#practical use of roof rails

[katsukilvr]

situationship turned relationship between you and katsuki! cw: use of y/n, reader is female, katsuki is a pro hero, not proofread, short drabble, fluff, katsuki is down bad for you, lmk if i missed anything.

you always loved nights like this. you were curled up in your bed, the sheets freshly washed, your legs freshly shaved, making them nice and smooth, your hair washed, and a face mask on as you scrolled pinterest.

soft lights and candles lit up your room as you pinned a couple images in the app before getting a text from katsuki. your… boyfriend? no. but he acted like it for sure, but you guys haven’t made it official, or went on any official dates, but he has taken you out to eat.. bought you flowers.. buys you clothes.. but never asked you out?

“you still up?” he sent you.

you sent a thumbs up along with a selfie of you in bed watching tv. he loved when you sent selfies of yourself. he always saved them and dedicated different albums on his phone to different photos were you were cute.. pretty.. sexy.. candid.

that’s besides the point. he was on patrol, and he was bored as hell. he was practically jumping roof to roof, every hour or so taking down small villains or robbers. he really wanted to see you. not in a weird way, he just hadn’t seen your pretty face in so long.

so he blasted over to your apartment, in a record time (6 minutes) and tapped on your window, sitting on the railing of the fire escape, a smile on his face.

“y/n! open up!” he called out, tapping again.

you groaned, not wanting to get up from your bed but doing it anyways as you slide your window open, looking up at him, a smile instantly spreading on your face.

“what are you doing here, idiot?” you laughed out, resting your head on your hand as you leaned against your window sill.

“wanted to see you, pretty girl.” he said, “plus, nothings happening on patrol, you know i wouldn’t risk my job.” he said, tilting his head.

you nodded along, humming in response. “did you wanna come in?” you asked, giggling lightly.

he chuckled, looking around before making his way to your balcony, waiting for you to slide open the door, then scolding you for leaving it open as if you didn’t live 14 floors up.

he walked in, feeling bad for leaving some dirty footprints before taking off his shoes after he realized. he stalked over to you, towering over you before he went in for a hug, that he needed badly.

“waitwaitwai—katsuki, i just showered!” you said, not wanting to get dirty from his clothes.

but it was too late, he already enveloped you in his large arms, burying his head into your neck, inhaling deeply, smelling the scent of your shampoo and immediately melting in your arms.

you held him silently, your hands going up and down his back, raking your nails against his back like he always liked.

“y/n..” her murmured against your neck, holding onto you tighter, his arms around your waist as his hands clung to the shirt of your pajama set

“hm?” you hummed in response, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, your arms around his neck.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he whispered, pulling back slightly as he cupped the side of your face and for some reason he didn’t feel nervous. he felt.. home, in a way. you were his safe space for a while and he had been waiting for the longest time for the perfect moment to ask to be yours, but he realized that right here, right now, when he felt like there was nobody else in the world but you, was the perfect moment.

you were light itself, you shine so brightly sometimes that he’d have to look away, and yet he’s here, asking if you’d stay by his side and be his. (hxh ref >_<)

you smiled slowly, “of course.” you whispered, your heart fluttering slightly as you cupped the side of his neck,

he slowly kissed you, holding you close again, running his hand through your hair.

yeah. this was home.

A/N: i’m so sorry for still no part two on support department au, still working on artfight refs and it’s taking all my energy.. T_T luv u guys, hope u enjoyed this </3

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death. Pt 2

Prev. | Master post | Next

"Robin!" Orcale cried through the coms, startling Damian as he ducked beneath a punch thrown his way. Growling, Damian Sparta kicked the goon before him, spun around, and throat-punched the last one standing.

"What?" he huffed, glancing around his area to see if he had missed something; Father was facing off against Penguin, Tim was taunting Mr. Freeze, and Jason was plowing his way through the rest of the goons down on the ground floor.

Gunshots flashed by and up toward the roof, drawing his attention.

Turning around, Damian watched as Dick jumped from the rafters and dropped two other goons with brutal precision, their guns clattering to the ground. That's four. He could still hear Steph and Cass fighting in the other room over the comms, which makes it six. (Seven if he counted Duke, who was at home resting after a long patrol) They were still up and fighting, which meant nothing was out of place.

"Your boyfriend wouldn't happen to be named Daniel Fenton, right?" Barbara's voice was strained. She practically begged him to correct her and prove she was mistaken.

Damian tensed up but rushed over to help down the goons surrounding Dick, his heart thundering away in his chest. "What happened?" he growled, drawing his katana when a goon quickly pulled a knife. The sound of metal against metal almost blocked her voice, but Damian could still make out what she said.

"He's been taken by some cultists, they're broadcasting everything. They're setting up the ritual right now; they cut his arm and are using his blood mixed with black paint to mark the ground. I'm pretty sure he's in shock, he barely reacted to the cut."

"Oh, shit!" Steph cursed, "not the boyfriend!"

"Where?" he grunted, parrying the knife away and kicking the guy over the railing. The man's scream cut out as his body hit the floor. "Robin!" Father hissed in anger, quickly tying up Penguin.

"He'll live!" Damian shouted back as he marched toward the door and reached for his grapple gun, "Oracle! Where is he?"

The others could finish up here without him, they had already dealt with what the two rouges had been planning. All that was left was to gather up the goons and hand everyone over to the GCPD. His boyfriend, who hadn't texted him to tell him he had gotten home safe because apparently he'd been kidnapped by cultists, was more important than beating the crap out of some lowly goons.

"The Financial District, warehouse seven on 4th street." she huffed, the sound of keys clicking as she sent him the live footage. Clicking the side of his mask, he was met with the sight of his boyfriend bound to a chair and glaring up at the camera. His blue eyes were filled with more annoyance than fear, but that didn't reassure Damian at all when the camera backed up and revealed Danny's heavily bleeding arm.

They must have cut an artery with how deep the wound looked. The only reason he wasn't already dead from blood loss was because of how tight the ropes were, it seemed.

"Shit," Damian hissed as he shot his grapple up at the building across the street, "make sure an ambulance is en route, Danny's going to need it. They must have cut through his radial artery if not both."

He could hear Dick hold back a gasp at his words but ignored it, as he flew toward the roof and started running. A loud thud landed behind him, followed by footsteps as Father's gruff voice echoed into his ear as they ran. "Jets on its way, it'll be faster than the car." Damian silently changed direction, continuing to jump roofs.

"I'm coming with," Dick demanded, landing a couple buildings behind them. Damian grunted in acknowledgment, not caring what they did. He needed to be there, he needed to be there thirty minutes ago; when he should have been walking Danny home like he asked him too.

"GOTHAM!" the person holding the camera shouted with a slip of paper in their other hand, allowing the camera a glimpse of the words. Danny's eyes narrowed even more, something like disbelief filling his eyes as the man continued talking, "Tonight, you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

"Danny looks so disappointed," Dick snorted, pulling out his own grapple at the sound of the jet approaching. Of course, Danny was disappointed, it was a waste of paper just to remember so little. Damian agreed but couldn't do anything other than huff at his brother's comment, most of his focus on watching the video.

Dick wrapped an arm around him, firing at the jet just as it rocketed overhead. They were launched into the air and dragged over buildings as the jet flew toward their destination. Father dangled across from them for a second before the three of them latched onto the rail under the jet designed for quick departure. They sat in silence as all three of them focused back on the video feed.

"Now," the leader shouted, coming into view as the cameraman backed up. Danny and the freshly painted circle were in full view, but so was the group of people off to the side. Damian recognized two of the people on the ground. Nancy and Wyatt, Danny's forcibly appointed college guides or "parents".

Damian remembers the day Danny had been introduced to them, spouting vitriol in anger about them being acephobic and how the college wouldn't allow him to switch guides. Nancy was crying, her mascara running down her face. Wyatt was deathly pale, all the blood bleeding away from his face as he watched the cultists in what looked like horrified guilt.

"Let us begin," the leader cheered, grabbing Danny's shoulders from behind him. Danny glanced worriedly at the group and then at the camera like he couldn't decide what he should focus on, subconsciously cringing away from the man behind him.

"Join me as we summon our lord and savior!" Danny narrowed his eyes in anticipation, "The great tyrant of the dead!" he now looked confused, "The embodiment of war and bloodshed!" back to worried, "The one named PARIAH DARK!" amused, because of course, his boyfriend would find the name amusing, "THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!" now he was back to confused and worried.

The leader turned and walked back over to one of his followers, snatching an old book and opening it. Without any fanfare, the man began chanting, guiding his followers like he was the director of a twisted play.

"ten minutes," Father grunted, "Oracle, get everything you can on the ghost king. We need to know what we're about to run into. Call someone from Dark, we'll probably need their guide on how to deal with this."

Dick readjusted his grip, tightening his arm in reassurance as Danny's eyes glanced up and toward the rafters like he was looking for one of them. No, not like. He was looking for them; because Damian had promised him in the past that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. And if not them then he would. Danny had rolled his eyes at the time, sarcastically calling him his hero. But he believed him because Damian had promised.

Damian growled as one of the cultists smashed a bowl on the ground, splattering Danny in what he had to assume was the blood and paint mixture Barbera had told him about earlier.

Damian watched as Danny glared at the black stains all over his front with disdain, trying to mutter something through the gag in his mouth the camera couldn't catch. "Is he seriously worried about his shirt?" Tim huffed over comms, the sound of police sirens growing louder.

"I would too if that's the only nice shirt I had," Steph grumbled before shouting something at someone.

"My boyfriend owns more than one shirt, Spoiler." Damian hissed.

"No offense, Damian," Steph laughed, "but your boyfriend looks like he crawled out of a dumpster after losing a fight against one of your raccoons."

"Oh, give him a break! The poor boy's just been kidnapped, of course, he looks bad." Barbera chided.

Damian went to respond but stopped to watch as another cultist stepped forward and tossed salt at Danny. Danny shook his head and glared at the cultist, only to be slapped in the face with another handful of salt for his efforts.

"That's one way to rub salt in the wound," Jason huffed, "make sure you kick that one in the dick for me."

"With pleasure," Damian grumbled, leaning back to try and see the warehouse they were heading toward. "Seven minutes," Father added, noticing how impatient Damian was starting to get.

they silently watched as the cultists continued chanting, Barbera occasionally telling them things she'd found. (She was having difficulty connecting with The Dark members, something about an unexpected mission off-world.)

Danny was starting to look tired, his face paler than usual (A hard feat, considering his boyfriend looked like a fresh corpse on a good day. If he didn't know any better, he would think his boyfriend had never spent a second in the sun his entire life.)

Suddenly, Danny started to cough, shaking his head, clenching his eyes closed in pain for a second before focusing back on the leader. "The blood loss is starting to catch up to him," Tim commented as Danny glanced up at the rafters again, "let the hospital know to have extra blood ready."

"Got it," Barbera agreed, still typing away. "No one's answering, I'm going to try Constantine, now."

"Two minutes," Father warned, getting ready to jump. Damian steadied himself, leaning forward to time his jump correctly. "Shit," Jason cursed, drawing Damian's attention back to the video in time to watch as a cultist raised a bloody blade into the air and slammed it into Danny's chest. "You need to get there, now!"

The cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who was now standing in front of Danny. Danny's chest quickly stained red, his eyes wide in shock and horror.

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!" the leader's voice echoed in the silent warehouse like a gunshot. but Damian couldn't hear a single word the man spoke as he watched Danny lean forward in pain, trying to grab at his chest.

His restrained hands pulled against the rope, causing more blood to leak from his wound, his eyes clenching shut as his left hand started glowing green. He suddenly started screaming, his voice strained like it was being ripped out of his throat, barely muffled by the gag.

A bright light flashed, spreading from where he'd been stabbed and crawling over his body. His skin turned gray, almost blue, like a body found out in a snowstorm. His hair started floating in an absent current like he was underwater. and his eyes started glowing a bright blue, growing brighter and brighter.

"NOW!" Father shouted, launching off the railing and gliding through the air. Damian didn't hesitate to follow, all his training allowing him to go on autopilot as he used his cape to guide his fall.

Danny slumped forward, his head hanging limp as the warehouse went deathly silent.

Twisting in the air, Damian aimed his grapple hook and fired. It latched onto the warehouse and tugged him forward, his fall turning into a swing as he rocketed toward the glass window. "Your Highness?" someone asked, their voices glitching in and out with the video feed.

Damian watched as the Danny in the video slowly lifted his head in time with the Danny he could see through the quickly approaching glass. Damian only had a split second to register that his boyfriend's eyes were no longer blue, but bright green before his feet smashed through the window and he was landing in a roll on the ground.

Immediately, the camera feed disappeared from his view, allowing him to focus on what was around him. Father crashed through the skylight, showering the cultists in glass as he landed on the other side of the room. Dick landed next to him, fluidly popping up from his roll.

"Shit!" someone shouted, "it's the bats!"

"run!" someone else yelled.

Damian lunged forward, burying his fist into the first cultist's face with a satisfying crunch. The warehouse flooded with loud screams and rapid movement.

"Dammit!" the leader cursed, dragging Damian's attention over to him. He had left the circle at some point, crazily looking around to try and find a quick exit.

Abandoning the cultists he was fighting, Damian quickly sprinted at the man. Unsheathing his katana, Damian attacked. The leader used the bloody knife to parry, scrambling back to get away. Damian growled, about to follow when his eyes landed on Danny's black and blood-stained face right behind the man.

Bright Lazarus green eyes stared back.

~

Danny's vision tilted, or was that just his head? It felt like he was in one of those twisty things NASA shoves their astronauts in under the claim of training for departure and reentry into Earth's atmosphere. or maybe it felt like a hundred pounds of soaked cotton balls shoved behind his eyes and lit on fire?

he couldn't tell, at this point, his head could be detached for all he knew. Wait, no. He's done that before, this feels nothing like that. So, he still had his head... but does his head still have a body???

He would glance down, but he's afraid he won't be able to lift his head again... Had he lifted his head? or had the world moved around him like it does in the realms? Where was he?

Danny's core pulsed in confusion as someone stepped over the circle, quickly followed by someone else. No one was supposed to enter unless a deal was about to be made. Had he made a deal?

Blinking, he focused his blurry vision as much as he could on the figure slowly approaching him. Had he already been looking at them? His vision tilted again, making his gut roll in nausea. A voice slowly broke through the static ringing in his ears, and his shirt suddenly pulled in frightened hands.

"Your Highness! these are the sinners I told you about!" the voice screeched, a pitch so out of the norm that Danny could only assume the voice belonged to a small fly-turned-eldritch little girl.

Wait a moment, that was his title? Your Highness? seriously? Was everyone going to be calling him that? He was the king; wasn't it supposed to be majesty??? He'll ask Dora later; now wasn't the time.

"Oh great ghost king!" the high-pitched voice cracked and lowered back to one he was starting to get familiar with, "Pariah Dark, lend me your power so I might defeat him!"

Did he seriously just call Danny, Pariah??? The man, the leader of the cult, Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem, kneeled in front of Danny, his hands twisted into Danny's ruined shirt. The blurry figure froze, not moving now that Danny had broken eye contact to look down at the horrible man.

Danny might be completely out of it and have no idea what's going on anymore, (he was in so much pain, why was there so much pain? he wanted it to go away, why wasn't it going away?) but he's been trained for moments like this. He can't let anyone see him as weak, not when he has to protect the realms as is his kingly duty.

Clockwork thought it would be a good idea to drop him in the middle of a meeting with some demons right after Danny had pulled an all-nighter and fought three of his rouges. let's just say, Danny was not pleased with the old goat after that. On the other hand, every time he meets a new demon, they seem to respect him much more than before. (he's still not sure what he did to earn that, but whatever)

So, acting like nothing was wrong would be easy peasy.

Sitting up straight, like Dora taught, Danny gazed down at the man who had demanded his attention. He turned his jaw intangible, dropping the gag and allowing him to speak freely again, "why should I?" His voice was echoey, cold, and devoid of the usual emotion.

It was completely different than what it usually was. Like he was a completely different person. (He sounded like Dan) which caught Danny off guard, but he had to ignore it for now. Clockwork had said that Danny Phantom was different from King Phantom, maybe this is what he meant. (hopefully not, he hated sounding like Dan. Was this permanent? was he always going to sound like this???)

"Why?" the leader stumbled, letting go of Danny's shirt in surprise, "because I summoned you! I control you!"

He looked outraged like it was Danny's fault he was in this mess.

Snorting, Danny smirked at the man. "Why should I lend you my power when you haven't even gotten my name correct?" That was like common summoning courtesy 101, right? Frostbite said something like that... or was it Pandora? Wait... wasn't that the demon etiquette? What was the ghost-summoning etiquette then? Also, could he even lend his power to someone else??? like, demons could, but could Danny???

"Who cares!" the man snapped, picking up the knife he had dropped next to him and slashing it at Danny. He didn't even have to think as he instinctively turned his right arm intangible and snatched the man's wrist, clenching it tightly to make him drop it. He was not going to let the man stab him again, thank you very much.

his core grumbled in annoyance, scattering his thoughts for a moment. What was he doing? his arm burned like it had been shot with an ecto blast, but that wasn't right, it was cut by-

Oh, right. cultists. Gotta deal with that.

Fazing the ropes off, Danny carefully stood up. An almost silent whine drew his attention up; it was the fuzzy figure, or now that Danny could actually see a little easier, Robin. Huh, looks like the bats actually made it after all. A little late to the party, but oh well.

Wait...

Shit, he didn't need the Bats up in all of his business. Especially since everything the ritual did to him was recorded, the ghostly stuff included. (Was Damian watching? Did he think Danny was dead now? a normal person would have died right?) He'd have to clear up any misinterpretations later, right now he has to focus on gaslighting the Fuck out of Batman and his partners.

Maybe he won't even have to deal with the Justice League if he pulls this off.

ok, what do they think the situation is? A Cult recording themselves sacrificing some random dude, the dude gets stabbed in the chest (probably assumed dead, he'll have to fix that...), then some ghostly shit happens, and the dude has glowing eyes... which basically lines up with the socially accepted symptoms of possession.

Cool, cool, cool. Danny'll just act like he's possessing himself then. No need to make it weird. Or reveal that he's a halfa.

...

How the fuck was a ghost king, who for all intents and purposes, knows nothing about mortal life, supposed to act when possessing a random body????? does he call it his body?? vessel? homing beacon?

"-leas me this intance! I summoned you, you listen to me! ME! I summoned you. Therefore, you have to do as I say!" the leader's voice broke through Danny's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Again. Man, he seriously needs to get his shit together. Maybe it was the blood loss, they had cut him pretty badly earlier...

Sighing, which hurt a lot actually... he should probably fix that. Mentally shrugging, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to heal his wounds, which in turn settled his core a lot more than he expected. Maybe he shouldn't suppress it so much in the future... OR he should, and just not allow himself to be used in other rituals. Yeah, that's probably it. Man, he's going to have to talk with Frostbite after this is all over.

"You know nothing of which you speak, mortal," Danny grumbled, turning slowly to examine the warehouse. The bats had been fast, or Danny was just really out of it, because not only were all the cultists knocked out but the other hostages were gone.

"I know enough!" the man screeched, hitting his free fist against Danny's arm in an attempt to get Danny to release him. The only thing that was going to do was leave a bruise. Robin growled almost silently in response, which was weird. Why would Robin be upset about this man hitting Danny? or was he more upset along the lines of believing the random "hostage" Danny is "possessing" being hurt?

Yeah, that was probably it. All right, time to act all Ghost Kingly or whatever. If he was about to do something stupid then Clockwork would intervene. Since he hasn't so far, Danny was taking this as the old man giving his permission to proceed.

"Stop bruising my new favorite vessel, or I'll show you why it's a bad idea to mess with the dead." Danny hissed, pulling the man up so they were eye to eye. (it wasn't that hard, considering Danny was short as fuck. Who knew dying would stunt your growth?)

The man leaned back, his eyes wide in fear. His face turned green, or was that just the light from Danny's eyes? how bright were they glowing???

Oh, right, old ghost king, you need to focus here Danny.

Rolling his eyes, Danny harshly (not as hard as he could have though, even if he wanted to punt the man into the sun) tossed the man out of the circle and toward Robin. Nightwing, who Danny had just noticed was also there, quickly rushed over and wrangled the man over to the pile of cultists and tied him up.

"Your vessel," Batman grunted, stepping up to stand next to Robin. (Danny wasn't sure when, but Robin had left the circle. Which meant they probably had someone with magic experience telling them what to do now.)

"Yes, mine," Danny huffed, slowly turning to study the broken windows. his head was killing him, like four migraines stuffed into one killing him...

Do they not know how to use a door? Like, how often do they break through windows? Like, sure, it probably saves them a few extra seconds during a fight, but seriously? Do they at least pay the owners back for the property damage?

"He's not yours," Robin hissed, unsheathing his katana. Batman rested his hand on his shoulder, likely to warn Robin from doing something stupid.

Lifting his brow, Danny glanced down at his body. Did Robin know him? Or was he really just that protective of the people in his city? Even though Danny wasn't technically a Gothamite? He remembered Damian telling him at one point that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. Hmm, yeah, probably just very protective of the people in their city then.

Danny was the same way when he was Phantom; those tourists might not be native Amity Parkers, but they were his tourists. So back off, ghost number 700 of the week. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, that's probably it.

"He," oh wow, speaking about himself was so weird, "was used as a sacrifice to summon me, which makes him mine." Ignoring the fact that his body belonged to him beforehand because, again, this is his body, but you know, can't tell them that. Also, even if this was someone else's body, it'd technically be Danny's. Look, being the ghost king meant Danny owned a lot of weird things, one of those being literally anyone's dead body. (He refused to think about the fact that Pariah had technically owned his body.)

Glancing up, Danny watched as Batman tightened his grip on Robin's shoulder. "Release his body at once, you lowly demonic pit waste! His body-"

"OK!" Nightwing cut in, clapping his hands. "How about this," he glanced at Robin and then back at Danny, clearly nervous about Robin's outburst. Also, what the hell was pit waste? Like, obviously Robin was insulting him, but he could have at least used an insult Danny would understand.

Also, why was Robin insulting a supposedly all-powerful king of the dead? Wasn't he supposed to be one of the more rational vigilantes? Maybe he just got emotional when he thought he failed to protect someone? Which is completely understandable, Danny did not react well when he failed to keep someone safe.

"We apologize for any wrongdoing Robin's words have caused. You willingly go back to your realm, leave your vessel's body behind, and we" he gestured at himself and the other two, "don't get other magic users involved? how does that sound?"

"Is that a threat?" because seriously, that sounded exactly like a threat. Did they seriously not know how to talk to other dimensional beings? Shouldn't they, as Justice League members, know how to diplomatically converse with others? Especially ones that could kill them with a glance? (like, Danny obviously wouldn't do that, but come on!)

His core stuttered again, drawing his attention to the fact that Danny was running out of power to keep up whatever transformation he'd taken on. Which was weird because he's obviously not in his ghost form, so why was it so draining??? And there's plenty of ectoplasm in the air, so, like, this was just ridiculous.

"Whatever," Danny huffed, looking down to study the circle as Nightwing started waving his hands in denial. "I already healed the vessel, he'll technically live." He could feel the pull it had on his core, which meant he had no idea what would happen once it was broken. Would he feel the same things he felt earlier? or would it just be like letting go of someone's hand?

Man, he was too tired for this crap. He wanted to go home and sleep. maybe steel his boyfriend's hoodie and cuddle with Cujo.

You know what? Danny didn't care, he should just break the circle and act like nothing happened. Yep, that's the plan. Still, he should probably prepare for if something goes wrong, you know, like passing out.

Carefully, both because the world was still kind of spinning around him, and to keep the bats from reacting badly, Danny made his way to stand in front of the Vigilantes. They should have quick reflexes; if he passes out, they should be able to catch him, right?

Without warning, Danny dragged his shoe over the line and broke the circle. Immediately his core hissed and all of his energy disappeared. Crumpling forward, Danny barely processed the sight of Robin's panicked lunge to catch him before everything turned dark and his body felt on fire.

Next

[cheer-nympho]

Thinking about Eddie driving up to the quarry one night to try and sell to the teenagers that usually hang around here,

But when he gets there only one car is parked and hidden behind the bushes framing the road.

A very familiar BMW with it’s windows steamed up.

‘Of course Harringtons getting some again. Lucky fuck.’ Eddie thinks as he lights a smoke, if only to warm him up a bit in the cold night.

Damn. From the condensation dripping down the BMW windows, they’re having no problem keeping warm.

Even from the distance it takes effort to not startle when the hand slams against the back window, creating a messy handprint on the white glass. Even from here he can see it’s a mans hand. Steve, he assumes. Jesus, whoever he has in that back seat is clearly getting railed practically through the seats.

He should look away, really. Knows that this is a bit fucked up. But…he can’t actually see anything. And really, Harrington shouldn’t have brought her out to the towns most known hangout. And its not like he was straining to hear, they were just SO loud. And…deep?

Eddie’s not exactly a connoisseur in the different noises of women, try as he may, but he’s pretty sure he’s only hearing a man right now. Sure, its still a pretty high pitched and punched out sound but noticeably a dudes- which confuses Eddie for a minute.

Harrington must just be really sensitive and loud. Maybe that’s why he had so many girls falling over him, the noises certainly weren’t turning Eddie OFF the interaction.

He can physically see the change in the cars bouncing when he assumes they’re…’finishing off’

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s still here. He could have- no, he SHOULD have left ages ago. But not long after the bouncing stops, the car door swings over and 2 legs swing out, hands coming down to fix their socks- clearly having hastily thrown his clothes back on.

The only thing is…Eddie doesn’t remember Harringtons legs being so long? The body looks out or place sitting in the open door, not like the familiar and practically famous silhouette of Steve against his vehicle. And it hits Eddie square in the face when the guy stands upright.

Cause Eddie DOES know the guy. He’s just stomach tippinglys aware that it is NOT Harrington.

That’s Johnny. Eddies (admittedly one sided) rival at the hideout. A fucking punk. Not in the way the adults of Hawkins use the term, he’s literally a punk rocker.

And his punk rocker ass is currently stepping out of Steve Harringtons freshly christened back seat. Well that…can’t be right. Harrington must just…rent out his car to couple or something. That must be it. Rich people are weird like that.

His theory is very quickly destroyed as Johnny knocks lightly on the roof of the car, cigarette already in the other hand, and pokes his head into the back. He laughs before a pair of legs flop out of the door. Legs attached to someone clearly too tall for a backseat. Legs attached to someone very male.

He should go. He needs to go. If not because of how his stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself, then because his best-buddy Johnny just tipped his head non-subtly towards Eddie’s van.

‘Shit shit shit shit-‘ He puts the keys in as fast as he can with shaking hands.

— And he so nearly got away too. So nearly never had to look at that BMW or its occupants again, live his life carefree.

All hope of that was cruelly dashed when he left hellfire to see Steve leaning against his van.

He scanned the area, in hopes someone else had stayed late because he was pretty sure Steve was about to give him the “talk and you’re dead” followed by a beating up. And that would suck.

Nowhere else to go but forward, he clutched his DND bag and hobbled over to Harrington- who hadn’t offered him anything other than a blank stare.

“Harrington.”

“Munson.”

“Pretty late to be lurking around school. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t lecture me on lurking, man. We both know you were at the quarry.”

“I don’t really-“

“Johnny told me, would recognise your beat up ride miles away he said.”

Thankfully Eddie had enough brain power in him to add that to the list of reasons to fucking hate Johnny. In the time he had to scowl at the ground, Harrington had rounded behind him. Eddie span to meet him but was met with a rough hand to the chest.

He was pushed up against his van with a sharp movement, pulling a winded breath from him followed by a large ‘bang’ as Steve’s hand slammed to the side of his head.

“So, Munson. What did you see?”

“I didn’t see-“

“Try again.” A hand crept into his hair, not pulling but clearly threatening it with the way it was clasped.

“I saw…you and Johnny. In your car.”

Steve hummed and looked away from Eddie. “That’s not very specific, Eddie, try again.”

“Wha- I don’t know what you-“ The hand in his hair yanked, pulling his head so that even with their similar heights he was forced to look up at Steve, hands gripping uselessly to the side of his van.

“Try again.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s what he wanted.

“I saw Johnny fucking you.”

He managed to lift his gaze to look at Steve and was met with an almost dopey smirk, his eyes barely focused as they stared down at Eddie half closed. Eddie melted right into the wall of his van because Steve Harrington was looking him like he’d never been hornier in his life.

“Fuck. He was Eddie, he really was and it was so good. You saw it right? Saw the car moving? Shit, man, it’s hard to get it moving like that. He was so rough.” Eddie just stared as Steve started falling further towards him, sinking into the weird little hold they both had.

“But there’s just one problem Munson.” Steve said into the side of Eddie’s neck, making him shiver and use all his willpower to keep his head where Steve’s grip had moved it.

“What- What problem?”

“My car is just too small. We needed more space, I needed more space.”

He brought his free hand up and slammed it to the other side of Eddie’s head. “Do you think you might know anyone with something more…spacious?” And when Eddie clocked exactly what he was implying, what he was begging for- he had never been so thankful for his shitty van.

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

Relationship: Shadow Elemental Jungkook x Water Elemental Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence (someone you love is gonna die I'm so sorry)

Tags: Dystopia, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Character Death, Murder, Human Experimentation, War, Jungkook is a precious baby boy but he’ll also kill you, Elemental Magic, Shadow Elemental Jungkook, Fire Elemental Yoongi, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Outdoor Sex

Word Count: 25,983

A/N: Fun fact, Taehyung’s character is based off of Jeff Goldblum. Part of a spring offering collab.

Soundtrack: cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared. 

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.  

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt. 

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief. 

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers. 

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city’s outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land. 

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down. 

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.  

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.” 

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.” 

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug. 

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face. 

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole. 

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in. 

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful. 

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees. 

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would. 

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.  

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field. 

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.” 

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth. 

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart. 

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours. 

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone. 

“I don’t know.” 

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything. 

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag. 

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?” 

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property’s edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors. 

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour. 

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest. 

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass. 

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field. 

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles. 

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises. 

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population. 

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for. 

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.” 

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame. 

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.” 

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat. 

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent. 

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words. 

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins. 

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.” 

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess. 

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill. 

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon. 

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement. 

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled. 

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped. 

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed. 

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term. 

You probably would have done the same. 

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort. 

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them. 

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles. 

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.” 

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon. 

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once. 

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.” 

Your group’s sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work. 

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there. 

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care. 

“Not working?” 

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.” 

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway. 

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months. 

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.” 

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away. 

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?” 

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street. 

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor. 

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.” 

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run. 

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder. 

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.” 

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method. 

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?” 

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest. 

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms. 

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined. 

“How?” 

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.” 

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface. 

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you. 

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group’s elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal. 

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?” 

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach. 

“No.”  

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars. 

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.” 

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak. 

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.” 

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead. 

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head. 

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown. 

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to. 

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.” 

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology. 

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing. 

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you. 

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway. 

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training. 

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him. 

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong. 

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress. 

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans. 

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest. 

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?” 

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy. 

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.” 

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further. 

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.” 

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either. 

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders. 

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable. 

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair. 

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future. 

“What would you like me to do?” 

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly. 

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles. 

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?” 

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks. 

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.” 

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.” 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!” 

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself. 

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own. 

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone. 

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it. 

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far. 

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him. 

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends. 

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him. 

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way. 

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you. 

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly. 

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around. 

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It’s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group. 

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do. 

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact. 

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over. 

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold. 

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body. 

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says. 

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them. 

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist. 

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you. 

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s. 

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared. 

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you. 

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established. 

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case. 

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.” 

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.” 

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.” 

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins. 

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.” 

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head. 

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.  

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.” 

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers. 

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-” 

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move. 

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible. 

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either. 

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole. 

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow. 

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone? 

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body. 

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive. 

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead. 

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens. 

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing. 

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you’re in as though he can’t see you. 

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. 

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.” 

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing… 

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out. 

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route. 

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.” 

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet. 

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally. 

“He’s okay.” 

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor. 

“He’s bleeding.” 

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.” 

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.” 

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying. 

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world. 

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly. 

“But you didn’t?” 

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear. 

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then… 

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms. 

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him. 

“You never showed me before.” 

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm. 

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.” 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness. 

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing. 

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do. 

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you. 

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head. 

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?” 

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.” 

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?” 

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.” 

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason. 

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless. 

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from. 

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate. 

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung. 

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers. 

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune. 

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.” 

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man. 

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states. 

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you. 

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door. 

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.” 

5 MONTHS

Later, when you look back on this time in your life, you’ll see that everything that transpired during those precious months at the warehouse led up to this. 

At the moment, though, you don’t see anything but the beginnings of spring attempting to sprout from the hard winter earth. 

You sit on the roof atop the old milkcrate with your elbows on your knees. Your eyes follow a small butterfly floating through the light breeze. It’s quiet, just like any other day. 

Yoongi, Jessi, and Namjoon are inside, preparing for the trip you all will make through the woods to the Commune. Hoseok and Jungkook are somewhere at the perimeter of the woods, gathering whatever they can as food for the trip. 

You’ve learned that there is a runaway at the Commune whose Gift allows them to disguise the Commune, similar to Jungkook’s Gift of optical illusion through shadows. Except this Gifted can alter reality, bend the shape of time and space to make the Commune simply…. disappear to anyone they don’t want to find it. 

It sounds otherworldly, something you can hardly wrap your head around, but you must remind yourself that before your Gift had revealed itself to you, you had never believed in the supernatural or fantasy. Now you were everything a younger version of you couldn’t have begun to believe. 

A tiny part of you had been worried that you would get nervous, but you find you can’t sit still from the enthusiasm building up energy in your body to the point you might explode. It’s exciting, the knowledge that in a few short days, you won’t have to sit on top of this roof with your bow and fear that has seemed to make its home deep inside your chest. 

Soon you’ll be safe. 

You hold your breath as the butterfly gently flutters toward you. With a slight dip in its flight, the beautiful insect descends until it rests on your shoe. You’re pretty sure you learned somewhere that butterflies shouldn’t be touched, but you want to run your finger along its wings so badly. 

Just before you can touch it, a scream rings out, echoing against the warehouse and reverberating across the industrial park’s empty fields and parking lots. Crows take off into the sky, their cawing harmonizing with the shouts coming from behind you. 

With your heart beating in your throat, you stand and run to the other side of the roof toward the woods. 

“RUN! Y/N, FUCKING RUN!” 

You just barely catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s face as he sprints out of the woods before suddenly disappearing. Your blood becomes ice, piercing your veins as it glides through your body. Jungkook is a shadow now, you tell yourself. He didn’t really disappear.  

Hoseok stumbles out of the woods behind Jungkook, the wind at his feet enabling him to run across the field faster than an average human. 

At first, you think they’re just playing some silly game. Jungkook and Hoseok always mess around, pranking each other and playfighting. This seems like some elaborate joke until you watch Hoseok use his Gift to lift a giant chunk of concrete from the ground near the warehouse and throw it toward the woods. 

You watch with wide eyes as multiple masked men, wearing all black except for the blood-red insignia of the Republic on their chests, crash through the woods like a spring flood. 

Red Pin agents. 

They’re armed with guns, some still on their hips while others are holding them out in front of them as they swarm the warehouse’s perimeter. 

One of the men tilts his head up, his dark eyes locking with yours before you drop to your knees to hide behind the protective barrier around the roof. 

You throw your bow over your arm and head so it rests across your chest and back and crawl as quickly as you can toward the trapdoor. 

Your limbs tremble so terribly that you miss the last few rungs of the ladder and fall flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you. With a gasp, you touch the back of your head and try to blink away the stars swarming your eyes. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are coated red. 

“Shit! Get up, Y/N. Get the fuck up!” 

A pair of strong hands squeeze your biceps, and once your vision clears, you see that it’s Jessi hauling you to your feet. There are grease streaks on her face. You wonder if they’re from…

“The radio,” you croak, your lungs still struggling to work properly. 

“It was fucking rigged,” she spits, “I don’t know how I couldn’t sense it. But it was.”

And now they are here to collect you - or kill you, you aren’t sure. 

Maybe they would spare Jungkook. He has a Rare Gift; they would be stupid to harm him. The rest of you, though? Common Gifts - although Jessi’s is Uncommon, but certainly not Rare.

You feel lightheaded, likely from the fall and blood loss as it trickles down the back of your neck. It’s thick and wet. The smell of iron floods your nostrils and makes your stomach curl inward. It doesn’t matter, though. Jessi throws your arm around her shoulders and practically drags you through the warehouse. 

Inside is a tornado. Namjoon and Hoseok are scrambling to gather as many supplies as they can. Luckily, many of the essential items are already packed, though Jessi quickly tosses out the radio from the duffle bag she flings over her shoulder. 

“Stupid piece of fucking military bullshit,” she grumbles, giving the item a harsh kick with her steel-toed boots. “Gonna get us all fucking killed.” 

Hoseok lets out a whine. “Please don’t say that.” 

His face is bright pink, and his hands shake while he shoves clothes, random notes, and anything else he can find into his duffle bag. 

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jessi growls in response. Her tone has Namjoon and Hoseok picking up the pace. 

Somewhere below you, likely on the first floor, you hear the sound of glass breaking. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before, and in any other situation, you would have giggled. But right now, he looks so grim it makes all the hairs on your arms stand. “They’re inside.” 

The sound of shouting and boots slapping against the concrete floors gets louder the longer the four of you stare at each other. Even Jessi, with her commanding presence, seems to stand frozen in place. The shouting becomes easier to understand as death threats if your group refuses to cooperate and willingly turn yourselves in to the government. 

As if any of you would actually go back to the Labs. At least, not without a fight. 

“If we stand here, we are going to die.” Your voice trembles just barely above a whisper. It’s enough, though. 

Namjoon gives a curt nod and looks around the room you’re in - the room that was once your bedroom. Your little nest of blankets is in the corner, along with Jungkook’s and Jessi’s. The beds have been rifled through, likely by Namjoon and Hoseok collecting the warmest blankest to bring on the trip. 

“The window,” Hoseok finally says with a quiet hiss. The warehouse is relatively large, so it will take some time for the Red Pin agents to figure out which room you’re in. 

The four of you rush to the window and peer out of it. From what you can tell, there aren’t any Red Pin agents below. Even if there are, it would be a smaller number than is currently bulldozing through the warehouse. 

It’s a long drop, though. You’re on the third floor. 

“I’ll ease you down,” Hoseok insists. He props open the window and rests his hip against the wall. “Sit on the edge, with your feet out like that.” His fingers are delicate but firm as he positions Namjoon the way he needs him to be. Sweet Namjoon, willing to put his life in Hoseok’s hands and go first in case something terrible happens. 

Hoseok’s hands shake as he uses his Gift to slow Namjoon’s fall when the other man finally jumps from the window. 

Tears burn the corners of your eyes as you watch Jessi do the same as Namjoon. The two land on the ground roughly but without injury. Hoseok looks exhausted, likely from the pressure of not fucking up and less because of the exertion. 

“Come on,” he urges you as the Red Pin agents’ shouting gets louder. “They’re close.” 

You climb into the window, letting your legs dangle out the other side. Before Hoseok conjures a gentle breeze between his hands, you grab onto his wrist. Something is tugging at your chest; it has been since the moment you saw Hoseok and Jungkook escape from the woods. 

“Hobi,” you hope he hears the plead in your voice. “Where is Yoongi?” 

The way he grimaces shoots anxiety through you so severely that you feel your entire body jolt. 

“He and Jungkook are down there.”

“Down there…”

“Figh-”

Hoseok cuts himself off by letting out a shrill shriek when Jungkook suddenly materializes beside you. He has a deep gash on his cheek, blood pouring from the wound, coating his chin and neck deep red. His hair is matted and stands up on end, and there’s more blood all over his clothes, enough that you can’t tell if the blood is from him or someone else. 

“Get out,” he wheezes. When he grabs Hoseok’s arm, he leaves blotches of blood on his skin. “Hyung’s gonna blow it up.”

“Blow it up?” You hiss, twisting around to stare at Jungkook. 

It’s a mistake. 

His irises are dark and wide, so vast that his eyes are almost entirely black. It gives him a crazed look, like a wild animal backed into a corner with its teeth bared. 

What’s worse, it’s not just his eyes that are black. The veins in his neck are black like dark spiderwebs climbing up his throat and spreading down so far that it reaches the raised veins in the backs of his hands. He looks like he’s possessed, like the darkness of his Gift is consuming him whole. 

“Get out.” 

Before you can argue further, you feel Jungkook’s palm press between your shoulder blades, and suddenly you’re falling out of the window. 

When you open your eyes, you’re on the ground. Your upper body is propped up by Namjoon. His arms are wrapped around your torso, your back pulled against his chest to stabilize you. His chest rapidly raises and falls against you, but you hardly notice this. All you can focus on are the eyes staring back at you. 

“You okay, kid?”

Yoongi looks much like Jungkook. Blood is splattered across his face and staining his clothes. His faded pink hair is plastered to his sweat-drenched skin. He crouches beside you and Namjoon, one hand pressed into the grass to keep himself steady. 

From behind Yoongi, you can hear gunshots and screaming echoing through the warehouse. If Hell had a sound, you were sure it would be this. 

You try to turn to look at the building you’d just jumped from, but Yoongi grabs your chin. 

“Hey,” he lightly squeezes your cheeks. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything. You remember that?” 

You nod once Yoongi drops his hand from your face. You try not to shiver when the air blows against your now wet skin; try not to think about how your skin is now stained with someone else’s blood. 

“Hyung!” 

Yoongi turns toward the warehouse. Now that he’s distracted, he can’t stop you from peering around him to get a look at the building that you’ve made your home for the past five months. 

What looks like black smoke furls around the building. From how the tendrils move like snakes through busted-out windows, you know it isn’t smoke but shadows. Through an open window, you watch one of the shadows slip around a Red Pin agent’s throat like a noose. It tightens and tightens, squeezing the man so hard his face turns purple and his eyes water. 

Before you can witness more, your view is again obscured by Yoongi. 

“Hyung!” 

Jungkook’s shout sounds more desperate than the first, and you feel your heart constrict at the pained edge of his tone. 

Yoongi must notice the desperation, as well, because he quickly grabs your hand. Fire swirls between his fingers as he presses his palm against yours. 

“Yoongi, please-”

“You need to listen to me.” 

He presses his hand against yours even harder, only letting up when you give in and summon little streams of water to intertwine with his fire. You don’t like how rushed your secret handshake feels.

“I need you to look after Jungkook. The kid’s stubborn as fuck, worse than you.”

“Why are you saying this?” 

Yoongi’s gives you a small smile, lifting his hand to swipe his thumb against your cheek. The blood there mixes with the tears you hadn’t realized you’re shedding. 

“Because it’s what I need you to do.” 

Taking your face in his hands, Yoongi pulls you close to kiss your forehead. You feel Namjoon lift you to your feet when Yoongi lets go. Hoseok had cushioned your fall from the window, but you’re weak from blood loss and the exhaustion that fear can instill in the bones. 

Before you can say anything more, Yoongi sprints toward the warehouse, disappearing through the backdoor and into the darkness that surrounds the building. 

“Namjoon, let me go!” You scream as your friend squeezes his arms around your waist to haul you toward the woods. Jessi and Hoseok wait for you there, hidden within the trees, as the sounds of fighting and death from the warehouse get louder. 

Your friend lets out a low grunt when you dig your heels into the ground, but he’s stronger than you, and the action only deters him for a moment. He lifts you a bit, practically carrying you. 

Namjoon only stops when a flash of bright red light turns the entire industrial park dark for a split second before a deafening crash rings through the air. Even though your feet aren’t on the ground, you can feel the ground shake with the explosion that busts all the windows out of the warehouse. The entire building bursts into flames, turning the walls black. Balls of fire fly out of the broken windows, igniting the grass below. 

You crumble to the ground once Namjoon reaches the woods.

“We have to go,” Hoseok pleads. When you look up at him, his cheeks are streaked with tear tracks, too. 

Turning back to the fiery scene across the field, you watch a dark spot slither from shadow to shadow in the grass until it merges with your own shadow beside you on the ground. You tremble when Jungkook wraps his arms around your shoulders. His body is still crawling with dark veins, and the whites of his eyes are now entirely black. 

“Where is he?”

You glare into Jungkook’s eyes and swallow down the fear they strike in your heart. Like black holes, ready to absorb anything unlucky enough to fall in their path. 

The frown Jungkook wears intensifies. 

“Jungkook. Where. Is. He.” 

Jungkook closes his eyes and shakes his head, jaw clamped shut so tightly you can see the muscles ripple under his skin. When he opens them again, black tears pour from his empty eyes.

It’s like all the air is sucked out of your lungs, like a punch to the throat. You’re breathing in as hard as you can, as fast as you can, but nothing’s staying. Everything is too cold. You can feel the blood crusting on your skin, the throb in the back of your head. Black ash falls from the sky, further obstructing your ability to breathe.

Everything is too much. 

“Get off of me.” 

You try wiggling out from Jungkook’s grasp, but he doesn’t let go. 

“We have to keep moving.” 

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

Jungkook lets you push him away. He leans back on his heels and watches you. Or, you think he is. It’s hard to tell where those black eyes look, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Yoongi,” you moan, sagging forward to dig your fingers into the ground. You rip tufts of grass until all that’s left is dirt. 

With closed fists, you beat into the now bare ground, over and over, until your knuckles split open, and Jungkook has to scoop you into his arms to stop you. Your fingers are raw and bloody, and you don’t feel any of it. Nothing at all. Just numb. Numbness spreads through your body like Jungkook’s black veins spread through his. 

None of this is real. 

“Jungkook,” you sob into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around his shoulders. He holds you bridal style with one arm wrapped around your torso and the other under your legs. 

“I know.” 

“He’s coming back, right? How will he find us if we keep going?”

Jungkook tightens his hold on you, cradling you against his chest. You assume he’s following the group deeper into the woods, but your eyes are closed, and your face is buried in his neck. He smells like smoke and blood, but you all do now. 

“Jungkook, he’s coming back, right?”

A wet sob cuts through the otherwise quiet woods somewhere in front of you. You think it’s Hoseok, but you can’t tell. 

“This way,” Jessi whispers. 

There’s shuffling, then only the sound of feet crunching dead leaves and snapping twigs. Jungkook jostles you slightly to adjust his grip on you, murmuring gentle apologies every time he does. 

“How are you holding up?” This time it’s Namjoon. He sounds close, like he’s walking in line with Jungkook. 

“I can keep us hidden until we’re deeper in, but then I’ll have to stop,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, as though he doesn’t want to admit what he must say next. “I’m exhausted.”

“Want me to carry-”

“No.”

Jungkook barks his response with an aggression you’ve never heard from him. He squeezes you, almost protectively close to his chest, as Namjoon assures him everything is fine. It’s hard to focus on the men’s hushed voices when you waver in and out of consciousness. 

Eventually, all you can see when your close your eyes is a flash of bright light, like fire engulfing your brain. 

And then everything goes black.

SHELTER #2

Hoseok’s hands shake as he holds the flint rock in one and the steel knife in the other. Twigs snap beneath his boots as he adjusts his squat. Each fidget draws your attention despite your desire to keep your eyes off the sight of Hoseok struggling. 

After three failed attempts at creating a spark, Jessi quickly snatches the items from Hoseok’s grasp and kneels beside the fire pit. 

“You’re gonna fucking stab yourself,” she grumbles, though she, too, struggles the first few tries. Eventually, the little pile of tinder ignites, filling the circle of rocks you’d gathered with a hot fire whose heat licks at your ankles. 

Namjoon fists your jacket sleeve and drags you backward, nearly toppling you over and making the wet grass stain the butt of your pants a dark green. 

It rained today. You can’t help but wonder if it washed away the blood and soot from the warehouse or if more Red Pin agents will show up and find evidence of what happened there.  

“You’re sitting too close.” 

“I’m cold.” 

“You’re too close, Y/N.” 

You glare at Namjoon, opening your mouth to retort that you’re an adult who can take care of yourself when a sob cuts through the tension between you. 

Hoseok shudders with each heave of his shoulders, nearly folding in on himself, with his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed against his eyes. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon calls out; his voice barely registers over Hoseok’s crying. 

“It makes me think of him.” It’s all Hoseok says, all he needs to say. 

Namjoon and Jessi’s expressions crumple like Hoseok’s body in the dirt. You watch them lock eyes with each other, something silent and private passing between them. You don’t know why, but it pisses you off. It shouldn’t, though. 

Something dark and sick is growing inside you, this angry mass doubling in size every time someone cries for Yoongi. He was your best friend. He found you, saved you, and helped you see that there was more to life. The rest of them don’t get it. Yoongi didn’t mean to them what he meant to you. 

Attempting to hoard grief all to yourself isn’t fair to you or the rest of your group, but you want to do it anyway. You want to be selfish because you feel you deserve the right to hurt the most. The rest of them don’t get it. 

Rather than voice your frustration, you bite your bottom lip and dig your fingers into the dirt, winding up your whole body into a tight fist that’s not quite ready to spring but prepared all the same. If you let yourself loose, you know you’ll say something you shouldn’t – something you know you don’t actually mean and that you’ll regret, if not tomorrow, then ten years from now. Assuming you survive that long. 

For now, survival should be the only thing on your mind. 

The fire sputters slightly. A section of the tinder is wet from the morning’s rain. You hold out your hand, palm facing the sky, and wait. 

Hoseok’s sobs have subsided by the time you’ve drawn the moisture out of the wet wood. It sits in a small pool of water in your palm. A reckless part of you wants to plunge your hand into the fire, but you spread your fingers apart instead. The water falls through your fingers and soaks into the grass. 

The fire’s crackling overpowers the silence that blankets the four of you. Each of you stares deep into its flames, streaks of orange burning in your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook’s invisibility shield (“Optical illusion, guys.”) is strong enough to hide the fire. You’d never thought to ask if he can maintain the shield when he’s not even around. 

Twigs snapping in the distance make you reach for the knife sticking out of the ground beside you. Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned by the sound, but his sense of smell as the air carries it to him may be compromised from all the crying. His nose has been running since your group left the warehouse. 

You haven’t cried since you woke up inside the first abandoned shelter Taehyung mentioned would be on your path to the Commune. Even if you wanted to cry, you wouldn’t be able to. The part of your chest where the sobs should come from just feels empty. 

The rustling in the woods increases until you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Jungkook emerges from the darkness with a satchel – Yoongi’s satchel – thrown across his chest and a stone bowl in his arms.  

“Rabbit. I skinned them already. I thought you guys might not wanna see…” Jungkook trails off when his bright eyes fall on Hoseok’s tear-stained face. With a quiet sigh, he crouches beside the fire and slides the satchel off, handing it to Namjoon. 

“Fruits,” he mumbles, not looking in Namjoon’s direction once the older man takes the bag from him. Instead, and unsurprisingly, Jungkook’s eyes are on you. 

You look away. There’s too much in those eyes, full of constellations of stories you’re too weak to learn. Bending your knees, you draw your legs against your chest and hug them, returning your gaze to the fire while Jungkook prepares to cook the meat and Namjoon handles the other food. 

Yoongi asked you to look after Jungkook, but it’s he who has taken care of the group. Namjoon seems too busy fussing over Hoseok, and you know you aren’t any help. Jessi is the leader by default now that Yoongi isn’t here to take charge. She’s strong and has kept the group on a tight schedule. You know it’s her way of coping. There’s no time to lose herself in mourning if she charges ahead. Having an end goal gives her purpose. 

If only you knew what yours was. 

SHELTER #3

Your feet sink into the ground with each step you take. The sand feels soft between your toes as you wiggle them, watching the little black grains roll across your skin and make your toes disappear. Your steps halt just before you reach the water’s edge, where bright orange waves lap at the black shore. The shore stretches in both directions, a black stripe for as far as you can see. A ghost of a memory tickles your brain. Jack-o’-lanterns lit by tealight candles, and the smell of cinnamon. 

Suddenly, the orange waves kick up in speed, crashing against the shore more violently. The force causes black sand to spray into the air. You can taste it in your mouth, feel it gritty against your teeth and harsh on your tongue. 

You try to lift your hands to cover your face, but you find that you can’t. They’re trapped to your sides by long vines that wrap around your wrists and dive deep into the sand, rooting you in place. You try to pull out of the vines’ grasp. Thorns dig into your skin so deeply that black blood oozes from the jagged puncture wounds the thorns leave behind. 

“Don’t struggle.” 

The voice brings stillness to the whirlwind of sand and the crash of waves. 

You already know who it is, but your body still feels surprised when Yoongi takes slow steps toward you from the other end of the shore. He’s dressed in a flowy white shirt and loose white pants. When you look down, you realize you’re matching. 

“What do I do?” 

Yoongi ignores your question. His fingers run along your forearm, his index finger dipping into one of the holes in your wrist, still dripping black blood. It doesn’t hurt, even though you know it should. 

Dark cat eyes examine the black that stains his fingers. After another silent minute, Yoongi wipes your blood on the front of his shirt. You don’t know why you’re worried that he’ll ruin it. 

“Jungkookie is here.” 

“What?” 

Yoongi walks toward the orange ocean. You scramble to keep up, but the sand grabs your ankles and pulls you back every time you step forward. 

“Yoongi! Wait for me!” 

“You don’t need me anymore. This is a good thing.” 

Your friend nods his head before stepping into the water. The moment his foot touches the orange waves, the entire ocean bursts into flames. 

“Yoongi!” You shriek, running as fast as possible, but the sand won’t let you go. It sucks you down until you’re up to your knees in the soft grains trapped in the hold of the shore. Your brain knows it’s hopeless, but your body keeps struggling even though Yoongi told you not to. 

Suddenly, you feel rough hands grab your arms, and you’re being pulled into the sand, the grains filling your mouth and nose until your lungs are full and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay.” 

Fingers trail along your hairline, dragging down the length of your face and tracing your jaw. Rather than cold sand, you feel something solid and warm wrap around your body. 

“Breathe. In and out, okay? Inhale… exhale… I got you. It’s okay. I got you.” 

As your body returns to you, you realize your face is pressed against smooth skin. You can taste salt on your lips, but no sand. When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy and wet. 

You’re crying. Sobbing, actually. 

“I miss him, too. So fucking much.” 

Jungkook is crying, too. His voice remains steady, though. He’s always so steady now. The shy, fumbling boy of the warehouse is no more. In the time since the Red Pin attack, Jungkook changed. You all did, but he seems to have changed the most. His eyes still hold the stars, but the darkness seems… deeper now. His aura has lost its boyishness. 

The abandoned building where your group has taken refuge is dark, only lit by the moonlight filtering through the slotted windows. You think it may have once been a cabin for a couple or small family. 

Jungkook cradles you in his lap. The two of you are wrapped in thick blankets, cocooned away from the world. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Jessi is asleep in the corner of the room, while Namjoon and Hoseok have made their beds in the room across the hall. You’re all accustomed to loud noises at night. Nearly all of you have suffered from night terrors at some point. 

“It’s okay. You’ve had to listen to me cry in my sleep, too,” Jungkook points out with a small smile. 

It’s a breathtaking smile. Jungkook’s cheeks shine with fresh tears, but his bunny teeth poke out, and his eyes crease with the sincerity in that smile. It warms the empty parts of your chest – like hot tea poured into a cool mug. Perhaps the odd feeling in your stomach is similar to the bubble of water boiling. 

“You’re cute when you cry. I’m an ugly crier,” you sniff. It’s stupid to say, but you don’t want to think about how sad you all are. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. All the boogers and the dumb faces I make.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. His hair is getting long again. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Don’t lie,” you try to joke, but your voice comes out small and unsure rather than teasing. 

“I would never lie to you.” 

As if to seal the promise, Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead in a kiss. Your fingers ache from how tightly you squeeze the fabric of his shirt into your fists. 

Every day you trudge through the woods in search of the Commune, and every day you live in fear of the Red Pins finding you once again. But being in Jungkook’s lap, face nuzzling the crook of his neck, his strong arms holding you against his chest… It’s the only time you genuinely feel safe. 

SHELTER #4

“When was the last time,” Jungkook pauses to pull his shirt over his head, “you took a bath?” 

Your eyes roam the expanse of his broad chest, the dips and valleys of his abdomen, and the sparse dark hairs disappearing into the waistband of his pants. You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before. It’s a treat every time, although you feel a twinge of guilt from looking now. Running along his ribcage is an extended cut, red with scabs. Jessi did her best to stitch Jungkook up with whatever she had in the supplies Namjoon and Hoseok snatched before you fled the warehouse. It’s a pretty nasty wound, but it seems to be healing well. Part of you wonders if exposing it to lake water is a good idea, but you keep the thought to yourself. Jungkook is tired of everyone babying him. He hasn’t told you as much, but you can tell.    

“I’m too ashamed to answer that question.” 

“You and me both,” Jungkook snorts. 

He removes the harness strapped around his thigh, taking the large knife off along with it. After the Red Pin attack, you now know how pointless it is to carry any weapon other than a gun. However, none of you have guns, though you still believe your Gifts are better than any human-made weaponry. 

“Too bad we don’t have, like, soap and shit,” you grumble, stomping a cluster of wild mushrooms growing along the bank of the lake you’d found. 

Jungkook’s tattooed fingers play with his belt buckle while his big, brown eyes flit up to meet yours. 

“Sorry!” You rush to apologize and turn your back to him. Heat creeps up your neck, spreading across your cheeks and biting at your ears’ tips. 

Your discomfort worsens when you hear a quiet chuckle rumble from Jungkook. There’s the rustle of clothes and, soon after, a light splash that tells you he has eased himself into the lake. 

“You’re good.” 

When you turn around, Jungkook isn’t facing you. He dips his head back to wet his hair, running his fingers through it a few times before righting himself again, still facing away from you. The water reaches his lower back when he’s standing, but you can tell he is crouching slightly because the gentle waves lap higher up on his back. It’s not dirty water since the lake has a fresh stream feeding it, which ensures that the water isn’t stagnant, but it’s murky enough from the plants growing at the bottom that you can’t make out the rest of Jungkook’s body. Not that you want to, considering he’s naked. 

Thankful for the privacy, you quickly strip out of your clothes and step into the water. You keep a respectful distance between you, choosing not to drift too far into deeper water. You much prefer to at least touch the sandy bottom with your tiptoes. 

Slipping deep enough that only your head remains above water, you watch Jungkook as he uses an old rag to scrub his arms. You’re both disgustingly grimy. 

“Lucky we found this place,” you think aloud as you begin to work on scrubbing down yourself, as well. 

“We are.” 

“Jungkook. You can look now.” 

His head snaps up, gaze locking with yours for a split second before he averts his eyes again. You’re close enough to see pink bloom across his face. 

You clear your throat to fill the silence when he says nothing. Part of you thought it might spur him to talk, but the tension between you remains. 

You’re not sure when it first developed. Part of you knows it has always been there, perhaps dormant or less noticeable. Much of it falls back on Jungkook’s behavior, you think as you watch him slide the rag down his chest. The tension has always lived in the dark expanse of his eyes and how he searches for you, always you, maybe without even realizing it himself. It’s gotten worse since you’ve started waking up every morning wrapped in his arms and nuzzling his neck. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we get to the Commune?” Jungkook finally speaks. When he does, you force yourself to drop your gaze, focusing intently on continuing to wash yourself to the best of your ability with the lack of soap.

“Eat food that isn’t rabbit, hopefully.” 

“Hey!” 

A giant splash of water hits you in the face. You gasp, rushing to wipe away the droplets clinging to your eyelashes. 

“F–fuck you!” You sputter. 

“It’s not my fault rabbits are the easiest things to catch around here. I’m doing my best!” 

Another splash slaps into you. It isn’t hard enough to sting, but it’s a splash all the same. 

“You’re real dumb if you think you can start a splashing war with someone who has a water Gift,” you challenge. 

“I’m not scared of you,” Jungkook sticks out his tongue after he challenges you. 

All it takes is a flick of your wrist and a wave higher than most nearby trees descend on Jungkook. It doesn’t ever reach him, though. The sheer panic that contorts his face is enough to warm your body with evil satisfaction. You gently let the wave descend into the lake, barely kicking up enough to splash Jungkook against the chest. 

“I showed you mercy. You’re welcome, young man.” 

Jungkook lets out a loud snort, eyes rolling into the back of his head in defiance. “You’re insane.” 

“You provoke me.” 

You don’t like how high his eyebrows arch, unable to decipher what an expression like that is supposed to mean. 

“I provoke you? In what way?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You literally did it just now.” 

Jungkook straightens up a little. The action makes more of his torso rise from the water. You can’t help but drop your eyes to the water level that has fallen so dangerously low on his hips. 

When your gaze finally returns to his face, Jungkook is wearing an exaggerated pout. 

“I’m innocent.” 

“Pfft,” you scoff. 

By this point, your fingers are starting to get wrinkly, and the position you’re standing in to ensure your whole body is covered in the water is becoming uncomfortable. You’re just about to tell Jungkook that you’re done playing games – that the two of you need to hurry up before the rest of your group gets worried about you being gone for too long – when the man disappears. 

“Oh my god, Jungkook-ah, why?” 

Your eyes dart around the lake, eyeing each shadow suspiciously. You don’t think you see Jungkook’s actual body underwater, so all you can guess is that he’s doing his creepy crawly shadow-walking just to bother you. 

“This is doing the exact opposite of proving that you’re innoce–” You interrupt yourself with a loud gasp when you feel fingers squeeze your bare hips. 

“Boo,” Jungkook deadpans, but his face quickly cracks into a smile. 

You want to laugh at yourself for being so easily startled, to match Jungkook’s joyfulness, but all you can focus on is the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your skin. 

“Jungkook…” 

“Hm?” 

He’s absentminded as his gaze drops down to stare at your lips. You automatically lick them, almost on instinct, unable to stop yourself. Jungkook follows your lead, though he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth instead of settling his face. If that action didn’t already make your stomach twist into a knot, the darkness of Jungkook’s gaze does. 

“I…” Jungkook rubs slow circles into your hips with his thumbs, following the curve of your hip bone and effectively interrupting your thoughts. 

You don’t know who leans in first, but it doesn’t really matter. The moment Jungkook’s lips connect with yours, it’s as though your brain completely empties. 

It’s a hesitant kiss, just a light press of Jungkook’s closed mouth against yours. He grows bolder when you don’t pull away, parting his lips slightly. He nibbles at your bottom lip, prompting you to part yours as well, allowing him to slot your lips together. 

You bring your hands up to squeeze Jungkook’s biceps, coaxing a slight whine from him when your nails lightly dig into his skin. The sound is gentle but needy, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. You’ve never heard Jungkook sound like that, never heard anyone sound like that. 

You’ve never even kissed anyone before. 

It’s not what you expected, though you haven’t spent much time thinking about physical intimacy. Being trapped in the Labs, it never seemed like something you’d have the privilege of exploring. Once you escaped, there was only one person you ever thought about being intimate with – and even then, it was far more wholesome than this, you now realize. This… is different. 

Jungkook trembles, and you feel his hands flex against your hips as he tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. 

A few times, the two of you fumble, noses bumping into each other and teeth nipping a bit too hard. It makes you wonder if this is Jungkook’s first kiss, too. You decide it doesn’t matter if it is. It’s warm and soft, and Jungkook tastes sweet, like the berries Hoseok picked earlier today. You’re dizzy; Jungkook stealing the air from your lungs. Your body screams for you to pull away, but you cling to him tighter.  

Something firm brushing against your inner thigh brings you back to reality. You nearly jump out of Jungkook’s grasp, chest heaving and fingers trembling beneath the water. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hurries to speak before you do. 

Before you can say anything in return – though you’re not sure what you want to say – Jungkook is gone. All that’s left are his clothes still neatly folded on the grass beside the lake and a thrum of excitement beating through your body to the tune of guilt and shame. 

Kissing Jungkook felt good. And that is why it can never happen again.  

SHELTER #5

If you ever told Jessi that you see her as a mother figure, she would probably kill you. You consider this as she wields a machete, hacking away at the brush that blocks your path as you continue toward the Commune. The muscles in her bicep and shoulders flex with each swing. It’s sexy and terrifying, and you can only admire her strength when the rest of your group is floundering. 

The guys trail behind, practically dragging their feet. It’s Jungkook’s fault (and maybe yours, but you won’t think about that). 

Ever since the kiss, Jungkook has avoided you. You haven’t interacted with each other in days, aside from the cuddles you share at night when nightmares overtake you. 

Hoseok and Namjoon have also noticed the shift in his behavior, though they believe it’s grief causing him to distance himself from the group. They hang back, letting you and Jessi march forward, so they can talk and do whatever boys do to cheer each other up when the world is falling apart. 

You try not to think about it too much, but Jessi and her motherly instincts don’t let you know peace. 

“Yoongi wouldn’t want us to be so fucking sad all the time.” Jessi lets out a grunt as she hacks at a particularly thick tree branch blocking your path. “If he was here right now, he’d kick all of our asses with a quickness.” 

She’s right; it goes without saying. 

Letting her arm fall to her side, Jessi uses her free hand to wipe away the sweat that collects on her forehead and drips down the side of her face. She looks at you like she’s waiting for you to do something. The expression makes you feel uneasy. 

“What?”

“Did you even hear the shit I was saying?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “About what?” 

Jessi lets out a frustrated huff and again brings the machete down on the tree branch. It splinters and breaks, providing enough weakness for Jessi to stomp down on it with a steel-toed boot. 

“Did you and Jungkook fuck?” 

“What?!” 

When you gasp, you’re sure you inhale a bug, sucking it right down your throat and probably into your fucking lungs for all you know. It sparks a terrible coughing fit that makes Jessi pause to slap you between the shoulder blades a few times. 

“Why–” you heave, tears in your eyes, “why would you think that?” 

Jessi pushes forward through the forest brush with a roll of her eyes. 

“It’s obvious there’s something going on. The poor boy’s moping around after you like a lovesick puppy. Even worse than usual.” 

If you weren’t already sweating your ass off, you would be heating up from Jessi’s astute observations. 

“I don’t know what you're–” 

“Aish, fucking save it, babe,” Jessi interrupts you with a wave of the hand that isn’t holding the machete. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to feel good. Life is fucked as it is. Stop ruining good things for yourself and live as best as you can in the circumstances we got, alright?” 

She gives you a stern look from the side, a look that you quickly try to avoid by ducking your head down. Suddenly, the ground is fascinating. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right, and I don’t have a fat ass.” 

“Really!” You insist. The desperation in your voice is pathetic and telling. 

“Yoongi would want you to live, hun. I know he would. And you wanna know how I know?”

There isn’t a need to say anything; once Jessi has her mind set on something, she sees it through until the end. 

“There wasn’t a fox in the woods. It was a Red Pin scout.” She gives you a pointed look. “But ignorance is bliss, and he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to live without more fear, so he didn’t tell you. So do whatever you need to do to fix things with Jungkook and be fucking happy.” 

You fall behind as Jessi speeds up, the path much clearer now than it had been just a few feet before. The guys are still meandering further back, so you fall somewhere in the middle, close enough to see everyone at either end but far enough that you can be alone with your thoughts without interruption. 

Jessi is right, but it feels wrong to let yourself feel good. How can you be happy when Yoongi isn’t here? There is a bit of survivor’s guilt clutching at your heart, but most of your struggle is from the pain of simply not having Yoongi around. Being happy feels like it would be a betrayal of some kind. 

Yoongi would disagree. He would give you that gummy smile and poke you in the ribs until you cry, and then he would tell you that you’re being an idiot. 

With a sigh, you break into a light jog to catch up with Jessi, Yoongi’s voice echoing for the millionth time in your head. 

You and Jungkook.

COMFORT

You are ashamed to admit that you take longer to apologize to Jungkook than Yoongi took to apologize you to. 

In fact, you never apologize to Jungkook before your group makes it to the Commune. It never seemed like the right opportunity came. There was always someone else around, or Jungkook looked exceptionally sad, or you told yourself you would say something once he woke up but got caught up watching how beautiful he looks when he sleeps cuddled against you every night. 

It’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. The thing about tomorrow is that it always comes until it doesn’t. 

And then suddenly, you’re all stumbling into a clearing in the woods that leads to what looks like a hole in the trees, and there is magic dancing in your bones that pulls your thoughts away from anything but the man who stands to greet you.

Kim Taehyung is not what you expected from the leader of a notorious Gifted runaway commune that has evaded the authorities for years. Admittedly, you had few expectations – too busy worrying about surviving the trek to think about what the man would look like when he finally greeted you. Still, it’s a lot to process. 

“Welcome, my little Gifts!” 

The lithe man stretches his long arms out as wide as his wingspan will let him. Your group exchanges looks when Taehyung doesn’t move, his eyebrows arched as he waits. 

The six of you stand at the Commune entrance, marked by two trees manipulated into forming a magical-looking arch. Large flower bushes and more trees flank the arch, hiding whatever may lie within the Commune. Try as you might, as you peer over Jessi’s shoulder, you can’t see through the thicket. 

Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh, but his arms don’t seem to tire. He wiggles his fingers as though he’s beckoning you into his arms. The movements, although small, make the numerous gold bracelets that line his wrists clink together like wind chimes. He wears loose slacks and an oversized white silk shirt. A knitted shawl with intricate patterns stitched into it in earth tones hangs over his broad shoulders. The tassels sway in the wind. You don’t know how, but he smells like summer. 

“Do you not seek comfort?”

A loud whimper erupts from the middle of your huddle, and suddenly Jungkook pushes past Jessi and Namjoon. He stumbles the few steps it takes to reach Taehyung. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Jessi whisper-yells, but it’s too late. Jungkook has his face buried in Taehyung’s chest, a sob tearing through his body. 

“Shhh, my little Gift, you are home.” 

Taehyung keeps his eyebrows arched, giving the rest of your group a pointed look. It takes hardly a second before Hoseok follows Jungkook, launching himself into Taehyung’s embrace with such power you’re shocked the Commune leader manages to stay upright. Hoseok’s cries harmonize with Jungkook’s until Namjoon eventually joins. 

Never one to open up about sadness, Jessi stares down the Commune leader with a challenging look that would make the bravest soldiers shit themselves – and yet Taehyung merely smiles the strangest, most charming smile you’ve ever seen. 

Before you know it, you’re standing alone because Jessi has a singular tear sliding down her round cheek, and Taehyung has one arm curling her against his chest, too. 

Comfort. 

It’s funny, isn’t it? Funny that we want it, crave it, even from a complete stranger. Comfort provides no solution to our problems and is even sometimes used to avoid problems altogether. You have known little comfort since Jungkook carried you away from the warehouse.  

Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?

You meet Jessi’s gaze, and the realization hits you that this is the first time you’ve seen her cry. 

“Be happy, Y/N.” If Jessi speaks out loud, you can’t hear her but can read her mouth clearly. 

It’s like something shatters in your chest. It’s shocking; you were convinced nothing was left inside to break. But when Taehyung finally lowers both arms to wrap them around your group – yourself included – no pain or sadness plagues your heart. You feel strangely at peace. Taehyung’s summer scent envelopes you. It’s freshly-cut grass, sea salt, and cherry blossoms. Warmth spreads from the man, what you imagine it feels like to be a plant absorbing nutrients from the sun. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Taehyung speaks softly. “This is my Gift, and it makes my heart happy to share it with you today.” 

You remember that Taehyung is a healer Gifted when he gently extricates himself from what became a group hug that lasted for eternity. 

“Are we feeling better now?” 

You all find yourselves nodding. Taehyung beams at that. He claps his hands together, startling Hoseok into a small giggle. 

“Wonderful!” Taehyung turns on his heel, his shawl billowing out behind him as he swiftly crosses the archway. “Now, come with me. We have many things to take care of!” 

Your group hurries to keep up with the man who’s all legs. Beyond the arch, the Commune is more like a small village than whatever tent city you’d expected. Little houses similar to the abandoned ones your group found refuge in on the way here line the dirt paths – except these are full of life. Odd markings are painted on the brick and concrete buildings, all in the bright colors of summer: sunny yellows, healthy greens, and vibrant pinks. 

You notice that in the doorway of every building is a small basket, sometimes more than one, resting on the ground. Some are full of items you can’t quite make out because Taehyung is walking so quickly that you don’t have time to peek into any of them. 

“I can’t quite remember how many there are of us,” Taehyung says over his shoulder as he leads you down a road lined with shops. There’s clothing, produce, and other wares for sale. You feel embarrassed by how your mouth waters simply from seeing an apple. “I would say at least three hundred, but Seokjin hyung would know better. He’s the brains of all this. I’m merely the handsome face of the operation.” 

“Yah, I heard that, Kim Taehyung!” 

“Oh, so you heard me singing your praises, hyung?” 

Taehyung leads you to what you guess is the center of the Commune by the way the buildings form a half circle around a grassy quad. In the middle of the quad, there is a large pile of tinder – tree branches, dead grass and hay, planks of wood, and other items stacked on top of each other to build what will most likely be a giant bonfire from the looks of it. 

The man known as Seokjin approaches your group just to shove Taehyung’s shoulder with his own. “I am both the brains and the beauty, thank you very much. You can be second-best.” 

“You’re demoting me? In front of our new friends?” Taehyung pouts. 

Seokjin twists his broad torso to get a good look at your ragtag team of misfits. Facing this new man’s beauty head-on, you are quickly reminded of how disgusting you all probably look and smell, having fought through the woods for weeks without even a proper bath. 

Even though you all look like hell, Seokjin beams just as Taehyung had. 

“Oh good, you didn’t run away!” 

You feel Jessi tense beside you. “Why the fuck would we run away?” 

“Taehyung is insufferable, that’s why.” 

“Hey!” The leader shoves his friend much harder than his friend had shoved him. “You’re so grumpy. Do you need a hug?” 

Seokjin swats at Taehyung. “Don’t you have things to do? Summer is here soon. Go make daisy chains or something. Jimin and I will take care of our new friends.”

“Daisy chains?” You blurt out in question as Taehyung wiggles his fingers at your group in a goodbye. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowds of people going about their day in the Commune. You’ve never seen so many Gifteds, free and all together, in your life.  

Seokjin hums, beckoning your group to follow him deeper into the Commune. 

“In a few days, it will be the First of Summer. I assume you all have never celebrated Summer?” 

You find it odd that Seokjin speaks of the season as though it’s a holiday. When no one responds, he lets out a long sigh. 

“You’ve missed out on so much, trapped like lab rats.” He spits the end of his sentence. It’s in anger at the research facilities rather than a judgment of you, but it makes your heart sting just the same. You wish Taehyung was here. 

Leading you to a three-story building that looks similar to a warehouse or an office building, with plain concrete walls decorated with more colorful markings, Seokjin pauses to let your group enter the front door first. 

“This is my home,” Seokjin welcomes your group. “My husband and I sleep on the first floor, but there are a few empty guest rooms on the second and third. Newcomers tend to stay with us until we’ve built them their own homes.” 

“That’s so generous of you, Seokjin,” Hoseok speaks up for the first time. The crackle in his voice tells you he’s still on the verge of tears, but he smiles when you turn to look at him. 

“Please, call me hyung if you’d like.” Seokjin smiles. 

Taehyung and Seokjin’s use of honorifics warms your heart, even though you don’t have the same emotional attachment to the custom as the others. When you look out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook smile at the honorific, too. 

“We’ll get your rooms situated, but first, are you hungry?” 

“Fuck yes,” Jessi groans.

The group and Seokjin laugh when you ask, “Do you have anything besides rabbit?” 

In the kitchen, your group meets Seokjin’s husband, Jimin, a fire Gifted. When Jimin pulls you into a tight hug, tears prickle in the corners of your eyes because his body burns, and he smells faintly of smoke, just like Yoongi. 

While chomping away at fresh vegetables and meat that isn’t rabbit, you learn that Seokjin is the legendary cosmic Gifted you only half-heartedly believed to be real. His ability to bend time and space wipes the Commune off the radar, ensuring the Red Pins never find it. Despite his large personality, he seems too shy to demonstrate his Gift, even as Jimin pesters him. 

They’re cute, Seokjin and Jimin. They fuss over your group as though they are your parents, making sure that you each get a turn taking a shower and that you have enough blankets and pillows in your bedrooms. Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook share one, while you and Jessi share another. Jimin apologizes profusely about not being able to provide you with your own bedrooms, which you all dismiss. 

“We anticipate a few additional newcomers soon; I’m so sorry we don’t have enough room to spread out,” Jimin bemoans as he plays with his fingers. 

“Are you kidding?” Namjoon teases with a smile that crinkles his eyes. “We’ve been living in an abandoned warehouse for months.” 

“Sleeping on the floor gave me fucking arthritis, and I’m barely thirty,” Jessi chimes in.

“That’s not how that works.” 

“Fuck off, Jungkook-ah. Tell that to my broken back.” 

Jimin looks appalled by your previous living situation, making your group joke around more. Laugh through the pain, right? It’s a coping mechanism you’ve all done a decent job of perfecting. Sometimes being alive is enough to laugh about because, well, at least you’re alive. 

After a whirlwind of a day getting settled into Seokjin and Jimin’s home, you can finally ease your bones into a real bed with a thick, fluffy mattress and clean sheets. Your tummy is full of delicious food, your body clean and well-moisturized thanks to Jimin’s homemade skincare products, and you finally allow yourself to sink into the one thing you’ve been scared to find: comfort. 

Just before sleep overtakes you, you hear a quiet, almost timid, knock at the door. You wrack your brain, thinking about who it could be and why they need you. It feels like too much effort to get out of bed when you’ve only just been able to relax, so you call out to the person on the other side of the door. 

“Hi.” 

Jungkook’s wide eyes peer at you through the dark, a sliver of moonlight peeking through the window blinds highlighting parts of his face. 

“Hi,” you say, pausing to quietly clear your throat. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Your heart feels like it will fly out of your chest when Jungkook hesitantly steps into your bedroom. You watch him eye Jessi’s sleeping form in the bed on the opposite side of the room, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of being in the room if she wakes up. 

Apparently accepting the risk, Jungkook scurries over to stand beside your bed. 

“Can I sleep with you?” 

It’s the most Jungkook has spoken to you since he fled the lake. His request shouldn’t make your stomach flip with nerves; you’ve cuddled together every night since your first nightmare about Yoongi. So it should be easy when you respond, 

“Of course.” 

You quickly scoot over to give Jungkook room when he slips beneath the sheets. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the dark. 

Holding out your arms, you encourage Jungkook to curl against your side, a position you usually take, but something tells you that Jungkook needs this more than you do. Part of your assumption is due to the timid, gentle boy who entered your bedroom – a different person than the one you watched murder multiple Red Pins at the warehouse with frightening ease. 

He’s still the same, though, deep down, a lonely boy with nothing to his name, just like the rest of you. 

Jungkook stays quiet while you run your fingers through his hair. You’re reminded of the promise you were supposed to make to Yoongi, the one about taking care of Jungkook. It’s time for you to finally fulfill that promise, and you already know what the first step should be. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize softly. “I don’t like not talking to you.” 

And it hurts more than you realize. Saying it out loud makes it real, this scary uncertainty in your relationship that you’ve never experienced before. Jungkook has always been there – a steady comfort to fall back on, soft eyes to search for in moments tainted with fear and grief. Not having Jungkook in your life… It’s unfathomable. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook whispers into the crook of your neck.

You’re not sure what he’s sorry for, though you remind yourself that a relationship is a two-way street. The two of you should have talked rather than dance around each other. Even now, you’re not really talking. You want to bring it up – the kiss. What it means for him. What it means for you. Why it happened in the first place. If it’s… okay, okay to like how soft Jungkook’s lips had felt on yours and how sweet he’d tasted. Okay to feel an unfamiliar heat spread throughout your body, starting at his fingers gripping your waist. 

“I’m sorry I did it without asking first,” Jungkook elaborates after a few minutes of silence. 

Even though he doesn’t say what it is, you don’t need him to spell it out before you reply, “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not, though.” 

You shiver when Jungkook’s lips brush against your neck as he talks. His breath is cold, even though his body is warm. You wonder if it’s the darkness inside of him seeping out when he breathes. 

“I swear, it is. I forgive you. We both kinda went for it, right?” You say with an awkward laugh. 

“I’m not sorry about doing it.” Jungkook squeezes you tighter, but you’re already holding your breath. “I’d do it again.” 

His confession is whispered so quietly you likely wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that his lips brush your neck just below your ear. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Jungkook’s lips travel higher. You close your eyes and let out a shuddered breath when his lips brush against your earlobe. 

It’s getting harder to relax, your body completely rigid and your breathing on the verge of frantic as Jungkook drags his nose down the length of your neck. The touch sends tingling sensations across your body. A strange feeling, like your stomach is flipping around inside of you, consumes you. His nose on your skin tickles, but it’s somehow more than just a tickle. It feels… good. Makes your stomach tense and heat spread, chasing after the goosebumps. 

“Goodnight,” Jungkook finally whispers into the crook of your neck. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

THE EVE 

Apparently, the First of Summer is something to celebrate at the Commune. It seems as though everyone has a task to complete on the Eve of the holiday to get all the preparations in order, even you and your misfit crew. 

“Our Gifts are at their strongest during the Summer; haven’t you noticed?” 

Jimin flutters around like a hummingbird, gracefully darting between about a dozen small baskets lined up in the grass beside his home. The fire Gifted places a variety of items in the baskets: flower bouquets, fruits and vegetables wrapped in protective cloths, and other little trinkets and handmade presents. 

“Is that so?” Namjoon perks up from where he’d been watching a line of ants march into a small anthill. He sits in the grass next to you and Jessi while Jungkook and Hoseok stand closer to where Jimin flits around. 

“Mhm. We are more in tune with the Seasons compared to humans.” 

Jessi scoffs, “We are humans.” 

Cradling a bouquet of tiger lilies in one hand, Jimin puts his other hand on his hip. It’s supposed to be sassy and, perhaps, stern, but he just comes off as adorable in your eyes. 

“We are not humans.” 

“Then what are we?” 

With a huff, Jimin gently places the flowers in a basket that’s nearly full. 

“We are Gifts from Nature. Don’t you feel it? The Earth flows through our veins, Jessi. She broke pieces off herself to gift to us; pieces of the Universe exist inside of us. Humans don’t have that.”

There mustn’t be a good comeback for such lofty talk because Jessi remains quiet after Jimin finishes speaking. You don’t blame her; the perspective Jimin offers isn’t one you’ve ever heard of before. Everyone talks about Gifteds as mutants, genetic abominations. It’s scientific and clinical, although no scientist has figured out how or why Gifteds exist. 

Jimin’s perspective sounds like… magic. You decide that you quite like the idea that some omnipresent entity chose to give up parts of herself to make you special, a lot more than believing you’re an unnatural freak. 

“What are these for?” Hoseok asks, bending at the waist to peer into one of the baskets. 

“They’re gifts,” Jimin says with a little giggle, likely at the tease around the word he uses. “It’s customary to give gifts on the First of Summer. You’re supposed to leave them on your neighbors’ doorsteps, though you could directly gift them during the Bonfire.” 

Brushing his hands onto his pants, Jimin straightens up and looks around at your group. In the few days you’ve known Jimin, you’ve noticed that his lips poke out when he’s thinking. It reminds you of a little beak on a baby bird. You’ve told Jungkook as much, and he agrees. 

Your eyes fall on Jungkook, hoping he’ll look your way. It doesn’t take long for him to tilt his head to the side and meet your gaze. Sometimes you wonder if Jungkook can sense you somehow. You don’t understand how his Gift works, but it seems mysterious enough to be capable of anything at this point. How else would he somehow know when you’re looking in his direction every time? 

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you subtly pucker your lips. 

Jungkook catches on quickly. His eyebrows shoot up, and a small smirk etches itself into his features. He pinches his lips into a pucker, too, and wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You have to press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Jungkook?” 

The younger man quickly straightens his posture and schools his face when Jimin calls out to him. 

“Yes, hyung?” 

“Want to help me finish up with some decorations? Jessi, too?” 

Jungkook nods hard enough that you worry he might give himself a headache. 

As Jessi pushes herself off the ground, Jimin turns to you, Namjoon, and Hoseok. 

“How about you all help Seokjin down at the quad with the Bonfire? He’s working on setting up the tables and food stalls for the Morning of Summer. We gather to have a breakfast feast and celebrate the first Morning together.” 

Hoseok beams at the idea, turning to you with his hands held out. You squeeze them and let him help haul you onto your feet. 

“It sounds so nice,” Hoseok chirps with excitement as the three of you make your way through the winding dirt road toward the quad, past rows of unique homes and community gardens scattered across what is essentially a makeshift neighborhood. 

“Having a community… I feel like I don’t know how to enjoy it,” Namjoon says softly. 

“What do you mean?” It seems odd to you; haven’t they all wanted something like this?

“I don’t remember how to be social. I was, I think, at some point. Before the Labs. And, of course, I feel comfortable with you all. But…” 

“Being around strangers is hard,” you offer. 

Namjoon nods in agreement. He isn’t sad, though, like you’d assumed he’d be. Namjoon wears a smile as Hoseok wraps his arms around his waist. 

“The good thing is we have all the time in the world to figure ourselves out, now. We get to be whatever we want to be, and exist however we want to exist. No more running, no more hiding, no more fighting,” Hoseok says with a grin, and it’s impossible to not believe him. 

The air Gifted nuzzles his face into Namjoon’s neck, and you swear there is light pink that mixes with the honey of Namjoon’s cheeks. 

Hoseok’s display of affection reminds you of your nights with Jungkook. They’ve become more frequent; nearly every night, he slips into your bed to cuddle with his lips dragging along your neck, just lightly enough to seem innocent but still present enough to make your body burn with an unfamiliar heat.  

You haven’t done anything more than cuddle, and you’re having a hard time telling yourself that you’re okay with that. 

Seokjin doesn’t give you time to ponder what you think is your budding love life. He gives you, Hoseok, and Namjoon a variety of tasks to complete throughout the day, from painting what you learn are ancient runes on the sides of buildings to helping the farmers harvest their produce to bring to the food stalls. Manual labor doesn’t bother the three of you; for months, you’ve all lived in a world where you work hard to survive, hunting and building your shelters. This work is easy in comparison and much more entertaining. 

At some point, Taehyung strolls through the busy quad to check on the outdoor dining space coming to fruition a safe distance from the large bonfire. He plops down on the bench at one of the tables, elbow on the table and chin resting in his hand as he watches you, Hoseok, and Namjoon take a break to munch on some snacks one of the farmers had given you. 

“Having fun, little Gifts?” 

Taehyung’s eyes sparkle in the late afternoon sun, and you can’t help but melt into the comfort that radiates from him. 

“I could stay here forever,” Hoseok mumbles around a large bite of an apple. 

“Oh?” The twinkling of Taehyung’s eyes morphs from adoration to teasing amusement. “I thought that was already the plan.” 

Hoseok nods, giving the leader a sheepish look. 

“That would be dope, yeah.”

“Then it is done.” 

The exchange makes you and Namjoon giggle, though the sweet sounds quickly die out when familiar figures jog down the dirt path toward where you sit. 

Jimin is beaming, his entire aura nearly glowing, though you know part of that is due to his Gift. Your gut twists from the memory of Yoongi, but the pain doesn’t cut as deeply as it used to. At first, you thought the lessening of the pain meant you were forgetting him or no longer caring about him, and you felt even more grief from that. But a late-night heart-to-heart with Hoseok taught you that this isn’t apathy; it’s healing. 

So you acknowledge the little prick of pain that sits in your chest but choose to use the memory of Yoongi to fuel your new love for Jimin, who you know Yoongi would have loved, too. 

“Jiminie!” Taehyung calls from his seat at the table. He holds his arms open, eagerly pulling the other man into a spine-crushing hug. 

The call of your own name draws your attention away from the men. You turn to see Jessi flashing you an uncharacteristically large grin. It makes you extremely suspicious. 

“What do you want?” You question her with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, nothing. Jungkook wants something, though,” she says in a sing-songy voice before skipping - literally skipping - away to talk to Hoseok and Namjoon. 

Jungkook stands at the opposite end of the long wooden table. In his hands is a small wicker basket and he shuffles from foot to foot, staring at nothing in particular. 

“Jungkook-ah?”

He looks up at you with large, startled eyes. In a split second, he’s gone. The only evidence that the young man had even been there is the wicker basket now rocking from side to side in front of you on the table. 

You can’t help but giggle as dark shadows slither from table to table. 

“Do you think he can still hear me when he’s in his shadow form?” Jessi slides onto the bench beside you. She looks around at all the shadows, likely wondering which one is Jungkook. 

“I have no idea.” 

“Hey, Jungkook-ah!” Jessi looks over her shoulder to survey more of the quad. “You’re a fucking wimp!” 

Ignoring Jessi’s comment, you turn your attention to the basket. Inside is a small bouquet of white mugunghwa, a modern-looking pale pink jeogori, and a brand-new hard copy of Fahrenheit 451. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lift each item from the basket and gently place them on the table in front of you, inspecting them with soft eyes and careful fingers. 

“Where…?” 

“He picked the flowers himself and did odd jobs around the Commune and hunted some meat to trade for the jeogori and the book,” Jessi answers your unfinished question. 

You feel your eyes tingle at the corners, with tears threatening to burn your cheeks if you blink too hard. From what it sounds like, the Summer gifts are extremely meaningful - something you share with those you care about to wish them a fruitful year and good health. To think that Jungkook has spent the few days you’ve been here preparing such a gift for you warms your heart, so much so that you feel like you’re catching fire from the inside out. 

“This is very special,” Taehyung speaks as he caresses one of the flower’s petals. 

You’d almost forgotten about Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin, and the rest of your group. 

“It is,” you agree. You carefully return the items to the basket to keep them safe. “I don’t have a gift for him, though. Is it fair to show up to the Bonfire empty-handed?” 

Jimin rests his chin on Taehyung’s head and hums as he thinks.

“Typically, we don’t give gifts to each other during the Bonfire. The gifts you bring to the Bonfire are offerings to Nature to ask for health and prosperity in the upcoming year. You’ll toss them into the fire and recite the offering prayer - but you don’t have to since you don’t know it yet.” 

You’re not sure you have anything to offer the Bonfire, either, but it seems Taehyung reads your mind. 

“There are other ways to give an offering to Nature, if not through the Bonfire,” Taehyung supplies with a small smirk. He looks mischievous and sneaky; the expression makes your skin tickle with goosebumps. 

“Yeah, you can fuck,” Seokjin adds with a smirk of his own. He looks too proud of himself when you choke on your next inhale of air. 

“You can what?” Hoseok nearly trips over his feet in his attempt to get closer to hear what Seokjin has to say. 

“It’s not an official part of the Summer celebration,” Jimin interjects with a roll of his eyes at his husband. 

“It’s a part my sweet Jiminie doesn’t mind partaking in.” 

“Seokjin!” 

Taehyung throws his head back in a loud cackle as Jimin’s face turns bright pink. The poor fire Gifted sputters as he tries to defend himself. 

“N-no! No! It’s, no!” 

Seokjin shrugs and stretches his arms over his head, leaning on each side long enough to make his joints pop. 

“Sex is part of Nature, is it not? It represents vitality, fertility, birth, new beginnings,” Seokjin points out. “Nature takes all that we give her with equal value.” 

If Jimin is uncomfortable, you’re downright mortified. You can’t help but look around at the quad as Jessi had, every shadow lurking around the corner more suspicious than the next. What does it mean that they mention sex, and your thought immediately turns to Jungkook? Shame burns at your cheeks, but you can’t get the image out of your mind. You know pretty much nothing about sex and can barely even imagine what it would be like, yet you latch onto the idea that Jungkook might be… 

Well…

You can’t say it. You can’t bring yourself to think about it. Shaking your head, you quickly stand and scoop the wicker basket into your arms. 

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you announce to no one and everyone. 

The group shouts teasing comments about your shy behavior as you do your best to walk calmly in the direction of Seokjin and Jimin’s house, avoiding everyone’s gaze and especially the shadows.

FIRE

You expected the Bonfire to hurt. Not physically, since there are plenty of fire Gifteds around to ensure the celebrations stay safe and under control. No, you expected the pain of the Bonfire to be internal, an emotional pain like the pain you’ve been failing to run from in the months since Yoongi left you. 

It has taken you a long time to let go of the anger you’ve let fester inside of you. Your anger verges on hatred, and hatred helps no one. Who is there to hate? Yoongi, for sacrificing himself to save his friends? The rest of your group for mourning your best friend just as profoundly as you have? The Red Pins for taking everything away from you? 

The Bonfire crackles and hums like it’s trying to speak to you, but its voice is drowned out by the singing and shouting of the Gifteds dancing in a circle around its flames. The flames reach nearly as high as the buildings surrounding it. Jimin and the other fire Gifteds occasionally pull out stray flames, letting them lick around their arms and bodies to entertain the children fascinated by Gifts they have yet to master within themselves. 

The performance is beautiful just as much as it hurts your heart to watch. You’re mesmerized by the dancing flames and swaddled by the heat of the Bonfire, so you don’t notice another Gifted approaching you until you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Have you given your offering yet?” 

The fire reflects in Jungkook’s eyes like an orange light show, hues swirling and dancing to the tune of whatever ancient language the Gifteds sing in.

“Not yet,” you respond, turning to look at him. 

Jungkook’s gaze drops to take in the jeogori you’re wearing – the one he gifted you the day before. It fits you well, loose enough that you don’t feel restricted, but still cut in a way that compliments your body. You’re glad it’s short-sleeved, or you’d be sweating in the summer night air. 

“Me either.” 

“What did you bring?” 

Jungkook pats his thigh. When you look down, you see that he has his knife strapped to his leg. 

“The fire probably isn’t hot enough to melt it, but… I think it’s the thought that counts.” 

It’s a serious matter, what the two of you are discussing, but you can’t help but giggle as you crouch down to retrieve your offering from where it sits at your feet. 

“Your bow?” Jungkook whispers as though he’s scandalized. 

“And my arrows.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? You always–” 

You shake your head. “We’re giving our weapons up for the same reasons, aren’t we?”

Jungkook nibbles at his bottom lip for a few moments. He turns away from you, those big doe eyes focused again on the fire. 

“Yoongi gave them to us.” When Jungkook speaks, his voice quivers, but his cheeks remain dry. “And we’re done fighting.” 

“We’re done fighting…” 

You mull over the thought, let it roll around in your head, test out its taste on your tongue and see how it weighs in your heart. No more fighting, just like Hoseok said. In the place of fighting, you have a community, like Namjoon wanted. Like you all wanted, no matter how afraid you are to embrace it or admit that you aren’t sure how to join it. 

Yoongi never wanted any of you to have to fight.

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s shoulders sag. “I don’t think I could keep it up even if I had to. I’m… ready to be happy. Like the hyungs. They are so bright.” 

Your heart cracks with every word, nearly spilling out onto the floor when you watch Jimin sprint across the quad to launch himself into Seokjin’s arms. He wraps his legs around Seokjin’s waist as the two kiss, the fire illuminating their faces like angels’ halos. 

Reaching over, you squeeze Jungkook’s hand, lacing your fingers with his. You don’t need to speak; gently tugging his arm has him following you through the crowd toward the base of the Bonfire. The rest of your friends are somewhere around the Bonfire, but you aren’t interested in looking for them. 

“1… 2… 3.” 

When Jungkook stops counting, the two of you toss your weapons into the fire. Your hands are still intertwined, even if the heat makes your skin sweaty and stick together. You’re both willing to stand at the Bonfire for as long as you can, letting the flames burn your retinas as you try to follow the path the fire takes to eat away at the weapons you’ve surrendered to it. 

Letting go feels good, even if you’re letting go of something Yoongi gave you. In a way, he has given you far more than just a bow and some deadly arrows – or a knife and thigh harness. He gave you love, hope, and a second chance. He showed you what it means to love and be loved selflessly and unconditionally and taught you what it means to be a leader in the face of unbelievable hardship. 

You don’t think you could have been even half of the person Yoongi was. 

The press of fingers at the tip of your chin pulls you out of your melancholic thoughts. Jungkook cradles your face, swiping the pad of his thumb along your cheek once a few tears slip from your lash line. 

“Sorry, this is ridiculous,” you croak out. “This is supposed to be a happy celebration.” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow as a pout turns the corners of his lips downward. You think he’s about to scold you over apologizing for your feelings – which you know you shouldn’t do – but Jungkook is always full of surprises.  

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

Forests will likely always scare you. Too many unspeakable things have happened within the woods, too many sad souls wrapped around tree roots and branches. You’re unsure what the woods around the Commune have seen - or if they’re even real; Seokjin’s Gift confuses you. Are the woods here the same ones you traveled through to get here? Are they imaginary, crafted by Seokjin’s mind? Does any of this exist? 

The woods certainly feel different here than at the warehouse. Jungkook leads you by the hand down a winding path through trees decorated with brightly-colored garlands draped across their luscious green branches. You recognize the decorations as ones Jungkook, Jessi, and Jimin helped the children make while the rest of your group worked with Seokjin on the Bonfire. 

“I found this spot when I was looking for your gifts,” Jungkook murmurs. 

“With Jimin?” 

“Mhm. He said, I know a place. It was funny.” 

The sound of the Bonfire festivities is far in the distance, muted by the quiet rustling of life in the woods. Jungkook stops to brush a few vines away that hang from the trees. When he steps to the side to let you walk through the opening he created, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. 

Before you is a circular clearing littered with white and pink mugunghwa shrubs. The flowers nearly glow in the dark, and their sweet scent permeates the air. But what really tugs at your heart is the smattering of tiny fireflies that meander above your head, exploring the peaceful little world away from the chaos of the Commune. 

“Jimin hyung said he doesn’t think anyone else knows this place. He comes here to be alone. Or… with Seokjin,” Jungkook whispers, giving you a sheepish look with pink cheeks. “I think it’s supposed to be, umm, you know, for what the hyungs were talking about, but, I, uh, I’m not…” 

You suddenly feel hot, warmth prickling at your skin and making moisture collect along your hairline despite being far from the fire. What is Jungkook going on about? You have an idea but are too nervous to respond to his rambling. 

Jungkook nudges you with his shoulder before carefully weaving through the shrubs until he finds a more open spot to sit in the grass. 

You follow him, the two of you sitting face-to-face, your knees bumping into each other as you cross them. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you whisper. “And for the gifts. I didn’t get to talk to you about them…” 

There’s no need to speak so quietly, but something about this place makes you worry being too loud would disrupt the magic of it. 

“Of course,” Jungkook responds just as softly. “I wanted to show you something special because you are special to me.” 

Your stomach flips at the memory of Jungkook’s similar confession when you last cut his hair at the warehouse. His gentleness has been a saving grace for you in a world so dark, even when the darkness sometimes consumes him, too. 

“You’re special to me, too.” It’s easy to admit; it flows from your mouth as easily as water flows from your soul. 

“Thank you… I think we deserve something soft. Does that make sense?” 

You tell him that it does because even if you aren’t entirely sure what that means to him, you know that you desire softness in a life that has been so hard. 

Jungkook gives you a small smile. A shake of his head flips his bangs out of his eyes so he can look at you properly. It feels different, the way he looks at you. Darker, more intense, but not scary like you’ve seen him look at you before. There is the same power in his gaze, but it’s gentler. 

You don’t know what to make of it, so you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach up to brush Jungkook’s bangs out of his eyes. 

“I need to cut your hair,” you muse, a small smirk pulling up the corner of your mouth. 

Your fingers linger on his face, migrating from his forehead to drag down the bridge of his nose. When you get to the tip, you mean to bop it lightly, but Jungkook tilts his head back. The adjustment makes your finger slip, and you end up pressing against his lips instead. 

Jungkook watches you with curious eyes as he puckers his lips slightly to kiss your finger. It’s a closed-mouth kiss, nothing scandalous, but you feel electricity shoot up your arm and spread through your body. 

“Oh,” you quietly gasp when Jungkook takes hold of your wrist. He kisses each of your other fingers, ending with a lingering one on your palm. 

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, bringing your hand down to hold in his lap. 

You silently nod because you’re afraid of what you might say or sound like if you open your mouth. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and his grip on your hand tightens slightly. Whatever it is he’s going to say seems like it’s taking a lot for him to sort through in his head from the way his breathing picks up and his eyebrows furrow. 

“Jungkook-ah, you don’t have to…” 

Jungkook shakes his head and takes your other hand, too. 

“No, I have to do this. It’s… we’re just, ahh.” He tilts his head back to stare at the starry sky. After a moment, he exhales loudly out of his nostrils and drops his gaze to yours again. “I’m in love with you. And for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t tell you that ‘cause it seems selfish to dump this on you ‘cause everything is so… fucked up. It’s so fucked. I don’t know why I feel like I’m not allowed to… to be like this, to feel like this. But Jimin hyung said love is in our Nature and is never bad. And, yeah. I guess, yeah. I’m in love with you, and I think you need to know ‘cause I can’t keep pretending I’m not.” 

Out of breath from expelling his words as fast as he can, Jungkook clamps his mouth shut and waits silently. Waits. Waits for you to do something, to say something. 

He’s right. Everything is fucked up enough that you can relate to the guilt Jungkook feels for wanting to love, to be happy. He didn’t call it guilt, but you’ve felt it, so you know. It’s precisely what Jessi scolded you about – on numerous occasions. It’s what Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin and Jimin have shown you that you can overcome. 

Are you in love with Jungkook?

As you watch him bat his pretty eyelashes at you, those large eyes bearing his entire soul and the love and hurt inside, you think that maybe you aren’t in love with him, not right now. But you do love him. And you think, maybe one day, when your heart no longer hurts, you could be in love, too. 

So it feels right when you scoot closer to Jungkook and slide your hand against the side of his face to bring your lips to his. 

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, like the fireflies above your head, when Jungkook’s lips move with yours. There’s a push and pull to your movements, a hesitant dance that reminds you of how Jungkook spars. His touches are light yet calculated, showing strength when he holds himself back. 

“It’s okay to be happy,” you whisper against Jungkook’s lips when you finally pull away – just barely because you want to cocoon yourself in the warmth of his body. 

“You make me happy,” he whispers back. 

It takes more kissing, the exchange of air and spit that would normally gross you out but somehow feels good before your brain finally lets go of the negativity you’ve been holding. 

Jungkook kisses away your shame and guilt as he squeezes your hips and pulls you into his lap. You settle on his thighs with your legs wrapped around his tiny waist and let him kiss you until you can’t breathe. And just when you feel like you’ll suffocate in the most pleasant way, he begins planting kisses along your jaw. 

Your hands find the hair at the back of Jungkook’s head, and you run your fingers through his hair to distract yourself from how your hands are trembling. Your entire body vibrates with a desperate feeling you’ve never had before as Jungkook sucks on the sensitive skin of your throat. The sensation makes you squirm.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans into the crook of your neck. He sounds pained to you, which makes you panic. 

“What? What’s wrong?” You feel like you’re blinking sleep out of your eyes from how dazed you are. Embarrassment creeps along your burning skin; how can you be so out of your mind that you start behaving like this? 

Jungkook presses his hands flat against your back, the pads of his fingers massaging your muscles while he lowers his touch, slowly and gently, until his hands find the curve of your ass. 

“Jungkook-ah,” you nearly scold him when he squeezes you. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, encouraging you to grind against his crotch. 

It’s only then that you feel his erection in his pants. The knowledge that he’s reacting this way because of you makes the electricity in your veins spike through you even stronger. 

“Me either.” 

Jungkook finally lifts his head to look at you, and it’s a wonder how he manages to wear innocent doe eyes yet bite his kissed-pink bottom lip in an air of seduction that makes your body tingle. 

“I want to be good for you.” 

His words do something to you that you’re too scared to address, so you opt for humor when you reply, “Well, I don’t have anything to compare you to.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook brings trembling hands to the side of your jeogori where the strings are tied into a bow to keep the clothing in place. 

“Can I take this off?” 

“Please.” 

Getting naked in front of Jungkook is a lot less terrifying than you thought it would be – not that you’d ever thought of it before! Not like this, at least. The two of you have bathed together, but that’s different. It’s easier to hide in the water, and both of you are respectful enough not to take peeks. So it’s most likely the calming presence Jungkook holds that keeps you relaxed once you kneel naked in front of each other. In the moonlight, you both let your eyes wander each other’s figures, drinking in each other like you want to savor it. 

You let Jungkook’s hands wander, experimentally pinching your nipples to draw a moan out of you and tickling your stomach as his touches make their way down your body. He whispers gentle words of encouragement and proclamations of your beauty when you fall back in the grass and open your thighs for him. 

“I want to touch you,” Jungkook says into your chest. Your skin glistens from how his tongue explores where his hands just had, but you’re more focused on his fingers ghosting over your hips. “Please?” 

“Yes,” you whimper. 

You’re both shaking when Jungkook slips his fingers through your folds, his thumb lightly pressing against your clit while his fingers reach your entrance. It’s an odd sensation, but you’re quickly a moaning mess beneath him. Even if the rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of you isn’t consistent, and he’s touching you almost too lightly as though he’s afraid of hurting you, it still feels good.

“Am I doing okay?” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

When he gives you a pout, you throw your arm around his shoulders and pull him down to kiss him. He hovers over you, spreading you open further because your thighs press against the outsides of his hips. You both notice when his cock – which you’d nervously ignored until now – brushes against the crease of your thigh. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans, and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. “I want… I wanna, ah, fuck.” If you’d thought Jungkook’s usual flustered state was cute, this is downright deadly. 

“Me, too.” You guess what he’s trying to say – are confirmed when he lightly bites your shoulder and ruts against you.

“Are you sure?” 

It’s a valid question, and you surprise yourself when you say “yes” without hesitation. But you’ve wanted this for much longer than you can admit. Your desire for Jungkook has grown with every soft late-night cuddle and almost kiss. 

Jungkook rolls his hips, gliding his cock between your thighs, the motion wet and slippery. It takes some fumbling before he manages to line himself with your entrance and slowly sink inside you. 

Gentle, careful, he whispers that he’ll take care of you even though he has no experience. With each thrust, you promise him that it doesn’t hurt, speak praise into his ear that makes his entire body shiver. 

Your legs ache from your unusual position, and your sweat mixes with Jungkook’s in a way that’s honestly disgusting if you think about it. Still, you can’t deny how good the building pressure feels as it seems to start between your thighs and at your clit, slowly spreading like wildfire up your stomach and into somewhere deep inside of you. 

The only time you’ve heard anyone talk about sex is Jessi, and it was typically in a negative light. Something about men not knowing where the clit is or how to use their dicks. Jungkook seems like a natural; he’s the golden maknae for a reason. Maybe it’s not mind-blowing, but you’re both starting with nothing to guide you. 

Rather than a life-changing orgasm, you’re more interested in how Jungkook looks like he’d give his heart to you, no questions asked. Like he already has. 

You’re more interested in how softly he kisses you and holds your leg against his hip and caresses it like you’re something worth treating with care. 

You’re more interested in how he moans, “I love you, fuck, I love you so much,” and lets you bite his bottom lip because he knows you aren’t ready to say it back, and he’s okay with that. Because he’ll wait for you for as long as you need him to. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook moans against your throat, where he’s sucked blossoms nearly as pretty as the mugunghwa. “But I’m gonna come, like, ahh, fuck, like right, fuck, shit, like right now.” 

From Jessi’s complaints, sex is supposed to end with this: Jungkook finding his release against your inner thighs because he has enough sense to pull out, and you’re left on your back, discarded and unsatisfied. 

So when Jungkook slides down until your thighs are propped open by his shoulders, you watch in confusion because you thought it was over. 

The flick of his tongue against your clit has you lifting off the ground from how sharply you arch your back. You frantically exhale a raspy chant of Jungkook’s name in time with each pump of his fingers he’s managed to slip inside you while you struggle to lie still. 

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs with shiny lips, and you see stars just from that image alone. 

Later, when you’re both sweaty and exhausted, you curl together under the protective barrier of Jungkook’s shadows. He hides you from the world and keeps you safe until morning when you’ll return to the Commune to bring in the First of Summer with a breakfast feast. 

But until then, you hold each other with promises of never letting go, forgiveness, and understanding. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Jungkook whispers against your hair. 

“You just have to stick with me, right?” 

When he laughs, you feel it rumble through his chest. “By your side is the only place I wanna be.” 

You fall asleep among the mugunghwa shrubs and fireflies to the sound of Jungkook’s heartbeat. 

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

@iadelicacy @likecrazy22 @jaemayy @annyeongbitch7

[cece693]

With me hitting a writing block, I thought back to a childhood series I adored—The Hunger Games! This idea is simple, but was easy to write as you are lovers trying to survive the games, but is that really possible? Don't know what else to say, except, that I hope you enjoy!

FIGHT FOR ME

pairing: finnick odair x male reader tags: you and finnick go back, friends to lovers, Annie doesn't exist in my realm, you're a fellow victor from district 10, district 10 specializes in livestock (so killing animals and providing meat to the capital), you are a man who is very calm, which pisses finnick the fuck out

The first time Finnick Odair saw you, he was still raw from the saltwater of his own Games—seventeen years old, paraded through the Capitol on his Victor’s Tour and sick of being beautiful for other people. He’d escaped a banquet by slipping onto a penthouse balcony, chest heaving with too-sweet air, when he noticed someone already leaning on the rail: you, District 10’s victor from three years prior, tuxedo unbuttoned and head tilted toward the constellations as if mapping a route home.

“Careful,” Finnick muttered, meaning the cameras inside.

You didn’t turn. “They’re all busy applauding themselves. We have five safe minutes.”

Something in the weary certainty of your voice cracked Finnick’s practiced charm. You offered him a silver flask—clear water, not liquor—then spoke of tides, ship knots, the glide of moonlight on coral. It was the first conversation since his crowning that hadn’t felt like being filleted. When he finally laughed—really laughed—you smiled and said, “I hoped that sound still existed.”

In the months that followed, your paths crossed whenever the Capitol trotted its trophies out: interviews, charity galas, private auctions none of the sponsors called by their real name. Finnick collected jewelry; you collected secrets—tiny acts of rebellion like pressing a note into his palm (“Meet me on the roof in seven minutes”) or blocking a Capitol lackey from drugging Finnick’s drink with a casual shoulder-bump. He started counting on the solid weight of you at his side, the unspoken code that if one disappeared, the other would go looking.

Affection snuck up on him in increments: the way his breath hitched when you ruffled his sea-damp hair during training sessions for new tributes; how jealousy burned when Capitol aristocrats laid greedy hands on your arm; the warm twist low in his stomach whenever you said his name without the purr everyone else used—just Finnick, bare and simple, like a real boy instead of a legend.

By the time he admitted, alone in his mentor’s quarters, “I love him,” the word felt too small for the tide inside his chest.

10 YEARS LATER

District 4—Victor’s Village, Sea-glass Lane

Your visits had become ritual: once every moon-cycle you traded cattle fields for Finnick’s weather-bleached porch, dropping your overnight pack beside the rope hammock and letting the salt wind unknot your shoulders. You told yourself it was friendship. Finnick told himself it was safer that way—love unnamed was love unexposed.

That bright autumn afternoon began like the others: gulls wheeling over the breakers, Mags humming in the kitchen, Finnick showing you how to splice line without fraying the fibers. You were teasing him—“Your knots look jealous of each other, so tight they can’t breathe”—when the Capitol emergency broadcast hijacked every screen in the house. The image of President Snow flickered across the living-room holopane.

Finnick’s laugh died. Your hands stilled, rope half-braided between you.

“As a reminder of the Capitol’s benevolence,” Snow drawled, eyes reptilian, “the Third Quarter Quell will draw its tributes from the existing pool of victors.”

Silence—vast, tidal—before Mags’ china teacup shattered in the next room.

Finnick’s stomach plummeted so violently he tasted copper. Not him. Anybody but him. He lurched to his feet, nearly tripping on the coil of rope, and reached for the remote with hands that suddenly wouldn’t obey. The holopane kept hissing—Snow listing dates, times, protocols—until Finnick found the power switch and cut the feed. The room plunged into hush broken only by surf, by the distant clang of a harbor bell, by Finnick’s pulse roaring in his ears.

You turned, expression almost peaceful. “It was inevitable.” You eased back onto the couch, folding one ankle over the other with that maddening calm he’d never managed to crack. “We always knew the Capitol wouldn’t let us die peacefully in old age.”

Finnick knelt before you, uncaring that his knees hit hardwood. “Stop. Don’t you dare put that resignation mask on. You fought harder than anyone I’ve ever seen—in your Games, in the years after, every time you kept another tribute from breaking.” His throat tightened. “You think none of that matters?”

“Finnick—”

“Stop.” Panic made his voice a brittle thing. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to go back into that place. Don’t tell me you’ll lie down because Snow snapped his fingers.”

Your calm ignited something furious inside him; he felt it flare through every scar the Capitol had ever kissed. “You think your death will satisfy him?” Finnick shook his head, curls whipping. “They’ll drag us both in anyway. They’ll kill us on screen. Don’t make it easy for them.”

“Finnick,” you repeated softly, brushing a strand of sea-tangle hair from his lashes. “I have no illusions. I’m twenty-six. I have been living on borrowed time since I won the games at thirteen. If dying keeps another child out of the Arena—”

“Don’t you dare dress suicide in charity.” Finnick's voice cracked; he forced iron into the next words. “Your life isn’t a bargaining chip. It’s mine, too—do you understand that? I’m in love with you. That means your heartbeat is mine.”

Shock flickered across your face—the confession he’d whispered only to empty walls now alive between you. It trembled there, fragile as a soap bubble, until you lifted a hand and rested your palm to his chest, over the tattoo of knots near his heart. Your thumb stroked once, twice, the way you smoothed rope before pulling it tight.

“Finnick Odair,” you murmured, voice turned rough, “I don’t deserve that kind of devotion.”

“Then fight until you do,” he fired back, desperate. “Fight for every stolen night like this. Fight because I can’t stand if you’re not beside me.”

The holopanel continued to drone outside—people celebrating that their young children wouldn't be reaped, the Capitol anthem swelling—but the two of you stood in a pocket of stillness. Finally you nodded, as if accepting command aboard a doomed vessel.

“Okay” you said. “I'll fight to stay alive, but that doesn't mean I won't protect you out there.”

“You’ll protect me?” Finnick echoed. “You realize how backwards that sounds?”

You arched a brow. “I’ve watched you cart more than one Career across the ground with a spear through your calf, Odair. Someone had better keep you from playing hero.”

For the first time since Snow’s card, a laugh—thin but real—broke from Finnick’s throat. It felt like breathing after surf had pinned him under. “Deal,” he whispered, resting his forehead to yours. “We protect each other. Always.”

You bumped noses, conspiratorial. “Always is a long voyage, sailor.”

“Not when it comes to you.”

[norwayromanoff]

You Were Are Hers

NR x lover-turned-enemy!r

Word count: 1k

Summary: It’s been eight years since.

Author’s note: My dislike of the non-linear narrative structure clearly did not stop me from using it. I have a newfound appreciation for writers who do this. Anyways, here’s just a really short (and angsty) thing I was working on. Also, as a disclaimer, I know nothing about rifles

Part 2

SIX DAYS AGO

Natasha’s footsteps are near inaudible as she climbs up the steps to the roof of the building. She’s not holding the railings, she’s not jogging up the stairs. No, she walks, calm, deadly, disconnected, sniper slung over her shoulder. This isn’t an assignment she wants to be on.

She’s half a mile out, your safe house visible, you exposed, through the scope, and she gets into position.

Stomach down, prone position, cheek firmly pressed against the stock, stock over her shoulder. Dominant hand, left hand, on the trigger. Right hand holding the forearm in place, motionless, stable, practiced.

She looks through scope, lining up the reticle with you in frame. No wind. Perfect conditions. Natasha lets out a steady breath, then another.

She has her orders. You’re an enemy agent now, multiple kills under your belt. You’re known for being ruthless, vicious, leaving blood and carnage behind you after every missed sighting. But you are also hers, or you were, some time ago. She shouldn’t be calling you that anymore.

You’re standing by the window, unarmed, unaware, vulnerable, stripping yourself of your shirt until you’re in only a sports bra, an array of bruises marring your back and shoulders. You’re hurt.

Well, she thought she was disconnected.

You used to be soft, a mess, really. She remembers it so well.

Your hair was constantly out of place, untamable, always needing to get neatened by Natasha. Your clothing was always wrinkled and creased—you never did enjoy folding the laundry. You weren’t perfect or pristine, not poised or precise, and that made you beautiful, unparalleled. Natasha loved you. She loves you.

It’s hard to see you now. Meticulous and uncompromising, cruel. So different from the gentle woman she once knew.

Until now, it had been years since she last got a glimpse of you. You’re good at your job, too good, always one step ahead, anticipatory. She used to search for you, to seek you out, so many nights spent with eyes staring at a computer screen, digging through footage, searching for footprints, determined to talk, to reach you, to bring you back, but you were always gone too quick with nothing left behind. Your presence was simply a whisper, a rumor of your whereabouts and then butchery two countries over.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

“Where are you going?”

“Just getting a glass of water. Would you like anything?”

Natasha watches you get up out of bed, rumpled and languid, movements relaxed as you wake up gradually, not hurrying the process, letting awareness come to you on its own. You never pushed, never rushed, never forced anything. Gentle.

“No, that’s okay,” she murmurs, eyes fondly tracking you as you go.

Bare feet on the hardwood, voice light, sweet, and deceiving, nightgown flowing behind with every step away from her.

You never came back.

And Natasha looked for you, she looked everywhere. She thought you were taken, and in a way, you were.

You got the call the night before, and it wasn’t a request. It was a command. After months of pushing it off, months of ‘unforeseen circumstances’ preventing you from coming in, excuse after excuse, months of indulging in every precious, temporary moment you could of Natasha, it was time to stop pretending.

You couldn’t remain hidden forever, couldn’t suppress the real world permanently, not when you knew that what you had was just some fanciful fairy tale that couldn’t be.

Natasha was—is, you’re sure she still is—perfect, a dream come true.

She’s not just soft, she cares, and not just about you, but about everything. The young girl getting pushed by her father on the swings, the fluffy, white dog that won’t stop barking at her from behind the fence, the barista that messed up her simple coffee order that one time. Natasha cares, and it bleeds her dry, but she can’t stop, and you love her all the more for it.

You wish you were allowed to give it back to her.

SIX DAYS AGO

Natasha stands back up, gun withdrawn, shot not taken.

Soft crunching under the weight of her boots is heard as Natasha makes her way up the gravel path to your safehouse. She shouldn’t be doing this.

She knocks twice, but she knows she doesn’t need to. You know she’s here.

The door opens wide, you’re not worried about harm coming to you, she would never hurt you, and you’ve been expecting her.

“Natasha,” you murmur. She can hear your attempt at neutrality, at distance, but it doesn’t work. You can’t be detached, not with her.

“So, how was your water?”

You smile, just the tiniest pull at the corner of your lips, but it's sad.

Natasha’s hand lingers on your back as she takes in the bruises blooming across your skin, vivid shades of blues and purples that don’t belong, will never belong, on you. She can feel insecurity under her palm. You don’t want her to see you like this, your fragility a tangible thing.

“Come with me,” she whispers.

Your words are spoken over your shoulder, a nonanswer that takes her breath away. “You should’ve asked for something. A cup of coffee, another blanket, anything.”

Natasha freezes.

“That morning,” you elaborate as if you need to, “You should’ve asked. I would have come back.”

Natasha freezes, and your words ring in her ears. You would have come back. She chokes on a sob, trying to will her ribs not to fracture with how her chest shakes. After all, they can’t protect her heart from further injury if they shatter. She doesn’t say anything, can’t.

But you don’t fill the silence either. You remain quiet, biding and reticent. And Natasha hates it. This isn’t you.

You pull away then, physically. You’ve already pulled away emotionally.

PRESENT DAY

Inhale.

You take your aim.

Increase stability, minimize movement, pause after you breathe out, shoot.

The Black Widow—no, Natasha—is in view.

Exhale.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can you do a story with Oreg and the reader :>

You're skipping the line, because I'm behind schedule today and the ones ahead of you need setup.

You're welcome

Kabr0z Writes Episode 47: One year later

This episode picks up from Episode 42!

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Not many today! Creampie; size difference; interspecies relations; fucking on a table; squirting;

A/N: I got into BattleTech today, which is absolutely one of those "Dear God, is that daylight?" Games, so it's 23:30 now.

Hopefully this doesn't keep me up all night again 🤣

Also, send in your requests already, you know you want to

######################################

A year ago, you were sold to an orc warrior. It just so happened, that orc warrior was a duke who also runs a soup kitchen. You'd probably have wound up with him anyway if your adoptive father had let you get to know each other first. Things didn't really end up that way, and you were sold for thirty gold pieces and railed in childhood living room to seal the deal.

You weren't sure he really understood the idea behind an anniversary, he woke up at the crack of dawn as usual, trained until breakfast with you and your son together, then left to do whatever good works he took it upon himself to do. You like it, sure, he's certainly well-loved in the city but it is a little unbecoming for a marcher lord to be seen rethatching a roof.

You spent the day making preparations, arranging flowers you picked from the garden, setting up your child at a playdate so he wouldn't disturb you, you'd even bought him a gift, though he was a bit of an ascetic so it was only a new tunic and some hobnailed boots. Something he'd actually use.

He came home in the early evening, clomping into the house. You could hear him going towards the chapel where he'd normally stay for a while in quiet reflection before dinner.

Oreg had been a paladin since he was very young, abandoned by his warband and adopted by an elven conclave. He was younger than you when he ventured into the Shadowlands to kill the lich, and always carried his faith with him. You sat with your husband, gazing silently at the icons on the small altar, dedicated to the god of fertility and rebirth. Your hand brushed his, grasping a couple of his huge fingers in your own hand. He looked away from the altar, smiling at you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Dinner time?" He put an arm around you, placing his hand on your waist as he held you to him

"I was thinking of something else first, it's been a year since we met, you know?"

His greenish-grey skin went even greyer "Oh, I haven't got you anything!"

You laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek "I noticed, you'll make it up to me later, for now, let's go to the dining room"

You led him by the hand, a five-foot-nothing woman leading an eight-foot orc through your house to the grand dining room that only ever seemed to get use when you had company, or your child wanted to play there. On the table were the presents you'd bought, and the bouquet you'd made.

Your husband's eyes lit up. "For me?"

"Yes, dear, for you. Go ahead and open them"

You'd never seen such childlike glee from this man, normally lodged somewhere between practical and stoic, now filled with anticipation as he turned the first gift over in his hands before tearing off the paper and holding his new clothes to his chest. He was even more impressed with the boots, remarking on the sturdy soles as he tried them on. You couldn't help but beam at him as he stomped up and down the length of the room, clearly loving the clack-clack-clack of the nails on the smooth granite floor

You finally managed to convince to stop stomping, holding this giant man who suddenly has the boundless energy of a teen half his age. You pushed him onto one of the chairs arrayed on either side of the great table, climbing on top of him

You whispered in his ear "Now, you get to give me my gift" before hiking up your skirt, revealing your pussy to him.

He got the idea. Bundling you up, he lay you on the table, kicking the chair away and kneeling to dive face-first into you.

His hands gently gripped your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh as his tongue gently explored you. He started slow, barely touching as he licked the outer lips up and down. Speeding up, he started to tease the inner lips and your hole, running his tongue vertically, slightly catching your clit every now and then to send electric tingles through you. You could feel how wet this was making you. Hell, you could hear how wet it was making you! He still wasn't stopping, rubbing your hole with a thumb as he moved his attention upward, his tongue rolling around your clit as you whimpered and whined on the table.

When his finger started pushing into you, it was too much. You cried out as the tip slid in, feeling yourself clenching as your hands gripped the back of his head through your skirts. Oreg wasn't done yet, though, that finger pressed on, getting deeper inside before he curled it upwards, pushing hard against your g-spot, making you gasp as your knuckles whitened on your clothes. He moved with a practiced purpose, listening to the crechendo of gasping cries you made as you approached your next peak. At last, you came again, squirting straight into his mouth as waves of pleasure flowed over you. Ever since he figured out how to do it, it's been his favourite thing to do with you, you weren't sure if he enjoyed getting off as much as making you squirt for him.

He definitely enjoyed getting off though, and as he stood up, you felt the imposing thickness of his cock against you. You'd gotten more used to it over the months, but it was still challenging at first. He held the absurdly sized cock against you, rubbing it up and down your slit, slathering it with your juices before angling it into you. A moment passed, you could feel it pushing into you. Your body relented, and the tip stretched its way inside. Your breathing once again turned to gasping and your toes curled as he slid in, being careful not to go too quickly even as you could see he desperately needed your body.

"Do it, give it to me like you want" you breathed your enthusiasm to him. He looked at you a moment. You met his gaze.

He thrusted. You screamed. Wide-eyed, he looked down at you, even as you held him in "Deeper, Oreg, please, deeper"

He pulled out an inch or two, then forced himself deeper into you, letting his bodyweight force his cock inside. You bucked and rolled your hips, fucking him back as he pressed in. He picked up speed, your moans emboldening him

"Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me" you repeated your mantra over and over again as the orc took you. The table rocked and creaked with the force of his thrusts, again and again until at last, he did as you asked.

His hips hit yours and he let out a groaning sigh, cock twitching, filling you up as he dropped his load into you. You stroked his face and pulled him to you. You kissed. Your tongue was in his mouth now, he gently caressed it with his own as his balls pumped more and more of his essence into you, already leaking out and pooling below you.

You held him to you, closing your eyes, not letting him go. This is the only present you wanted from him.

Though a sword would be awesome.

########################################

Hope you enjoyed that, it's super duper late now so I'm just going to remind you all that requests are open and you're welcome to leave one!

[tr4gictea]

Smoker Trail [Aizawa+Smoker!Teen!Reader]

❥Masterlist

Tags: Underage smoking, angst to comfort, implied domestic abuse, Dadzawa, written while the author was high off their mind (don't do drugs kids)

Including: Shota Aizawa, mention of Katsuki Bakugo

word count: 1.3k words

A/n: Im really getting into MHA rn and I will be doing a lot of that now so if you have any request for My Hero, send a request pleaseeee. Enjoy <3

You were standing on the rooftop of the U.A. dorms, leaning against the railing with a lit cigarette between your fingers. You blew out smoke into the night air blissfully unaware of your surroundings. The rest of the class was asleep in their rooms, none would be awake to see you. Suddenly the roof door opens, mid inhale, to reveal your teacher, Mr. Aizawa. You quickly flick the cigarette off the roof and cough the smoke into your jacket.

He turns towards you, “Y/n? Kid, what are you doing up so late?” he says raising an eyebrow.

Fuck, he has awful timing. You were scared by his sudden appearance that the smoke got caught in your throat. “Hi Mr. Aizawa, cough, I was just-, coUGH-, out here for uh, breather, COUGH, COUGH.” You wave him over, trying to play it off as if you just needed some space. But the residual smoke in your lungs made it hard to breathe.

He sighed, shaking his head disappointed. He’s seen this happen before, too many times with students to believe your words. He walks closer to you, still keeping a distance from you.

“Don’t give me that ‘breath of fresh air crap’. Why are you out here? Really?”

“I told you I came out here for some quiet,” You tried to redirect the conversation, “Bakugo was yelling at me for what happened this morning during training.” You say rolling your eyes at the memory. You recall the scruffy blonde yelling at you after a training incident. You were told to destroy your assigned training dummies. But that objective went out the window when you decided to use a new special move you came up with and accidentally knocked out all of yours and Bakugo’smachines in one go.

“Trust me if I didn't take a breather out here, we would be in Principle Nezu's office right now for fighting and property damage,” you said chuckling.

He sighed, looking back at you. "I'm sorry to hear that. Bakugo is hotheaded and I’ll talk to him about it afterward.. But you're not supposed to be out here. It's 1:56 am and you have to get up early in the morning for school."

“Yeah I know, well I should be heading to bed then…” This conversation has gone on for more than you would like, so it's time for you to roll up outta here! “Well, goodnight Mr. Aizawa I will see you in class tomorrow!” You start walking towards the door to leave, “I hope you have a good night and-”

Aizawa stops you by your shoulder, preventing you from leaving. “Hold it kid, you can't pull crap like that on me. Sit back down.” He says gesturing to a metal box next to him

Shit.

You sit your ass back down. You didn’t need to look up at his face to know that he was less than displeased with you. His eyes were practically burning into your head. You haven't seen this side of Aizawa before, and it was scary.

“Now, give me the pack.” he holds his hand out in front of you.

“What do you mean? Mr. Aizawa I-” You try to defend yourself but he cut you off not letting you speak.

“Stop talking hand them over.” You're caught, and you know it. “You're on thin ice kid,”

You fumble threw your pocket trying to find the box, you just finished the pack that night so you weren't worried about losing it. But what did make you worried was the look on Mr. Aizawa's disappointed glare was bad enough as you placed the red box into your teacher's hand.

He takes the box in his hand and places it in his pocket. He moves to lean back on the railing as he looks at you. “Y/n, you know we don’t tolerate this stuff here. I understand training can be tough but you can’t be pulling crap like this.”

“I know,” I say lowering my gaze.

“How long were you even out here?” He questions.

I recall the actions that led me here in my head: Well, I came out here after Bakugo and I had a screaming match, and that was at 10 I think… “Since 10 probably,”

“10...” He groaned and rubbed his nose. “Okay, okay, how do you get your hands on these?”

“I found them..” You lie through your teeth.

“You found them? Hm, you just found cigarettes lying around?” He questions unconvinced by your answer. “Seriously Y/n you’re not gonna get into any more trouble by being honest with me right now. Spill.”

“Well… I'm not lying, I did find them.” You admit shifting uncomfortably in your seat, “They're from my family... they leave the packs lying around and I just steal them when they're not looking.”

Aizawa was beginning to get rather annoyed. He was tired, as were most of the staff, and finding a student on the roof smoking was just the cherry on top. “You know that smoking on campus grounds is punishable by expulsion?” He stated, crossing his arms. A look of fear shot into your eyes. Expulsion?! "And if said family found out you were expelled for this, where would that leave you?"

“I…” you take a moment to think about how angry your father would be if he found out. You don't know what would be worse: if he found out about the stolen cigarettes or the fact that they got you expelled from the top hero school. “Well, I don’t know…”

“You don’t know…” He sounded angry, maybe a little concerned. An awkward silence fell over the two of you until Aizawa spoke again. “Listen, kid, your lucky it was me who found you. Any other teacher would have reported you on the spot. But, I for one, don’t think its fair for a student’s future to fall apart after one mistake. So, I'm giving you one chance to get clean.”

You look up at him with hopeful eyes, “Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve got potential as a hero and a good heart. I’d hate to see it go down the drain. You got one chance to do better or I won't help you the next time you get caught.” After a brief moment of silence, he speaks up again.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders kid, use it.”

By this time tears have been threatening to spill from your eyes. You have been feeling so many emotions at one time. You can’t help yourself as you dive to hug Mr. Aizawa.

He jumps a little, taken aback by the sudden affection. “T-thank you Mr. Aizawa,” You're now sobbing into his black shirt as relief washes over you.

He places one arm around you and the other on your head, gently patting it. “Don’t mention it kid..” You both just stay like that for a little bit, him holding you while petting your head. Whilst you calm yourself down. You pull yourself away from the hug wiping your tears, “Seriously though, don’t mention it. This could get both of us kicked out of U.A.” His tone turned more serious.

You let out a little giggle at the sudden change in tone, “Of course Sensei.”

He hums in response, “Tonight I expect you to hand me over any extra pack of these,” he says while tapping the cigarette box in his pocket, “And tomorrow we are going to recovery girl to help heal some of the damage done to your lungs. She owes me a favor so she’ll be discrete about it.”

You nod, “And from now on you have to be on your best behavior and not lie to me anymore, alright?”

“Yes, Sensei,”

“Alright, get back to your room and hand me over any extra packs, and then go to bed. You’ve already lost enough sleep as it is.”

More MHA/BHNA Stories *ੈ✩‧₊˚

More Aizawa Stories ೃ⁀➷

REMEMBER TO SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON, OBLITERATE THAT FOLLOW BUTTON AND, REQUEST FOR A SHOUT-OUT IN MY NEXT VIDEO 🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

[y0ur-loca1-lyr3]

“Something I can’t tell you.”

A/N: IM ALIVE!!! I js sorta thought of this idea at 1 am lol

Pairing: Dabi(Touya Todoroki) x reader

Summary: Dabi spots you up on the roof and you guys have a meaningful talk over a smoke

CW; perchance a tad OOC (I hope not), smoking

Your quirk was bad luck. The bad part of yin and yang, the black cat, the broken mirror of the universe if you will. Bad luck trailed behind you like a moth to a flame your entire life, and as one would expect, it was annoying as all get out. Especially when it left you on top of the roof of the league of villains hideout, kicking the rusty metal bars which enclosed the rooftop in frustration, only causing your foot pain in the process, although at the moment that wasn’t really a concern so long as you could blow off some steam.

You searched your pockets as you leaned against the railing and pulled out your cigarettes, doing the pocket dance as you look for your lighter and groan in frustration when you just couldn’t fucking find it because whatever gods above seemed to hate your existence prior to your birth, and just had to gate keep your lighter.

You slumped down onto the wall besides the entrance to the rooftop, putting your head in your hands in utter defeat. The world had already thrown so much shit at you today, and now this?! It was like the world had it out for you for whatever goddamn reason, like the world wanted to see—

“Need a light?” Dabi inquired, stopping your train of thought as he looked down at you, extending a hand out to help you up from the cold concrete ground. “Yeah. Could use one.” You said in return, standing up and leaning against the creaking railing while you extended your hand which held a cigarette in it out to him. He used his quirk to light the cigarette, making sure to do his best at not burning it, and you to a crisp. “What’s up with you? Looks like you’ve been through hell.” Dabi questioned, one of his brows raised as his gaze cast downward to you.

You returned his gaze, your heart stuttering a bit once you met his icy cold blue eyes, “Shigaraki gave me a mouthful today about how I need to ‘shape up’ during missions. That I’m becoming a liability to the league.” You explained, shaking your head with an unimpressed expression, rolling your eyes while you took a puff of your cigarette, watching the smoke plume up into the night sky, practically feeling it poison your lungs puff by puff.

—

“I didn’t need anyone’s help back there, I was fine. I’m used to my bad luck quirk, I knew what I was getting into-“

“But the rest of the league didn’t.” Shigaraki growled out, scratching his neck in irritation, “you need to be more aware of your surroundings or you’re going to risk killing one of the valuable assets we currently have on a mission.” He added, not done with his lecture as he stared her down with a sharp glare. “You need to shape up or you won’t be any shape when I’m done dusting you. And the process is a lot slower than people think. So get out of my sight.”

“…yes sir.” You complied, begrudgingly shoving your hands in your pockets as you’d stomped up the stairs of the leagues hideout to find solice in the rooftop.

—

She scowled just thinking about what happened not a few moments ago, staring down at the city lights with the foul smelling smoke from her cigarette, “You know you could just stick it to him, right?”

“Hm?” You hummed in question, not understanding what he was saying, well more like not comprehending how she’d go about confronting shigaraki without literally dissipating to dust.

“Yeah, tell him off. He’s all bark no bite. Temper tantrums galore.” He rasped out with a soft cough, the damage done to him by his own quirk a bit too apparent. his eyes looked back up at the glittering stars in the sky. “I’ll even have your back if you need. You know, stand by, give the guy an ego check.” Dabi added, looking over at her with his usual joking/shit eating grin. You rolled your eyes and continued to puff at her cigarette, looking back up at him. “Right. Like you’d actually help me.” You huffed with your tone laced with sarcasm, not truthfully believing his words.

“I’m serious. The guy needs to learn to take down his ego.” Dabi retorted, shrugging his shoulders. Your eyes grew suspicious of him. Narrowing your gaze on him, you gently scooted away from him, your expression turning to one of distrust. “What’s the catch?” You asked hesitantly as he let out a raspy laugh, “No catch. Not this time.” He replied, his smile amused and peaking at the corners of his mouth only because of your paranoia surrounding him from you, like he was some uptight asshole who just so happened to also be a villain.

For obvious reasons, you were still suspicious, glaring at him as you carefully picked his expression for any lies he may be telling. Anytime anyone really did anything ‘nice’ in the league, it was to make some stupid deal. To get someone in their debt for later. And yet here Dabi was, no ulterior motive you could pick from him, nothing but a kind gesture. “So why then?” You asked, a hint of curiosity shining in your suspicious tone.

“If you must know, one, you’re hot,” Dabi stated with that stupid shit-eating grin which made you roll your eyes at his shabby attempts at getting under your skin, “two, you’re actually tolerable compared to these shitholes,” he added, the glimmer from the buildings of the city made the entire sky and land look like a black void of space, “And, uh… something I can’t tell you.” He said, his eyes meeting with yours just for one second, in which you didn’t see Dabi, you saw behind that tough, vengeful, angry, festering veil he so proudly swore by, you saw Touya. Just for a second, and then it was gone.

You nodded softly, the tone in the air changing just a bit. There was a mutual understanding of what that something was, yet neither of them dare to say it aloud and possibly destroy the friendship-ish they both held for each other.

Dabi eventually turned to you, the crickets in the night sky chirping as a sort of peaceful ambience, “hey, why do you stick around me? I mean, I’m an ass for sure, I could care less about others lives, and it’s not like I benefit you in any way, so…” he asked, looking over at you for an answer as you finally put out your cigarette after smoking every last drop from it.

“Well, for one, you’re hot.” You said smugly, the look on his face rather satisfying when he gave you an unimpressed glare, “two, you’re actually the only tolerable person in the league,” you repeated, his eyes rolling at the fact you practically copy and pasted his list of reasons. That was until your voice and eyes grew a bit softer, turning away from him as you shoved your hands in your pockets, opening the exit door, your body slightly turned towards him, “Oh, and…

“Something I can’t tell you.”

—

A/N: i hope y’all liked that!! Im thinking abt maybe making this into a series and making a prequel + maybe a part two? Lmk what yall thinkkk <3

[beef-brisket]

✨️Demigod!Au✨️

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @fanofstuff01

If you two are interested, this is based on an ask I got. I'll link it below encase anyone would like a refresher lol

(Btw, ima made Adam a little feral in the beginning. I hope that's all good 😝)

-

Lucifer had travelled far from his home. He was used to voyages that took him across vast lands and horizons. But, to travel the great ocean? That was new, even for the bravest hero of many legends.

Crewman: Captain! I see land!

The hero looked over the railing, and there he saw it, through the distant cloud and ocean mist, a land so green, it put his homeland to shame.

Lucifer: Very good, full speed ahead!

As the ship sailed towards its destination, Lucifer couldn't take his eyes off the shore. A few miles away, there's meant to be a cave home to oma deadly, monstrous creature. Something neither Lucifer nor other heroes and adventures had ever seen.

And rumour has it, anyone that entered its home, were never seen again.

It is a perfect challenge for someone like Lucifer, who is the son of one of the mightest gods. If he couldn't behead the beast, then no one could.

Before the ship was tied down, Lucifer jumped off and into the frigid water and made his way towards land.

Crewman: C-Captain?!

Lucifer waved him off and started searching for the beasts lair. It's said to never leave, so walking around like this should be safe. For the most part.

Climbing to the top of the bank, Lucifer was Abel to see for miles and miles. And as his eyes dragged along the coast line, he saw it.

A cave that looked like it was made by the earth splitting apart. Like a gash or a wound. The jagged rocks clashed with the lush green grass, the black sand.m and the blacker water.

Lucifer: That has to be it...

Once the ship was docked, Lucifer grabbed his weapons and told his crew to set up camp. He felt more comfortable doing this alone.

The walk was calm, and it helped Lucifer keep his head. Not that losing it was a risk, but he preferred to be in his right mind for when he saw the beast. Most would drive hero's and adventures mad just by laying their eyes on it.

And this one he was hunting was practically deadly. A gorgon. A creature cursed and shunned by the gods themselves. Abominations so rare, the gods demand their severed heads.

No one was entirely sure what a gorgon was or how they wronged the gods so badly that they were transformed into something so horrifying it was often beyond human comprehension. But Lucifer could handle it, being a demigod.

As the man started to descend the hill, he stopped as he noticed a long, large creature in the water, swimming into the caves mouth. It looked enormous, but it didn't make Lucifer nervous, I'm fact, it hardened his resolve.

Lucifer: There you are...

Once he reached the jagged mouth of the cave, he noticed large gouges in the rock. They looked like claw marks.

As he walked deeper, he reached where the water lapped at the sand.

And there he saw his second piece of evidence. Large drag marks in the sand.

Looking forward, he followed the cave as it went deeper and got darker. The place was eerily silent, surely something as large as what Lucifer saw would make a lot of noise.

The cave tunnel got narrower and narrower, eventually making Lucifer duck down. And what's where he saw the rock edges look worn down, and some were even broken. It must have been a tight squeeze for the beast, Lucifer was surprised it could even fit.

Finally, the cave opened up into an enormous chamber. It looked like an old, ruin temple dedicated to some unknown God. Water and light trickled down from the mossey cave roof, and even some birds flew towards the exit.

As Lucifer's eyes followed the sun rays, he spotted it.

A large snake tail hanging over the edge of a circular ruin covered in vines and flowers. It's dark, opalescent scales still dripped with ocean water.

Moving forward, Lucifer was too focused on the beast. He knocked a ceramic pot, sending it over the edge and smashing on the floor.

With inhuman speed, the beast shot up, and its golden eyes were directly on Lucifer.

The creature was shrouded in shadow, so he couldn't see its face, not that he wanted to.

Staying perfectly still, he didn't move until it lunched towards him, taking only five seconds to be close enough to attack.

It was then that Lucifer saw the fury in its horrid eyes. Its teeth unfurled from its mouth, and its claws were ready to attack Lucifer.

But the demigod was too quick. He was gone before the beast took a swing.

Lucifer managed to its track his and managed to hide in a small room of the temple ruin.

The creature screamed and hissed. It was a horrible noise that Lucifer was sure was making his ears bleed.

Beast: WhErE- ArE- yOu?!

Strange. It sounded vaguely human. Bit that was impossible.

Lucifer whispered: Must be a mimic... I'm going to need to keep my witts about be.

[edenspoem]

ellie spitting in your mouth 💗💗💗💗

definitely the thing to happen when ellies' at her highest of highs, as in– a fiend for sex, terribly horny!!! ✰ went a little extra writing and added finger–mouth fucking cuz im ovulating, too. just woke up too so idk how detailed thisll bee 🐝. MDNI

her thumb, print saturated with tasteful notes of your pussy sleek– lays flat upon the mesa of your unfurled tongue fulfilling her coarse request of, 'open wide, babe– stick that tongue out.' because fuck was it hot when her eyes of a keen green hawk–eyed you down. coarse as her usual tone, she airs out, "close and suck." firmly. your lips crimp as they shut, pursing around the knobby dip of her rather large thumb– you suck. the rest of her roughened fingers had meandered their way across your jaw, cornering your mid–face solidly in place cupped by her digits. whenever she asked you to take her fingers whole in your mouth, it was always her tatted arm. hotter, right? and her bare arm, enforcing an iron–grip on your locks to pump your head along her thumbs shaft. she gives silken pressure into your mouth, glissading her thumb inch by inch, deeper and deeper, until your lips parted slightly upon the thicker knuckle of her thumbs' base. then, she slides it back out, and in.. applying a bit of bob to your head, centered at her groin. exhilarating sight, while she thumbfucks your pretty little mouth– salty of the pleads for her to fuck you already. 'nuh–uh,' she crooned, 'l'mme play with you first.' as she always covets, to play with you. then, her thumb fully disperses and trails out with a webby string strung from her thumbtip to your puckered buds, shamed in your own filthy spit. my my, your chin glistening in your own sloppy saliva, humiliation of your sloppy job. but damn, was her sex drive indeed driving off the rails, poignant of sex hormones, ogling the mere way you sucked so eagerly. shall she, reward your tongue– of her taste? I think so. in fullness, she dours, "open wide, one more time. want y'to swallow this, m'kay?" all spoken while her brows went downcast, pale lids nearly coming together. you listen, cleaving your jaw open more than prior, feeling the still air dry the roof of your gob swiftly. so, ellie acts swiftly. a mild squat binds her knees to bend, only a bit, and a 'huuuk – ptuh!' grits from her rosy pink lips, hurdling a glob of white foam into your mouth with outstanding aim. it sticks to your tongue, bubbly as it begins to dribble down. a smug smirk enlightens her teeth to peek out, bottom lip gnawed beneath her front ivories. she giggles, "ah–huh, so fuckin' sexy, swallow." and taps her fingers along your chin, beckoning you to close. so, you do, sealing your lips and swishing her lovely spit to the back of your mouth, distending your pipe as you swallow her spit inside. she praises, "fuuck, good girl, mhh– want more of me inside ya? c'mere, my pussy could use that filthy tongue." in a coo, as her flexed fingers begin to unbutton her denim jeans– pelvis practically stuffed in your face so you could watch.

literal view while this happens

(img from j2l13tt3 on pinterest)

okay im gonna go work on my infidelity fic now hoping i can get it out today fingers crossed??

[antebunny]

a guardian is gained

[part seven of my fae!Tim AU. masterpost here]

~

Tim celebrates his new-found 75% of freedom by running away.

He returns to Wayne Manor, of course, maybe six hours later. But for one beautiful five-hour window Tim needs to be alone and so he flees, unthinking, to the streets of Gotham. Subconsciously heading to the last place he ever felt free. It’s been three long years since Tim roamed the rooftops at midnight, but the wonder and magic has not faded. It’s Tim who changed, his naivete destroyed and childhood joy annihilated. 

“Seventy-five percent. Every summer. Every summer.” Tim commiserates with the roof. The roar of the ventilator drowns out his voice; ideal when he’s trying to be totally alone. 

It’s exactly the deal that Tim would have made. In fact, he’d been planning on going to the Unseelie Queen with a similar deal. Since he’d fulfilled three out of four requirements, he ought to have three-fourths of his life to himself. I will spend one-fourth of my life with you, he’d practiced in the mirror, and his reflection, still a little out of step, nodded in approval. Then Batman returned with the news that he’d gone ahead and made the deal on Tim’s behalf.

Logically, Tim should be glad that Batman went to the Unseelie Queen for Tim. He only sort of believed that Batman found him useful enough to keep him around. If Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make a new deal with the Unseelie Queen just for Tim, he must value Tim more than Tim had thought. Yet for the first five hours after finding out, Tim allows resentment to fester and explode on that dirty old Gotham rooftop.

“I would’ve done anything! ANYTHING!” Tim punches the wall and immediately regrets it. His rage does not fade but his knuckles burn. What would Tim not do to make Batman love him? “What did Jason do? What did they do, huh?”

Sunset breaks the sky into orange and blue slices. Tim slips off the roof and into the emergency fire escape. All liminal spaces, such as sunsets and sunrises, are opportunities for the fae to cross over. There are no members of the Unseelie Court who Tim particularly desires to see at the moment, so he has no wish to be caught underneath the barren sunset sky. 

“What do they have that I don’t?” Tim curls up against the fire escape railing and weeps. 

If his parents were dead, would Batman have accepted him? Was it his association with the fae? But Jason was given a new life by the fae, and Batman welcomed him back with open arms. So what was it? Why could Batman not bring himself to love Tim?

Eventually Tim runs out of tears. His well of self-pity dries up, leaving behind the cracked, caked foundation of disgust.

“Stop sniveling,” Tim tells himself firmly. “You were here to trick your way in, and Batman knew that, of course he didn’t like you.”

Tim picks himself off the fire escape and clambered down to the asphalt below. By the time he makes it back home to Wayne Manor the sun has long since set over the horizon. He finds the Wayne family halfway to panicking, worried about Tim because he left without any way of contacting him. And Batman is the only one who knows what upset Tim enough to make him run away. He’s left telling the others about Tim’s new deal up to Tim. Perhaps the first pure act of kindness he’s done for his new ward. 

Of course, Tim can still slip through shadows like nobody’s business, and even before he was fae, he was never afraid of the dark. Only the things that lurk in it. Now that he is fae Tim knows better to waste his fear on imaginary problems. But the Waynes forgot, at least temporarily, that he is fae. The thought delights and terrifies him. 

Tim won. His place in the Wayne family is secure. Yet even as Tim slips into his spot at the dinner table, a happily-settled cuckoo in the home of the Bats, a seed of resentment lingers.

~

This is to certify that the undersigned, TIMOTHY DRAKE, is the legal ward of BRUCE T. WAYNE. 

Tim, though he has no knowledge of human legalese and last went to school at age nine, reads the official document over and over. His gaze skitters away from two signatures at the bottom. Jack Drake and Janet Lynn Drake. He can’t bear to look at them, yet still he wonders: did they ask for hush money or did they simply sign their parental rights away?

Eventually, Tim slides the paper over the desk back to Batman. He keeps his head down, but Batman places both hands flat on the wood surface so they’re visible to Tim. How strangely thoughtful, he marvels, then banishes the thought. Part of Batman’s job is to analyze every person and situation and react accordingly. Of course he knows that Tim is scared of him. It’s just that Tim hadn’t expected him to do anything about it. 

Batman clears his throat. “You need to sign your name.”

Of course. Tim’s cheeks redden. He ducks his head even further, hiding Batman’s face which is surely judgemental from view. One arm snakes out and pulls the document back to his side of the table. With one of Batman’s fancy pens, Tim carefully writes his name on the indicated blank space. He wants to mimic the pretty scripts of the other signatures, but he has not yet learned cursive.

When he finishes, Tim sets the pen down and swallows. “Thank you, sir.” He remembers his manners, even if he cannot raise his voice above a whisper.

“Don’t thank me,” Batman rumbles. “And.”

Tim finally chances a glance up, in time to catch an awkward half-smile on Batman’s face. It looks painful.

“Don’t call me that.”

Tim drops his eyes to the table. “Then what would you like me to call you, s–uh.”

“I am your legal guardian now. You may call me Bruce.”

~

Bruce files Tim’s papers next to his documents for Dick and Jason. It doesn’t feel right to set Dick’s legal guardianship next to Tim’s when Dick is his son (in his head, at least) while Tim is a rescue. But they were all rescues at some point, and Bruce is beginning to suspect that Tim’s case may be more like his sons than previously thought.

It was depressingly easy to pay Jack and Janet Drake to sign away guardianship rights for a son they hadn’t had in years. Bruce imagines that the real Timothy Drake had a difficult life when he was alive. But the Drakes’ public story of a freak accident and a young boy dying far too young quickly falls apart in the face the Drakes’ behavior. Specifically, their lack of surprise at the idea that their son might be alive. Bruce has a lot of investigating to do. But first, it is important to make sure that Tim settles in with a stable home life. School, vaccinations, optometrist appointments; Bruce had not missed the chaos of acquiring a new child.

And this one is somehow proving the most difficult one yet.

~

“I don’t wanna go back to being Robin.” Jason announces this at the dinner table one night. Despite his confidence, he eyes first Dick and then Bruce warily. “Can’t do it. Not my thing anymore.”

Tim, who has been eagerly awaiting the night Jason returns to his streets, is ashamed to say that his jaw drops. 

“Okay,” Dick says easily. “I understand. Trust me, I understand. What are you going to do now?”

But before answering, Jason waits on a response from Bruce. He won’t say so, or even show it overmuch, but he picks at his food with his shoulders drawn up high and stubbornly stays silent.

Bruce sets his fork down. “Alright,” he says slowly. “Jason, is your physical therapy–”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m doing great. I just…I’m done with Robin. I loved being Robin but I’m not it anymore. I was thinking, actually, uh.” And here Jason side-eyes Dick obviously. “Maybe it should be passed down to Tim. I mean, if he wants it.”

“That’s a great idea!” Dick declares. He turns to Tim, all sunshine and smiles. “Timmy, whaddya say?”

And there was really only one answer Tim could give to Dick Grayson asking him if he wants to be Robin.

[winterhawkkisses]

Reality sometimes feels kinda like a soap bubble, waiting to pop. Gravity's a law, and it's not like Bucky's used to breaking those.

His therapist says it's all part of his recovery, that it's normal, and he'd like to be grateful for her perspective and all but sometimes the weird euphoria of freedom, twisting tight and shaky in his stomach, makes him feel like he's gonna fall upwards and he's never gonna stop.

He can't fit under his own bed. This is now a thing he knows.

Everywhere in the Avengers base is too goddamn big. Cavernous rooms, airplane hangers with sofas in, even his own bedroom feels like the walls are gonna disappear. Sometimes he shoves himself into the corner of his shower cubicle until the water runs cold.

He didn't know to miss Steve, but he's grateful he's around. Only it seems like Steve feels an opposite sort of way to him, takes Bucky up onto the flat roof and doesn't notice how hard Bucky's got to press his hands into the gravelled floor.

The sky is just so goddamn big.

*

It's a middle of the night kinda feeling, even if it's only just getting dark outside; Bucky has slept through the day and woken up to a place his dreams are still lurking in the corners. He has no idea what day of the week it is but it feels like a Sunday, that empty feeling before the week gets going when everything's hushed for no reason, the echoing hours impossible to fill.

He shuffles out into the communal spaces, lifeless and empty until he climbs up to the strange kinda gantry that's almost a living room, like a spotlighted stage set where they have to act like it's home. It's disorienting for a moment, unfamiliar in a way that's different to all the other unfamiliarities, but then he sees that the couch has been shoved against railings, an armchair pulled in front of it, layered mismatched blankets pulled over it all.

Bucky edges closer and then - when he recognises battered purple sneakers - ducks down so he can see if there's space for him to crawl inside. He doesn't know Clint, not exactly, but he's not entirely convinced he knows himself so they've become something that could almost pass for friends.

"Hey Buck," Clint says, and he grins around the candy necklace that's shoved in his mouth, frayed elastic strung between his teeth. He looks exhausted and battered and uncomplicatedly happy to see him, so Bucky crawls into the weird little blanket fort so they're almost on top of each other, woven over and under and Clint's crooked knee sprawled over his legs until it's practically holding him down.

Bucky reaches out before he's even really thought about it, gently tracing skin below a bruise that's crested on Clint's cheekbone.

"I mostly won," Clint says, chipper, and Bucky raises an eyebrow and then looks up at the blankets that hang low above them before looking back at Clint.

"Eh," says Clint, deflating a little (his leg lowering, weight and warmth against Bucky's thigh). "Haven't made it home if I'm still in a fuckin' airport."

"Welcome home then," Bucky says, smirking slightly, and Clint grins too wide, and his eyes are too blue, and Bucky feels like he's falling.

(The sky is just so goddamn big.)

[ranticore]

inspired by a post by @/serpentface of a concept that captivated me, i'm going to present the much anticipated, much requested, "what cars my characters would drive, bearing in mind their economic status and assuming the year is 2024" post

we can start reallyyyy easy because for Bowman there's no other option:

An ep3 Honda Civic. Is it a type-R? nope but it's got vtec bro!!!! it's surprisingly practical and the wheels are kerbed to shit. there's fluffy dice. there's an aftermarket spoiler on the back and a halfords special front splitter. He's of the opinion that girls don't know the difference between a hot hatch and a grandma's car so this works as well as the expensive one. i think his driving style is best described as 'life changing'. for better or worse.

Senca:

unflinchingly practical. the car that can do it all. a 2010 1.6 TDI Skoda Octavia with roof rails. it's not about speed or looks and it's not even about transport, really, it's about looking superior because nobody else's car can fit the contents of an entire house inside. and then looking less smug when someone pulls up in a Volvo V50. the type of driver who can't fucking stand it when other people break the rules of the road but when she does it, it's fine. because she's a "good" driver.

Léa:

2004 Hyundai Coupe 2L. Yes bitch it looks fast!!!! IS it fast? No, but the better coupes from the same era did not depreciate so much in value and aren't affordable. in Léa's hands it's like a rocket ship. The indicators must be broken though because nobody has ever seen them in use. She spray-painted the wheels herself.

Islin:

a step-through road bike WITH panniers. cars damage the environment and the thought of contributing to that is unconscionable. doesn't wear a helmet anyway. dichotomy of ocd

Helena:

Porche Cayenne. Mostly someone else would drive her around but every so often she wants to get behind the wheel and start tailgating aggressively, just for the thrill of it. She replaced the stock lights with retina blaster 9000s and is always about 1 inch behind your back bumper, full beam on. Red lights are for other people. She ran over a child once because she wasn't looking and blamed the parents.

Jean-Baptiste:

Caterham 7. The one made up to look much older than it is, and he ordered it in kit car form and built it in his garage. I've always insisted that Jean would be massively into motor sport if he happened to have been born when that was a thing. He didn't follow the manufacturer's instructions because he felt that he knew best so his car is very unsafe but makes far more power than stock. It's not road legal but you will find it on the road nonetheless.

Erica:

Oh? You've never heard of it? You've never seen a man look so smug in your life. He shuts the silent-close door and explains that he traded in his Tesla model 3 for a BYD Seal because Tesla was becoming "too mainstream" and there were too many of them on the road.

Félix:

1998 Mercedes Benz E Class. Yeah it cost him £700 on Autotrader, but what's important is that it cost £60,000 when new. This is a good car. This is a luxurious car. It has heated seats - they don't work, but if he wanted to fix them he could. It has an overflowing ashtray from the previous owner and there's not a single thing that goes right on it but it makes him look adjacently wealthy, and isn't that the point? The poppy helps him look more sympathetic to elderly people (scam victims). Number One Most Likely To Attempt Murder-Suicide By Automobile. You've never seen a man look so divorced.

Carmen:

For her i just sorted price low -> high and picked the cheapest running car. And it's a Fiat Bravo! Notorious for earning a zero star euro ncap safety score and exploding into scrap if it hits a kerb. Carmen can't rely on her parents buying her a first car or paying insurance so she has no choice but to scrape the bottom of the barrel. She thinks it looks nice though.

Pascal:

was there any doubt.

Nico:

Beat up 1999 Discovery permanently attached to a horsebox. It is always filthy and somehow filled with straw and dog hair even though he doesn't own a dog, that's just what seems to happen to these cars. The heating doesn't work anymore but other than that it's fine, does the job. Drives with what can only be described as malicious compliance to all rules of the road.

Cain:

a Lada Niva. Why the hell would you ever need more than this. Electronics? No thanks. You're lucky it has gears. Cars peaked in the 1970s and anything built after that is just a piece of ridiculous frivolity, a toy for children. Here is a real workhorse. It costs 20 grand. Probably the only truly good driver here.

---

Sir Heaven:

Please for the love of god stop making him drive the Revuelto he doesn't want to do it anymore it's too scary

Sir Victory:

2003 Seat Leon Cupra R, with decals that make it seem very impressive and like it might actually be a racecar, but it isn't. It's made of rust and the engine sounds sick. It's battered and broken and the subframe is bent from a side-on collision. One day it might crumble away entirely but until then Sir Victory will drive it like he's at Goodwood. A very aggressive driver, mostly due to impatience, and he always wins the red light drag race.

Mercury:

It's a normal Ford Crown Victoria with a tank engine strapped to it. What? His holy calling is building and designing engines, of course this is safe and sane. Kind of a lackadaisical driver, obeys the rules when the mood strikes.

---

And just for fun, random other characters:

Qedivar:

1999 Audi A4. I just tried to imagine the most boring history professor tier car I could think of. It's in good condition for its age but it's never brought anyone a single scrap of joy in its entire life. Nobody smiles seeing this car and to this day Qedivar often fails to pick it out in a car park.

Huarvaa:

The legendary Renault Scenic RX4. It's big, it's 4-wheel drive, and it's a practical MPV. and it looks like it's constantly dipped in some kind of algae or perhaps sludge. Modified with a snorkel so it can drive through deep water. Still really rusty despite the plastic cladding.

Holly:

Rover Metro. It's incredibly spacious!!! Wow! He can't see over the wheel.

Finbarr Ó Casaide:

A Lupo. Literally the perfect car for his needs and he knows he must be conservative in how he goes about things. Yellow colour for the Ó Casaide clan, to show that he really does belong there, promise. A devastatingly precise driver; guns for the tiniest gaps and somehow makes it every single time, without putting others at risk or being particularly reckless. He will get you to your destination 20% faster than anyone else.

Olivier Tanet:

Ford F150, specifically an imported one from the US, specifically driven in a normal-sized place that is not built for stupid american cars (as in the photo). It is gigantic and it's in your rear view mirror 24/7. Helena might be a maliciously careless driver, but Olivier is just malicious. He wants you dead. His truck is part of an elaborate dick measuring contest that he intends to win. Plus side is that it's not a pavement princess, it goes offroad (it does doughnuts in your front garden)

[amacaronexpert]

AGH ANJO NALA WITH A BAKER READER WAS SO CUTE TYSMMM!!!!

What do you think about her with someone who takes naps all the time, and is STILL sleepy throughout the day? Even funnier if reader is able to sleep nearly anywhere and everywhere- couch, desk, floor, maybe even up a tree

If reader lives in the suitcase and has to go somewhere, it’s a whole entire mission to find out where they could possibly be taking a nap

Oh boy- the succubus has her hands full.

“Hmm… now where can that napper be??” Huffed Anjo Nala, her lavender eyes glancing around the suitcase, a small huffy frown on her face.

Oh well, there are some disadvantages of being in love with a napper type of darling.

But it makes the cuddles and attention all the more sweeter for this succubus.

You were practically a master at the cuddling and sweet gentle yet lingering touches, it was like it was still early in the day with you.

And how your sleepy little expression makes her want to desperately pinch and squeeze at your cheeks, aggressively.

Though her finding you on the most concerning and absurd places makes her put her hands on her hips like she found a kid doing something.

I mean, how else can she react when she finds you sleeping underneath a whole floorboard??

On a railing, in the attic, on a roof, on a canopy like it’s a hammock, on a shelf, even the more unhinged ones like sleeping in a whole dumpster.

She didn’t know whether it was a relief that you stay in the suitcase or more concerning now that you sleep around the Wilderness.

“Zima have you seen [Name]?” Asked Anjo, only to see Zima stutter, not used to interaction while the chickadee on his shoulder fluttered around like they knew but ultimately, Anjo Nala left him alone, a little apologetic of interrupting whatever he was doing.

Asking 6 was of no use as she stumbled on him silently devouring a big jar of honey…. She pretended not to see that.

Anjo Nala then approached Baby Blue- since Baby Blue and you were practically like sleeping buddies. But nope, no use.

Tapping her foot out in the Wilderness, she practically groaned before she was approached by Barbara, the girl with the lamb head.

“I heard you were searching for [Name], is that correct?” Asked Barbara as her big innocent looking eyes were like staring into her soul.

“Oh- yes, do you know where she is?” Said Anjo Nala as she perked up, a hopeful look of it finally coming to an end.

Barbara only pointed.

Slowly Anjo Nala looked up, the succubus’s eyes turned blank as she finally saw you, up on a tree branch, her eyes wide in a panic as she saw the tree branch looking like it was hanging on a thread.

“[NAME]?! [Name] get off that tree?!!” Anjo Nala practically shrieked, waving her arms while Barbara only observed and also was unconcerned since this was practically a routine.

Anjo Nala practiced saw her soul leave her body when the tree branch snapped, she flung herself at you, managing to catch you before she fell onto the wilderness floor.

She sighed softly, a little whiny as to how she just wanted a cuddle from you.

Then she heard to soft rustling of your clothes, your hands rubbing your eyes, even then you looked so sleepy.

“Is it… nap time yet?” You asked near ironically, your dreamy voice nonetheless made Anjo Nala at ease, like a cat being forgiven no matter how much they frustrate their owners.

“Yeah. It’s nap time….” Anjo Nala sighed, your smile made her feel so fuzzy and warm as your head nuzzled into her, her smile turned into a lopsided grin as she finally got the relief of your cuddles she had so desperately wanted ever since she returned from her mission.

I would definitely say, despite her being near frustrated, it’s practically forgiven the moment she has you in her arms, her sweet sleepy teddy bear. At least she can be the one to carry you back into the shared space to cuddle you more properly and rest her head into your soft body like a pillow.