy.

“This good?” Asks again. Makes you annoyed.

“Yes. Please.” Fuck why did you say please. What are you begging for. You’re really glad he doesn’t ask. Just keeps caressing you. Rubbing. Massaging. Touches turning tender every time. Comes even more closer to you. Hides his face in your hair. You weakly whimper when you feel him inhaling. A feathery kiss following. He brings you Impossibly closer to him.

“Lil...” Breathes in your ear.

“Hm?”

“Fuck. Just?”

“What?” Your voice is barely audible.

“Can I? Please?” His voice is no different. Husky. Breathy. And feels like liquid honey to your ears.

You know what he is asking for. You shouldn’t but you do. This is the only chance for you to do the right thing. At least pretend dumb and stop him.

“Yes. Jimin….yes.” How desperate you sound. The only relief is the shudder you feel on Jimin’s body. “Thanks fuck.” Says as his hand starts wandering upwards. Up, up and up. You give up trying to keep your mouth shut. Allow yourself to softly moan when his hand reaches your ribcage. Touches you there properly. Fingers graze the underside of your boobs. But doesn’t go any further. Stops there. Drives you crazy.

No, you shouldn’t ask for it. Shouldn’t beg.

“Fuck Jimin. Please.”

Jimin hides his face in your neck. His grip on you tighten. “Please what?” Loves to make you little more miserable than you are. It seems. “Please what Lil? What do you want?” Asks again in your ear. You want to go back to your bickering selves and curse the shit out of him. Impossible when he gives you feathery touches under your left boob. So, you give up.

“Touch me. Please fuck touch me.” Ask for what you want like a good girl. Jimin curses. “Touch you where? I am touching you.” Says as he squeezes you tightly. You whimper again. This time in complaint. He doesn’t do anything though. Waits patiently for your answer. Well, fuck it!

“Tits. My tits Jimin. Please touch them.” You don’t say those words, you moan them. Jimin kisses your ear at that. “Fuck Lil.” Mumbles in your ear and then his hand goes to where you want it to be. Grabs your left boob in his palm. Grips it hard. Molds. Sighs heavily.

“Fuck you are not wearing a bra again?” Traces his thumb over your hardened nipple. Takes it between his thumb and forefinger, pinch it. Makes you twitch. Do it again and again. “I… J... Jimin. I…” Your voice is trembling. “It’s hot.” Jimin says mindlessly. Shifts the attention between your two breasts. Molds them so good that you are moaning without you realizing. Makes Jimin press himself firmly against you.

It feels so sudden. Like the time in club. Why do you do this? He and you? Why neither of you can think properly? You are not drunk now. Very sober and still do this.

It's very wrong. Immoral. Unfaithful. Yet, it’s happening. And it is so fucking good. You’ve been starving for touch, and you are incapable of refusing one when you finally receive it. Especially, when those touches belongs to someone like Park Jimin. You’ll think about the reasons later. For now, you’ll just give up. Let him play. Touch you right. Allow him more access to do it more. That’s why you slowly start to roll onto your back. To let him touch you more. He helps you. Shits in his place and snakes his hand under your neck. Curls that hand so you become impossibly close to him. Keeps groping your soft mounds. Like he can’t stop doing so.

You look at him for the first time after you started this. Are so happy to see him flushed. Similar to you. Eyes hooded and pupils dilated. Mesmerizing. Comes closer to your face. Breath fanning your lips now. For split second you think he’ll kiss you. Disappointingly, he doesn't. Murmurs against your mouth instead.

“They are so soft. Your tits. Fucking soft. Wanna touch them all the time.” His lips slightly brush against yours when he mumbles. You moan shamelessly. You were turned on in an inhuman way from the beginning. Now though, you think you’ll die. You smell him in. Want to tell him he can just do that. Feel like you are travelling through the clouds. Words fail you. Only breathless whimpers and monas leave your dry mouth.

“Will you show me, Lil?” Asks again since all you do is gaping. It’s already too late turn around now. You rub your thighs together. Clench around nothing. “Please? Just want to see.” Squeezes your left tit so hard that a cry rip through your throat. Back arching. You nod desperately. “Yes. Yes. Yes, you can.” Close your eyes to drown in the head spinning feeling. Only for a moment though. Open them slowly again when you feel Jimin shifts your hoodie up. Revealing your bare skin to him. You are not surprised anymore. Just painfully horny. The way his breathing staggered, makes the sensation double. He pushes the hoodie all the way up. Toward your neck. Gets your tits bare in front of his eyes.

“Shit. Fuck Lil.” Curses some more. Molds your tits some more. Props himself a little bit. You reluctantly raise your head to let his hand go. Leans over you. Grabs your tits with his both hands. Start groping and molding. Sanity is slipping through his fingers as you watch. You and him both are insane now. You keep leaning into his touches. Harsh and pleasurable ministrations. Moan his name.

“Shit you are gorgeous.”

“You have seen them Jimin.”

“This is different. Fuck. I wanna suck them.” He peeks at you through his lashes. The desperation in his face together with his words are enough to make you cum in your pants. You want to say yes but words aren’t coming out. Especially, when he presses a tender kiss to one of your nipples. Pulls back to look at your face. Then kisses the other one. Doesn’t pull back this time, just stays in his place and inhales. Smells you. “Fuck!” Curses. You want to say yes.

He doesn’t wait for your answer anyway. And you are glad. “Want them in my mouth Lil. Gonna suck them, okay? Gonna… fuck.” He gives up entirely. Gives up on talking. Explaining. Dives right into your tits. Takes one hardened bud in his mouth. And you find words. “Holy fuck Jimin... Oh god...” You nearly cry. Hands reaching his head. Fingers lacing through his blonde locks. You have sensitive nipples but this? His mouth does wonders apparently. His hot tongue swirls around your nipple. Sucks on them. Moans. Sucks your life out of you. Keeps groping the other one. Then takes the other nipple in mouth while squeezing the now free one. Kisses and sucks every inch of skin he can find on your tits. Lightly bites. Leaves your tits wet with his saliva. You like the feeling. Even love it when he starts sucking on your skin harder. Surely giving you marks.

“Fuck, you are so sensitive. Think you can cum like this?” Jimin asks so suddenly that you are beginning to be surprised again. It’s so out of blue. “What?” You ask through your whimpers. “Cum Lil. Can you cum while I suck on your tits?” Asks again. Doesn’t wait for your answer and goes back to his work. Well, you don’t think you’ll completely be able to do that. Without a single pressure on your clit or nothing close to your quivering hole. “I’m not… su…sure. Like I need... Jimin.” You tug from his hair. He moans. You don’t think he understand what you are trying to say. See, now Jimin will never cease to amaze you. Can read minds. Doesn’t say anything but completely hovers over you. Places one knee between your thighs. Presses. You shudder. Reel. Moan. Watch the way Jimin peeks at you again. One of your tits still in his mouth. Moaning against your nipple. Pops it out. Kisses your wet nipple and bites it lightly. Licks it.

“C’mon, go on. Rub your pussy on my knee.” Says against your tit before starting to suck on it again.

And of course you do. How are you to refuse such a demanding plea. Press his face more into your chest and start grinding your cunt on his knee. Desperate. Hard. Fast. And he keeps sucking your tits. Soaking them. Encourages you with grunts and groans. Vibrations he cause travel through your body like liquid fire. To your core and makes that knot in your tummy tighten. Tighten with every press of your cunt on his knee. Even though it’s through layers of clothing. With his every suck on your tit. And right at a moment when he bites little harsh on your right nipple that knot explodes. Making you cry for him. Your grip on his hair tighten. Nearly rip his hair off when he finally pops your nipple from his mouth. Stares into your flushed face. Smirks. Peppers some light kisses to your abused tits. Makes you flush with embarrassment.

You both take a moment. Jimin is still grabbing and holding your breasts. You are staring into the ceiling. Both of you taking deep breaths. Trying to calm down from your high. Jimin retrieves his hands from your breasts slowly. The stupor you were in breaking down. Shattering into little pieces, so you could see properly. Think properly again. And the very moment, unclouded thoughts occur in your mind, you sit back abruptly. Making Jimin do the same. Both of you inhaling a shaky yet deep breath. Just like that, you two fucked up again. It doesn’t make sense how you lose control. How he loses control.

You want to ask him why? See, now it was only you who reached a high and he didn’t. Does he want the same? Are you willing to give him that? If he doesn’t want that, why did he do that for you? Is this the same kind of situation where he was confused? No, he kept calling you Lil. Not Liya.

You stare at his face. His face is flushed still but calming down. Eyes starting to flash something else which is not desire. Regret perhaps. You want to ask million things.

“Don’t fucking run away Jimin.” That’s the only thing that leaves your mouth. He shakes his head at that. Blows a breath out.

“I won’t. Just sleep. We will talk.” He says. There’s no warmth or softness in his voice anymore. His voice isn’t husky or breathy. Just like the last time, he is very serious now. Only that he isn’t stuttering. Nor does he run away like you burn him. Still, he and you are both back on earth now. He stares at you for another hard minute. Then he climbs down from the bed.

“We will talk Lil. I promise.” Says before running away. Again.

You fucked up. Again.

…………………………………………………………………………………

“Okay for real young lady, I don’t buy anything you say.” Key screeches in your ear as you try to wipe the tables down. End your shift and go home. Key isn’t supposed to be here, and she’s annoying you so much. “Well, I don’t know what I should say to you then my dear best friend. Move out of the way please. I have works to do.” You nudge her out of your way with your hip. She scoffs. “You should tell me the truth bitch. What’s happening in your life? How come you miss so many lectures and where the hell are you going all that time?” She keeps trailing after you. From one table to another.

“Do you have a secret boyfriend or something? So, you fuck around with him and miss your lectures? Are You fucking crazy? Who’s going to pay for you to repeat the subjects….” Her nagging is becoming unbearable, and you are glad Chan interrupts you. “You gonna fail your subjects?” He asks with a look that’s torn between pissed and incredulous on his face. You take back the glad part. You groan. Throw the cleaning cloth on your hand onto the table. “No one boss. No one’s failing their classes. My best friend is just fucking dramatic.” You point your finger at her.

She gasps. See, dramatic. “Don’t talk to me like that you little brat. I’m worrying my life away here for you.” Turns to Chan. “She’s been going MIA for some time now. Doesn’t attend lectures. I can’t reach her. And she sometimes doesn’t come to work too. Doesn’t she Chan?” Starts nagging to him instead of you. Fine by you to be honest. This is the first time in a while you are here at your workplace at the same time with Chan and Key. You guess Chan hasn’t confessed his feelings for Key yet. She would tell you if he did. Surprisingly, you don’t feel much bitter about it now.

You found out that you can talk to Chan normally a few days ago. Without any hard feelings and not wanting to cry nor slap him. And now you are finding out that you can stay in the same room with both of them. It hasn’t been that long since your rejection. Just nearly a month but probably the things happening in your life makes the rest of your life problems insignificant.

“It’s only been couple of days. So, it’s just fine.” Chan answers Key’s question with a shrug. Doesn’t sit properly with Key apparently. “Oh, c’mon… How that’s not fucking concerning Chan. It’s very irresponsible of an employee to be unattended without prior-”

“Fuck Key. Are you my friend or enemy?” You interrupt her while sneaking a glance at Chan. He is unbothered. There’s a grin on his face. As if Key said the most adorable thing right now. Well, if that’s how he always looked at her, then you might have been blind. “That’s fine Key. She is just not an employee. We are kind of friends so, as long as you don’t disappear for like weeks and months that’s fine with me.” He says finally, looking between you and Key. Key sighs while you nod in assent.

“Well, that makes this situation even more concerning. As a friend of her you need be worried as I am. What if she planning to sell her kidney.” Key doesn’t want to accept defeat. She has been constantly nagging you lately. Nothing you say is believable anymore. You have said you are sick so many times that Yoon-hee, your favorite professor, told you that you can ask her help if your illness is terminal. They might think you’re dying at this rate. It’s reasonable and very fair that Key is worried. You would be too. Can’t tell her the real reason though.

“I’m just fine Key. Please stop worrying. And my kidneys are safe.” You pat your lower back before reaching for the cleaning cloth again. Look back at her. “I promise. If I really am in a problem, I will tell you. You know that already.” Say as you start to wipe down the tables. Miss the glance Key and Chan share.

“You will?” Key asks, finally accepting the defeat.

“I will.” You nod without looking at them.

“I meant it when I said we are friends, you know. You can ask for help if you want, my very hard-working employee.” Chan adds when he isn’t a part of this at all. You and he are not that close friends. You were once infatuated with him, but not anymore. Still, you nod. Say you know.

It’s better you figure things out soon before you fuck up things in this world as well. Now, after you officially ruined things in Jimin’s world, you want this switching to end as soon as possible. You’ll find a way. Yes. You will.

…………………………………………………………………………………

This is the most unproductive Jimin has been in his entire life. He was far better than this when he was a college fuck boy and didn’t give a damn about passing his subjects. Even then he did a better job than staring at his computer screen. Black. It has been exactly fifteen minutes since he sat here in his study. He has work to do, but can’t concentrate. His mind is everywhere. No, that’s a big lie. His mind isn’t everywhere but at two people. Two people who look exactly same but not at the same time.

Why did he allow that to happen. Not once, but twice. Did he really think you were Liya? No. He didn’t. Jimin found a simple answer for his questions after loads of thinking. He really is a fucking asshole. Just like you said. He knew what he was doing but still did. Knew it was wrong but threw morality out the window the moment he felt you. And he fucked up.

The day at the club, when he returned to your booth to find you and that jerk named Jungkook were gone. Gone for a fucking dance. Jimin had felt his guts twist with an unfamiliar rage. He wasn’t or isn’t the jealousy type. Besides, you weren’t his girlfriend or anyone else that mattered to him. Still, he found his legs working on their own as he drifted to the dance floor. Saw you with him. Smiling. Laughing. Felt the same pang he felt when he saw you with Taehyung that day earlier. Saw he turns you around. Touches you. And he wasn’t thinking at all when he started storming toward you. He had a good excuse in his mind. You were supposed to be Liya. Liya will never do that. And only she knows why. It didn’t matter though. What mattered only was that you were breaking the character, and he needed to cover it. Before you ruin everything.

Funny, how he was the one who ruined things afterwards. It was pure bliss when he felt your body against him. Simply, the moment he felt you he started to think with his dick. It’s simple as that. That’s what happened at both times. He did his best to stay away from you after the club. Doesn’t know why he felt that it was the best decision. That it would solve the problem. He, after all, kind of knew he would fuck up again, if he was to be with you. Just like he thought, he did. Fucked up. And what he did was cheating.

Jimin cringes visibly at his own thoughts. He left that life behind, didn’t he? When he met Liya. When he started his business. He left his playful life behind. He is not Taehyung; he stopped jumping into fire pits just because it’s fun. Those stupid decisions people make just because they feel good at the moment, always come back to bite in their asses. Exactly like now. Like Jimin is drowning in misery full of guilt and regret. Guilty toward Liya. Regret toward you. Because even if it’s for a little while Jimin knows you. Even if you and he may not have a proper tag on your relationship. It was fine. The relationship you had. It was fine. More than fine actually and he ruined it.

His miserable thoughts got startle out of him, making him jump on his seat when the door of the study room suddenly slammed open. He snaps his head to the door at the same time Liya barges in. That’s not very like her. She knows how to knock after all. And she looks wearied off. Jimin watches curiously as his girlfriend takes a seat. Slams her bag on the desk. Makes Jimin flinch.

“What’s going on?” He asks carefully.

“I missed my meeting with Owen Scott. With the ‘Owen Scott’. Yesterday. Because I slept through it and the deal ruined Jimin. Can you believe that? I lost this one chance to partner with Scott. My dad is going to kill me.” Liya vents. Jimin feels like she slaps him. She missed that meeting while, he was fondling with your breasts happily. Has to bite his tongue so he won’t say something stupid. Oh, the guilt starts to tear his conscience away.

“Oh! I mean, that’s bad but reach to him again….?” He says after carefully deciding that’s the best reply. Liya gives him an incredulous look. “Don’t talk like you don’t know business Jimin. If you missed, you missed. There’s no going back.” She slumps her shoulders. Then puts her hand on the desk. Let her head falls down between her hands.

“Who said that to you?” Jimin doesn’t think Liya is here to talk business. They rarely do that. Live in two different worlds. He wants her to go. This is really uncomfortable. How much of a dick he is. “My father of course. But that’s not the problem Jimin. I keep sleeping through the days. It happened more than one time, are you aware?” Liya raises her head back. To give Jimin an accusatory look. Jimin wasn’t in a good mood to begin with. And that mood starts to get worsen when Liya silently, but definitely accuses Jimin. She does that all the time. Even his guilty conscience starts to dissipate at her accusatory look.

“And that’s my fault? That you sleep through your meetings?” He feels like shit when he says that, however. It’s not his fault, to be fair. But still he knows what’s happening yet never tried to explain that to her. Maybe this is his chance to bring that subject up. He promised you he would talk to Liya. But after the club he felt too cowardly to face either of you. For different reasons.

Jimin feels heavy. Bile rising up his throat. He cheated on her. Their relationship might not be the best but still cheating never was something they had both done. Ever. Not even when he can’t remember when they last had sex.

Yes, that’s it. That’s why he was so out of control with you. Sexually deprived. Never felt the need to find a woman to satiate his needs since he was so busy. That, however, in the end doesn’t change the fact he is human. So doesn’t the fact it was wrong.

“No. How’s that your fault?” She questions back. Keeps her gaze on Jimin’s face. Makes him uneasy. God, he needs to come clean, doesn’t he? How though? This is a very complicated matter. “No, I should have woken you up.” He says timidly in the end. Voice barely a whisper. Liya certainly doesn’t expect that if the way her eyebrows raise is anything. Jimin can’t wake her up even if he wants to. And he doesn’t know what he should do. You and he will have to do something soon. Liya nods slightly. Says that it wasn’t his fault, and she doesn’t expect him to do that. Surely is about to say something else when Jimin beats her to it.

It’s now or never.

“Baby, are you sure you are just sleeping through days?” The term of endearment feels heavy on his tongue. She looks confuse for a moment. Her perfect brows pull together. “What do you mean?” Asks. “Uh… like... are you having weird dreams?” He praises himself for coming up with that.

“Like what kind of dreams?”

“I don’t know. Like any kind of dream. Vivid dreams I mean.” Waits hopefully for her answer. “No… No, I don’t dream at all, I think. It’s like I’m dead while I’m sleeping.” Says making Jimin feel even more miserable. How is he ever going to clear this mess. He just nods. “That’s good. I mean at least you are not having any bad dreams.” Says as he finally turns his computer on. Liya clears her throat again, however. Jimin thought she would leave, but of course that can’t be the reason why she is here. They don’t share their problems. She isn’t here to vent about her issues like she should.

“Well? You are not here to tell me your life sucks, are you?” Jimin pays his attention back to Liya, lips curling up slightly despite there’s nothing amusing happening. Liya blows a breath out before taking another one in. “No. I’m here to tell you that I can’t make it to the Hoseok’s party. Sorry baby.” Says without an ounce of regret in her voice or face. It’s Jimin’s turn to blow a breath out. He isn’t surprised at all. Nor is he hurt. It’s very expected from Liya. Just tilts his head up. Asks the reason simply.

“I just have to meet Min Jae for this dinner on New Year’s Eve. I’m so sorry but it’s so sudden baby. He only called me just this morning-”

“Don’t fucking lie Liya. You are not least bit sorry, and you never wanted to join me there at Hoseok’s at first place.” Jimin scoffs. There was a time he couldn’t stand Min Jae. The damn celebrity and the heartthrob of Seoul, South Korea. Doesn’t know since when he does not care. Liya flinches at his words. Or voice.

“Watch your tone and words Park Jimin. You don’t get to talk to me like that because you’re jealous. You’re too old to be jealous.” Liya says sternly as she stands up.

Jealous?

“I’m by no means fucking Jealous baby.” Jimin emphasizes the word fuck yet tones down his voice. Doesn’t want to fight. Not after he did something wrong. Feels like he has no right to do so. Liya stares at his face. “Good then. Just tell them I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it.” Takes her bag and walks to the door. Reaches the doorknob but then turns around again. “You know what Jimin? You should at least pretend you’re disappointed. You don’t look like you care at all.” Bites on to her bottom lip while waiting for Jimin’s answer.

See, now Jimin is wrong for everything he did yet Liya makes his blood boil with her stupid antics. She wants him to beg. All the time. Wants him to be the one who gives hundred percent. He happily did so once. When he thought he would be able to do forever without getting tired but then he did. He is fucking exhausted of that. Ever since that day he finally felt tired he and Liya started to crumble.

So, he scoffs. “You know what Liya? You should at least pretend that you’re sorry you couldn’t make it. You don’t care at all. And if you think I would beg, sorry Miss. Kim Liya, but I’m just fine by myself.”

…………………………………………………………………………………

“So….” You start after staring into each other’s faces for a solid five minutes. It’s getting awkward.

“So…” Jimin repeats you. Just sitting in a desk chair while you sit on the edge of the bed. In his bedroom again. You were so worried about this day to be honest. You partially expected him to start avoiding you despite his words. But he was here when you opened your eyes. And it was you who insisted on having this conversation as the first thing. That way your own nerves will not allow you to sweep the conversation back under the rug, just after you pulled it out. So, here you are. Gaping at your faces with no words leaving your mouths.

“We need to talk Jimin. You promised we would talk.” You pout at him. Unintentionally again. There’s a slight smile ghosting on Jimin’s lips, but he doesn’t really smile. “We are talking.” He says, gesturing between you. “You call this talking? I can’t believe you are in a five-year long relationship when this is your idea of talking.” You say with a huff. “Exactly. That’s why it does work.” Jimin mutters under his breath. You want to ask what he meant but that would certainly distract your subject of matter. So, you heavily sigh as you get to your feet. Approach him. He looks up at you. It’s not comfortable having this conversation while he looks at you like that. Reminds you of a time he stares at you just the same way through his lashes.

Okay stop!

“Did you talk with Liya bec-”

“I did and she, apparently doesn’t travel anywhere Lil. She is just sleeping. She thinks she sleeps like she is dead.”

“That can’t be though. If I’m here and she disappeared-”

“I know. But I already told you she can’t be waking up in a strange world since she never said a word about it. She said nothing because she isn’t going through what you are going through.” Jimin tells as he gets to his feet finally. Towering over you. You like that. “I don’t know what’s happening but she, Liya, doesn’t go anywhere. Or even if she does, she never woken up. She is asleep all these times you are here.” Explains further. Peers into your eyes. You do the same for a second before tearing your gaze away. This makes it worse. It makes this isn’t on Liya either. She isn’t going anywhere. She is asleep when this shift happens, and you are the only one who is awake. That means it happens while you are asleep. Not her. This is on you. Not her.

It feels hard to breathe again. “What do you think will happen if I fall asleep while she is still awake. Will us shift?” You ask, suddenly. Jimin pulls his brows together. Thinks for a bit. “I’m not sure. We haven’t tried that yet, have we? We can try that. I mean you can try falling asleep in middle of the day when she would be clearly awake?” Suggests. You nod.

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll try that tomorrow.” Say like you finally found an answer when Jimin softly sighs.

“Whatever we find Lil, will not change anything. Even if this doesn’t happen while she is awake, it will happen again one day or another. Unless of course you two decide to compromise and change your sleeping schedules.” He says it as a joke, but you beam at him. A wide grin adorning your face. Jimin’s face softens at that. Shakes his head. Does that thing he always do when he is frustrated. Searching for answers from the above. Looks at you back and about to take his hands to his face when you sprint into action. Grabbing from his both wrists and surprising you both.

“Don’t do that. It turns you into a tomato.” You say since you already started it. A soft chuckle escapes Jimin’s mouth.

“Seriously?” Asks. You let his hands go. Say that you are serious, and he nods. Smiles. Almost like in pity. “That thing won’t work Lil. The sleep schedule thing. You know it’s the same thing, right? It’ll not make any difference… it’s not like one of you can sleep during the day or something. And I don’t think Liya will... anyway it’s stupid.” Jimin talks to you like you’re a child who lost her candy. Your smile falters at that. Of course, you know. It’s really stupid. Then you’re back at a lost.

This time it’s you who search for the answers in the white ceiling. It’s you who rub your face frustratingly before you turn your back to Jimin. Let your head fall down again and throw your hands on your hips. Feel like you want to cry all of a sudden. “Then what should we do Jimin? Keep going like this? Forever? I’m oh so fucking tired. I can’t keep doing this. I just want a normal life. And I don’t know how to-”

“Hey. Hey.” Jimin doesn’t turn you around to face him. Instead, he walks around you to face you. Gently tilt your face to his with your chin. And let go of you immediately afterwards. You pretend that doesn’t do any hurtful things to you. “We will find answers Lil. We will. I don’t know how, but we will.” Stares into your eyes. You do the same, let yourself get lost in his amber depths. Did he always have those eyes. Why do you feel warm. Cozy. Melting. Why do you feel like you travel into a forest at twilight. And then he smiles again, softly, making those amber depths disappear in his cheeks. You want to touch him. Cup his cheeks.

Nope. Not again!

You turn your head away from that bewitching gaze. Clear your throat. Take a step back. “So, what are we going to do until then Park? If it take like forever to find answers, if we turn old? No, I will not live to turn old. I’ll die from the exhaustion.” You whine. Bottom lip jutting out. Jimin chuckles. “We will find answers before you get grey hairs and will stop this. And until then…” Now he gapes at you intensely. No sign of a laugh on his face. You watch gears shift in his head. Takes his time and then gives a single nod. “Yes, until then you can at least have your normal life back.” Clarifies. Yet, nothing is clarified in your head. “What normal life? Like? What do you mean Park?” You pull your eyebrows together.

“Like you wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night, like normal people do. Unless you party hard at some nights. You are going to live a normal life even though there’s nothing normal in your life Spring Roll.” Jimin is stern. Looks like someone with a plan.

“Are you suggesting that I’m spending a whole day here and a whole day there. Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that gonna change anything? What about Liya? You want her to miss an entire day of her life? And what do you plan to tell her when she starts asking you about the previous day? What am I going to say to Key? She is already on my tail. I can’t miss my lectures Jimin. I can’t stay away from my job for a whole day.” You throw your hands in the air. Jimin surely isn’t someone with a plan. His plan is way stupider than yours.

“Okay slow down.” Jimin holds a finger in front of you to shut you up. “Well, first, we won’t do this for long. We will find a way to stop this before… I don’t know before uh… like the spring.” Says proudly when you gape at him in disbelief. Holds two fingers up. “Okay even before that. And second, for Liya, she didn’t remember a thing when you uh... that day at the club. You spent a day here and she was fine-”

“You don’t plan on telling her about me at all. Do you park? You just asked her if she is waking up in somewhere strange and when she said she doesn’t you let it at that?” You don’t appreciate that pathway.

“No. I didn’t, and I’ll not ask her anything Lil. Because that’s stupid. If she doesn’t know then she is good that way. No need to trouble her when she will not believe me anyway. And… trust me it’s better when she doesn’t remember a whole day and think everything is fine than waking up in a middle of the day and worrying about having a some fucking sleeping disorder.” Jimin let his hand fall down. Gaze on you. Expectant.

“Okay, so you are saying she is better sleeping a day away. Fine. Then what about me Jimin? What about my life. How-”

“You gonna get medical assistance.”

“I’m going to get what?”

“You are terribly ill that you need special consideration from your university. And your damn boss will understand that too.” He looks smug. Proud. Really do look like someone with a plan. You are not convinced, however.

“But that’s lying.” You say as trying to imagine how your life will be. You’ll have to lie to everyone. “You have a better idea Spring Roll?” He grabs from your shoulders suddenly. “Like you said Lil. You can’t stay awake through nights. You can’t keep giving stupid excuses. So, let’s give them something believable. And meanwhile let’s find a way.” Raises one of his eyebrows at you. Well, you have no other ideas let alone better ones. Maybe, just maybe this will work. But then it’s not like you can go and tell people you are sick and need special consideration. Expect them to rely on your verbal explanations.

“Well, I need proof to prove I’m sick Park.”

“Leave that to me. Just give me the details I want.” He grins. Let you go. You’re still not hundred percent convinced. Feel skeptical. Yet are willing to see what will happen. So, you nod. Sigh.

“Yeah. Let’s do this. It’s already fucked up anyway.”

He nods too. You both nod in unison. One problem is talked through. No answers but there is a plan, that might work. Or not. In that case, there’s only one thing is left to talk through. And for you, that is the scariest part. Makes your legs weak even before you start it. If the way Jimin gulps harsh is anything, you know he feels the same way. Still, you’ll have to talk this one too. Especially, since you’ll spend days here from now on.

“Um... well, then about what happened the other day… I... uh...” You are the one who start it first. Jimin encourages you to keep going with a slight nod and his furrowed brows. “I... I mean... it’s like I’m sexually dep-”

“Sexually deprived.” Jimin finishes for you. You suck in a deep breath. Fall into a deafening silence. Have no idea whether he completed your sentence or said it to you.

“I was sexually deprived Lil. I don’t remember when I last fucked.” He then lets you know that he indeed did the latter. You are about to ask how, when he gives the answer for that one as well. “Yes, I have a girlfriend but we both are so fucking busy. It just happened Lil but-”

“But it won’t happen again.” You complete it for him this time.

“Exactly. And it’s not happened because you look like her because, uh… I don’t know, you’re not. And it has everything to do with me being horny as fuck.” He is not looking at you. Just staring at the bed. As if this is the first time, he sees it. “And it’s so fucking wrong. I’ll resolve my problems, and I don’t want to think that I used you or something.” Gets done with bed and looks at you instead. “Ugh... this is so frustrating.” Finally rubs his face. You don’t stop him this time. “I fucking crossed a line Lil. I’m really sorry and it will not happen again.” Finishes. Now it’s your time.

You feel at a loss, however. Feel disappointed. Ridiculous considering you expected this. This is how it should be. Still, there’s a pang in your heart. A tangled ache. A piercing confusion. You force yourself to smile. Pretend that you’re fine. “Yeah, I get it. And it wasn’t completely on you Jimin. I said yes and like you, I’m sexually deprived too. And unlike you I don’t have a fucking boyfriend either.” You finally manage to say while blowing out a breath. This is fine. “So… that happened because, both of us were horny. Like extremely horny. That’s it and I’ll resolve my problems as well.” You agree. Not with the bottom of your heart. Something feel wrong. Extremely. Yet you continue anyway.

“I’m sorry too Park.” Chuckle very awkwardly. Wave your hand in front of you. You’re not looking at him either. “But like are we good though?” Take a sneaky glance at him. Catch the way he bob his head violently. “Of course, we are.” Affirms and gives you an awkward chuckle of his own.

“Great!” You keep forcing yourself to smile.

“Great...” He echoes.

“Um... then are we like friends?” You ask without thinking. What a stupid question. He thinks so too, apparently. Gapes at you. “Friends?” Inquires tentatively. You just keep peering at his adorable face. Leaves him to do nothing but answer your question.

“Yes. Yeah, fuck. Friends. We can be friends like… uh... yeah friends Lil. We are friends.” Concludes at last. Takes you by surprise when he is stretching his hand for you to shake.

Oh! It apparently aches.

It was your idea anyway. You take his hand. Shake.

“Friends it is. And we will not do anything that crosses the line again.” You seal the deal.

“We won’t.” Jimin squeezes your hand. Keeps it in his hold more than necessary and finally let go. And you’re certain this is the most disappointed you’ve ever been.

…………………………………………………………………………………

“Liya wmph be there a’ New Year’s Ee?” Taehyung asks through his mouthful of kimbap. Jimin peers at him over the printed report he’s been looking at while eating his lunch. “Liya what?” Jimin frowns at his friend.

“Yah! Don’t talk with your mouth full, moron.” Jin clicks his tongue at Taehyung. Taehyung sighs but swallows down his food before repeating what he said earlier.

“Liya won’t be there at New Year’s Eve? Seoyeon told me.” Even gives further explanation, though nobody asks.

“Oh, she won’t?” Hoseok perks up too, expectantly looking at Jimin. Jimin hates this. Just shrugs.

“Yeah, some dinner plans or something.” Says as nonchalantly as he can.

“With who? You’ll be there though, right?” Hoseok asks again at the moment Jimin is about go back to minding his own business. “Of course, I will. Why wouldn’t I Hobi?” Jimin gives him a tight-lipped smile, praying he would stop asking questions. He doesn’t, but Taehyung does.

“Liya was really weird that day. Is she okay? Like was her tummy actually hurting that day? Is that why she acted like that?” Taehyung blinks at Jimin. Jimin blinks at Taehyung. Jin butts in to save him. “Why would someone act so cheery when their stomach hurts? That’s fucking stupid Tae.” He says while searching for a paper serviette. Jimin almost nods in assent when Jin speaks again. “But she was weird. I mean not that I know her very well...” He doesn’t get to complete whatever he is saying when Hoseok snorts.

“Sorry.” He mumbles fast. Then point his chopsticks at Jimin. “But Hyung is right. Fuck dude. You and she have been together for five fucking years, and we knew each other all that time but she is a fucking mystery, you know. I mean no offense...” Looks carefully at Jimin.

“None taken.” Jimin finally gives up trying to review this stupid report and places it back on the table. Hoseok carries on happily. “Yeah, but I mean I was so surprised she joined us in a club? And then acted like she likes us so much?” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his face. Jin after all didn’t butt in to save him.

“Right? Exactly my point.” Taehyung agrees very enthusiastically for Jimin’s displeasure. “She even danced with that guy. What was his name Hobba? Your friend’s friend? With tats and eyebrow piercing?” He looks at Hoseok while pointing at his own eyebrow. Jimin feels the same unpleasant twist in his guts at the memory.

“Who Jungkook?” Hoseok asks back when Taehyung snaps his fingers, grinning. “Yeah. Jung Kook. She danced with him dude.” They all are looking at Jimin now. He doesn’t know what to say. Jin again butts in and definitely isn’t saving him.

“And then these two almost fucked in the dance floor. Liya? And Park fucking Jimin? I have never seen her somewhat like kiss you in the public Jimin. Was she possessed that day?” Jin finally has found the serviette he was looking for. Jimin sighs. Hardly. There’s a headache forming. “She was just fine, guys. Was in a good mood. That’s it.” Says wearily. He really wants his friends to drop this conversation.

“Yeah? So, she is back to her sour mood again. Back to dislike us again. To think that we are all bad influence on the-best-future- CEO- Jimin.” Hoseok says with an edge to his voice. Makes Jimin really uncomfortable. It’s true in a kind of way but not completely. Liya doesn’t think that way, just doesn’t like hanging out with them and that’s her choice. Still, Jimin feels the urge to defend. Defend who, he has no idea. Maybe himself. “She doesn’t think that way and she... I mean has no problem with you.” Says and stuffs his mouth with food.

“I think that’s the same thing. I mean we don’t care, it’s your personal life, but she really doesn't like us, Jiminie. That’s why she won’t come to the party as well.” Hoseok scoffs. That discomfort Jimin felt is turning into anger now. “Really Hobi? You said you don’t care but you certainly act like you do.” He puts the chopsticks down. Hoseok does the same. “I don’t. I’m just saying Jimin. No need to get so riled up. If you’re happy then we are happy. The question is, Are you happy?” Smiles at Jimin but it feels like a smile of pity.

“Yeah, yeah, happy boss happy life.” Taehyung quickly disrupts. Picks a kimbap and brings that to Hoseok’s mouth. He gives Taehyung a very judgmental look but eats it anyway. Makes Jimin sigh. He loves his friends. “I’m not your boss you fuckers! We are co- fucking owners. And I really don’t want you to think that way. I am happy, guys. I mean c’mon it’s just a party and who cares if she can’t make it.” Tries to laugh but fails.

“You should care.” Jin says noncommittally. Doesn’t even look at anyone. But everyone looks at him. “That’s your girlfriend of five years. We are your friends, and we don’t want to suddenly sit back to talk about walking in different paths with whatever we made till now, just because she hates us. Maybe you should care, Jiminie.” Finally looks at Jimin. Jimin feels a weird sensation his stomach. This is not the first time his friends brought something up like this. Not that they always do but sometimes they just let Jimin knows that he isn’t happy. Fuck them!

“Okay fuck. She will come. Since you all think it’s a huge deal that she can’t come, and it defines our relationship. Let me prove it.” Jimin blurts that out. Looks at everyone. Ignores the way all three of them saying he doesn’t have to prove anything to them.

“She will come guys. Hobi, count her in.”

Fuck, why did he say that. How old is he to play silly games. How on earth is he going to make Liya agrees to come.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Jimin stares out of his floor-to-ceiling office window. Sulking. Regretting his life decisions.

“Fuck!” Mutters to himself and sighs. Why did he say Liya would come? Why did he make a big deal out of it. Maybe he can just let it go. His friends won’t make it a huge deal if he joins them alone. They wouldn’t now, would they? Jimin groans loudly. Looks up. About to rub his face furiously when the tomato pops up in his head. Can’t help but chuckle. You are always so weirdly interesting.

He needs to block you out of his mind. Think about the problems he has instead of thinking about you. It’s very unintentional, however. You’ll pop up on his mind at most random times. Like now. Jimin puts his hands back. Refrains from making himself looking like a tomato. Wonders if you try sleeping in the day. See, can’t help it. Groans again. Starts pacing around only to stop dead in the track. You feel nauseous when he does that.

Wait what? What the actual fuck? You again?

This might look really ridiculous how he just stands in middle of his office. Mouth agape. What’s wrong with him? He needs to find a way to get Liya abandon her dinner and join him. Or if it doesn’t work, he will have to find another plan. He just needs to bring his girlfriend to that stupid party. So, his friends will not think his relationship is crumbling. He shouldn’t care. It’s stupid to try to worry about a fake healthy appearance of a relationship. But apparently, he does. And he needs to find a way. Needs to stop thinking about what you like and not.

He looks at the place that gives him answers all the time- the fucking ceiling. He always finds answers there.

A way to bring his girlfriend to the stupid party. Or find another way. Another way.

Wait. Another way? He has another way.

A huge grin breaks out on his face. Of course. Liya will never change her plans for him. He won’t either. But since he still needs to pretend, all he has to do is bring his girlfriend. Or someone who looks like his girlfriend. There he goes. He lets out a victorious noise. He’s going to ask you. You will agree. Because of course you will.

Besides, you two are friends now. Jimin thinks that’s extremely stupid. Your idea anyway. So, he will make the best of being friends with you. Even though something doesn’t sit right with him when he thinks you are friends now. There’s a disappointment in his heart. An ache. Still, this is the right thing and right way. He gives himself a few nods. He will ask you to help your friend. That’s what friends do. This strange ache and longing will go away. And when it does, he will have a good friend.

A friend from a star.

A friend who looks exactly like his girlfriend.

A friend who sounds so sweet when she comes.

A friend who has most beautiful fucking tits.

Still, friends. You said you are now friends. Fucking friends.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Chapter index

Taglist- @chimmy-licious @smoljimjim @graydolan12

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windvexer · 4 months ago

Note

Hi chicken, it's the psychic who contacted ya a while ago, how are you?, hope you're doing great. Wished to ask you, what sort of gifts can you make to a spirit who doesn't like to have offerings, altars nor anything that resembles any sort of ritual cause they want to keep things casual?

I've been trying to get them something they can enjoy and interact with, but so far I've just been able to give them simpler stuff such as drawings, flowers, stories, hugs to the air, choosing what they wanna see, read, etc. and also, I let them possess my body so they can eat stuff they like. But I really wanna give them something else but idk what since they strongly dislike the idea of doing anything that could make our relationship more impersonal (such as offerings, among others).

Thank you in advance and I hope you have an excellent day, take care n.n

Hi, I'm glad to hear from you!

I see what you mean, but if the spirit is telling you that they don't want offerings, it seems like the solution might not be 'what are unique offerings that fly under the radar.'

It seems this spirit values experiences, not material things. So perhaps the solution here is the same as it is with people; plan experiences that the spirit might really like to be able to see and experience through you, or with you.

The turn of the local season has captured my interest; what about going to parks or nearby places where you can talk about your local history, climate, geography, and culture? That would be unique to your area and perspective.

#answered

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thesamoanqueen · 1 year ago

Text

Blackwater XVIII

Raiting: 16+

Warnings: at this point its just drama.

A/N: a chapter before my trip to Philly and the month’s end. The situation doesn’t improve, let’s say I apologize in advance for the next chapters. I left some clues, not too hidden but it’s pretty clear something is not working since for the first time Y/N and Paul are on the same side.

There were kids running everywhere, jumping off the stands, chasing each other in the field and parking lot where their parents' cars were. It was hot, air full of dust, smell of sweat, grass and mexican food cooked at the nearby kiosk. It was all exactly as his boys had left it a few days earlier, as if their family war had not touched that place, as when he was the boy running around on an ordinary afternoon and not a pop with drinks. And as in those days now long gone, Jey had seen him before even intercepting the scent of him among others, standing next to the fence to caress his son head and a shiver had crossed his chest.

Even when they were the ones playing, he never took the field unless it was time, but everything still seemed to revolve around him, collapsing against him in a vortex in which Jey fought not to drown. All his life he had followed Roman flow, but now he was tired and had had enough of those mob games.

Leave him. Dont.

He saw him raising his head, shift attention from his son who continued chatting, happy he didn’t have to change his whole life, put hand back in his pocket with his perfect smile and anger began to burn in Jey chest.

- Find your brotha, bring him this – Jey pushed him away with an excuse, ignoring any electrified story in which Jeyce had tried to involve him too.

His little boy didn't pay much attention, he was used not poking his nose into family affairs, he wasn't old enough to do it yet and after saying goodbye, Jey watched him run away to look for his brother who had ended up who knows where with his former school friends. He had done everything he could to not move Jeyce from the community in which he had grown up, but Jaciyah was almost a man, there had been no way, Roman had already done everything possible to burn any possibility for him. When the youngest was far enough away and Jey turned back, his cousin was still standing there looking at him, relaxed, but he knew it was a facade, he knew it.

And he knew the reason he was there.

He feels threatened now. Threatened where he cares.

- So you finally decided. What you've always wanted… it's a challenge bigger than you, beyond your capabilities, sure you can handle it lil Jey? – he asked provocatively, as if he was the grown ass man and Jey the unconscious and stupid boy.

Three months apart but he was the big one talking sense.

- You forced me. I never wanted it – he replied seriously, refusing to give in once more.

He would have forgiven him anything, he had always forgiven him anything. Even when they were kids, he was the one who made excuses, he was the one who took the blame and got in the way if him and Jimmy argued. He loved him, like a brother, his brother, he loved him even now, but they were no longer kids fighting in the backyard, Roman had crossed the line. He had been willing to talk, to put his head down again and find a solution. He didn't care about power, about the alpha title, about being the head of the table and taking on the weight of their dynasty, he had never wanted it, he had never aspired to that much. He just wanted to do his part, to show that he wasn't just a hothead, provide like every father, husband, son and Roman had hit him where he knew it hurt, but that time Jey hadn't been able to forgive him. He had hit back and knew he had hurt him.

- You've always been like this and that's why they didn't choose you as the alpha, as the tribal chief. That’s the reason why you will always be back in line, not on top. You can't even admit you always wanted to have what is mine – he laughed, venom on his tongue, looking at him as if Jey was nothing.

- I wanted to keep my head high with you. I wanted to be with Jimmy, next to you. I wanted a family, a real one, as they taught us, as it was before.

Our pack.

- You ruined everything, it's on your hands. I'll kick you out after our combat, you know that? And I'll kick Jimmy out too and both your families, no more Bloodline, no more home for your boys. You’ll leave and never step here again and neither will them - he threatened again, with that blind anger covering his gaze.

And if the inevitable hadn't happened by now, Jey would have fallen back into line, as he always did, he would have pretended that he was the one who provoked him, that he was really guilty, that he could endure for a taste of peace, but after so many years , that afternoon Jey looked at him as he had done a few times in their lives, seeing him for what he was.

He attacks 'cause is scared.

- If I lose – he replied without growling, impassive and Roman seemed to tremble, taken by surprise.

He had never wanted to lead the family, Roman did. Roman had had a dream before the title and had chased it, but when life had closed the door in his face, leaving him without hope, sitting at the head of the table had become everything for him. Jey had seen him work like no other, sweat blood to prove himself worthy, do anything, even in the wrong ways, to get it and he had succeeded, because there was nothing his cousin couldn't have if he decided to take it. His world, his life, was having the ulafala around his neck and holding his alpha title, it was an obsession he could no longer live without. He had lost contact with reality, with truly important things, with people with whom he should have shared burdens and joys, he was corrupted by power, by the hunger and it didn't even helped finding his mate to bring him back to earth. The man in front of him had no longer been his cousin for too long now, he wasn't even his Tribal chief, he was a stranger and Jey had finally had to agree with Jimmy: help him, support him so as not to hurt anyone, wasn't the solution, it just made things worse. The only way to solve now was to take away the only thing that really mattered to him.

- We've already been through this, nothing will change this time, im still better than you and anyone else – he tried again, his face serious, his gaze dark.

He remembered it, how he could not? He saw it in his nightmares, flashing before his eyes every time Roman raised his voice and threatened to explode, in the looks he gave Jey if he held his head too high or took a step too far, in the kind words he said to convince him to do something. Years had passed, but Jey still felt his teeth around his throat ready to open it, hands that had slammed him against their family tree until his head bled, that growl filling his ears threatening to kill him, the pure, visceral, suffocating hatred with which he had looked at him even when he was crying and Jimmy begging for mercy. He remembered everything, every detail of that day and it was precisely because he remembered that he would not have given up that time. He wouldn't collapse, he wasn't the same man anymore, he no longer hoped that things would go well the same, the stakes were too high, they both knew it and Roman's almost desperate attempt to scare and push him back into line one last time, it already showed that it wouldn't go like that day at all.

- If you're so sure, then why you here? – he asked, looking him straight in the eyes and saw him growing mad, offense now visible behind his facade.

He will never admit it. He will never take it back.

- You made your choice – one that hurt, both, but was necessary.

He loved Roman, he was his blood and he would have sacrificed himself for him, it had been like that all their lives, but it was no longer Roman he had in front of him and he had to get him out of the way now, for the sake of his family. Once and for all.

- You said that I need to take my responsibilities. I’ll do it when and where the elders decide, get ready. – he ended it, looking at him one last time before walking away to his boys.

He had never dared to turn his back on him voluntarily, he had never left him behind. Jimmy had dragged him away at the border, but now he was the one doing it, with intention, fighting the instinct to go back. And he knew that Roman stood there, he knew he hadn't moved, if he had only looked back he would have met his gaze, to do so however would have meaning give in, lose himself once again. So he crossed the entire field, breaking the pack bond that had united them for as long as Jey could remember.

He would no longer acknowledge him as family. They were nothing now. No more pack, no more brothers.

***

He had looked him straight in his eyes and turned away. Jey had done it without second thoughts or doubts, without anyone to push him to do so. He had abandoned him once and for all, he had broken their bond. They were no longer a pack, no more righ hand man and chief, no more brothers, they were no longer anything. Roman had felt it in his bones, more painful than a wound, burning his chest, confusing his wolf and the emptiness of the previously full field, had fallen on him.

He left us alone.

Taking care of his family, leading the Bloodline, providing for everyone, being the alpha, had always been everything to him. It was a responsibility for which Roman had been ready for anything, a sentence that he had willingly accepted, because only him had showed that he could handle it, because it was in his nature, his destiny, because he loved his family more than anything else. Yet more time passed, more the weight of them became too much and the pain that was inflicted on him by wearing that ulafala triggered something in his mind. Every now and then, like in that moment, he just wanted to repay the harm he received in exchange for his sacrifices.

He had offered Jey another opportunity, the last one to acknowledge that he had made a mistake, stop that challenge. But after everything they had been through, Jey had chosen to no longer be around him and not want to have anything to do with him anymore, he had betrayed him in the worst way possible for their pack. Nothing would have been able to heal the breakup, no demostration of submission, no promise would have been enough. There was only one thing left to do and with anger rooted in his heart, Roman went back into the suv ready to do so.

- My Tribal chief... - the wise man called him softly, sitting at a safe distance, his voice already worried.

Tribal chief. Provider of the pack. Leader of the Bloodline. Head of the table.

They wanted to destroy his world, crumble it, but he wouldn't be the one to fall in misery. He would rebuild again. Something new, something better. He had already done it years before, he would have done it again without Jey and his ingratitude. Another pack, another future, a higher level. He could replace him, everyone could be replaced, he hadn't lost what he needed, what mattered. He still had a family, a pack. Him and Y/N would have filled seats at their table, he would choose another right-hand man, pass the title to his true blood in the future.

- Call the elders. Tell’em to make it – he announced, his gaze pointed out the window, numb.

Enough is enough.

He couldn't afford any weakness. He couldn't give in. He would think about feelings later.

The wise man hesitated for a second, fidgeting in his seat, leaning in his direction as the SUV was already moving, one hand reaching out to him as if to shake him, but not daring to touch him.

- There's still time to make things right, you two can talk, we can try again, maybe he need more time, it's not- he insisted, his tone soft as when he was trying to direct him and Roman growled a deep warning in his throat, without turning.

They were well beyond trying now and even if there was still room, he wasn't about to take it any longer. Now he just wanted to hurt Jey, to really show him what he could be capable of if he wanted. Ready to teach a lesson to the world that watched him waiting for his downfall.

- Do what I said, I didn't ask your opinion.

Heyman immediately lowered his head, closing his mouth, returning to his seat. Just as it should have been, just as it would have been for everyone.

In the silence of his suv, they left the city outskirts where his cousin and his family lived until a few days before, taking the road that would take them towards the reserve, on his land, his property.

***

She had spent part of the morning on an estate just outside their reserve, a plot of land on the opposite side of the road leading to the border where the owners had opened a small market. She had been there other times months and months ago, when going to town was still an almost impossible task for her, the twins had raided freshly baked waffles at that time, while Naomi browsed the shelves for her, but that day it had been different. She had gone there to distract herself and look for a gift, in an attempt to thank Lisa for the company she had kept her during Roman's trip, but she had ended up trying to make both owners relax. The woman, with chubby cheeks and a nose perpetually red from the sun, hadn't seemed happy to see her as soon as she entered and she hadn't continued to be unfriedly even when Y/N had politely made small talk. Her husband stood behind the register like a soldier, his gaze fixed on Solo who was guarding the door in religious silence, one hand on the phone as if he had to call the police.

Y/N immediately understood the reason for that reaction. By now people knew who she was and they certainly knew what had happened on the border with the Bloodline. She had wandered among the shelves for a while, but in the end she had given up and left with a forced smile, returning with the only certainty that things were getting even worse in an endless spiral. A short time had passed, just for her to have a shower, and Roman had also returned, more tense than when he left, to give her yet another proof.

Not his scent.

- Why you smell like him? – she asked immediately, her eyes fixed on him as he was already getting rid of the clothes he had worn that morning with his head down.

He had left early, saying he had business to settle with partners who had refused to sign extensions of agreements for some territories now behind the lost border and a meeting with Pearce in the afternoon, but none of those scenarios included his cousin and Y/N had been pretty clear when she told him and Jimmy to stay away from them.

- Nothing has happened yet, don't worry.

- Yet – she repeated confused, but even then Roman didn't make a move to turn around, too busy looking for a change of clothes and avoiding explanations.

He wasn't physically hurt, nothing out of place, but wasn’t enough to reassure her.

- We'll solve it once and for all soon, face to face, decision is made.

- Yup, it’s a wonderful idea, lemme know when so I'll warn the doctor to keep himself free – she complained ironically and heard him breathing heavily, his bare chest expanding in an effort of patience in which she too was having difficulty.

He had come home covered in blood just a few days earlier, his forehead open, his mood shattered and the previous one she had witnessed firsthand the attempt to repeat the feat. She wasn't the kind of woman who was easily suggestible, she had seen and been through enough to be able to put up with more than most of the alphas out there, but that kind of approach didn't help.

- Don't start Y/N. It's official.

- Official, what does that even mean?! What happened to cutting them out of the family business?

Cut them out. Turn away and forget them. For her or for himself, it had been the decision he had made returning from the border, he had told her reluctantly, he had repeated it, she hadn't imagined it. What had changed? Why so suddenly and talking like it was something he couldn't come back from, some kind of blood pact?!

He's hurt. He's angry.

She felt it too, not just her wolf, she saw it too without her bond and it was for that exact reason that she didn't like that change. He wasn't thinking, he was acting under too much pressure.

- It's not enough – she heard him explain, as if that should mean everything.

- But tearing each other apart would it be?! – she replied in disbelief and at yet another reply Roman stopped to clench his fists with annoyance.

- I tried, I left a door open, it didn't help, I did it - he complained and she felt the weight of his frustration - when I get Jey out of the way, we'll start again. No one will challenge my role. Solo will take his place as my right-hand man in the Bloodline, everything will be good again, I’ll regain control of the family and after them I’ll take care those bunch of idiots out there, first the family business and then’em.

Standing in the doorway of the walk-in closet, she listened to him rambling, his gaze going from her to something far away only in his head that made his brow furrow and his teeth gnash. His plan, his big plan.

He had really tried, she knew it, she believed him. It hadn't worked, it hadn't been enough, but the solution couldn't be to tear each other apart, fight to hurt each other even more and make the situation worse. It shouldn't have even become a possibility, and yet it had happened, everything kept crumbling, falling apart and she felt more and more dizzy. She trusted Roman, she knew that he really could take back control and that he would do so, but now it all felt strange and wrong and dangerous. It wasn't paranoia, doubts or her mood swings at the wrong times, but the ease with which he was talking about those enormous changes, those drastic solutions, he was alarming her.

- Are you really planning to solve things like this? – she asked and the flash that crossed his gaze as he felt hesitation in her voice, doubts, caused a shiver down her spine.

- I'm planning our future. Mine and yours! – he exploded, as if he was ready to fight at that very moment and her confusion made him furious – they are nothing, Jey is nothing! I dont need’em. The elders want a leader for the Bloodline who represents the family and I’ll give them that, I’ll teach everyone a lesson and remind them why its my role!

He was snapping more often than usual lately and like every time, Y/N saw him grit his teeth, inspire to regain control and swing his head almost shaking off his own wolf when she watched him with wide eyes. She didn't like that attitude, it was the kind of alpha behavior that she had always avoided in the past, but she knew why it happened, it wasn't completely unmotivated and contrary to what she would have done in the past, she once again found herself reaching for him to caress his arm and calm him down.

He’ll never hurt us.

It was his nature to attack in order to defend, and the way they raised him, what he went through to get what he wanted, had only made that side worse. Roman mind had been programmed to provide, attack if necessary and keep the indispensable, it was his wolf taking control due to stress. He talked about real dangers and imagined others, he exaggerated things and was incited by speeches that he shouldn't have listened to, he was worried, pressured and scared probably at the idea of losing his family even if he didn't admit it. He needed someone ready to keep him grounded, to make him think and she had promised to stay by his side.

- Whatever the elders said you need to do for the Bloodline and prove yourself, it could be a problem if those men you were talking to yesterday – she tried to explain and Roman stopped her before even getting to the point though.

- Stop defending the twins, stop doing that Y/N – he growled, as if he hadn't heard.

After what she had seen, defending Jey and Jimmy it wasn't something she would have done instantly like a few weeks ago, but she really wanted to hope that blood was thicker than tears. They had other enemies, strangers, people who had no family bond to any of them roaming their territory, attacking each other was a move that could spell the end of them all.

- I'm not doing it, Im with you, I told you… I just don't want you to get hurt for nothing – she tried again, running her thumb over his tattoo, but once again Roman watched her up and down still angry.

- It's my legacy, it's everything, we have no future without it, nothing – he growled seriously, his gaze hard and Y/N found herself with an empty hand, while he grabbed a hoodie and disappeared back downstairs, leaving her in their room alone.

***

Their date night was spent apart, but that wasn't important. Y/N had never hoped to have a perfect romantic movie relationship, those childhood dreams had never belonged to her and she hadn't started having them even with Roman, she kept things real. He had locked himself in the gym for hours, occupying his mind with physical exercises, silencing doubts, second thoughts, feelings, anything. She couldn't feel anything through the bond, just the fatigue of his big body pushing past its limits to prepare, nothing more. And Y/N was worried, alarmed by the way he had decided to go down that path, to go through with it without looking at the consequences. Jimmy's words had come back to her by chance, while she was preparing a tea to drink in the living room in front of a book, seeing the amount of food still filling the pantry, when months earlier him and his brother would have cleaned up the same day in which it had been filled. It hadn't happened in a while now, but more time passed, more it seemed to her that their house was getting colder.

"We're fine as long as we do what the great Tribal Chief wants and when it doesn't happen it's over"

Whatever Jey had said, it hadn't gone the way Roman wanted and now he was ready to end it. Their relationship wasn't normal, it had probably never been the healthiest, but Y/N knew right away that they had a special bond in that big family. Jey had smelled her even before Roman, he had recognized her at the bus station, as if he was an extension of Roman. The thought he had now decided to end his bond with his cousin, that he no longer wanted to have anything to do with him, explained why Roman thought he would go that far, but not why he actually planned to do so.

He's not a monster. He’s hurt.

Sure he was, Jimmy's lies had nothing to do with it, her wolf was right. She had to put that thought out of her head and focus on what to do. He was in panic, attacking because he thought it was the only solution, driven by the crazy approval of the elders, by the pressure at the border and she couldn't allow him to sink or make the situation worse.

- Y/N – Paul called softly, almost whispering, but she gave no sign of having heard him, staring at the lit fireplace.

Her ears could hear the most imperceptible noises, she was trained, but when it came to him they closed. It was selective listening and they had selected him as the person absolutely not to listen to, evidently Paul was not of the same opinion however and Y/N saw his fingers drumming on the coffee table in front of her in a discreet attempt to attract attention.

- … can we talk? – he asked, sitting down without permission next to her, refusing to let go.

- No.

She didn't turn, she didn't even look at him, but was absolutely certain that he had curled his head into his expensive suit like a plump, pale turtle, as he always did when something wasn't right the way he imagined and she seemed to be incredibly good pushing him to that kind of reaction. Usually just a word was enough to keep him away, he had learned the lesson after the threats months before, yet this time, defying opposition and fate, Paul cleared his throat anyway.

- It's about what's happening, I was hoping we could discuss... collaborate maybe under the circumstances – he started again and she finally looked at him with disgust and exasperation.

He had stayed after dinner to do who knows what, without an invite, but even now that it was time to finally go away, disappear for a few hours, he refused to leave.

- Open a couple of buttons, there's no blood getting to your brain and I won't call anyone if you faint.

Them working together was like freezing hell, it was already a miracle that they managed to tolerate each other at Roman's behest, but it would have been impossible more than that. There was something about Paul that Y/N didn't like, a suspicion had never found proof of and yet her she-wolf sensed. It could have been down to past experiences, betas like Paul whispering into alphas'ears to get a taste of power were never trusty, it could also have been down to the fact that he breathed the same air as Roman in a shameless display of fetishism.

- Y/N I know we don't have a good relationship and we've never done anything to improve it-

Or it could depend on the way Paul had treated her from the very first time, going from preaching her to submit without shame to his tribal cult to treating her like a dumb trophy mate. She didn't care, she didn't like him and he needed to stop making advances.

Bite him.

- Stop these diplomatic speeches with me Paul, ain't eating a single word running out of your mouth and I've already advised you to stay away from me, would you like a lil reminder?

She watched him adjust his blue suit in a classic nervous tic and despite everything force himself to reach out, inviting her to calm down and continue the conversation peacefully.

- It won’t be necessary, I'll get to the point. I'm worried about him - he hastened to explain, alluding with a discreet nod of his head to the side hallway that led to the gym and Y/N raised an eyebrow in disbelief - I have full faith in his abilities, he's extraordinary, but I was there when it happened the first time, time has passed now… things have changed, it might not go well as he thinks and there are more dangers besides the twins, Jey… a violent fight now is too big of a risk for him.

She'd probably never find out exactly what happened when Roman became the family's alpha and tribal chief, but she had an idea. Remaking such a scenario was something she didn't want, it was enough for her to see them fighting in the parking lot and even if they were doing everything they could to get to that point again, she was convinced that in the future they would regret it as much as they did then. A confrontation wouldn't have calmed anyone down and wouldn't have resolved problems, she didn't even understand why the elders who were supposed to be the wise men of the family were authorizing and encouraging everything. For the first time, incredibly, she found herself agreeing with Paul, even if she was still convinced his motivations were different.

- You’re worried about him... or about your job? – she pressed him and he nodded, cashing her shot.

- There will be nothing left if they will go down this way.

Again that nonsense, again that motivation. All of the Bloodline's business, all of their problems, everything, revolved around what they owned and could lose. It was an obsession that she couldn't swallow and she didn't fully understand. Y/N knew that it was important, that it had cost Roman blood, sweat, sacrifices, it was his will and somehow represented the future for the next generation, stability for the current one, but it was also a weight that was dragging them all to the bottom and for sure, not everything like Roman thought.

- And I must have given you the impression of being the least bit worried about the loss.

- Well, I should probably admit you proved to be different from what I thought, it rarely happens and Im sure that you would be able to survive without anything anyway, you’re used to it. You don't care about all of this, but you care about them, about him... I saw it… it matters to me too whether you believe it or not. We both want the family to survive Y/N. I've never seen him like this.

Maybe that desire wasn't the right choice after all, maybe it would have been better for everything to end, for them to completely turn the page to get rid of that cancer born from power. Maybe it was simpler and more painless to let them destroy everything, but seeing with how much anger and ardor Roman defended his empire, feeling what burned inside him through the bond, seeing that shadow in his eyes when he talked about it, prevented her from being sure. For him it was everything, it was his world, the reward behind years of dissatisfaction, it was so important that it pushed him to face someone he loved, to give it priority before his own blood. Y/N didn't want to watch Roman get hurt for it, but she couldn't turn away or fight him.

We’ll stay by his side. He’d do the same for us.

Thoughtfully, she studied Paul who was watching her with pleading eyes and blew in exasperation.

- So what do you want? Ain’t gonna start plotting with you, you heard me.

- No please, no. I’ll try to make the twins think about the whole situation, making a deal if we’re lucky, they’re hotheads but they grew up together, they’re a family. I'm just hoping for some support if needed. An extra voice of reason is useful and if that isn't enough, you know how to get them back in line.

He had smeared honey on every single word, a perfect lawyer and counselor already trying to calm things down to save his throat, whether from her or from Roman was not clear at that moment. She didn't like Paul, she would never like him and she would never trust him, but for once he was being a wise man. Whatever his reason was for not letting them get to the fight and even if she doubted he would be able to get Jey and Jimmy on their side again, maybe, the combat could be avoided. They had already done enough.

- So are we on the same side now? – he dared to ask, looking at her with a fake friendly expression that that Y/N struggled to bear for the first time.

- Roman can count on me. Not you. – she said clear, seeing anyway him immediately nod, satisfied with his incredible, miraculous victorious exit from the scene.

She couldn't believe she had gotten to the point where she even had to tolerate Paul. Things were bad for real.

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