#ANYWAY. just going to sit here and [static increases]

[lesbiancolumbo]

exchanges that will make you go crazy if you think about them a little too hard!!!

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 14

“Well, well, well…”

Barbed wire | Starvation | Drain

Masterlist

Cw: torture, elemental whump, dehydration, pet whump, normalized abuse, stress position, restraints, partial nudity, referenced nudity, abandonment, thoughts of death, rescue

Whumpee was almost thankful when it had started to rain.

After a long day out, the unrelenting sun beating down on their bare shoulders and back, scorching their skin and drenching them with sweat, when the sky clouded over and they got the first break from the heat in hours, they felt like they were going to sob with relief. Their tears had ran dry ages ago, though, leaving them dehydrated and with a dizzying headache that, even though they were sitting, made the world spin around them.

Small trickles of blood ran down their arms, bound above their head to the fence post with a long cord of barbed wire, wound around their wrists and forearms not particularly tight, but enough for the razored bits to bite into their skin with every twitch, pricking and stinging. They weren’t extended all the way, which Whumpee could only be grateful for, allowing their posture to slump back just a little against the post, rather than sit rigid-straight. They had originally been bound on their knees, and it had taken them a few long minutes, paired with enough pain to make their vision blur, to shift to something more comfortable.

Whumper had been in a rush, leaving them out here. Cursing and spitting the entire time, their aggression twice the anger Whumpee was accustomed to. They had some brutal bruises, color just finishing setting into a deep hue of purple, blotched across their abdomen and ribs, some creeping up their jaw where they had suffered a hard punch.

Their arms had gone numb by now, anyways, so it didn’t really matter. The pain had dulled to a hum, everything from their shoulders up nothing more than a disconnected static. The first drops of rain had felt like pure bliss, pattering against their sweat soaked hair, cooling the burned flush from their face. They had turned their head up towards the sky, mouth falling open to catch the drops as it increased from a drizzle to a steady rain, letting the water soothe their dry mouth and aching throat.

Then that rain turned to a downpour.

Soft patters of rain turned into harsh bullets, beating down on their sunburned skin painfully. It soaked through their hair and poured down their face, nearly choking them with each breath as unwanted water invaded their throat and lungs. With nothing else to do, they tucked their chin to their chest and curled up their knees, trying to shelter their exposed body as much as they could. It hadn’t been a cold day, by any means, temperatures one of the hottest all year, but the rain was cold and the air was almost too thick with humidity to breathe. Sunlight was snuffed behind dark clouds, and soon Whumpee couldn’t see far enough in the distance to see Whumper’s house, which they knew was only a hundred feet away or so.

God, where were they?! Whumper had never left them out for this long, certainly not in weather like this. No matter what they did, no matter how badly they behaved, Whumper was always merciful enough to bring them in before the elements became a real threat.

They couldn’t even see the lights from the house, with how bad the rain was.

They had fucked up, they knew it. Whumper was in a bad mood, they should have known to be careful. To be extra attentive, quickly completing their chores so they could be ready whenever Whumper would demand the next order.

Today, all they had done was forget to put away the dishes. They had washed them by hand, then ran them through the dishwasher, but so caught up in their list of doing the laundry, sweeping the floors, cleaning the windows, scrubbing the tiles in the bathroom, they hadn’t gotten around to it by the time Whumper had gotten home. It was something stupid, it had never happened before, but Whumper was in such a bad mood, it might as well have been like they burned the house down.

Whumpee hid their face behind their knees, feeling the rain beat like stones against their inflamed back. Lash marks, still not fully healed, swollen with sun and now torn open to blister. The scars that wrapped around their shoulders were covered in peeling skin, like they had been singed by a flame. They could feel the heat from their face against their knees, hot like a stovetop, not even the rain able to cool the flush.

They felt sick. Nausea twisted their stomach in knots, acid stinging their throat but they had already thrown up everything in their stomach, and then some, the pile of sick washed away with the rain some time ago.

They genuinely felt like they were going to die.

They had never felt this bad. Not after Whumper had ripped their back to ribbons, after they had been drugged out of their mind halfway to overdose. Not after they had been first kidnapped and sold.

For a while then they were in and out of consciousness. Bubbling pain in their chest, hindering their breaths, only soothed when their mind finally gave in, to return with their consciousness however longer later.

It was freezing out now. They couldn’t feel their legs either. They were splattered with dirt, even though they hadn’t moved in hours, drenched to the bone, blisters ripped open and bleeding along their limbs and chest. The only area of them that had been protected from the sun was the strip from their lower abdomen to the top of their thighs, where Whumper had left their boxers after stripping them of their other clothes. Some days they weren’t even that kind, when leaving them out, but like Whumpee had said, they seemed to be in a rush.

Whumpee could only hope, pray that they would rush back soon. Their head felt like it was imploding, chest on the verge of caving in, rocks and ice settling in their stomach causing sharp pains all through them.

They didn’t think they would make it much longer.

…

When they were finally cut down, Whumpee was conscious, but barely. Unable to even open their eyes, the moment their arms were freed they slumped to the mud like nothing more than a rag doll, a sack of flour left on a porch. They were shivering and sweating all in one, covered in mud and filth. Their skin was peeling and bleeding still, a mess of open wounds and sores where they had been pressed to the pole, bug bites all up and down their shaking body.

“Oh crap,” a voice said, but the words were mangled and twisted, drowned out by static. Something soft was draped over Whumpee’s curled up body, soaking the rain from their skin. The downpour had lightened to a scattered rainfall, dancing across Whumpee’s face as they were scooped up into a sturdy set of arms. A hand cupped the side of their head, keeping it from lolling as they were carried away.

—————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

[brevityisnotmywit]

Statement [REDACTED]: Struck Down

[The recorder clicks on]

JON

[Partially cut off]-Alright?

THE LOOKOUT

Of course. Whatever works best, eh?

JON

[Sarcastic] ‘Best’ isn’t exactly the term I’d use.

THE LOOKOUT

When you’re in my profession, ‘best’ and ‘functional’ are one and the same. [Leans forward in the chair, it audibly creaks] I actually used to have one of these.

[A loud tap briefly messes with the audio]

JON

[Sternly] I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch that.

THE LOOKOUT

[They snort, clearly amused] Gotcha, mate. 

JON

[Takes a breath] Now then, shall we get started?

THE LOOKOUT

Sure, uh…is it like an interview, or…?

JON

Just- [He grumbles irritably. He pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen.] Let's start with you. Your name, occupation, that sort of thing.

[There’s a crackle of static, followed by a faint sound of wind.]

THE LOOKOUT

Ah, I’m afraid I can’t give you my name.

JON

Why not? [Tapping his pen]

THE LOOKOUT

It’s personal. [The sound of wind grows slightly louder, though it doesn’t seem to be affecting anything in the room] I’d hope you of all people understand.

JON

[Pauses, clearly more focused] What do you mean by that?

THE LOOKOUT

Surely you’ve dealt with people that value their privacy. Especially when it involves…hard to believe situations, to put it nicely.

JON

That’s true…[Sighs] Fine. Whatever you’re willing to share then.

[The sound of wind fades, barely audible, but still there]

THE LOOKOUT

Deal. [Sits back in chair] Guess you can call me The Lookout. It’s what I do after all. I’m part of a few firewatch crews. Mostly in the States, but right now I’m stationed in the Białowieża Forest, in Poland. The thing is, it doesn’t seem to matter -where- I am. There’s always some sort of spooky nonsense.

JON

Can you recall when this…’spooky nonsense’ started?

THE LOOKOUT

Back in…I think it was early May, 2009? Pretty sure that’s when it was. I was living near the Northern Rim of the Grand Canyon, in Arizona. I was 18, and my gran’ was pushing me to [Sarcastically mimicking an elderly woman’s voice] ‘do something with my life.’ I’d always liked to hike into the Kaibab. It’s a national forest out there, real pretty. 

I’d always been picked on since we moved to the States in 2001. With all that happened that year, our new neighbors weren’t exactly…open to foreigners. So I was keen on a job where I didn’t have to deal with people. [Stutters] W-well, other than the odd lost tourist. 

My boss at the time was called…Nate? Anyways, Nate took me aside after our ‘tour’ and told me something. Looking back, I really should have taken the old bastard more seriously. He said to me, “I need to tell ya’ somethin’ kid. You’re gonna see some things out here.”

I laughed at him. I know it was stupid, but I was a cocky teenager. Comes with the territory. 

Nate scowled at me, and shook my shoulder. He almost -snarled- the rest. “You’re giggling now, but you’ll learn ya’ little shit. You treat the Forest nicely. She ain’t the sort to take mercy on her crew. She won’t keep ya’ safe from anythin’, natural or…otherwise.”

JON

Did he clarify what he meant?

THE LOOKOUT

[Mirthless laugh, the wind faintly increases] Nah, but he didn’t have to. It started after my first major fire. It was August of ‘09. Still dunno what started it, but I caught it out to the northwest of my tower. When we spot a fire, we mark it on our windows and call it in. But this one was -strange-.

Typically, we see these things long before they become an issue. This one was just [they snap their fingers] and there it was. Showed up a half mile from my post, looking like it had been going for a week. I thought maybe I was dehydrated. Arizona isn’t the most pleasant place to live. I tried to get a glass of water, but something was wrong with my tap. Not a drop would come out.

So I decide to check the pump-

JON

[Cuts in] Hold on, was this during the fire?

THE LOOKOUT

Uh…hm. Yes, I guess it was.

JON

You weren’t concerned for your safety?

THE LOOKOUT

I guess it does seem strange when you put it like that. I can’t precisely put it into words, but I knew it wasn’t an issue.

JON

…If you say so. Forgive me for interrupting. Continue, please.

THE LOOKOUT

Where was I?

JON

You were checking the pump.

THE LOOKOUT

Right, right. So I go out to see if the pump is clogged. It was a few meters away from the base of my tower. I’m walking towards the fire, essentially when my hair starts to stand up. If you didn’t know, that’s a sign of lightning. I dropped everything and tried to get to my tower.

The Forest Service always puts a bench inside. They’re sort of obsolete now. More of a lucky charm than anything. But I was terrified and thought, ‘If I can just reach the bench, I’ll be fine.’ [They trail off, looking into the distance]

JON

[After a long pause] I assume you made it?

THE LOOKOUT

No. [The sound of wind is much louder, a subtle crackle starting up] I was about 2 meters from the stairs when I was struck.

JON

[Tone is uncomfortable] Oh.

THE LOOKOUT

I woke up because I was cold.

JON

Cold? I thought there was a fire.

THE LOOKOUT

-Was- being the key word. After I’d passed out, this cloud opened up and dumped rain for several hours. The blaze was taken care of by the time I came to. Lucky break, right?

JON

You wouldn’t be here for a fluke.

THE LOOKOUT

[Laughs] No, I wouldn’t. I was struck by lightning three more times that season. Nate sent me home after the fourth one. He seemed convinced I was cursed. 

JON

A reasonable assumption.

THE LOOKOUT

I don’t see it that way. Every time it happened, there was a flash fire. By the time I’m up again, it’s been flooded out.

JON

…If that’s how you want to look at it.

THE LOOKOUT

That’s how it’s gone everywhere I’m stationed. The forests aren’t the key, it happens where -I- am.

JON

What makes you say that?

THE LOOKOUT

Because I’ve had it happen in 12 American parks, and now it’s started again at my post in Poland.

JON

Ah.

THE LOOKOUT

The real reason I came is because of that most recent incident. I know it’s a bit…absurd to drive 16 hours, but I’ve had worse in the States.

JON

 You -drove-?

[There’s an audible pop of electricity, JON is able to hear this one, making a startled sound]

THE LOOKOUT

With all that’s happened, I feel like I’m a bit of a risky fellow to put on a plane. Wouldn’t you agree?

JON

…Right. So what was different about the latest strike?

THE LOOKOUT

Well it’s two thing’s really. To start, I don’t pass out after I’m struck. I don’t know if my body is just used to it or what. Beyond that, and I know this sounds like I’m having a laugh but please know I’m telling you the truth.

JON

[After a moment, he speaks up] I’m not here to judge you. Keep going.

THE LOOKOUT

I’m able to control where they hit. [They stammer] W-within reason, of course…as reasonable as this can be.The Białowieża Forest can be…claustrophobic at times. My tower was in an exceptionally dense section…I just wanted-...no. I -needed- to see more of the sky. Like I had back in Arizona.

I -wanted- a fire to start. But I’d be arrested if I manually set it. After a few weeks I felt like I was being suffocated by the canopy. Most fire lookouts have moments of…losing themselves, but this was the first time for me.

It was last Monday, around two in the morning. I woke up with this unshakable need to get above the treeline. I don’t recall how, but I wound up on the roof of my tower, trying to climb the antenna. It wasn’t enough. I needed a permanent solution. That’s when I had the most odd urge.

Something in the back of my mind told me to will a bolt of lightning into existence. [They pause, sounding dejected when they speak again]

See, I knew you guys wouldn’t take me seriously.

JON

I didn’t say anything?

THE LOOKOUT

You didn’t have to. It’s clear from your expression. You think I’m a nutter. 

[The wind begins to howl and seems to finally be affecting the room. Papers start blowing off the desk]

JON

[His voice is tense, tone carefully measured] I do not. I’m taking you very seriously. I want you to finish your story, but I need you to calm yourself. Can you try and do that for me?

[Both go quiet for a few minutes. The only sound is the wind and electrical crackle. Gradually, both fade into a whisper of their former strength.]

JON

[A relieved sigh. He gathers his scattered notes.] Good. Now, you were telling me about wanting a strike to happen.

THE LOOKOUT

Yes. I didn’t care what happened, I just needed space to breathe. So I glared at the treetops for what seemed like an eternity. I was about to give up when my hair stood on end again. I’ve never seen a bolt this strong. It felt like I…I dunno, -channeled- it. Like I was some kind of conduit. It passed through me and- have you ever seen what lightning does when it hits trees?

JON

I haven’t.

THE LOOKOUT

It makes the bark pop off. Almost like an explosion, and it kills the core of it. If you’re lucky, that’s all. But I wanted it to start a fire. I needed to clear the area so badly, and I don’t understand -why-. [They shift in their seat] I let it burn. Everything in a five meter radius of me had to go. I don’t know how I’m not dead, and that scares me terribly…

I don’t know what to do, Archivist. I came here because I feel like I’m becoming a danger to those around me, and I heard your organization handles things of this nature.

Can you help me?

JON

[Stands with a heavy sigh] Well, I need to make some calls, but I can most certainly try. Let me get someone to stay with you.

THE LOOKOUT

Would it be alright if you find me a room with a window?

JON

…I’ll see what I can do.

[The recorder clicks off]

((look, idk what to tell you, i got possessed by the idea of a vast!fire lookout and this is the result))

[joes-grapes]

longing

thanks matt /gen

-

answer the phone.

it's been, shit, god knows how long since co last picked up. time habits itself on passing at different intervals when i'm not talking with cor. i run my fingers through the phone cord's loops again, hoping by some act of grace i'm getting closer to establishing a connection. i'm not. ring, ring, 9 rings and it stops, just like it always does.

"i'm sorry," one of the nurses says, "maybe next time." it smiles sweetly before walking off. i hear her lock the door behind her.

back to this. the same hospital, the same hospital bed, the same injury. i'm used to lying here at this point, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant. i can't even look at the decorations anymore without feeling sick, because every new one just means someone else either went home or died.

they've been red and pink lately, be that for some fucked up valentine's day or viscera, i can't tell. little strings of hearts hang from the ceiling, some anatomical, and glitter floats amok. they've even put glitter in my iv bag, sometime when i was sleeping. despite this, my pain has neither increased or decreased.

i sigh. it's gonna be even longer until my next chance at a phone call. it used to feel like they came every day, and then it was every other day, then every week between them. i can't tell how long it is now, and they won't tell me. they seem to enjoy my unrest. it's getting harder to hold out. watching the tvs has become more appealing since they always seem to pass the time faster, but after a while i can't feel my hands or get the static out of my head. ultimately, i have to make do listening to the sounds of the nearby rooms, which are mostly cries of pain.

goddamnit, why couldn't co have picked up? all i want is to leave this damn hospital, and co's the only one who can check me out. now i'm going to have to wait, wait, wait until my next chance. if they even give me another. all i can do is sit and long, and i think i'll cry.

-

this might be bad because i don't really know what i'm doing. anyway it was fun to write.

[bb-8]

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary:  You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Satan

5 - That moment when you found Satan covered in blood.

✿ part of a series now! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Blood (no gore)

“Devildom does not tolerate slander, and I, most certainly, will not sit quietly when my human is being talked about in such a filthy manner. Now, I’m sure you know this, but I have connections in every layer of the Devildom. If I ever hear anything remotely similar again, whether it’d be in text or words, there will be consequences.”

The Devildom was always dark, and it was something you’ve long gotten used to, but it was way, way darker in alleyways where the streetlights never reach. Within the shadows of a small alley, you heard a familiar voice.

“Satan?” you called out. You didn’t want to step into the shadows, knowing of the potential danger in doing so, but you wanted to see Satan again. You wanted to see him safe, and so you hesitated in the walkway, wondering what you should do.

Satan had just suddenly walked away from you earlier. He didn’t say a word to you as he left, only leaving a hint of anger—pure, unfiltered anger, ready to burst into something darker, more dangerous—in the sound of footsteps and in the bond of your pact. You felt it sparking in your chest, like firecrackers going off, but at one point in your search for Satan’s whereabouts, your head spun at the amount of rage swirling in you. You heaved, wanting so badly to thrash and to shout and to destroy something.

You whirled around in circles on the street, the colors and shapes mixing around you in blurs, and you were dangling dangerously on the edge of falling head first into the abyss of wrath until—

Satan, where are you? Satan, please be safe. Satan, are you okay? Satan, Satan, Satan, I need to find Satan, I need to make sure he’s okay. Don’t leave me here, please…

You thought of him.

It was the thought of Satan, of seeing him safe and sound, of seeing that wonderful smile on his face again that pulled you back into a more rational state of mind, enough so that you could restart your search. With one feet in front of the other, you took a deep breath.

And now, you’d finally found him, but…

A heavy silence filled the air. Every second that passed made you worry more and more. From what you heard, you were sure something had gone down. It wasn’t that you were worried about his physical well-being (although, it was still a point of concern for you), you were much more worried about his mental well-being, which had always been rather fragile compared to his brothers.

You weren’t saying that he was fragile, but rather that it didn’t take much to set him off. He might be able to hide his emotions extremely well, but he felt them harder, and they lingered longer—much, much longer. It was this vulnerability that made you worried.

You couldn’t help but call out again, “Satan? Are you okay?”

It was only after that did a familiar figure slowly walked out, the shadows clinging onto the flickering form of Satan. His eyes were a cold, harsh green—so lovely yet so dangerous with that dark glint in his eyes—and they glowed, like a warning, against the backdrop of night.

Several sharp slashes of red stained his cheeks. Droplets hung to the blonde strands of hair hanging above his eyes. And you could see similar splatters dying his gray shirt, although most of it were hidden by his boa.

“My beloved,” Satan murmured, and the flickering between his human form and demon form increased in intensity, almost resembling an old TV with static.

He stumbled towards you, conflict coloring his cold eyes, and you couldn’t help but look behind him at the shadowy corner. If it was you from when you first came to the Devildom, you would have felt sorry for those poor souls, but now—now, the only person on your mind was Satan.

You took his hand and pulled him away from the alleyway to some place with more light, some place with more breathing room, some place safe. He followed obediently behind you, letting you take him to wherever you wanted.

It was this trust Satan placed in you that made your heart clenched tight, beating along to the sound of your hurried footsteps. His breathing wasn’t loud, but you heard it anyway—gasping, pausing, hitching. The wrath had died down the moment you called out his name, and now you were left with nothing but your own thoughts and feelings swirling inside you. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what emotions he was feeling, what you could do for him. You wondered and wondered, and all sorts of thoughts cluttered your head, but you didn’t say anything until you stopped near a street lamp off to the side.

Lit by the pale white light, you finally saw Satan from head to toe. The flickering has subsided greatly, leaving him in his gray dress shirt, his ribbon, his boa, and his spotted pants, but his horns and tail were absent. There was a bit of dissonance at the sight of him in his demon outfit but without the demon features, and it seemed Satan felt it too with how his eyebrows were furrowed, and how the pale green in his eyes was growing agitated.

“You can stay in your demon form, you know,” you said softly, taking his other hand in yours and squeezing them. “You don’t have to hide them from me. I’m not scared.”

“I—” Satan began to say, but then he looked down at your hands, and he was jerking away, pulling his hands from yours.

It wasn’t hurt that you felt first, but rather concern, a kind of fear that has always nested deep at the bottom of your heart, a pain that didn’t come from the rejection but from how Satan was hurting, and you wanted nothing more but to hold him again.

So that’s what you did.

You reached out for his hands, determined not to lose him, but—

“Your, your hands,” Satan breathed out, trembling almost invisibly. His eyes were trained on your hands, and you finally looked down at them.

Semi-dried blood coated the surface of your palms along with your fingers, but you didn’t see any problems with it, especially since it wasn’t your blood. A thought knocked into your head then—you wondered if the blood was his.

You looked back up at Satan, who had taken a few steps back, his hands gripping roughly at his hair.

“The blood isn’t mine. Is it yours? Are you injured?” you asked, the words wanting to jump out of your mouth, but you held them back, urging them to stay calm and steady, lest the hurriedness of your speech scare Satan off.

“No… no, it’s not mine, and that’s exactly—” he broke off, lips pursed, and you couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook as he unintentionally smeared more blood into his hair, turning the once beautiful golden strands into something darker.

Satan fell to his knees.

It came so suddenly. One moment, he seemed like he would break apart into a million different pieces if you were too rough, and the next moment he was on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground, his fingers twitching forward like he wanted to touch something but didn’t dare to.

“That’s exactly the reason why,” Satan whispered. His voice was so small, so weak. Each syllable quivered delicately on his tongue as they escaped him, hoarse and afraid. “I, I’ve stained you. Let you see something you should never have to see. Your beautiful hands should never have to touch something as dirty as blood. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at the way he was almost curled into himself on the ground. Satan, who has always been so prideful, so full of confidence in himself and the vast amount of knowledge—Satan, who has always been aware of how he handled himself, every move thought out, every remark a well crafted reply—Satan, who used to look down at you, now, was in front of you, not daring to look into your eyes.

“I never wanted you to see me truly angry, to, to see me violent with my wrath. Violent with bloodshed and bodies and carnage. This side of me you should never see, it’s unsightly, and something so unsightly should never grace your eyes. And because of it, I left you alone when I shouldn’t—”

“That’s not it, is it?”

“Huh?” Satan lifted his head up in surprise, eyes wide with a hundred thousand emotions flying past them, yet you could understand none of them except for one. He had always been a mystery to you. A carefully composed mystery that lured you in deeper and deeper, until you were completely unable to extricate yourself from him. But sometimes, he hid himself so well, he composed himself so neatly, he closed himself off so tightly that he, himself, would forget what he was truly feeling.

“That’s not it,” you repeated, but this time as a statement. Squatting down to get closer to him, you ran a hand through his hair, brushing some of the blood away, and swiped your thumb against his bloody cheek.

He tensed under your touch but gradually relaxed to it, enough to fully switch back into his human outfit, and you noticed how his eyes were glossy. There was a light wet sheen over them, but you were sure you were also the same. Between the two of you, all differences revealed themselves in the forms of adjacency, of opposites, of analogs.

You cupped his face in your hands, and he finally looked at you. You’ve always loved his eyes—that dark, forest green with a depth that you could never decipher.

“You’re afraid,” you murmured, thumbs tracing the slope of his face. “But what are you truly afraid of? Will you tell me?”

Satan stared at you for a moment with his eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to find answers from your face alone. You waited for him. You would always wait for him. You would wait centuries for Satan, if only he didn’t feel so close to disappearing in your hands.

“Of course,” he said, and the silence broke under the weight of the promise underlying his words. He gently held your wrist, his thumb settling on top of your pulse. “Of course, I’ll tell you. Only you.”

A pause.

Then, Satan looked down, and you felt something wet settle on your fingers.

“I’m afraid that you will disappear,” he whispered. “I’m afraid that one day, you will really see me for who I am and leave me behind. Every moment seems so unreal, and I feel like if I don’t confirm your presence, I will wake up and realize this is all a dream. A beautiful, wonderful dream that I could never experience again. I don’t want this to end. I want you to stay by my side forever, until all eight layers of the Devildom collapsed, until the end of time itself. I’m afraid of a day without you. I’m afraid of never seeing you again. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of so much, but there is so little I can control.”

He stopped and took a deep breath, like he was living his fears in his mind, but when he saw the tears building up in your eyes, he pulled out a green handkerchief from his pocket. You vaguely saw embroidery of your name on a corner as he pressed it against the corners of your eyes, careful of the blood on his hand, even though you could see a tear rolling down his face.

“My beloved,” he said softly, as soft as a kiss, “I can’t imagine my world without you, so please, please, don’t suddenly disappear one day.”

You disregarded everything and pulled him into your embrace, squeezing him hard. There was so much in your mind, clanging against each other in an effort to be first in line to be said, but any thoughts were overshadowed by the pain in your heart, consumed by that clenching sensation where you felt like your heart was being crushed by an invisible hand.

“I want every side of you, every piece, every emotion,” you sniffed. “I want everything that is yours, and in return, you can have everything that is mine. I’m not afraid of you, Satan, and I never will be. No matter what, no matter if all eight layers of the Devildom collapse, no matter if time ends, there won’t be a moment I would go without loving you. So please, please don’t be afraid. Not when I’m here with you.”

You set his hand on your chest, where you could feel your emotions running rampant, where you could feel the fear chewing away at your insides, where you could feel your heart beating—badump, badump, badump.

“Can you feel it?” you asked. “Can you feel what I’m feeling? My soul is eternally linked to yours. Our pact is the first proof of that.”

Satan smiled, a breathtaking smile that had his eyes curving, the vibrant emerald green of his eyes soft with love, and while he didn't say a word, you could feel it—

The overwhelming relief.

-------

Masterlist!

[ignisaeri]

It was dark when Oikawa blinked open his eyes, feeling as if a hundred tons of weight had suddenly dropped upon his chest. His head throbbed, sending pounding rhythms of pain reverberating through his skull.

Iwaizumi, he thought.

Instinctively, he twisted his head to the right, ignoring the sharp pain that tore up his neck, trying to see past the twisted metal and broken glass that now separated him from Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan?” He croaked out loud.

Oikawa dragged his left arm upwards and pushed it underneath him, trying to shove himself upwards in order to catch a better look. He stopped when the weight on his chest only increased, the sudden change aggravating something in his sternum and sending a ragged cough tearing through his body.

Oikawa’s arm gave out as his head dropped down, the coughs subsiding slowly. Blood pooled in his mouth, and he turned his head to the side, spitting it out. It spattered in dense drops against a large piece of the shattered windshield.

“Iwaizumi,” he called out again, remembering the look of terror that had eclipsed the other man’s face seconds before the trunk had slammed into their car.

Nothing answered him.

The car had completely flipped. Oikawa struggled, left arm pushing uselessly against the large piece of metal that was pinning him flat on the ground. His back scraped against cracked pieces of glass, and he could feel some of the larger shards digging into his flesh as he tried to move the metal off his chest. To his left, the car door seemed to be torn off, and Oikawa shivered as the cool night air brushed against his bruised skin. His right arm was completely unresponsive, lying limply next to him. Pain shot through his legs as he moved them weakly, kicking against the contorted interior of the car, and his sternum was a ball of pure agony.

“Iwa-chan!” He hissed, becoming increasingly desperate. “Answer me!”

“Oikawa.”

The voice came from outside the car, through the opening where the car door had been. A pair of shoes appeared in Oikawa’s view, followed by a set of legs.

Iwaizumi bent down so he could stare into the car, face impassive. “Shittykawa, don’t move.”

Oikawa let his arm drop, instead craning his neck so he could see Iwaizumi’s face better. “You’re okay,” he breathed, acutely aware of how the other man’s skin was pale and unblemished, as if he hadn’t just been driving a car that was hit by a truck. “You got out?”

Iwaizumi paused. “Yea. Yes, Oikawa, I did.”

His head was fuzzy, making Iwaizumi’s words sound distorted and warped. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear the distracting feeling. His eyelids slid shut, too tired to stay open.

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi’s tone had changed, sounding desperate and terrified. “Open your damn eyes.”

Oikawa grimaced, forcing them open anyway. The simple task seemed far too tedious.

“That’s it,” Iwaizumi breathed. “Keep them open, okay?”

“Why,” Oikawa grumbled, his breath coming short. “Not like there’s anything to see anyway.”

Iwaizumi’s smile was strained as he knelt closer, a hand coming to hover over Oikawa’s. “What? You don’t want to see me? You’re always boasting about how beautiful your fiancé is.”

He seemed to take a deep breath before letting his hand fall, fingers curling around Oikawa’s.

“You are pretty,” Oikawa rasped. “I’m just tired.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi said. His head dipped up and out of sight before coming back into Oikawa’s view, eyebrows furrowed in obvious fear and frustration. “Where are they?” He murmured softly.

“What?” Oikawa asked, unsure if his exhausted brain had just hallucinated his fiancé saying a full sentence.

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing. Seriously, Oikawa, you can’t go to sleep. Not yet.”

“You say that every morning,” Oikawa mumbled.

“Because you never get up. You sleep until you’re nearly late for work, with your stupid alien pajamas and stupid stuffed toys.” Iwaizumi stopped, huffing out a quiet chuckle.

“I love you so much,” he said, lacing his fingers in between Oikawa’s. Oikawa frowned. Iwaizumi’s touch was feather-light, like soft wind ruffling the leaves in an abandoned cemetery. Were Oikawa’s nerves that messed up?

“Wha’ about- the driver? Truck?” Oikawa asked, gradually becoming aware that his words were making less and less sense. “Is he-?”

“I think he’s dead,” Iwaizumi supplied. “He hit us pretty hard.”

“H’ was on his phone. I, I saw.”

“Trust you to notice something like that in the middle of a crash.”

“I’m ob’er’van,” Oikawa slurred. The pounding in his head had gotten worse, and there was an uncomfortable lump trying to slide its way up his throat. He swallowed, pushing it back down. “One o’ my best' trai’s.”

Iwaizumi hummed distractedly, eyes tracing worried circles over Oikawa’s face. “It sure is,” he said.

Oikawa glowered. “Is ‘verything, okay? You… nev’r agree with me.”

That seemed to give Iwaizumi a pause. “It’s fine, Shittykawa. Trust me.”

“I tr’st you,” Oikawa said, watching the dark spots dance farther across his vision. The pain in his chest and legs had mostly faded away into a dull ache. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Iwa-chan, ‘m I dy’ing?”

“No,” Iwaizumi said firmly. “Absolutely not. You have to live, Oikawa. Think of your parents, and Makki and Mattsun. Takeru. Kageyama and Hinata would be destroyed too."

“And you?”

“I’d be devastated,” Iwaizumi said, staring down at him.

A lazy smile spread across Oikawa’s face. “Good th’ng I’m not dy’ing th’n.”

He coughed, the lump in his throat finally winning the battle and sliding into his mouth, turning into a pool of blood that dripped from the corners of his mouth. Each cough wracked his body, sending new jars of pain through his chest and legs.

Oikawa’s eyes floated shut again, and he let them, too tired to care. His hearing started to blur out, static drowning out the panicky tones of Iwaizumi’s voice.

He jolted back into existence at the feel of an absolutely freezing hand smacking against his cheek.

“Stay awake,” Iwaizumi growled.

Oikawa groaned. “Wh’y ar’e you so cold?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Iwaizumi retorted hotly. “You can’t sleep yet.”

“M’kay. Not yet. You’re so’ nice t’day, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say something, but before he could make a sound, his head snapped upwards. New sounds filled the air - not Oikawa’s ragged breathing or Iwaizumi’s rapid shuffling, but loud, wailing sirens accompanied by harried shouts and flashing lights. Oikawa grimaced. Too loud and too bright.

“They’re here,” Iwaizumi breathed. “You’ll be okay, Shittykawa.” He was grinning, and not the sly ones he saved for when he hassled Oikawa, but a real, genuine one that Oikawa had only seen a dozen times throughout his life.

“Love y’ou,” Oikawa said around a mouthful of blood.

“I love you too,” Iwaizumi replied. He dipped down, pressing a soft kiss to Oikawa’s forehead. “Live a good life for me, alright?”

“F’or you?” Oikawa asked feebly. One of his hands reached upwards, trying to catch the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt as the man pulled himself to his feet. “W’here y’ou goi’ng?”

“It’ll be okay,” Iwaizumi said. He smiled that genuine smile again. “I love you, Oikawa.”

And then the strange men and women were here, surrounding Oikawa. They yelled at each other, bringing long tubes and strange metal contraptions that wrapped around the gnarled car. But Oikawa only had eyes for Iwaizumi’s retreating form. Then he blinked, and Iwaizumi was gone.

The exhaustion became too much to bear, and the dark spots that had been slowly sliding into his view flared up, enfolding his whole world into black.

~~~~

“I think he’s waking up,” a familiar voice whispered, strangely subdued.

“I’ll get the doctor,” a second person said. There was the sound of rustling fabric and scraping chairs, and then more silence.

Oikawa groaned, eyelids sliding open. His blurry vision showed a drab ceiling, a dark mass sitting in the center of his line of sight.

He blinked, and the shape sharpened into the face of a man.

“Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked, leaning cautiously over his head. His eyes were red, the areas underneath puffy and maroon colored, as if his friend hadn’t slept properly for days. The corner of his mouth wobbled slightly.

Oikawa struggled upwards, startling when Hanamaki set a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Stay still,” he said, looking insanely worried. “Don’t rip anything out.”

It was then that Oikawa noticed the clear tubes that disappeared into his arms, attached to beeping machines that surrounded the white sheeted-hospital bed. Hospital. He was in the hospital.

Oikawa coughed once. “What happened?”

His voice was raspy, the simple act of talking making his throat hurt.

“It’ll be okay,” Hanamaki said, his tone reminding Oikawa of a very different scene, of Iwaizumi repeating the same words before disappearing into the swarm of paramedics.

Iwaizumi.

Oikawa tore the top of the sheets away from his body with the arm that wasn’t in a cast, forcing Hanamaki to grasp his shoulders in order to press him back to the bed.

“Don’t move,” Hanamaki said again, teeth clenched.

“Iwaizuimi,” Oikawa said, struggling against his friend’s grip. “We- we were in the car - the truck - where’s Iwaizumi?”

Hanamaki wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Matsukawa’s coming back soon, with the doctor, and your parents are in the cafeteria.”

“Makki,” Oikawa hissed, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles as he tried to sit up. “Tell me.”

The door to the hospital room burst open again. A tall, thin woman walked through briskly, dressed in a long white coat, spectacles perched upon the tip of her nose and sleek shiny hair pulled back into a ponytail. Dark circles were ingrained underneath her eyes, clear signs of a shift that had gone on for too long. Matsukawa trailed after, clearly unsure of what he should be doing, gaze darting lightly over the room.

“Oikawa Tooru,” the doctor said, glancing at the clipboard she held in her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Oikawa replied. “But Iwa-ch-”

“You were brought in for injuries sustained in a car accident,” she interrupted. “Five broken ribs, internal bleeding to your abdomen, a fractured arm and leg, as well as a concussion. Now, Oikawa-san, I hear you’re a volleyball player. You may be able to play again, after extensive physical therapy. The fracture in your legs will heal without incident, but I am concerned that your broken arm will interfere with your ability to play.”

The thought of not being able to play volleyball was like a physical blow to his stomach. This panic, however, was quickly swamped over with a rush of trepidation as the doctor spoke again.

“The man in the car with you passed away.”

Oikawa blinked.

“What?”

Matsukawa lowered himself into one of the chairs next to Oikawa’s bed. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Iwaizumi’s dead, Oikawa.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor offered softly. “If it’s any consolation, he died on impact. He felt no pain.”

Oikawa stared blankly at her. “He can’t be dead,” he insisted, voice gaining traction. “I saw him after-he was fine-”

“You were most likely experiencing the effects of blood loss,” the doctor said, gently.

“No!” Oikawa shook his head, adamant. “You don’t understand! I saw him after- he wasn’t hurt at all-he kept telling me to hold on and stay awake-I-”

He choked on the sudden onslaught of tears that rose up his throat, bracing his hands against the bed. “I saw him. Dead people can’t look like that-they can’t talk-they can’t smile-,” he whispered, remembering the grin on Iwaizumi’s face.

The doctor looked at Hanamaki and Matsukawa helplessly. “I’m truly sorry, Oikawa-san. Denial is common for-”

“There’s nothing to deny!” Oikawa snapped, suddenly furious. “There’s nothing to deny, because Iwa-chan can’t be dead-”

Hanamaki slid a comforting hand over the back of Oikawa’s palm, and Oikawa sobbed. “He was there,” he murmured, voice wavering.

“I know,” Matsukawa said, forcing a strained smile onto his face, even as clear tears left tracks down his cheeks. “It’ll be alright, Oikawa. ‘Maki and I are here for you.”

Oikawa met Matsukawa's eyes. They were dewy, the anguish of losing a friend clear to see.

“He told me to live for him.”

~~~~

Oikawa breathed in, long and deep, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of spring flowers. He stood in the center of the green grass, surrounded on all sides by tall stone pedestals.

He let his fingers loosen, a single white lily drooping from his grasp to land on the top of one of the pedestals. Oikawa knelt slowly, folding his knees under him.

Iwaizumi Hajime, the words engraved in the stone said. 20xx ~ 20xx.

Oikawa cleared his throat. “Hey, Iwa-chan. It’s your birthday today, you know?”

The grave did not respond. Oikawa was silent, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind, accompanied by the chirps of lonesome birds sitting in the newly blossoming trees.

“I talked with your mother this morning. She’s doing well, as is your father.”

Oikawa chuckled, absentmindedly pulling at the cuff of his shirt.

“Hanamaki and Matsukawa finally got married. They’ve been pining after each other since 6th year.”

Oikawa sighed. “I never told anyone this, but I know you were there that night. I don’t know how, if you somehow managed to stay as a- a ghost or something until the paramedics came or if you just refused to die like the stubborn person you were, but I know I didn’t hallucinate you.”

“You were there,” he repeated. “Somehow, you saved me. I never got to thank you for that.”

“I miss you,” he told the headstone. “But don’t worry. I’m still playing volleyball. Japan won the Olympics this year. Chibi-chan and Tobio-kun annoy me everyday. ‘Maki and ‘Matsu invite me over every Sunday for a movie night. I’m doing well.”

He pressed two fingers to his lips, then lowered them until they rested gently against Iwaizumi’s carved name.

“Fear not, Iwa-chan,” he said, smiling as obnoxiously as he could.

“I’ll live for you.”

~~~~

“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Playing with Fire

Part Five of the Just this Once Series

Warnings: Smut (no actual smut tho guys sorry), Masturbation (f), Teasing, Language, Dirty talk, Terrible Star Wars knowledge

Word Count: 2.3K+

Summary: A tease through the links and a bet fulfilled. 

A/N: This chapter is a little short, but I hope you all enjoy! This may seem a little anti climatic and messy but that’s on me guys, that’s my bad. Also this may seem different in tone if that makes sense? The next one will be more smutty goodness but with some injuries (and yes i used another random star wars planet don’t kill mee)

You’ve finally figured it out.

After about a week of travelling to your next destination, it finally occurs to you to just play at his own game. You know—fingering you in a crowded cantina, smirking to himself while you struggled to stay quiet in that fucking booth...  

But first, you must say that Edis is a strange place. Rain falling at every hour with apparently no signs of ever letting up, and the humidity is unforgiving—how Mando is handling it in all that armor and padding, you’re almost too afraid to ask, because there’s just no way that he’s comfortable, and an uncomfortable Mando can lead to a grumpy one. 

Maker you’re grumpy yourself if you’re being honest. The Child has been restless lately, like the heat is getting to him as well, and that’s been taking a toll on your (already) poor sleep schedule; Mando tries to help, but there’s only so much he can do. However, it has given you the chance to think of the perfect payback for your little deal—or bet is a better word—and you gotta say, you’re a little proud of yourself for coming up with this evil—and small—tryst in the first place. 

If it’ll work the way you want it to, time will tell. 

“Were you even listening?”

The modulated crackle startles you from your thoughts. You turn in the pilot’s seat, making contact with the visor and the stiffness of his posture confirms your suspicions—he’s hot and grumpy.   

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Lost in my thoughts.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’m leaving. They should be nearby, and everything should work out as long as you and the ship stay hidden.”

Like anyone could. Mando isn’t messing around on this one—well, the man doesn’t mess around with anything, actually—and he’s made damn sure that not only are you available with a few weapons nearby (some hidden, of course, just in case), but that the Razor Crest is shadowed by towering trees a bushes in this small part of the rainforest; it’s nearly impossible to even see the gunk through the one of the thickest part of the forest. If anything finds you, they most likely won’t come back alive.     

“Okay. Good luck.”

He gives you one nod and the cape whips as he turns around, strutting towards the ladder as you follow behind. Mando checks on the kid—sitting up in the middle of the haul with a few little toys surrounding him—and gives him a gentle caress of his floppy ear before using his vambrace to open the ramp. He doesn’t give you a glance back, and that’s okay with you, but you can’t deny the slight stinging in your chest when he disappears into the foreign planet.   

“Alright little guy,” you say with a grunt as you plop down on the floor next to the Child. “Let’s figure out what to do.”

***

Ten days. 

Mando has been gone longer on bounties like this, believe or not, but that still doesn’t ease your increasing anxiety when the com link stays silent; you suppose you’re used to the quickness of his updates. 

Today, after hours of entertaining the baby the best you could, you can finally settle comfortably in the pilot’s chair… but now what?

Sleep, your body says, because what else is there really to do? Don’t, your mind tells you, because you have the baby here alone on an unfamiliar planet and anything could happen. A part of you wants to go out and check the foreign terrain. One look shouldn’t hurt—  

“Hey,” his voice speaks through in statics. 

You quickly fumble with the com, feeling like a clumsy mess when you almost drop it in your haste; he’s caught you by surprise, for about the hundredth time. 

“Y-yeah. Yeah I’m here,” you stammer. 

“Not so close,” he tells you, annoyed and tired. 

You wince and pull your hand back from your mouth. “Sorry. Good news, I hope?”

“Yes. And no. It’ll be at least a few days before we’re out of here.”

That sucks.

You suspect that the quarry is indeed with him by the short words, and that’s okay, because with your plan now in the front of your brain, fresh anew like the first time you cococked it in the wake of sleep, washing your quick irritation away, your chance is finally here. 

“Mando,” you say as sweetly as you can—your heart skips a beat when there’s a moment of silence. “They can’t hear me, right?” you continue before you can find out if the com is dead or not. 

This is incredibly risky. Even a little unfair of sorts, given that he’s technically working right now, and that leaves no room for games or distractions—the moment is just too good to pass up.   

Another minute goes by. You sink in your chair in disappointment, ready to admit defeat. 

“Not now.”

Yes. 

“This was part of the deal, Mando,” you remind him. “And I’m already starting to get wet.”

That isn’t a lie. The slickness of your arousal is starting to seep from your core—fourteen days (counting the week it took to get here) is a long time, and as long as you can get him to keep talking, this will work beautifully for you.    

A pause. “I can’t…”

“I’ll do all the talking,” you lick your lips and slink down comfortably, sliding your hand along the length of your neck, imagining it’s his hand wrapping around your throat. “You just listen. You can do that, can’t you?”

You wait, and for a split second you’re afraid that, yet again, you’ve done something wrong. You really have to start working on that.   

“You don’t—”

“Okay.”

Maker. Maker okay. 

“I uh—” what were you going to say to him when you thought of this in the first place? “I… you know what I think about when you’re gone?” You know he can’t answer much, not without giving himself away, but you pause anyway for dramatic effect. “First, I imagine you stalking towards me like you always do… like I’m one of your bounties.”

Your pussy quivers in excitement as you close your eyes and picture him doing just that, sliding your hand down to your chest, groping your covered breast and trying to mimic the same amount of pressure he applies to them—you really wish it was his hand instead. 

“Then you cage me in, leaving me with nowhere to go. There’s a specific type of exceleration to it. One that makes things even more… exciting.” You pinch your nipple and whine, loud enough to give him a good show—Stars you hope that quarry can’t hear you through the baskar bucket of his. “You like to drag it out, to watch me shiver in anticipation, and fuck if I don’t like it either.”

You can hear the light breathing through the comlink. A spark of victory, early victory, runs through your body and straight to your pussy, neglected and hungry for any type of friction. 

“And then,” your hand slides further down to the waistline of your pants, fumbling with the buttons. “You touch me. Softly, at first, because you love to tease—” a barely audible sigh interrupts, bringing a cheeky grin to your lips. “—and I think you’re an ass man, because you never miss a chance to lay your hands on mine.” Your fingers slither their way under your panties; your inner thighs twitch at the first brush of your finger against your aching clit, and more slickness escapes your cunt. “And you ghost your fingers over my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips where you like to grip them tight, to my dripping pussy…”

Not a peep from the com. You’re surprised he’s kept his composure. You shouldn’t be, yet a part of you is. 

“And,” you go on with a moan. “When I feel your thick fingers paw at me, rip my clothes off and fuck my pussy deep, getting me ready for your big cock while your teeth scrapes against my neck—oh fuck…” The curse slips from your lips without warrant; your fingers buried in your pussy like you’re explaining to him. “My fingers are not the same—” you bite down on your lip as you curve your fingers, delicately trying to find the spot Mando finds with precision. “They don’t make me feel as full as yours do. But I’m still fucking myself with them, Mando. While you’re out there, and I’m in here… it sucks, doesn’t it. Having to stay quiet when all’s you want to do is fuck me until I can feel you for days and day after, your cum leaking from me, and who knows, maybe I won’t even let you cum.”

“You will,” he nearly growls, and that’s an early sign you’re in a world of trouble when he does get back. “That’s part of the deal.”

“...What...deal…”

The faint voice cuts in annoyingly, and Mando shoots back with a decent threat that’d make you terrified for your life; again, it’s probably wrong that it does nothing to deteriorate the fluttering of your wet muscles. 

“Keep going,” his tone leaves no room for argument. 

Your fingers move faster. “I think you should be a little nicer to me,” you sigh dramatically. “You’ve been gone for so long, leaving me all by lonesome… you like to do this a lot I’ve realized, leave me high and dry. But you might have a chance to fuck my face if you’re a good boy.”

You have to stifle your giggle at the last bit. 

“Yeah, you’d like that,” you coo. “And I’d swallow every drop.”

A barely audible exhale filters through the link. You’re right there with him, your face scrunched in concentration. 

“I’m happy as long as you’re inside me,” you continue on with delight. “You’re an asshole sometimes, but you can fuck.”

Mando sighs again, this time feigned with theatorical frustration—well in his case, it may be truthful, but it sounds more for the quarry’s (and yours) benefit than the latter.   

This is more of an ego boost for him more than anything as well, if you think about it, but as long as you get him riled up and you cum, that’s enough for you. So you curve your fingers the best you can given the compromised position and flick your thumb against your clit, images of his gloves sliding down your pants in the cantina playing through on repeat. This time you moan louder for your own amusement, imagining him struggle; it’s sweet, sweet revenge. 

“And?” He asks suddenly—calm and steady. 

His voice, even modulated like that, makes your muscles twitch as the coil in your lower stomach boils to a tight flame, and the sloshes of your fingers slinking in and out of you adds to the euphoria clawing through your core. 

“Your cock,” you whimper. “Stretches me out so good every time. You’re so big, Mando, so thick in every way and it feels amazing. I bet you miss the way my sweet cunt clenches around you.” You bite down on your lip to hide a groan, wanting to hear his response as your fingers move even faster, scratching against the itch. “Don’t you?”

Your pussy flutters around your fingers at the first scrape against your sweet spot (finally!), and—well fuck, you’ve never seen much of him to actually picture what his cock looks like driving in and out of you at the verioucious pace he usually chooses, so this is a little bit difficult than you thought it’d be; as long as you keep fucking yourself like this…

“Yes.”

Your breath shakes as you exhale. “Shit I wish you were here right now,” you rub your clit harder. “I-I want you to fuck me so hard when you get back, Mando. Want you to—hmm—to grab me so hard that I have bruises the next day. Use me. And you’d come right in my tight little pussy, isn’t that right?”

You don’t expect him to answer this time. Not when you’re so gone in your little cheraid and your pussy clenches harder and harder until there’s nothing but white noise tying you down to this moment. 

“Fuck. Fuck I’m so close.” 

You try to conjure the feelings Mando gives you—the feel of his hands, pressing down all over you, fingers leaving indents in your skin, his mouth on your neck, biting down on the sensitive flesh until you’re marked; the drag of his cock along your slick walls until there’s tears in your eyes and you can feel him all the way to your cervix. 

“Mando,” you whine, then bite down on your lip again; the Child certainly doesn’t need to hear this. “I… I need to hear you. Say something, anything.”

“Go ahead,” gruffer, close to a grunt—your pussy gushes at that. “Now.”

The command is clear, and it’s not going to take you that much to ride the waves of your orgasm starting to crash down over you. Your moans and whimpers trapped behind tight closed lips and your fingers covered in your juices, it takes a few more curves of your fingers and tight circles on your clit to feel the hard and delectable clench of your inner muscles. 

“Yes,” your body trembles. “Oh Ma—” You hide the rest of the plea behind a muffled scream as short bursts of pleasure sparks through your entire body, your fingers trapped in the squeeze of your cunt as more juices flood down the slope of your ass, milking every drop of your orgasm. 

After a few long moments your tense muscles relax and deflate, relieved and satisfied. Though, the only problem is that it is short lived, an orgasm small enough to hold you over until the real deal comes back. Speaking of…

“Mando?” You breathe. “Still with me?”

“I’ll be there soon. Be ready.” And then nothing. 

Chuckling to yourself, you wince as you slowly pull your fingers out, wiping your slick covered fingers on your pants. 

And now you wait.    

For however long that’ll fucking be. 

[sp-ud]

Waking Up

AO3 Link

Inspired by this post: Link

And my own post about this concept: Link

Content Warnings: Panic Attacks, Memory Loss

Words: 1817

Ranboo suddenly finds himself back in reality with his hands in the middle of braiding his own hair. Not the worst thing he’s woken up to after Enderwalking. He lets out a sigh as he continues braiding his hair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling as he reflects on what he can remember doing while Enderwalking.

Wuh oh.

---

This is basically me sharing my theories about Enderwalking in fic format. That's kinda it. I took my theories, and wrote em as a fic.

I also posted this at 3am which is why it took me till 2pm to make a proper Tumblr post about it.

Ranboo suddenly finds himself back in reality with his hands in the middle of braiding his own hair. Not the worst thing he’s woken up to after Enderwalking. He lets out a sigh as he continues braiding his hair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling as he reflects on what he can remember doing while Enderwalking.

Wuh oh.

Quickly tying off the braid he grabs the memory book. Reading through page 13 again. “New table”? Axe feeling lighter? Eye inside a block? Eye that looks his? Now, Ranboo might not know a lot about his Enderman heritage, but he knows a portal when he's described one.

Lightly smacking his face, Ranboo tries to shift through the foggy memories he always has after Enderwalking. Memories where he feels like a passenger, not the one experiencing it. He… he was mining. Just chatting with those particles of his, when he came across an exposed stronghold. He went to investigate… finding the portal but not recognizing it in his Enderwalk state.

Ranboo starts to head downstairs as he digs through his memories more, he’d… he’d realized the portal would probably help with the experiments he did while Enderwalking but had left to build a lab another day.

… Has he already built the lab? Yes, he has. Replacing the stone walls with iron and setting up what he’d discovered as ‘the solution’ to Enderwalking. Without having to remember, Ranboo can already tell he hadn’t gone through with it while Enderwalking. Otherwise, he would have woken up in the lab. Or in his bed from respawning, after all, his Enderwalking self didn’t seem to realize some of the multiple flaws in his solution.

But Ranboo is too scared to correct his Enderwalking self. It’s already taken him ages to convince his Enderwalking self that he isn’t some evil dissociative state that committed war crimes he can’t remember. He doesn’t want to imagine how it’d go over trying to inform his Enderwalking state he has it backward.

Sliding down into his basement he quickly mines through the wall to get the experiment log he's written in Ender. Flipping all the way to the last page where he’s written the solution. He pulls out a pen from his pocket and holds it hesitantly over the page.

He knows how he is when Enderwalking. A paranoid anxious mess with less than half of his memory. If he sees this when Enderwalking, he’d freak out, he’d get suspicious, and then probably do it anyways.

Reluctantly, he hides the experiment log back away, sealing it back behind stone bricks. He has to tell someone he both trusts out of Enderwalk, and in Enderwalk.

Which is admittedly a short list of people. Phil would be good, but the old man would likely ask too many questions he doesn't know how to answer. Techno, while also a good option, is also currently hibernating. And would likely pass the message onto Phil.

Niki would be an option if the two crossed paths more often, and Tommy has so many issues of his own right now, he doesn't need Ranboo's. The particles, while well meaning, are honestly more of a nuisance who would likely just increase any suspicion.

Which only really leaves one other person, Tubbo. Who, while Ranboo loves his husband, still isn't the perfect option for this, is the best he honestly has.

Someone he trusts, who will listen, who will understand, and who'll actually be able to help. The only issue is Tubbo himself might want to experiment, Ranboo personally still is a little salty over the whole electric chair thing. But hopefully the moobloom-hybrid wilk put aside his scientific interests for the sake of Ranboo's wellbeing.

Not wanting to waste any more precious time he has before falling back into Enderwalk, Ranboo leaves his house as fast as he can after quickly snapping on his armor.

The journey to Snowchester is quick, one he likes to thinks he'd still know even if he had no memories. By the time the water tunnel has shot him back out, it feels like barely a minute has passed since he woke up.

Letting his enchanted armor drip off the water, Ranboo quickly starts towards the mansion where, if his memory serves him right, should be where Tubbo is currently.

"TUBBO!" He shouts as soon as he enters the mansion, yelling being the most efficient way to locate someone in the massive building. His long ears strain themselves to listen for a shout back.

"I'M IN THE UPSTAIRS GUEST ROOMS!" The ender-hybrid hears distantly, darting up the stairs as fast as he can. "THE ONES NEAR OUR ROOM!" Tubbo shouts once more, Ranboo quickly taking a left.

He almost bumps into Tubbo as the moobloom-hybird steps out into the hallway. Luckily scrambling to a stop just before bowling the smaller teen over. He rests a hand against the wall, somewhat hunching over as he tries to catch his breath.

"You good bossman? Something wrong?" Tubbo asks, taking a small step towards Ranboo. The taller huffs a few more breaths before holding his other hand up to tell Tubbo to wait a second.

"It's…" he starts, before taking a deep breath and straightening up, "It's… oh God, I was so focused on getting here quickly that um, didn't really think through how to explain this all…" his tail flicks restlessly behind him.

Tubbo hums to himself for a second, "This is a sit-down kind of thing, isn't it?" Ranboo gives a small nod, "Good thing I just set up yet another 'sitting area earlier today, come on," the brunette grabs Ranboo's hand and gently drags him further down the hallway before opening a door with dramatic flourish.

It's another room consisting of multiple sofas and chairs around a coffee table. The amount of rooms they have that look like this is honestly concerning, but at least Tubbo has enough eye for design that they all are clearly different. Much less confusing than the identical empty rooms Foolish left them with.

Ranboo all but collapses onto one of the couches, Tubbo taking a seat across from him. The brunette's mouth is twisting in worry, nose scrunching up as watches Ranboo through messy bangs.

"Okay," a sigh escapes the ender-hybrid, "I, I guess the best place to start would be… explaining my… condition?" He still isn't sure what the right term for Enderwalking is as there's next to no public documents on the topic. "So, you know how I have bad memory?"

A slight snort before a nod tell Ranboo to continue, "Well that's, that's just one symptom of my, condition. The Enderwalk. It's genetic, I'm pretty sure. There's uh, not much known about it," Ranboo starts messing with the furred tip of his tail, "But it's basically a, a state I go into? I guess? And it…" he trails off.

How does he explain to his best friend, his husband, that the 'him' he always interacts with isn't 100% 'him'. His mouth hangs open before snapping shut, shaking his head a little. Tubbo won't hate him for something out of his control, Tubbo is reasonable, he's smart, he's a good person.

Another glance at Tubbo shows that the moobloom-hybrid now has a serious look on his face, leaning forward, waiting for Ranboo to continue.

"It doesn't just affect my memory. It, it can affect my judgment, my reasoning. And it worsens with age," Ranboo focuses his gaze back down to his tail flicking in his own grasp, "and, don't get me wrong, I'm still me when Enderwalking I'm just…" he loses his words again. Letting a silence fall over the room.

"Okay," Ranboo looks up. Tubbo has a hand to his chin in thought. "okay, I get what you're saying. Plenty of species have illnesses like that," the ender-hybrid nods, "and I'm glad you told me but, why now?" A hint of light blue eyes peer through messy bangs, "did something happen?"

"More like… something's been happening but it's, it's close to becoming worse." He shifts on the couch, once again struggling to find the right words, "I'm Enderwalking all the time… I'd say that you uh, you probably see me Enderwalking more than you see me normally," he pauses to swallow. "When Enderwalking I, I dont realize I'm Enderwalking," a humorless laugh escapes him. "I don't even have half of my memories then. I managed to forget what Enderwalking even is! And somehow," his voice is starting to go static with anger, "I managed to come up with the name again, while Enderwalking, to explain my normal state!"

He hunches over, burying his head between his knees as he lets out static-filled laughs. His ears no longer hearing anything other than a growing buzz. Hands gripping and twisting his hair as his laughs start to devolve into something more like sobs.

A light weight settles over his shoulders and back, hands slowly unclenching his hair to drift down to wrap the blanket around himself. He feels a head rest itself on his shoulders, following the deep breaths he can feel carefully. His tail loosely wraps around a waist before small hooved finger tips start bruising through it.

"Sorry," he mutters. Tubbo hums, leaning his head more onto Ranboo's shoulder.

"Nothing to be sorry about, it sounds like… a lot," Tubbo says back, "You sure you want to talk about this now big man?"

The ender-hybrid nods, tilting his head to somewhat rest on top of Tubbo's, the smaller's dull horns pressing into his face. "I don't know when I'll start Enderwalking again, I have to tell you now before I forget again."

"As long as you're sure," Tubbo replies with a shrug, but Ranboo can still hear the concern under the layer of dismissiveness.

"When Enderwalking I've, starting to experiment on myself. It's progressively gotten more… intense, to put it simply. My Enderwalking self thinks he's found a solution, to stop from 'Enderwalking' but," Ranboo pulls back, doing his best to make direct eye contact with Tubbo, "the 'solution'? It's, I know what it's going to do! It will just make the Enderwalk worse. I'll probably be down to only a quarter of my memories! I might even, even lose a life."

Ranboo's eyes loss focus as his panic starts to build before he feels Tubbo's dull horns pressing into his chest and arms wrapping him in a loose hug.

"That's what you wanted to tell me, right?" Tubbo sighs, "you want me to make sure that you don't go through with it while Enderwalking?" Ranboo lets out what's supposed to be a hum that ends up sounding more like a buzz in response.

"Don't worry bossman, you can count on me," Tubbo tightens his hug and Ranboo can slowly feel the fog that comes with Enderwalking creep in.

"I know, I always know," he responds, before letting himself drift into the fog.

[okayshin]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴs

✉ how they get their darling

⤹ yandere!au

⤹ ft. bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, shinsou, todoroki

⤹ tw. kidnapping, drugging, typical yan things

< ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ

═══ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ ᴋᴀᴛᴜsᴋɪ

▹ ok we’ve established bakugou isn’t an idiot

▹ and that he won’t go after his darling if he knows there’s any amount of risk

▹ so he waits

▹ and waits

▹ and waits

▹ someone should give him a cookie for his patience level

▹ he won’t take you unless he has everything prepared

▹ comfortable room? check. clothes for you? check. the promise of a good lifestyle? check. sedative in case you don’t settle in as nicely as he expects? check.

▹ even when he’s double-triple checked that everything is in place, he still checks again

▹ but once he’s convinced himself all is in order, he goes in for the final piece

▹ you

══

There’s a pounding behind your eyes when you wake up.

You wonder, for a moment, just how much you drank last night while sitting up. Rubbing at your temples does little to ease the growing pressure, briefly opening them to look around a room that you realize quickly isn’t at all familiar. The blanket currently pooled at your waist is not something you’d ever purchase; a baby blue that looked far too childlike to really be used by an adult such as yourself. The rest of the room matches it fairly well, clouds painted on the walls with white furniture that looks too clean, too new, to be owned by any of your friends.

It looks like you’re in a kids room.

But, the bed is a queen, and everything else seems to be in size for a toddler. Stuffed animals shoved into a corner, all of the power outlets covered, and one focused look at yourself tops it all off; you’re in a onesie. A fucking onesie.

Who even took the time to undress you? What the fuck happened last night?

The adrenaline kicks in before you realize, causing you to kick away the covers and jump out of the bed. All your hero instincts, everything you’ve ever trained for in your life goes into overdrive as you reach the door, throwing it open and sucking in a breath when someone behind it lets out a noise of surprise.

“Bakugou?” You make out, brows furrowing, before you let out a laugh, “Oh thank god, I think-” You pause, taking in the glass of water in his hands and the comfortable clothes on his form; sweats and tee. “How… What’s going on?”

You’re taking a step back before realizing, withdrawing your hand from the door handle while unease settles in the pit of your stomach.

He cocks his head to the side, offering the glass to you, “You don’t remember?”

A shake of your head, unsteady hands taking the drink. You eye it warily, memories from last night still foggy, your mind still dazed from the unknown, still trying to process what’s currently happening. But… this is Bakugou. Your friend, your companion, a fellow hero. There’s no reason for you to be nervous, right?

You sip from it, the liquid immediately coating your mouth and causing you to end up gulping down more than half of it.

“You got a little carried away drinking last night,” he says as he watches you drink, “I asked if you wanted me to bring you home so I did.”

You place the now empty cup on the dresser, your headache seeming to increase despite you getting water into your system, unable to prevent the look of confusion crossing over your features as you look around the room, “But… this isn’t my house..?”

Bakugou steps further into the room, closing the door behind him as you close your eyes and rub at your temples again, “It is now.”

You black out before you even have the chance to question what that could mean.

═══ ᴋɪʀɪsʜɪᴍᴀ ᴇɪᴊɪʀᴏ

▹ kirishima would be very hesitant to take you, to be honest

▹ the fact that he’s self-aware holds him back from committing to anything

▹ on one hand….. he can keep you safe, he can protect you from the world

▹ on the other hand……. you can take care of yourself. you’re a big kid, a pro hero

▹ but he really hates the profession you’re in.

▹ you’re just asking to be hurt, you know? and it’s like you want him to watch, too, with you being a sidekick so close to his agency

▹ it hurts, really, having to see you get called on scene for most of the same fights as him and seeing you get absolutely pummeled

▹ but you can hold your own, right?

▹ you can’t

▹ it takes one good punch to the face for all of his resolve to snap, for him to see red, and be the last convincer he needs to take you in

══

You were out of commission. Kirishima honestly didn’t even have any eyes on you, he just knows the static ringing in his ears is coming from your comm and you haven’t responded despite his voice going hoarse with how much he’s called out for you.

Another hero should’ve come to the scene, any other hero would’ve been fine. Instead, fate seemed to mock him. Fate had to send you, and now you were probably out cold or even dead and it’s his fault for even allowing you to step foot in the area.

He shakes his head without realizing he’s doing it. ‘Clear those negative thoughts, Eiji!‘ You would tell him if you were here right now, ‘There’s no point in thinking like that when we have bigger things to worry about!’

Yeah, well look at where that kind of thinking got you now. In a ditch, under some rubble, somewhere he doesn’t know to look yet, and it’ll be a surprise if he can manage to find you- the destruction the villains left in their wake doesn’t aid him in this feat, either.

Then he hears it- a groan.

Cautiously, he slows his speed and looks around the area, eyes scanning over and under every piece of debris he can, calling out if anyone is there, if anyone needs assistance.

“Eiji.” Someone utters, just barely above a whisper. He knows that voice, Kirishima knows who’s calling out to him. Instinct takes over, either primal or heroic, he can’t place it, he can only process himself running and tearing through some debris until his nails are bloody and his hands ache.

Beneath it all is you. Bloody and bruised, but you’re breathing and that’s really all Kirishima can think about. Getting home is a blur. Kirishima didn’t even realize he was en route to his house until he was at the door, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he unlocked the door with shaky hands. It was a task in itself, adjusting your unconscious form in his arms until he could kick the flimsy wood open and closed with just as much force, but you were here. You were home.

Everything could be okay, now. He just… needs to make a few more preparations.

═══ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ

▹ it’s been said once, it’ll be said again

▹ midoriya is a dirty boy

▹ he plays dirty

▹ he plays you

▹ midoriya would take it upon himself to ask you out before you graduate from ua. you two would be one of the most popular hero couples; highschool sweethearts, fighting crime together during the days and watching rom-coms during the nights

▹ assuming your nights aren’t filled with fighting more crime, that is

▹ but, midoriya gets itchy when he has to witness you fight

▹ it crawls under his skin, burrowing deep beneath his bones until he just has to say something

▹ he’d convince you to quit your profession, over time.

▹ you don’t really need to put yourself in danger, anyways, right? he makes more than enough to support the both of you. you’d be so much prettier just... being his arm candy, too, going to gallas with him and not adorning purple bruises that can rival with the color of his tie.

▹ midoriya is good with his words. he’s good at coercion, good at persuading you that you don’t need all the extra people in your life either- you have him! you love him, he’s all you need.

▹ and you’d listen. without a shadow of a doubt, you’d believe him because you do love him, and he’s never led you astray.

══

Midoriya picked at his nails, a nervous habit he thinks he may have gotten from you. Despite the clear tic, you frown. Open your mouth to argue, but he beats you to the punch.

“I just… don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a few extra locks on the doors…”

“It’s not that there’s something wrong with extra locks,” you start, reaching up to twist at the knob of the door, giving it a pull. Your frown deepens when it doesn’t seem to budge, “I just don’t like the idea of… being locked in my own bedroom.”

“But it’s for your safety…” he whimpers, lip being pulled beneath his teeth, “as one of the top five heroes, I just…. couldn’t… live with myself if you got hurt when it could be avoided.”

“I feel like you forget I was a hero once, too.”

Then you do it, the picking at your nails. Midoriya’s always been analytical, always one to catch onto things quickly, and he’s always one to study you. To study your habits. Based on past experience, you’re close to giving in. You just need one push…

“You were, but... “ he looks to the side, hoping to not offend you with his next choice of words, “but now you just stay at home… I mean, when’s the last time you sparred with someone? Or even… you know, went out and exercised?”

You scoff, unable to hold back the sound, incredulous that he really just said that, “I can still-”

He cuts you off before you could truly form a defense, pressing your shoulder back. You stumble and hit the door behind you. All the air is pushed from your lungs, nails digging into Midoriya’s arms until you feel the crescents form beneath your fingertips, and yet he doesn’t flinch. Narrowed eyes meet your own wide ones, and he’s focused, scary, trying to prove his point.

Proven, it is.

“Okay-” You whisper out, choking back a sob, “Okay, you’re right- I can… I can deal with the locks.”

═══ sʜɪɴsᴏᴜ ʜɪᴛᴏsʜɪ

▹ shinsou can’t control himself around you sometimes

▹ just the thought of you existing, breathing in the same space as him riles him up

▹ you get under his skin in the best of ways by just being you and if shinsou’s anything, he’s impulsive, when it comes to you

▹ he’s always been close to you, anyways, right?

▹ you’d trust him, those around him?

▹ those he trusts?

▹ you wouldn’t think he’s wrong or dirty, for wanting you all to himself

▹ if you did, you wouldn’t be looking at him like that

══

You wake up with a kink in your neck.

Moving to rub at what you know is a knot forming at the top of your spine is impossible, your arms bound to the chair with rope that will surely have your skin rubbed raw with how much struggling is in your future. Your eyes aren’t covered, but that doesn’t seem to matter- the room is dark, too dark to adjust to. You might as well have your eyes closed.

Raking your brain to think of how you got here doesn’t help, a headache forming in the center of your skull and settling deep beneath the bone. You could scream, but it seems all the silva in your mouth has been sucked dry from the gag placed directly over your lips.

What were you doing? What could you defend yourself with? How could you get yourself out of this mess?

Different ideas, different thoughts came and went, but ultimately left you with nothing. An empty plaine. No way out. You blink away the tears forming and pull against the restraints. You refuse to let it end like this. You haven’t even graduated from U.A. yet, you haven’t been able to prove yourself to the world-

There’s a noise out above you, a door slamming, you think. Your kidnappers? Maybe heroes? Your mind’s still too foggy to much more than squint when the room you’re in is suddenly illuminated by an outside light, whoever came in being backlit by the light from behind him.

The door closes behind him, but he flicks a switch on and suddenly the room is much too bright. You flinch away and let your eyes adjust, taking in your surroundings as quickly as you can. A basement, you think. No windows, a concrete floor, a leak coming from one of the corners of the room. Then, he walks down creaky stairs. You look towards him, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

You meet violet. Lazy. Tired. You know those eyes. You can’t even make a sound to voice your confusion, brows furrowing when his leisure pace doesn’t quicken at your state. There’s no panic, no urgency in the way he struts towards you. He only pauses once he’s in front of you, squatting so he’s eye-level.

He removes the gag.

“What the fuck is going on, Shins-”

“Shhh,” he waves a hand dismissively, cutting you off while toying with the rope keeping you bound to the chair. He doesn’t untie it, “There’s no need to get all fussy. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“We?” You can’t help but whisper, pulling at the binding, “undo these right now, I’m not joking.”

If he hears the panic rising in your tone, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he gives you his signature lazy smile and lets his fingers trail from the rope, up and down your arm until goosebumps form where he touches.

The door opens again, and another set of footsteps comes down the stairs.

“Aizawa-sensei?” You whimper out, struggling with new vigor when his pace seemed to match the tranquil state Shinsou had.

“You’ll be more comfortable, there, too. As long as you can behave.” His hand grips your arm suddenly, eliciting a whimper from you and stops you from struggling

“Behave?” You repeat, only to feel your body go rigid and your mind to go white. He pats your cheek lightly, careful to not shake you from his control.

═══ ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ sʜᴏᴛᴏ

▹ the world of heroes just wasn’t made for you

▹ he could see it now, from the panic in your eyes when the cameras flashed a little too close to your face, or when reporters as a questions that a tad too personal

▹ thankfully, he was there

▹ as he gets older, he’s less awkward. more comfortable around himself and his peers

▹ he guides you through the crowd like a knight in shining armor, elbows locked as he leads you into the doors of the gala

▹ like a gentleman. just like his mother taught him

▹ and he remained at your side throughout the night, whether you realized or not

▹ god did you remind him of his mom

▹ so kind. docile. accommodating and kind. everything he wanted. everything he couldn’t have.

▹ he knows he shouldn’t feel this way, he does, but he really just can’t help it!

══

It would be too easy to take you now. While you’re an inebriated, giggling mess. It would raise too many questions, since he offered to escort you home. Shoto would be the last person you saw. He has to be smart about this, if he wants it to last.

But… you look so cute, hanging off of his arm in order to keep yourself upright- cheeks warm and eyes half-lidded.

He wishes he could dive in right now, take you back to his home and keep you there forever. He’s made all the preparations, gotten new locks for the doors and a special room full of your favorite things for when he isn’t home. He just has to be patient.

Someone whistling lowly at you is the last straw, he thinks. It’s hard to remember when all you see is red.

Shoto finds himself bringing you to his home, instead. A push, that’s all he needed. The reminder that the outside world just wasn’t for you; innocent, sweet, pure.

Everything was dirty except for you. He was doing everyone a favor, by keeping you locked away. You wouldn’t have to suffer with anyone corrupt like his father, wouldn’t have to witness the downfall of someone as great as his eldest brother, wouldn’t have to bear the weight of the unkind like his mother.

No, he’d make sure you would remain untainted for as long as he lived. And that starts with laying you on a plush mattress in a room deep inside his estate.

You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow, but that’s alright. He’s ready to introduce you to your new lifestyle when you awake.

[threeletterslife]

01 | Ignis Fatuus

→ part 1 | part 2

→ summary: Who knew six grown men plus stupid Jeon Jungkook were so whiny? You're out here in a fucking zombie apocalypse for God's sake. They need to grow the fuck up. And while all of you are waiting for the zombies to eat your brains, why don't you play a nice game of rated-R never have I ever?

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | NC-17

→ genre: 60% crack, 40% angst | apocalypse!au

→ warnings: profanity, depictions of blood, gore and death, sexual innuendos, crude humor

→ wordcount: 26k

cr.

Jeon Jungkook's taut thigh muscles are digging against your own, making you grit your teeth and glare at the rather annoying individual. The city bus bumps along with the dips on the street, pushing the man way too close to you. You can even smell his spearmint cologne.

"Jeon, I swear to fucking god if you scoot any closer to me, I'm going to swing your head off with my bat," you threaten menacingly, already tightening your grip on your beloved softball bat.

To your dismay, Jeon Jungkook gives you a cheeky grin before leaning his perfectly fit body on you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder with calculated subtlety. "Oh, Y/N," he chuckles under his breath, fingers dancing around the handle of his own baseball bat. "You forget that I also have a bat with me. Besides," he hums, squeezing your shoulder, "you and I both know your threats are always empty. I think you told me you were going to dislocate my neck at least a thousand times before. My neck's still fine, as you can clearly see."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever, Jeon," you mutter before leaning against his chest in defeat.

Your relationship with Jeon Jungkook is quite questionable. It would be weird to call him your friend, but even weirder to call him your enemy. Jungkook was... an acquaintance... who you merely got a bit touchy with at times. In a way, he was kinda like your fuck buddy, minus the fucking, of course. A friend with benefits minus the friend and benefits. None of that made any sense whatsoever. But that's just how fucking complicated your relationship with him is.

You'd first met the 19-year-old on the bus, catching him unabashedly eyeing you up and down. You boldly called him out for that. That bus ride was awkward because you'd spent the whole time tugging down your shorts and glaring at Jungkook, and he'd glared at you right back because apparently, he hadn't been checking you out that day. (He had been shamelessly ogling at the Victoria's Secret ad plastered on the wall behind the window of your seat.) But you didn't know that at the time, of course.

It was even worse when you got off at the same stop—at the practice field. But an unlikely 'friendship' had blossomed after that day. There was something about that Jeon Jungkook that was captivating to you, and there must be something about you that had captivated Jungkook. Ever since that incident, the two of you wordlessly saved each other seats on the local bus, and once at the field, he always walked you to your softball practice field before he sauntered off to play baseball.

Despite the constant bickering between the two of you, you swear leaning up against him, or having him wrap his arm around you feels natural.

You're just too damn stubborn to admit it out loud.

Looking up, you get an unobstructed view of Jungkook's sharp jawline, how his nose stands in all the right angles, and how his eyes sparkle when he—oh shit—your eyes meet his. Mission abort! Mission abort!

He caught you checking him out.

Oh god no. Your face flushes red, dreading what kind of saucy comment Jungkook would have for you.

But to your surprise, he squeezes you tighter, holding you close to him as his eyes are trained straight in front of him. "What in the world..." he breathes.

"What?" you mutter, confused. Your eyes trail up to follow his line of vision.

Oh, what the fuck.

"Isn't it too early for Halloween get up?" You frown, cocking your head at the mangled figure that's slowly limping its way towards the stopped bus. But one figure quickly becomes two, then, three, four, five, ten—twenty. All staggering towards the bus.

You can only seem to focus on the hoard of hobbling figures as your eyes follow their every jagged move. But one moment you're shaking your head in disdain at cheesy 'costumes,' the next you feel bile rushing up your throat.

One of the mangled figures hobbles up to an innocent pedestrian on the street and attacks them. And not like how a normal human being would do—not with fists, or some man-made weapon. But with decaying teeth. You see with your very own eyes a... a monster bite through the neck of a human—and although you are too far away, you swear you heard the crunch of bones. You most definitely see blood.

It's so horrific, the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall.

The innocent victim's screams are silent, mouth open, neck gashed apart by their attacker. Their blood is splattered everywhere and their eyes are glossed over. Lifeless. Dead. Soon to be undead.

Oh my god.

You jerk your head away, unable to look any further, placing your hand on your heart in an attempt to calm it down—no use. Your breaths become shallow and quicken as you grip your fists in order to keep yourself from vomiting and making the situation worse than it already is.

Oh god. Oh, fuck.

The images of blood and gore are sealed to your head. It's too real to be fake.

It pains you to realize that... that this is obviously not some Halloween get up.

"Fucking hell, Y/N... I don't think those are people," Jungkook says, holding you protectively in his arms. "They look a lot like—"

"ZOMBIES!" a man in a crisp, black suit shrieks, jumping up and running to the very back of the bus to where you and Jungkook are sitting.

"ZOMBIES!" the others on the bus scream in response.

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!" Suit Man hollers, curling up in the back seat as he rocks back and forth. With his neat and tidy suit, he definitely looks like he doesn't belong in a public transportation vehicle. In fact, he looks like he's never even used any public service. The kind of person who probably owns a private jet or something. "GET ME MY SECRETARY!" he shrieks.

He is not helping.

Another man stands up, crossing his arms over his chest. His dyed dirt blond hair sweeps just above his eyes and you can see his dimples when he presses his lips into a thin line. "Hey, bus driver?" he calls.

The bus driver grunts. "What?" he yells. His hands are shaking, but he's doing a hell of a good job maintaining a steady hand on the wheel.

"Maybe we should turn on the radio?" Dimples Man suggests. "We need some sort of explanation for this!!"

"Um, maybe we should, I don't know, drive away first???" another man suggests. He's clutching a Gucci messenger bag and nervously twists an Apple Watch on his wrist. He seems a lot like the younger version of Suit Man—except he was just born rich with a silver spoon in his mouth.

"The zombies are coming towards us!" Jungkook shouts. "Of course we need to drive away!" He squeezes your arm. "We need to get home, now!"

"You and your girlfriend can wait!" Suit Man hollers. "I want to go to my penthouse suite, first!"

"Why are you a priority?!" a man with puffy cheeks and plump lips argues. "We all have equal rights in a crisis! Cop in training!" he huffs, holding out an official-looking badge. "Bus driver, step on the gas!"

The bus driver rolls his eyes. "I do whatever the fuck I want on my bus."

Contrary to his unyielding attitude, he clicks on the radio and simultaneously steps on the gas.

Everyone lurches backward and some of the men who were standing fall down. For a few seconds, it's all chaos—shouts and yells bounce off the walls of the bus. All until the fuzzy crackles of the radio emit from the speakers.

Then, everyone becomes dead silent, waiting to hear what the news had to say.

But the radio static is so serious, you're unable to make out a lot of the words.

"... Inside... Not... Anywhere... Stay Inside..."

"What the fuck is wrong with your radio??" Suit Man complains.

"It's not my radio, you idiotic swine. The problem's not from my end," the bus driver snaps.

"Idiotic swine?!?! How dare—"

"Oh shut up, will you??" a man who had been quietly sitting down this whole time laughs. He twiddles a frying pan in his hands before he says, "Stay inside?? Don't you think it's too late for us to do that?"

Suit Man scowls, slumping down in his seat and grumbling about how important he is and how much he needs his secretary—who's apparently not answering his frantic texts and calls.

Abruptly, the bus driver swerves to the right to avoid limping zombies, but he manages to run some of the monsters over anyway. The bus hovers over the air for a few seconds, then crashes down on the road, jerking everyone in their seats.

You and Jungkook say nothing, you holding onto Jungkook and Jungkook holding onto his seat. But the others are more vocal.

"Hey, who taught you how to drive, motherfucker?!" Gucci Man yells.

The cop holds up his hands. "Are you even going under the speed limit??"

Oh my god. These men are driving you insane.

And just when you thought it couldn't get worse:

"No... Origin... Rapidly... Increasing..." the radio suddenly buzzes.

"Well, great," Dimples Man sighs. "Seems like the cases are multiplying out of nowhere. Maybe it's some kind of new virus. An epidemic, if you please."

"Oh, sit down, doctor boy," Suit Man yells at the tops of his lungs. "No one cares about the how. Right now, we focus on getting away from these monsters!"

Jungkook slips his hands into yours. The two of you look out the window to see the zombies chasing after the bus from behind. They're thankfully too slow to catch up to the bus driver's 85 miles per hour reckless driving, but they're not as slow as some movies depict them.

You watch the turmoil unfold behind you, disgusted and terrified at the same time. There are zombies trying to knock their heads against the glass to get into stores where trembling families are waiting to fight. Zombies biting the necks of victims. Blood spurting everywhere and painting the streets in crimson red.

You have to look away after some time.

It's too much to process.

The bus driver continues to make random twists and turns, making the bus lurch every which way every few seconds. The six men continue to argue, raising their voices over each other until you can't even make out what they're saying.

They're acting like babies, you think. You admit, you're terrified, which is exactly why you haven't said one single word out loud yet. Jungkook taps your shoulder, leaning into you. You catch a whiff of his cologne and strangely, it relaxes you.

"Hey," he whispers. "You okay?"

You manage to nod.

"Think this has spread to other cities yet...? Other states?"

Oh god.

The thought of that is horrific.

"I... I hope not... My family's in a state across the country though..." you manage to say in a low voice.

"Same..."

This time, it's your turn to ask a question.

"Do you think we'll ever get to our homes?"

Jungkook snorts in response. "Well, maybe not. I have no idea where that crazy bus driver's taking us."

And it's true, five different men are yelling at the bus driver to tell them where the fuck he's going, but the bus driver remains completely silent. Instead, he flips everyone off with one hand, vigorously steering the wheel with the other.

Everyone goes absolutely bonkers after that.

You've heard blaring fire alarms that sound like music compared to this.

"You have earphones?" Jungkook asks.

"Well, yeah..." you trail off. "But maybe we shouldn't listen to music now. We should save our phone batteries."

"Oh yeah, duh," Jungkook grins in a silly way. "My bad."

This is kind of the first time that you and Jungkook have been civil and kind of nice to each other. I guess it takes a whole ass zombie epidemic for that to happen.

You just try to focus on clutching onto Jungkook, trying to drown out the incessant yelling of the man babies.

And finally, fucking finally, the bus skids to a stop. But not in front of a house, but in front of a familiar-looking red and beige building. Your mouth drops open.

"TARGET???" Cop Man shrieks. "You brought us to Target??"

"Genius, aren't I?" the bus driver grins, leaning back from the steering wheel as if to admire his handy work. "This is my new home. The rest of you can leave if you don't like it."

Nobody moves a muscle.

You desperately want to go back home, but you have to admit, living in Target sounds pretty smart. Endless supply of blankets and food. A ton of gadgets to build when you get bored. At least one of the men on the bus has a brain. Thank god.

"I can't drive you guys home," the bus driver says a little bit more apologetically. "But you saw what's out there. I'm not going to waste gas getting everyone to their homes. And I surely don't wanna risk my life just to get you home, okay? I'm not your chauffeur. So you can stay with me if you like. Or you can walk home yourself."

"I can pay you to be my chauffeur," Suit Man mumbles.

The bus driver's ears perk up. "How much?"

"One grand."

"Ha!" the bus driver snorts. "You think I need money in a supposed apocalypse?? No thanks."

"I'LL PAY YOU THREE GRAND!" Gucci Man shrieks. "I-I'll call my parents! They always have cash on them!"

Frying Pan Man rolls his eyes way up to the ceiling of the bus and waits three dramatic seconds until he stares straight at Suit Man and Gucci Man. "Shut up, ya spoiled brats," he says. "Stop trying to bribe the bus driver and take his fucking offer to stay with him."

The others nod, agreeing with the Frying Pan Man's wise but snippy words.

Suit Man and Gucci Man shut up when they realize their wealth can't get them out of the situation this time.

"Well then," Jungkook sighs. "We all agree to stick together now, right? Nice group of people, aren't we?"

The last part sounds a tad bit sarcastic, but the others seem to take it as a compliment.

"First thing's first," Jungkook announces, "you there!" He points at the Suit Man. "Use your jacket to cover up that window over there. You!" He continues to point at the men, ordering them to place their jackets and bags over the windows. The bus driver manages to cover up the glass doors with a spare blanket he found in the glove compartment.

You just stare at Jungkook in awe. You're even more in awe that everyone is following his orders.

"If the zombies can't see us, they won't get us," Jungkook says very knowledgeably. "At least I think so. Just in case, we should all crouch down though."

"Are you serious? I'm not sitting my ass down on the bus floor," Suit Man scoffs.

"I'm wearing Gucci," Gucci Man complains.

The bus driver grins. "They scraped twenty pieces of gum off the floor only a week ago."

"I think we can all agree that we could've totally done without that information," Cop Man sighs.

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. "My god, would you rather die than get your pants a little dirty? Come on, Y/N." He tugs you down on the floor and the two of you sit cross-legged. "It's not even that bad."

One by one, the men follow you and Jungkook, sitting down, if not crouching, on the floor. Even Suit Man and Gucci Man obey Jungkook, though they have disgruntled looks on their faces.

"Now what?" Frying Pan Man says. "We wait this whole thing out? Until it's safe to get into Target?"

"I suppose so," Dimples Man says. "A little waiting never hurt anyone."

Suit Man rolls his eyes. "You would be terrible in the business world."

"I'm a respected med school student, thank you very much," Dimples Man replies curtly. "I don't need business lessons from you."

"Okay, okay!" Jungkook raises his voice. "You know what? Let's just introduce ourselves to each other. You know, ages, hobbies, whatever, I don't care. Just something the others can use to get to know you. We might be stuck together for a while. I'll start," he says. "I'm Jungkook. 19. I play baseball in college, and I'm pretty fucking good. Okay, who's next?"

Cop Man raises his hand politely. "I'm Jimin," he giggles as if his name itself is the cutest thing in the world. "And I'm the top-ranking cop in training," he says. "Oh yeah, I'm 21 years old. And I just got wasted two days ago when I turned 21."

"Yoongi," the bus driver says. "I drive this bus. 25. Next."

Everyone frowns at his short introduction but Yoongi shrugs.

"Hello, everyone," Dimples man says. "I'm Namjoon. I studied biochemistry in college, but I'm currently aiming for my M.D. I'm 24 right now, but I'll be 25 in a couple of months. It's nice to meet you."

Everyone mumbles their greetings back, but no one is really in a jolly mood.

"Well, I'm Seokjin, a worldwide famous chef," Frying Pan Man says. That explains the frying pan a lot. "I—"

"If you're so worldwide famous, how come I've never heard of you before until now?" Gucci Man snickers.

"Shut the fuck up," Seokjin answers simply. "I will be a worldwide famous chef. I'm interning at the esteemed restaurant, the Summit House. And for my 25th birthday, I got this lovely, new frying pan. I bring it with me everywhere because it is my lifeline."

You raise your eyebrows and so does Jungkook but neither of you says anything.

"I'm Taehyung, then," Gucci Man says. "I'm 23, but I'm already a law school student. Work hard and play even harder is my life motto. Also, I like expensive stuff."

That explains the Gucci.

Suit Man scoffs. "I'm Hoseok, but all of you must call me Mr. Jung because I'm 27 and I'm the respectful CEO of a rapidly growing business right in this city. I've been on the cover of Vogue twice this year alone. Any questions?"

"None at all, Hoseok," Yoongi snorts.

Hoseok scowls. "I just said—"

"Oh, shut your trap and let the girl talk," Seokjin chastises the businessman. You're starting to think Seokjin has a talent for shutting people up.

Well, great. Now everyone's staring at you. And it's only then when it occurs to you that you are the only female in the group. Oh god.

"I'm uh, Y/N..." you say. "And I... I play softball," you say, gripping your bat in your hand. "I'm 19 and I play for my college team."

"She's really good," Jungkook says. "Got that nice swing." He nudges your shoulder assuringly. It almost makes you crack a small smile. "Anyways, now that we all know each other a little bit better, let's be... uh..."

"Civil," you finish for him. "Let's please be fucking civil." You stare at Hoseok and Taehyung specifically.

"Fine!" Hoseok says. "Fine, then. Let's be totally civil trying to fight off uncivil monsters. Makes sense to me."

"We need to stay civil to stay calm," Jimin says, putting a hand on his hip. "My special cop training taught me how to stay calm in dire situations! I'll teach you guys a thing or two sometime."

"Oh god," Yoongi mutters.

"More importantly," Namjoon sighs. "If this is a zombie breakout, we'll need to start strategizing on how to stay safe. We'll need to gather supplies, make a hideout and find some weapons." He looks over at Jungkook and your bats, nodding his head approvingly. "Those will do good," he mutters. "But I'm afraid hiding out in Target might be a bit difficult. The building is large. Way too large for it to be safe..."

"Do you have any better suggestions then?" Yoongi says.

"Not as of now..."

"I say we go full-out," Taehyung declares. "Like we get cool leather jackets and sunglasses and make spiked bats and get guns!!"

"You mean... like in the movies," Hoseok scoffs. "Kid, hate to break it to you, but this is real life."

"Okay, but Taehyung might have a point," Jungkook says.

"Thank you!!" the law student exclaims.

"Yeah, maybe we can use some elements of what characters did in the movies and you know, apply it to our situation now," you say thoughtfully. "So we're not going into this catastrophe completely blinded."

"You read my mind," Jungkook smiles. You manage to smile right back at him.

"Whatever," Hoseok sighs. "I'm gonna call my secretary again."

Everyone else ignores him, opting to do their own individual activities.

Namjoon pulls a giant binder out of nowhere and begins to actively highlight things. It looks a lot like he's studying. In a fucking crisis.

You shake your head in disbelief. Med school students, I swear.

Taehyung taps away on his phone. Either texting or playing Candy Crush. You can't tell. Seokjin's sanitizing his precious frying pan while Jimin's polishing his official badge over and over again. In the far corner of the bus, it looks like Yoongi's dozed off.

The silence is awkward but it's much better than the complete ruckus before, so you let it go. Meanwhile, you take out your earbuds. It won't hurt to let some music distract you and calm down your spiked nerves.

"Hey, what percent battery is your phone at?" you whisper to Jungkook.

"23%, you?"

"23%?!" you gasp. "Why is it so low??"

"Forgot to charge it last night," Jungkook answers, ducking his head down in embarrassment. "Could not have been a worse timing."

"Well, I'm at 97%, so I guess we can listen to music on my phone." You plug in the earphones and hand one bud to Jungkook.

He takes it gratefully. "Thanks."

You feel much more relaxed when the music floods through your ear. If Jungkook doesn't like Beethoven's Sonata, he doesn't complain. And everything, just for a few songs, seems all right.

Until:

"Dammit! Godammit!!" Hoseok yells, flinging his phone to the side of the bus seat. "My phone's dead!"

There are annoyed groans everywhere, and you can just tell Seokjin's about to tell the man to shut up again when there's a loud bang! at the side of the bus.

Everyone freezes.

"Did you lock the bus door??" Namjoon hisses quietly.

Yoongi nods, clearly terrorized. "Just... everybody... Stay... still," he says.

He doesn't need to say anything; everyone's already become a statue. Even more so when the aggressive banging continues. You bite your lip to suppress a whimper and Jungkook hugs you in his arms. His heartbeat's rapid but he manages not to tremble, unlike you.

But when the banging is ceaseless even after a couple of minutes, Taehyung sighs. "Should we check it out...?"

"Are you fucking crazy??" you blurt, quickly lowering your voice when you realize you'd been rather loud. "If the zombies see us, they get us. I thought you saw the movies."

That shuts everyone up. Sweat starts to collect on everybody's foreheads but no one dares to move to wipe it off when the banging's continuing.

It sounds like zombies are head-butting on the bus' walls. Maybe they can smell humans. The thought riles up your stomach so you force yourself to bury your nose into Jungkook's shirt to take your mind elsewhere. He pats your back comfortingly in response.

The Chopin blaring through your left ear doesn't sound so comforting anymore—the pace is too fast, too allegro to fit in a terrible circumstance such as this one. But you try to focus on each note, concentrating on the keys rather than the beat. It drives your focus elsewhere, thank god.

And finally, eventually, the banging slows to a stop.

"Well!" Taehyung yells.

"SHH!" Jungkook shushes him. "We don't know if they're gone yet," he whispers urgently.

"Oh, right."

So it's completely still for a few minutes before Taehyung decides that's enough silence for him.

"This is very, very bad news," he grumbles.

"Really?" Seokjin snickers. "I thought it was good news."

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "My Apple Watch's about to die. So yes, it is bad news. I won't be able to tell the time anymore."

"That's the least of our worries, dude," Jimin says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Before another large argument breaks out, you cut in. "I think we should try to get into Target before nightfall."

You thought everyone would agree immediately, but you're hit with Yoongi's laconic, "Why?"

"What do you mean why??" Taehyung laughs at the bus driver. "Haven't you watched the movies?? Zombies get crazier during the night."

"Um, in Train to Busan, they don't," Namjoon points out.

"Okay, but in Minecraft, they do," Taehyung argues.

"But Minecraft is a video game, not a movie."

"Oh, whatever."

You sigh. "I just thought it'd be better to go now than take chances later."

"But this is real life," the bus driver says. "Getting out of this bus is taking a chance at this point. We might not ever make it to Target."

"Fine. Then I'll go and check it out myself then," you scoff.

I'd rather get mauled by a zombie than have to listen to incessant bickering in a small-spaced bus for fuck's sake.

"You literally have a death wish don't you?" Jungkook says. "But I'm coming with you."

"BOTH of you have a death wish," Hoseok says.

"OR, Yoongi can drive the bus closer to the entrance...?" you suggest.

The bus driver grumbles but he complies, never taking off the clothes covering the windows but managing to peek out of a small corner to safely drive the bus straight to the exit.

"If one of you gets bitten, you're not allowed back in here," he says.

"How comforting," you mumble.

"I guess it's just the two of us, then," Jungkook shrugs when no one else volunteers to go on the trip.

"Well you two do have the best weapons," Namjoon says, nodding at the bats in your hands.

"That's true..." you murmur. "We'll try to find a good spot to stay in... Or maybe just get some supplies..."

Now that you think about it, your own idea might be the cause of your demise. God, you might die just because you opened your mouth.

It's okay, you tell yourself. It'll be fine. I have Jungkook. He's... not that scared... right?

Namjoon convinces everyone to memorize a morse code knock so that the others can let you and Jungkook in when the code is knocked on the bus door. There is no other preparation.

Other than the time you completely winged a final exam back in high school, this is the riskiest thing you've done in your life.

Side by side, you and Jungkook creep out of the bus; the doors shut behind you as quickly as they had opened and the blanket drapes over the windows once more.

The coast definitely looks clear... for now. Warily, you and Jungkook step closer to the entrance of Target. That's when it occurs to you that Target has automatic doors.

You and Jungkook look at each other. With your eyes, both of you communicate something on the lines of 'so much for living here.'

It's a universal fact that zombies are stupid and can't complete simple human tasks such as opening doors. But if Target's doors are automatic... Well, then anyone can come in. Human or zombie.

The two of you creep into the store with caution, scanning from left to right to see any source of movement. Luckily, so far, the building seems empty. It just must be your luck that today happens to be a weekday and the time is barely before noon. Plus, you're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and everyone was ordered to stay home. For the most part, it looks like this Target is abandoned. It helps calm down your rapidly beating heart just a little bit.

Still, the silence is eerie. Clutching your baseball bat, you try to make a mental list of the supplies you might need to take. From the checkout aisle, you and Jungkook each grab two plastic bags each.

"What are the top five things we need?" Jungkook whispers to you.

"Um, food, probably," you say. "Toiletries, for sure. Sleeping bags, maybe? Chargers... Portable chargers...?"

"What about water?" Jungkook says. "Maybe we should also get a first aid kit too..."

"There's so much we need!" you let out a frustrated sigh. "And I am not going back in here twice. Once is risky enough."

"Well, we definitely need food, water and a first aid kit. Why do we need toiletries?" Jungkook asks, cocking his head curiously.

"Oh, I don't know, because I bleed out of my vagina once every month??"

"Oh. Right. Forgot about that," Jungkook says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "So, um... we need food, water, a first aid kit, toiletries and..."

"A backpack," you finish for him. "We'll carry the backpacks out on our backs, fill two of our four bags with food, then one bag we can use for water and water bottles. The last bag for the first aid kit and the toiletries."

"Look at you, all planned out," Jungkook grins. You wonder how he's managing to smile in a crisis.

"I'm usually very spontaneous," you mutter. "But I guess it takes a zombie apocalypse to get me to plan ahead."

Your life's on the line. Of course you're going to plan ahead to avoid death.

Jungkook laughs quietly. "Me too, honestly," he says. "I think I can stuff at least one sleeping bag in the backpack. And maybe we'll get some toilet paper."

You nod. "A flashlight might be good too. We don't really need to get weapons, right? We're only trying to survive, not fight."

"We'd be crazy to get a gun," Jungkook snorts. "Have you seen the grown men we got stuck with?? Giving them a gun might be the worst thing we can do."

"Especially that cop in training," you say. "Idiots. The whole lot of them."

Making the youngest ones do the dirty work.

Conversation is sparse for the rest of the supply gathering. You and Jungkook talk minimally, rather opting to point and mouth words just in case zombies were sound-sensitive as they were portrayed in most movies. (But you're honestly not sure how well their auditory skills work, especially when they're so lacking in motor skills.) Still, better safe than sorry.

Canned foods pile in two heavy bags that Jungkook offers to carry. He also volunteers to carry the bag with the heavy water jugs and water bottles, so you let him, glad that Jungkook is polite enough to keep his manners during an apocalypse. The two of you find large duffel bags in the sports corner, which you sling both over your shoulder. A couple of sleeping bags find their way into the duffel bags. By the time you arrive at the aisle with all the feminine hygiene products, your arms are starting to hurt, but you don't complain because Jungkook's carrying things twice the weight of your luggage.

In fact, you shouldn't complain about anything at all. For one, you're stuck in an apocalypse with someone you know at least. You have someone to lean on. Someone who constantly offers to protect you. Someone you can trust. And you haven't had any run-ins with zombies so far. So you've been blessed.

You clamp your mouth shut and pick out a generous amount of pads and pantyliners, quickly shoving them into the duffel bags. "Let's go," you tell Jungkook who nods. His arm muscles are straining against the heavy weight of the bags and his knuckles are white but he stays silent.

All those times you ever insulted Jungkook, you want to take them all back right now. It only takes a crisis to get to know someone.

The two of you nervously, steadily, begin to walk towards the entrance of the store. It's a pity you won't be able to pay for the hundreds of dollars worth of stuff you're shoplifting. But you don't think money holds enough value in a situation of life or death.

For a split second, you worry that the other men have left. But you don't think they would stoop that low... right?? The thought makes the hairs on the back of your neck bristle. If they did leave you and Jungkook stranded in this vast Target... it's game over.

You nearly cry from relief when you see the bus still waiting loyally at the front of the store. Maybe you've underestimated the others.

"Coast's clear," Jungkook whispers. "I'll go first." He begins to creep forward the automatic doors, lugging his bags when you let out a whisper-shriek:

"Wait, stop!"

Jungkook whirls around, eyes wide and lips parted.

"The alarm might ring if you take items you didn't pay for," you whisper urgently. "Leave the stuff here, wait for them to open the door, then help me carry these and make a run for it."

"Well, that was close," Jungkook nods. "Good idea." He sets down his bags and steps forward cautiously. The mechanical whirring of the sliding door opening sounds too loud in the silence. You hold your breath as Jungkook carefully steps closer to the bus, hoping and wishing and swearing. When he knocks at the glass door in the morse code that Namjoon had taught him, you feel ready to burst from the stress.

Constantly, you look behind yourself. If a zombie appears, you'll have to save your life first and lose the supplies. Or maybe, you can carry the food and water first and leave the rest. Or you can try to fight the zombie off with your bat?? But your arms shake from carrying heavy luggage around the whole Target. Your aim might be messed up; you can't risk that, can you?

While you're scheming in your head, Jungkook's managed to get the others to open the door of the bus. The coast is clear now. You gulp.

If the Target alarm sounds and it wakes up any zombies that are nearby, you're dead. You can see the scared faces of the other men peeking out from the door. Jungkook bravely steps back, waving his hands as if to tell them to keep the door open. Then, he rushes back inside the Target, hoisting up the bags.

On cue, you grip your bags too—so tightly that your hands feel numb.

"On a count of three, okay?" Jungkook says.

"No, let's go now!" you whisper as you begin to dash headfirst out the automatic doors. The moment the bags cross the invisible line, the alarm blares. Your heart nearly stops at the racket, but you don't dare to pause. You don't cease your running until you've zoomed right into the bus, collapsing on the floor and throwing the bags away from yourself. Jungkook's right behind you, gasping for breath from the short sprint before whirling on you with a look of frustration on his face.

"I wasn't fucking re—"

"Shh!!" Yoongi says, draping the locked glass door over with a blanket. "We're going to stay very, very still."

You can hear the alarm still blaring in the background, shaking on the floor of the bus and clutching your hands together. Jungkook gives you the side-eye but he crouches down with you and holds you in his arms.

You shouldn't have left earlier, but you couldn't risk waiting for a second more in the empty Target, anticipating for disaster to come. Jungkook must've panicked with you too. But he can't stay mad at you for long, not with another crisis on its way.

"Uh, I think we should go right now," Taehyung whispers.

"Shh!"

"No, seriously," Taehyung says, lifting up the cloth off the windows and pointing.

Oh no. Looks like this is where your luck runs outs. Zombies are slowly making their way towards the entrance of the Target where the stupid alarm still hasn't shut up. If you don't leave now, you might drown in a sea of those monsters. And one rule of thumb—you never let zombies begin to hoard.

"Dammit!" Yoongi curses. "Hold on!"

The zombies are still several yards away, but Yoongi slams on the gas, lurching the car forward. There's no time to think. No time to talk. Yoongi tears away the cloth in front of his window and begins to drive with sickening speed.

"Where are we going??" Hoseok yells over the screams of the engine.

"To my house!" Yoongi screams back.

"WHAT??" the businessman shrieks. "WHY AREN'T WE RUNNING AWAY?"

"Running away attracts more zombies!" Taehyung says. "That always happens in the movies!"

"Does your house have a good kitchen??" Seokjin yells.

"Does it matter???" Yoongi yells back.

"Why can't we go to my house??" Taehyung shrieks.

"Shut the fuck up!" Seokjin tells him.

Yoongi continues to bump over mystery speed bumps (no doubt, bitten people) as zombies slowly try to follow the vehicle. But they're way too slow for Yoongi's speedy driving. He manages to throw them all off track as he drives away from the city.

And when there are fewer buildings and more grassy fields, things almost look... normal. As if you hadn't just seen a zombie apocalypse unfold in the city. Until you notice the blood splattered on the windows and the survival luggage that you and Jungkook had hauled on the bus. That's when you realize this is still very, very real.

But now that you've escaped the city, the roads are ironically smoother without the undead scattered on the ground. As a result, Yoongi begins to drive comfortably, the bus no longer threatening to tip over at every turn. Finally, it seems like the chaos has calmed down.

You take the time to apologize to Jungkook. "Sorry I just left like that," you say.

He shrugs. "It was stupid for me to countdown anyways."

And that was that.

He sits down next to you at the back of the bus as the other men (except Yoongi) crowd around you to ask questions about the risky trip.

"Were there zombies inside the store?" Namjoon says.

"We didn't encounter any," you reply. "But we're not sure."

"Do you think we could go back in there when we need more supplies?" the med school student asks.

"I mean..." you trail off, looking at Jungkook.

Jungkook shrugs. "We'll have to see, I guess."

"Make do with what Yoongi has in his house?" Seokjin says. "Hey, Yoongi, you got a big house??"

Jimin gasps. "You can't just ask people that, Seokjin! Hey, Yoongi, do you have eight bedrooms?"

You feel like facepalming. And if your hands weren't so wet with sweat, you would've done it too.

"Do I look like I'm made of money??" Yoongi scoffs. "I live in a one-bedroom house."

"One bedroom?!?!? One bedroom?!" Taehyung shrieks.

"Would you like to live outside the one-bedroom house?" Yoongi shrieks back.

Taehyung shuts up.

Sure, Yoongi's being extremely generous right now. He could've dumped all of you out the moment the chaos hit. But he had chosen to bring everyone along with him. Still... eight people in a one-bedroom house? You're not so sure about that.

"We'll make it work," the bus driver grumbles.

"As long as there's a kitchen," Seokjin says, "I'm all right."

Ten minutes later, following Yoongi's lead, everyone quickly piles into the one-bedroom house.

It looks modest but poorly decorated. A shaggy rug with mysterious stains, zero decor but a single couch and a small television is set in the living room. The only bedroom in the house isn't very spacious either, with just enough room to fit one full-sized bed and a couple of other sleeping bags on the floor. Yoongi keeps his humble collection of clothes in his bathroom sink. The bathroom is standard and looks barely used. But the worst part of the house is the kitchen, much to Seokjin's despair. There's more dust than counter space.

"I don't cook," comes Yoongi's simple answer when Seokjin gives the man a bewildered look.

And just like that, the house tour is over in a couple of minutes.

"Do you have a car?" you ask cautiously.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Left my bike at the bus parking lot." He shrugs. "But we have the bus."

You bite your lip. Buses use way more gas than cars do—you don't even have to be a mechanic to know. It might've even been better to have a bike.

Everyone is silent for the most part, taking in their new surroundings and unsure what to make of it. Yoongi collapses on the couch. "I have beer somewhere in my fridge. Help yourselves."

Hoseok makes a face—as if he's never had a cheap beer in his life.

You and Jungkook make faces because neither of you is of legal age to drink yet. Yet another reminder that you're stuck with actual adults.

Once those who want a beer get a beer and all the canned foods and water are stashed in the fridge, everyone gathers around awkwardly in the living room. With so much afternoon chaos, the evening seems eerily quiet. It's like all of you are waiting for disaster to strike again.

You, yourself, begin to think about your safety. The thing about Yoongi's house (no matter how small and shabby it is) is that it's out in the open without any other houses nearby. For one, that's a good thing because there's less chance that zombies will make their way out here. But there's also no barrier either.

And suddenly acquiring seven male roommates out of nowhere? Seven men you barely even know? Sure, you've spoken to Jungkook a lot of times, but never outside of the bus or the practice field.

But you guess you have to sacrifice comfort and privacy to survive.

Finally, when the silence stretches on for nearly thirty minutes, Hoseok speaks. "We have to talk about the elephant in the room," he announces.

Everyone raises their eyebrows.

"What elephant??" Jimin says. "Where's the important question? Did I miss something?"

"No," Hoseok sighs. "What are we going to do about the sleep situation?"

"What do you mean?" Yoongi scoffs. "I get the bedroom, everyone else sleeps out here." He gestures at the living room.

"At least four people can fit in that bedroom," Namjoon says. "I suggest you can choose who gets to sleep there."

"You have to take in count that we have a lady present too," Seokjin says.

"Shouldn't she automatically get the bedroom then?" Jungkook says. "And she chooses who sleeps in the bedroom?"

"That's not fair!" Taehyung says. "Why does gender matter in this situation?"

"Yeah, and you're only saying that because you know she'll pick you!" Hoseok scoffs.

"Well, I'm sorry I want to make her feel comfortable in a male dominant household!" Jungkook shouts.

You feel awkward, biting your lip and looking back and forth between Jungkook and the two other men.

"Um, if you'd let me choose, I'd have to go with Yoongi, just because it's his house, Jungkook and Namjoon..." you say.

"Goddamn!" Jimin exclaims. "What did I ever do to you??"

"Nothing!" you protest. "I'm just—"

"My house, my rules!" Yoongi shouts over everyone. "I get to choose! And I pick Y/N, Namjoon and Jungkook. That's final!"

While Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung are grumbling, Seokjin seems rather happy. "I'm closer to the kitchen in the living room," he grins. "And besides, it doesn't matter whether you sleep in the bedroom or in the living room. You get the same sleep." He pauses. "Unless you get the actual bed."

"We can take turns with the bed," you tell the three other men.

"Nah," Yoongi says. "Never liked that stupid thing."

"I also prefer sleeping on the ground. It's good for my back," Namjoon says.

Jungkook shrugs at you. "You can take the bed."

You're left gaping at them. "Are you sure...?"

"Just take the offer before they change their minds, honey," Seokjin laughs.

"O-Okay."

"Now what?" Taehyung says, exasperated. He seems let down that he doesn't get to sleep in the bedroom. Nor does he seem keen on the idea of sleeping in sleeping bags. Hoseok looks equally annoyed.

You suppose you can understand them in a way. You don't exactly have many things to lose. In fact, now, you probably don't have to pay off student debt. But Hoseok and Taehyung, well, they're not used to living in cramped up places. It's not really their fault that they're being so whiny. But at the same time, you wish they can shut the fuck up and stop complaining.

"What do you mean, now what?" Yoongi says. "We're gonna sleep. I think I have an extra blanket or something..."

"Sleep?" Hoseok says. "It's barely 6 o'clock."

"Well, what else do you suggest we do? Go outside and hunt the zombies??" Yoongi says. "Excuse me, I'm gonna go to bed."

"Wait!"

Yoongi turns around and glares daggers at the rich businessman. But Hoseok doesn't budge. "Do you have a phone charger?" He holds up his phone, the latest model of the iPhone—the one that costs more than some laptops.

The bus driver cocks an eyebrow. He holds up his own phone in the air.

Everyone else gasps when they realize Yoongi's phone is a battered, out-dated Nokia. The model that is so old that you swear you had that same phone when you were in sixth grade.

"A Nokia?!" Taehyung shrieks.

Everyone pulls out their own iPhones in rapid succession.

"Oh, god," Namjoon mutters.

"I guess it's goodbye to our phones," Seokjin says. "A pity..."

"We should've grabbed iPhone chargers at Target," you sigh, shoving your phone back in your back pocket. A forgotten necessity...

"Yeah, you should've," Hoseok agrees.

You give him the nasty side-eye when he turns his back to you.

"Well," Yoongi shrugs, "it's not the end of the world. Besides, I think I have an iPhone charger somewhere..."

"You used to have an iPhone?? Why the switch?" Jimin says, twiddling his one iPhone X in his hands.

"No, never had an iPhone. I hate Apple products," Yoongi scoffs. "I'm a die-hard Samsung fan, but I had to switch to Nokia to pay the bills. I just had an ex-girlfriend who left her iPhone chargers at my house. I might find more than one if I dig around, I guess."

Everyone whoops with joy.

After a hunt that lasts for an hour, two pathetic, dirty iPhone chargers sit in the middle of the shaggy carpet while everyone else crowds around them.

"I call it first!" Hoseok and Taehyung say at the same time.

No one dares to argue.

"Now can I sleep?" Yoongi sighs.

"You don't want dinner?" Seokjin says.

"You're going to cook?" Yoongi raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I'll make do with the canned foods," Seokjin says.

"We should also probably try to watch the news or something," Jungkook says. "To see if they're calling for any survivors..."

The mood suddenly becomes dim.

Right. The past hour had been so busy that everyone had somehow forgotten about the zombie apocalypse.

Jungkook senses the mood and quickly changes the topic. "Just kidding. Let's play a game."

"A game?" Jimin says. "I love games!"

"Depends on the game," Taehyung says. "I call beer pong."

"I'm nineteen," you say.

"So? I took shots when I was eight," Taehyung argues.

You roll your eyes.

Amongst the commotion, Seokjin manages to sneak his way into the kitchen. No one really cares.

"Okay, then does anyone have game suggestions?" Jungkook says. "Just so we can get to know each other better. We don't know how long this will last, right?"

"I think I'm too old for games," Hoseok grumbles.

"I don't think I've played a game in my whole life," Yoongi says.

"Can I study for my exams?" Namjoon pipes up.

Jungkook sighs. He looks at you for some help but you shrug. If they don't want to play games, then they won't play games. You don't want to force them into it and end up having no fun at all.

"Maybe we should just let them do what they want," you whisper to Jungkook.

He gives you a look of incredulity. "That's it!" he yells. "We're all in a shitty mood, but you know what? I don't give a flying fuck. We're going to play fuck, marry or kill!"

Seokjin groans from the kitchen. He pops his head around the corner while holding a big container full of food in his hands. "Will the game mess with everyone's appetite?"

"What even is that?" Jimin points at the bowl.

Seokjin shrugs. "A bit of beans. A bit of corn. A bit of sauce. I don't even know, but it tastes good." He grabs some spare plates and bowls and sets them down in the living room along with an array of plastic utensils.

"Where did you even get the sauce and utensils?" Yoongi scoffs. "I swear I don't own any of that."

Seokjin grins. "I carry a good sauce and extra utensils everywhere."

And you have to compliment Seokjin's cooking skills because the mystery mixture is actually delicious.

"Um, hello??" Jungkook says while everyone else is scarfing down food. "Fuck, marry or kill??"

Namjoon looks up from his bowl. "That game's hardly fair."

"And why is that?" Jungkook cocks his head to the side.

"Y/N's the only girl," Namjoon says.

"That's true," Jimin pipes up. "We can't really play unless... you know, you suggest we fuck each other. No homo though, bros."

You scrunch your nose. "Yeah, Jungkook, that's a bit—"

"You got a better idea?" Jungkook says. "C'mon."

Yoongi grumbles. "I thought this game was supposed to make us get to know each other better."

"It will!" Jungkook says.

"Yeah, it'll let everyone know our sexual preferences," Taehyung sniggers.

Everyone groans.

"I agree with baseball boy," Taehyung says. "I used to play this game all the time. I'm hella good."

Hoseok frowns. "How the fuck can you be good at this game??"

Taehyung completely ignores the businessman and whirls around at you. You nearly spit out your food in surprise. "Y/N! Yes, you. Fuck, marry or kill? Jungkook, Namjoon and me?"

Everyone groans again.

"He's just saying that so Y/N can pick him to fuck," Jimin giggles.

"You're way too obvious," Seokjin snorts.

You sigh, shaking your head. "Well, I guess I'm killing Taehyung off just for asking me the first question." At that, Seokjin leans across from you and gives you a triumphant high-five. "As for fuck..." you trail off, looking between Namjoon and Jungkook. "I'll fuck Jungkook and marry Namjoon."

Jungkook gasps. "You've known me for longer and you'd rather fuck me???"

"Yeah, what does that have to say about your personality?" you tease.

All the men—except Jungkook—erupt in laughter. In just one sentence, you become the most popular person in the room, everyone complimenting you for putting Jungkook in his place.

"Y/N, you've officially become my new favorite person," Seokjin declares.

"Really?" you laugh. "Okay, then Seokjin. Fuck, marry or kill: Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin."

"Ouch," Yoongi mutters.

"Ouch??" Jimin huffs.

"Ouch," Seokjin repeats. "I can't choose whether I want to kill Hoseok or Taehyung."

"Hey!" Taehyung yells. "Don't kill me again! Y/N already did that!"

"All the more reason for me to kill Taehyung," Seokjin sings. "I'm fucking Hoseok so I can get a limo ride or something from him the morning after. And Jimin's cute. I can work with that. I'd marry him."

"Yes!" Jimin yells, pumping his fist up in the air. "I'm husband material!"

Taehyung groans. "I've been killed twice," he mopes.

"Okay, then you try," Jimin says. "Yoongi, Seokjin, Y/N."

"I'm killing Y/N for revenge!" Taehyung declares but when he looks between Yoongi and Seokjin, he changes his mind. "No... wait, uh... I'm killing Seokjin for revenge! I'd fuck Y/N and marry Yoongi but it would be a sexless marriage."

"You only chose to fuck Y/N because she's a girl," Hoseok snorts.

"What?? She's hot."

"I'm right here!"

The game goes around in circles for hours and by the end, everyone is engaged in it. You win for getting the most marries. You also tie with Jungkook for getting the most fucks. Hoseok and Taehyung tie for getting the most kills. And Namjoon gets an honorable mention for being neutral in everyone's minds.

By the end, it becomes very clear that you and Jungkook are the most likable people, followed up by Yoongi and Seokjin (for knowing how to cook). It feels good to be liked by complete strangers. Normally, you wouldn't give a shit whether strangers like you or not. But... you might be stuck with these seven men for a very long time.

They're not so bad once there is nothing threatening their lives.

You don't mind being here that much anymore. With just a little bit of time, this place could feel like home. And these strangers can be your friends.

But right now, your first priority is to survive.

Okay, so, fast forward four months, and now your priority isn't exactly to survive. Pretty strange, to be honest. In over 120 days, things have taken quite a worse turn—the city is becoming more dilapidated and there are more zombies roaming about, but truth be told, you and your seven friends are doing just fine. In fact, you are doing great. More than great.

Now, your priority is to live comfortably. Ironically in an environment that prioritizes survival.

It's genuinely because of the advanced system Hoseok bestowed upon the household one faithful day. (He wasn't the successful CEO of a rising company for nothing.)

The businessman gave everyone a designated job to work depending on their skills. You think he especially thought of this system when Taehyung and Namjoon somehow managed to set the kitchen on fire back when kitchen duty was rotational. Seokjin had grieved for days because the fire left ugly burn marks on Yoongi's counters. And now the intern chef's the only one allowed in the kitchen. Seokjin faithfully cooks three meals every day—enough for everyone to have seconds. Enough to even have leftovers.

In turn, Namjoon takes care of all the medical stuff. He claims that he can cure anything except a zombie bite. When Taehyung challenges him that he can't cure all cancer, Namjoon gets unreasonably pouty and the whole next day, he decides to study. But he comes up with nothing, to Taehyung's delight. But to Taehyung's distress, Hoseok assigns him as Namjoon's medical assistant (only because Taehyung had ditched nursing at one point to pursue law). Now Taehyung's right back where he started.

But the two of them manage to get along. Sometimes. And they are responsible with the medical supplies. Sometimes. And they remind everyone to take their vitamin supplements. Sometimes. Namjoon's also crazy good at taking splinters out. That's an always.

Jimin's assigned to keep a lookout on the news through the rather spotty radio. So far, there's been nothing. But the cop in training is persistent and hopeful. Well, everyone is. You all hope that someone announces the apocalypse is over and there's a safety station not too far away from here. But the announcement never comes. No problem. You're in a situation where you're not that desperate—you can wait it out.

Hoseok gets to order everyone around and makes sure all the household duties are fulfilled. Strangely, after you get to know him for a while, he's actually a pretty chill guy. Just a little uptight when it comes to serious business. He's a huge scaredy-cat with a big heart and only becomes irrational when he's in fear.

Arguably, you and Jungkook are in charge of the most dangerous job. You are what everyone else calls the 'suppliers.' At least once every two weeks, the two of you hop on the bus with Yoongi (who drives) and go to Target to pick up groceries or anything else the others needed. The job is dangerous all right, but you and Jungkook haven't come across a major zombie attack yet, so the bi-weekly outings are a bit of a joke. (The two of you fool around in Target and spend a bit too much extra time in there than necessary.) But what can you say? It serves as a little escape from the cramped house!

Yoongi doesn't really have a job except to drive you and Jungkook anywhere you need to go. Hoseok decided to let him slack off—only because he sacrificed his house for the crew.

In four months, you're able to get to know the men better. In normal circumstances, you doubt that you'd ever come near a rich businessman. But here you are, cracking jokes with Hoseok every night. You wouldn't even have gotten to know a cop in training either. Or a law student. Or a med student. Or an intern chef who's actually talented. Maybe you knew Jungkook from before the apocalypse. But you never really connected with him on another level. Now, you know a lot about the seven men you're forced to live with.

A bit more than you would like, too.

You know that Hoseok likes his soup cold, which convinces you that he's a total psychopath, but whatever. Seokjin secretly likes to bake more than he likes to cook. Namjoon still studies for his medical exams (that are very obviously never going to take place) because he can't stand having nothing to do. Jimin's actually really insecure about his physique (despite his sassy and confident nature) and constantly needs someone to tell him that yes, Jimin, your ass looks fan-fucking-tastic in those tight jeans. Taehyung—you think—watches porn when everyone's asleep. So he might kinda be a porn-addict but you're not really sure. You don't wanna find out. And Jungkook... You know that he likes to read romance novels. Which you found out when he dragged you down the literary romance aisle in Target and suggested you save space in your bags so he could take some back to home base.

But no one else in the house likes to read, so Jungkook doesn't get his books in the end.

It's hard to believe that you're in the midst of a zombie apocalypse—especially with the comfortable way you're living—but still, you and Jungkook only try to take home what's necessary. To save time and space, of course.

A couple of months into living together, all of you had even celebrated Namjoon's 25th birthday. He didn't get a cake, but Seokjin managed to make cookies in five minutes in Yoongi's old microwave. The rest of the day was spent relaxing in the tight living room, playing what Jungkook liked to call 'family games.' Games that you should probably not play with your actual family (because of the level of inappropriateness), but games that bring friends together to the point that they feel like family.

So, in conclusion, the seven men aren't as horrible as you thought in the beginning. Sure, they have their strange and eccentric quirks, but it's refreshing to see so many different personalities in one house. You can't imagine how shitty life would've been if you were stuck with seven men with the same character as a doorknob. It's nice to live with people with such... unique personalities.

And at this point, they're like your friends—if not—best friends.

And best friends are not afraid to call each other out.

"WAKE UP YOU FUCKING SLOTH!" Taehyung screams.

You can hear Yoongi let out a dead groan from the bedroom. But it doesn't look like he's going to be barging out anytime soon.

"WAKE UP!!!!" Jimin shrieks.

Everyone covers their ears. Jimin's voice is definitely loud and shrill enough to burst someone's eardrums. But none of you want to find out, of course.

"I didn't haul my ass out of bed early in the morning to break my back cooking for everyone for you to not fucking wake up!" Seokjin yells. "Wake the fuck up!!"

From inside the bedroom, Yoongi groans. And then: "SHUT UP OR I'M KICKING EVERYONE OUT!"

You snort. Everyone else rolls their eyes, picks up their utensils and begins to scarf down the scrambled eggs.

Yoongi tends to get very cranky when he's woken by the sound of yelling. When the man is cranky, he makes empty threats that he never really means. Of course he wouldn't kick everyone out of the house. Though he doesn't like to admit it, Yoongi loves the company of the others.

The bus driver stumbles into the kitchen with his hair up in the air and his eyes barely open. "I hate you all."

"Really?" Seokjin smiles, handing the cranky man a plate of still-warm breakfast. "Love your hair."

"Shut up." Yoongi ducks his head down and begins to eat with vigor.

"Hey, chef?" Taehyung sighs, pushing his half-eaten plate of eggs away from himself.

"What is it, lawyer boy?" Seokjin says, crossing his arms. "Do you want escargot to go along with that? Or caviar?"

Taehyung is the designated picky eater of the bunch. But no one blames him. If you grew up eating filets and caviar, you'd probably be picky too.

"The eggs aren't salty enough," Taehyung says. "Do we have salt?"

"Nope, we're out," Seokjin says.

"Ugh," Taehyung groans. "I can't eat this. It tastes too bland."

Seokjin frowns. "Just appreciate what I made for you, you ungrateful swine."

Of course, it isn't a normal breakfast in the group if there isn't an argument. In the beginning, it had been annoying, but now everyone is so used to it, they let it fly.

"Y/N and JK? Can we get some salt today?" Seokjin sighs as he turns to you and Jungkook. "Someone's being a picky bitch again."

"Hey!" Taehyung says.

Hoseok just talks over him. "Anyways," he says, "Jimin, any new reports?"

"Nothing," Jimin sighs. "Radio's basically dead. Honestly, we might be the only ones alive in the whole state at this point."

"That... is not exactly statistically possible," Namjoon points out. "If you really think about it, the probability that—"

"Shut up, please," the cop in training says, exasperated. "Let us go one day without your lectures. God."

You and Jungkook give each other a 'here they go again' look.

"Can we have at least one day where we don't bicker like big babies?" Yoongi scoffs, throwing down his fork. He still looks half dead, his voice gravelly and deep.

Taehyung raises an eyebrow at him. "No, bitch," he answers. "The bickering is what makes us such a great motherfucking team."

"Actually—" Namjoon starts.

"Everybody just shut the fuck up and eat!" Seokjin yells.

Just like always.

This is a very typical breakfast in the household. Where everyone yells at Yoongi to wake up. And then the arguing commences up to the point Seokjin can't take it anymore and screams at everyone to shut their traps. That's when everyone obeys him (because Seokjin can be quite scary when angry) and eats silently.

After breakfast, Hoseok calls a meeting in the bedroom. You and Jungkook sit on the bed as everyone else sits around the floor; Hoseok stays standing.

"Look, guys," he says, "it's been four fucking months. We're lost."

You cock your head. Lost was the last thought in your head right now.

"At least we're alive," Jungkook snorts. "At least none of us have been bitten. At least none of the zombies have turned up around this area yet. At least—"

"Okay, okay, we get it, Jungkook," Hoseok sighs. "It's just that we're in a tricky situation right now. It's been four months..."

"Yes, we know," you say. "But haven't things been going smoothly? I mean, look, we have enough food, we're safe here and we're happy. What more can we ask for?"

Seokjin hums thoughtfully. "Well, Hoseok might be right, Y/N," he says. "It's only been four months, right? So the utilities are still working. There's still gas in the gas stations, the fridges are working... You know?"

Namjoon nods. "Exactly. But when will that run out?"

"When will the food run out? When will we have to live off of rationed canned foods because the fridges in Target broke? What if our fridge breaks?" Seokjin says. "We're in a tough spot."

"But we're not lost... yet," Jimin says, "right??"

"But we don't know when the doomsday will come," Taehyung sighs. "That makes this whole situation shittier."

It's not very often that the group sits down to have a serious conversation—it's not often at all that everyone can be serious in one setting. And it's a bit unsettling.

Especially when you had thought you were doing fine. But what would you know? You're only nineteen; you've yet to experience hardships that the others have gone through. So you know what the others are worrying about is valid.

"So what do we need to prepare for?" Jungkook asks.

"That's what I wanted to talk about today," Hoseok says. "How are we going to prepare for a potential zombie attack if we had minimal contact with zombies so far?"

"That's true..." you murmur. "Kook and I are the only ones who've seen zombies without a barrier separating them and us... But even then, they were several yards away."

"We don't know their weaknesses at all," Namjoon says. "We just know that once you've been bitten, you'll die and then become undead after some time. But we don't even have a specific number on that either."

"I mean, do you really want to find out?" Taehyung snorts. "Why would any zombie come around here, anyway?"

"But this is all a 'just in case' situation," Hoseok says. "We just want to prepare for the worst possible scenario."

There the businessman goes again, thinking ten steps ahead of everyone.

"I feel like we'll have the best solutions when we actually face the problem," Jungkook says. "We definitely don't feel threatened right now. We're not gonna get an effective solution." He shrugs. "I say we go with the flow."

"And wait until it's too late and one of us gets bitten?" Namjoon says.

"Have you ever heard of procrastinating?" Jungkook says.

Namjoon and Hoseok gasp like they've seen the devil.

"If we wait until we're threatened, we'll do ten day's worth of work in ten minutes," Jungkook says.

"And if we try to force a solution now, we'll probably do ten minute's worth of work in ten days. Or worse," you add. "Trust me, as a procrastinator, I would know."

"They kind of have a point," Seokjin says. "I guess if we run out of food, we can always... grow it? I don't know, we can be self-sufficient. There's always a solution, no matter how late in the game we find it."

"Are you saying we should wait until we're actually in trouble before taking action...?" Jimin says slowly. "Because that sounds dangerous... I mean, I don't uh, work well under pressure."

"I think we should invest in a gun," Taehyung says. "'Cause in the movies, they totally gun the little shits down."

"None of us knows how to shoot a gun," Yoongi says. "And I don't trust any of you with one."

"Hey! I'm a cop—"

"Cop in training, I know, I know," Yoongi says. "But I don't care. You get scared easily. You're gonna accidentally shoot one of us while you're at it."

Jimin can't argue with that.

"We can't live like this forever," Hoseok says, shaking his head disdainfully.

"Who knows? Maybe this will lead to the extinction of the human race," Namjoon says. "We might have to live like this forever."

"See? If we go on forever, then we won't have to come up with solutions right away. We'll make them up as we go," you say.

"Procrastinating is a horrible—"

But before Hoseok can go on a lecture-rant for two hours straight, Yoongi stands up.

"Well, I'm done with this conversation," he says. The man gestures at you and Jungkook. "C'mon, you two. Let's get to Target."

You silently thank Yoongi for helping you escape Hoseok's long life lectures. Swiftly, you and Jungkook grab your weapons—your bats—before cautiously stepping out of the house and climbing into the bus.

The bus ride to Target is silent as usual. Yoongi likes to drive in complete silence, observing the city's hollowed-out, empty look. Sometimes, zombies lurk about in the shadows, but they're always too slow to catch up to the bus. And they rarely swarm around Target for reasons that are so lucky that you don't even question it.

Once Yoongi's bus pulls up to the Target parking lot, you and Jungkook cautiously tug back the curtains draped around the windows to check if the coast is clear. Usually, it is. Yoongi always murmurs some sort of subtle words of encouragement before the two of you leave. But you and Jungkook never need it.

Swinging your bats over your shoulders and walking side by side in Target, you feel like you're the Harley Quinn to Jungkook's Joker. Not that the two of you are romantically close. Ew.

It's just that you spend a lot of time with him. Going on supply missions, sleeping in the same bedroom, listening to music together during otherwise silent bus rides... Jungkook's a great shoulder to cry on when an existential crisis hits you at 4 a.m. in the morning. He's always able to wake up and calm you down before the others are awoken from the sounds of you sniffling under the covers.

Granted, the two of you still tease the living hell out of each other, you think you make a great team with Jeon Jungkook.

Sometimes, zombies will creep into Target and roam about with their limping legs and horrible posture. You and Jungkook aren't very scared of them because at most there are only two or three at a time and that's a number you and Jungkook can easily beat with your bats. Plus, the two of you have trained short-distance running for years. You're fast. If you ever get in a position where you have to run for your life, you think you'll survive.

Besides, the zombies are stupid. There are too many ways to outsmart them. I.e. throw a noisy kiddy toy in the opposite direction and have them hobble towards it while you can run away. Seriously, how dumb can you be to let a zombie best you???

Despite being overly confident about your survival skills, you and Jungkook still take safety precautions. (It's always better to stay safe than be sorry.) The rule of thumb is that you're only allowed to carry one shopping bag each, which leaves the other hand empty to handle the bat.

Today's Target trip is just like any other. You get some salt for Seokjin and manage to salvage the gummy bear vitamin supplements that everyone raves over.

You're just about to call it a day and suggest you go back to the bus when Jungkook tugs at your shirt and points at the sports section. Your eyes fall on the baseball bats and softballs in the corner. Nostalgia hits you hard.

"Oh..." you breathe.

"Yeah..." Jungkook sighs. "When's the last time you even had a game?"

"It feels like it's been years," you sigh. "But probably four months and a few weeks."

"We should really start working out again," Jungkook says. "I heard it's bad for athletes to suddenly stop."

You snort. "Working out's the last thing that should be on our minds in the midst of a zombie apocalypse though."

"True." Jungkook grips his baseball bat in his hand and stares forlornly at it. "I really can't imagine trying to hit something that's not a ball with this bat."

He makes a sad point. "Me too," you agree with him. "I'd never want gross zombie guts on it."

"You know, I wish I could swing my bat and hit a ball right now," Jungkook sighs. "That's literally my only wish at this point."

"It's a risky wish..."

"I know..."

The conversation is sad—too sad for you to handle. Too sad to be talking about with fun-loving Jeon Jungkook.

"Whatever, right?" you say, trying to lighten the mood. "When all of this ends..." Even you can't finish your sentence. You find yourself wondering, but when will it end??

Jungkook pats your back. "When all of this ends," he continues for you, "we should come to each other's games."

You smile at him. "Promise?"

"Promise."

It's silly to be so caught up in playing a goddamn sport in the midst of an apocalypse. But softball had been your life, and it had been stripped away from you. It's worse to have to carry around your bat all the time—not to hit a ball, but for protection. Protection against monsters.

"We should go," Jungkook whispers, nudging you. He points his head in the direction of some zombies who had caught sight of the two of you in the sports aisle. Neither of you panic, but Jungkook grabs your hand anyway. "Wanna make a run for it?" He grins as if nothing is wrong at all. "It'll be like a mini-workout."

You smile back. Four months ago, you would've been terrified if a zombie was within even a twenty feet radius around you. But you've grown now. You're used to a couple of zombies. And Jungkook's never terrified, so you have no reason to be terrified either.

"Let's go!" you say, returning Jungkook's smile.

The two of you begin to dash away, hearing the inhumane moans of the zombies echo in your ears as you run not from fear but to exercise. Maybe you are living in more comfort than you've bargained for.

Survival just isn't a priority anymore.

"What the fuck happened to your arm?" Taehyung shouts the moment you and Jungkook walk into the cramped house again with Yoongi trailing behind the two of you.

"Who, me?" Jungkook says, turning his head to inspect his arms.

"No, Y/N," Taehyung sighs, rolling his eyes. "You have blood running down your arm, dude. Does it not hurt?"

Now that Taehyung mentions it, your right arm begins to throb with sudden pain. When you turn, you see a small gash coated with blood; the droplets are rolling down your arm in a dramatic fashion, but the pain is tolerable.

"DID YOU GET BITTEN?!" Jimin screams.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "If she was bitten, she would've dropped dead." He picks up the plastic bags and carries them over to the kitchen as everyone trails behind him. "As you can see," he gestures toward you, "Y/N is fucking fine."

"I must've cut my arm on some cardboard or something. I don't know," you say. "We were running away from some of those creeps, so..."

"Are you okay, at least?" Jungkook says. "It looks like it hurts."

You snort. "I mean, it's only a cut. Hey, Tae, a little help over here?"

"Only a cut? Dude, nothing's ever only a cut in a fucking apocalypse," Taehyung says. "I'll take a look." He disappears into the bathroom to wash his hands and comes out holding the first aid kit.

While Taehyung treats your little wound, Seokjin begins to serve lunch—grilled cheese that's crunchy and flavorful and definitely not bland. Taehyung gives his compliments to the chef, which almost makes Seokjin break down in blissful tears.

But then the bickering commences as usual.

"I'm not trying to point fingers here," Namjoon starts, but he very obviously stares Taehyung down. "But I haven't touched my phone since the apocalypse began. Yet it seems like Taehyung can't get enough of his phone the whole day."

Taehyung takes a ginormous bite of his grilled cheese sandwich and shrugs. "It's important stuff," he grumbles with his mouth full.

"How, though? We've already established that none of our relatives are answering our texts or calls ages ago," Hoseok says.

"What could possibly be so important on your phone, I wonder," Seokjin says. He raises his eyebrows, but everyone already knows that he's suspecting.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "It's good leisure time."

You make a face. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I can confirm it," Jungkook says. "He watches porn."

Taehyung scoffs. "You don't??"

"Well, jacking off is the least of our worries," Jimin adds to the conversation. "Though I'm sure it feels good."

Everybody groans. You especially.

"I can do whatever I want with my fucking dick," Taehyung announces.

"Please," you say, "can I eat in peace without having to think about dicks?"

"Thank you!" Taehyung says. "Everyone please shut up and eat Jin's delicious grilled cheese."

Seokjin smiles proudly. It seems as though Taehyung's learning a thing or two from Seokjin.

"I really go through the mill every day to cook for you guys and Taehyung's the only one who's complimenting me?" the talented chef sighs, shaking his head. "Don't be surprised if I accidentally spill dirt in your dish the next meal. Seriously, guys. I think I deserve some standing ovation or something—"

But before Seokjin can go on one of his famous self-esteem raising rants, you excuse yourself and make a mad dash to the only bathroom in the whole house. Even the talkative chef stops his ranting when you disappear behind the locked door so quickly.

Jimin's the first to speak. He giggles, "I think she's getting diarrhea from your delicious meal, chef."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot, Jimin. She's definitely not taking a shit."

"I am not an idiot!"

"What are you trying to say?" Yoongi says, feigning disinterest, but he's obviously curious about your sudden escape to the toilet.

"It's her time of month," Jungkook whispers to the men. Their eyes turn large at the relayed news. "You guys better not get on her bad side in the next few days. Or let her be in a bad mood. Run it with me, guys," he says quietly. "She gets cramps in the first three days. She gets bad cravings on the fourth. After that, we should be safe. Anyways, just be especially nice to her. She wasn't exactly having the best day today."

"How the fuck do you know her cycle?" Hoseok narrows his eyes.

"I accidentally might've... um, grazed my hand against her ass one time um, and... I heard a crunch... Turns out it was her pad," Jungkook sighs. "It was a total accident. But I almost lost my head. Ever since then, I've been keeping track in fear for my life."

"Must kinda suck being a woman in these times," Yoongi says.

"Yeah, respect for Y/N for sure," Taehyung says.

"She's a strong woman," Namjoon nods. "I agree. Imagine trying to live with seven males you barely know in a world where there are so many dangerous predators—cough, men."

"I know, I know," Jungkook sighs. "I feel bad because she totally switched from pads to tampons because of me..."

"Tampons are better for active girls, anyway," Namjoon says. "I think."

"I never really notice when Y/N's on her period though," Seokjin says. "I mean, she doesn't have mood swings at all!"

"That's 'cause she has mood swings all the time," Jungkook snickers, bending the truth to earn some laughs from the boys. But it doesn't become very funny when:

"I can fucking FEEL you guys talking about me!" you shriek from the bathroom, and though the door is closed, everyone else can hear you loud and clear.

It becomes completely silent; the men suddenly become very invested in eating.

A few seconds later, you walk out of the bathroom looking a little peeved already. You sigh as you pick up your leftover grilled cheese. "Hey, Jin, can I get something warm to drink?"

"Warm water?" Seokjin says. "Of course, honey."

You raise your eyebrows at Seokjin's sudden sweetness, but you don't question it.

Meanwhile, Jungkook looks at the other men and gives them the 'I told ya so' look. Cramps 101, warm water helps ease the pain and so do hot packs, which unfortunately aren't available at the moment. Jungkook's done some extra research himself. Maybe on your birthday or something, he can surprise you with one of those cute animal-shaped hot packs or an extra supply of painkillers. (You never waste a precious Advil on period cramps, no matter how bad they get.)

The rest of the day, the men surprisingly keep quiet. And it's doing wonders for that headache that's creeping in. Normally, you try not to make a big show that you're on your period, so everyone tends to treat you the same. But today... well, it's almost as if they know they're walking on thin ice. You can't say you don't like this special treatment. Especially when dinner is actually civil for once, with no one calling others out or displaying horrible table manners.

It's even hilarious how after dinner, Jungkook takes you aside and very, very cautiously asks, "Hey... I don't know if you're down or not for family time today... but—"

You cut him off, laughing, "I'm always down!!"

On your cue, the group gathers around in the living room and Yoongi even offers you the single couch that he always claims is his. You gratefully take his offer and hug your pillow in front of you to keep your stomach warm. Jungkook sits next to you (as usual) but perches upon the couch arm.

"Anybody have a nice, tame game for tonight?" he says.

"Tame??" you say, raising your eyebrows. "Why tame?"

"Er..."

Luckily, Taehyung comes to the rescue. "Never have I ever!" he shrieks. "But the nasty version, how about that?"

"Tae—" Seokjin starts, but you interject.

"Nasty never have I ever!" you say, gripping your pillow tightly against your stomach. "Sounds like a plan! The ten fingers version please." Jungkook notices you biting your lip in discomfort and offers you his hand to take. Though you raise your eyebrows at him, you take his offer. No one else notices.

"Okay, I'll start," Namjoon says, crisscrossing his legs and looking smugly at everyone—almost as if he knew he had a good question. "Never have I ever had a friends with benefits."

"Oh, come on!" nearly half of the group screams.

"You've really never had a friend with benefits??" Jungkook gawks at Namjoon. "Seriously dude. Harsh first question."

"Don't have time for friends with benefits," Namjoon answers, grinning.

You, Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon laugh triumphantly as the others lose their marbles over already having nine fingers left.

"I don't have friends to benefit from," Yoongi snorts, looking proudly at his ten still-standing fingers.

"I'd get attached to the 'friend,' which wouldn't be good for my mental health," you giggle. "So no. Never had or never will have friends with benefits."

Seokjin just shrugs, grinning rather innocently.

"Fine. I'll go next," Hoseok grumbles. "Counterclockwise, right? Hm..." he trails off, scrunching his eyebrows. "Ooh! Okay, never have I ever sexted the wrong person. Almost did, once."

"Dammit, Hoseok!" Jimin yells.

"You sexted the wrong person?!" Jungkook doubles over in laughter. "How???"

"My ex's contact was dangerously close to my mother's," Jimin grumbles. "I had to do a lot of explaining that day."

"Oh my god," you deadpan. "I'm so sorry, but that's just fucking hilarious."

Jimin huffs, puffing out his cheeks and angrily putting another finger down to have a total of eight fingers left. "I'm losing now."

"Relax, you haven't gotten to zero just yet," Taehyung teases.

"My turn!" Seokjin announces, "and I got a good one. I'm gonna get everyone out." He puffs out his chest and smiles a devilishly handsome smile.

"I doubt it," Yoongi says, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's hard to get everybody but yourself out," Namjoon says. "Especially with more people. You're looking at getting seven people out with one statement. Not impossible but very unlikely."

"Okay. Bet," Seokjin laughs. There is a dramatic pause (wherein it's so silent you could probably hear a pin drop) before he speaks: "Never have I ever had sex."

The whole group goes berserk.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE A VIRGIN?!" Hoseok yells.

"I HATE YOU!" Jimin screams, now at seven fingers.

"HE LITERALLY STILL HAS TEN FINGERS LEFT!"

"HE WASN'T FUCKING KIDDING!"

Seokjin just relaxes and enjoys the chaos unfolding before him.

But the next round, Yoongi says something on the lines of "Never have I not had sex before." So Seokjin loses a point because of that—but not until at least seven minutes of arguing back and forth.

Taehyung, though, comes up with an interesting question that's very obviously targeted at you.

"OOH!" he giggles, eyes turning wide. The law student grins at you specifically. "Never have I ever held hands with the opposite gender during a never have I ever game!"

"What?!" you and Jungkook shriek in unison, but keeping your hands intertwined. Instead, Jungkook squeezes your hand in response.

"That was so obviously aimed towards us!" you complain.

"Oh, then go on, aim something at me, then," Taehyung giggles. "We're tied in points anyway."

"Okay, fine," you sigh. "Never have I ever had a dick."

"You just did not—"

"That's not fair!"

"I can't fucking help what I was born with."

You shrug. "Let the aiming begin. Sorry boys, I wanna win this game."

Even Jungkook looks offended that you had attacked him.

"If you're playing dirty, I can play dirtier," he grins. "Never have I ever had a vagina."

"You stole mine!" you complain. Jungkook just laughs and pats your hand.

"Never have I ever slept with a guy," Jimin says.

"Never have I ever played softball," Namjoon says.

"Never have I ever been penetrated," Hoseok smiles at you angelically. You want to slap them.

"Never have I ever inserted a tampon," Seokjin sings.

"Never have I ever worn a bra," Yoongi says with a shrug.

"Never have I ever held Jungkook's hand," Taehyung laughs.

"That's double-dipping on the last one!" you argue.

"Too bad!"

Now it's your turn. And you only have one finger left. Well, this took the disastrous route.

"Never have I ever kissed a girl," you sigh defeatedly.

Though everyone else puts down a finger, you're still losing big time. One more blow would mean you've lost.

Jungkook smiles, turning to you. "Ready for the finale?"

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. Bring it on."

"Never have I ever had a period."

"I hate you guys," you grumble, sinking into the couch and letting go of Jungkook's arm. "You really ganged up on me."

Though you've lost the game, you're not that mad—not as mad as you thought you'd be. When you see your friends laughing their asses off and high-fiving each other to celebrate your defeat, it ironically makes you feel better. Good to see them get along.

Four months ago, they would've done anything to rip each other apart in shreds. Now, it looks like they've gotten close to the point they'll gang up to spite you.

While clutching your stomach to numb yourself from the pain, you can't help but smile. They've come a very long way. Now they don't really seem like the annoying man babies you knew. Granted, they're still man-babies, but less annoying and slightly more caring and thoughtful. But you'll take any kind of man-baby as long as he respects you and his friends.

Being on your damned period makes you want to sleep in the whole day. Except you're in a zombie apocalypse and sometimes, you have to sacrifice your wishes for the good of the group. Which means, getting up when Seokjin calls for breakfast.

But it's just so hard to get up... You end up ignoring Seokjin and everyone else yelling at you to come eat. Seokjin has to knock on the bedroom door, telling you that you can't skip breakfast or else it'll be bad for your uterus. You're not really sure that's how it works, but since he asked very nicely, you comply.

Groggily, you slide out of bed and make your way to the restroom. You feel heavy, bloated and just plain gross. You quickly change your tampon, scrubbing your hands with soap and water before finally walking out.

Whoever's the last one to wake up usually gets to walk the walk of shame with everyone else yelling at them. But it's silent today.

The moment you join the group and Seokjin hands you your breakfast, Namjoon's considerate enough to ask you if you had a good night's sleep.

"No," you answer, gesturing towards your whole face. "I'm bloated. I have dark circles under my eyes. And I feel ugly."

"N-No, you're beautiful!" Jungkook says quickly.

You give him a look. "Don't lie."

"Do you want me to tell you that you are ugly and bloated?" Jungkook asks in confusion. "I mean, I'll do it if you want, you know."

Oh god. His ignorance makes you want to strangle him.

When Jungkook notices that he's stepped into a dangerous zone, he backs away. "I-I mean, no, I wasn't lying! You're always beautiful, Y/N. I swear!"

You huff but don't respond.

It's obvious that you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You don't even know why you're so cranky today, but you guess you have to blame it on the fact that you're bleeding out quite uncomfortably. Apparently, your uterus is extra mad this time around that you didn't try for a kid again. And it's getting its revenge by releasing its wrath on your body, which aches about everywhere.

"It must be inconvenient to change your uh, menstrual... products every day," Yoongi says, supposedly trying to cheer you up. "I would be too lazy to do that."

"Yeah. It fucking sucks," you sigh. "Part of me wishes I just had an IUD so my period would stop altogether for a while... or at least lighten it. But then we wouldn't have a doctor to get it out of me after a few years."

Namjoon clears his throat, "Excuse me, I'm a—"

"No, you're not," you cut him off. "You're a med school student. Huge fucking difference."

Namjoon looks a bit hurt, but he dares not to say anything else.

"Whatever," you say bitterly. "Since we're on the topic, I need to get more tampons."

"At least use pads, Y/N... Much safer..." Namjoon tries.

"Yeah, pads are rad," Taehyung snorts.

"Period," Seokjin adds on.

"Oh god. Did you just make a period joke?" Hoseok groans, shaking his head.

"Why, yes," Seokjin grins. "Why yes, I did. I'm just going with the flow."

"Please shut the fuck up," Jimin says for you.

"I second that," you say. "And I'm not switching. Pads annoy the shit out of me. I don't wanna be more annoyed than I already am."

Nobody bothers to argue with you.

The day flows on as usual—with barely anything to do inside the house. The summer heat washes over everyone; it's nearly impossible to go outside because of it. Oh, and also, zombies. No one dares to step foot outside unless you, Jungkook or Yoongi have to get on the bus to get supplies.

But it's days like this where there's not particularly anything to do that makes this whole thing so much harder. The zombie movies make it look so easy, Taehyung points out.

And he's right. There's always so much action going on in apocalypse movies. Guns, knives, cults, blood and gore... But in reality, an apocalypse is much more... boring. It's a waiting game, really.

The eight of you just lie around, counting the fibers of the rug or daydreaming about how the world used to be. Jungkook manages to convince you to work out with him, so the two of you work on your core muscles, which ache by the time you finish because of the lack of use. You finish the work out much earlier than expected. It pisses you off that your stamina has dwindled down to nonexistent in just a few months. If it weren't for the stupid apocalypse, you'd still be one of the star players on your team. Now you're not even sure everyone on your team is still alive.

You call it quits and take a refreshing shower.

With your hair still wet and your clothes clinging onto your body, you lie on the bed right next to Jungkook whose eyes flutter open. "Back from your shower?"

"Mhm..." Instinctively covering your stomach with your hands, you turn your head to look at Jungkook. "I barely got through that workout."

Your friend laughs, clearing his bangs from his eyes at the same time. "You'll get better once we start working out more regularly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, though..." you sigh. "What's the point anymore?"

"The point?" Jungkook asks. He shifts his body to look at you, but you don't meet his eyes. "The point is to... survive... Right?"

"...I guess." You wince when your stomach cramps get worse. For some reason, the shower had left you with depressing thoughts and being skeptical of survival. "I dunno. What's the point of living now? We're just stuck in this house. It's cramped. We can't go outside unless we really need to... And I feel like absolute shit about myself. There's just no... purpose."

"Yeah, it sucks," Jungkook agrees. "But hey, you made a purpose by doing something you wanted to do yesterday. Remember? You finally worked out! And even during your period. You should be proud of yourself."

His enthusiasm and kind words make you feel a bit better. "I guess I did accomplish something pretty worthy today."

"See?" Jungkook grins. He sits up on the bed and smiles at you. "You did good."

You laugh, sitting up with him. "You mean, I did well."

"Literally no one cares about grammar."

"Oh, really?" you giggle, nudging Jungkook so hard that he almost falls off the bed. He grabs onto the sheets in a frenzy, and the two of you begin to laugh uncontrollably.

When the laughter dies down, you can't help but keep smiling at Jungkook. He must be having a hard time himself. (Either that or he's just a rock with no feelings.) But it's nice that he actively tries to make you feel better. Even if he jokes about inappropriate things all the time. Thank god there's someone your age living in the household. You doubt that anyone else would understand your PMS-ing and arbitrary existential crises as well as Jungkook.

"I'm sorry I've been such a grouch," you tell Jungkook. "If you guys were meaner to me right now, I'd stop whining. Coddling does bad things to my attitude."

"Nah, if I was bleeding out of my nonexistent vagina, I'd be pissed too," Jungkook says. "C'mon, let's go grab some lunch. I smell Seokjin's cooking."

During the meal, Hoseok sets down his silverware and sighs very loudly. "Everyone," he announces authoritatively. "This place is a pigsty."

Yoongi looks up from his dish. "Excuse me, this is my house. You can't say that."

Hoseok just rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying if I had my secretary, this place would be spotless."

"Well, your secretary isn't here though," Jungkook snickers.

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Hoseok glares. "We're still going to do some... summer cleaning."

Oh no. Everyone groans.

Once the dishes are washed and put away, Hoseok starts giving out the cleaning assignments. Seokjin is excited to get the kitchen. You get the bathroom (because your feminine hygiene products are there). Hoseok, Taehyung and Jimin get the living room area, while Yoongi, Namjoon and Jungkook get to clean the bedroom.

It's rather organized, but cleaning is not very fun. Back before the apocalypse, you'd probably clean your desk and room maybe once every six months. Or a year if you were particularly lazy.

Hoseok keeps yelling at everyone to "Put your backs into it!" Jungkook's ordered to scrub the floors and Taehyung gets to wash the rug. You just shut the bathroom door to drive a partition between the loud men.

But the repetitive scrubbing motions help soothe you. And you have to admit, it's a little bit satisfying to see all the muck wash down the drain when you scrub extra hard. However, after a while, it becomes a bit lonely to clean by yourself. Through the door, you can hear the others joke around and prank each other. Somehow, they're making cleaning sound fun.

You finish the last of your part in the bathroom and walk out with a PSA in mind. The men look up when you clear your throat. "Ahem, ahem. Please, for the love of god," you say, "put the fucking toilet seat down."

Jimin cocks his head at you. "But there are seven men and one of you."

"Oh, shut up!" Seokjin slaps Jimin. "Don't be a dick about using your dick."

"Uh, yeah, and it's just not fair that I have to clean up after your horrible aims," you say, shrugging.

"Oof," Jungkook whispers, nudging Taehyung and giggling.

"And I need to go to take out the trash..." you say. "...Anyone wanna come with?"

"Nah, Yoongi and I'll take care of it," Jungkook says. "You can stay and rest."

He doesn't need to say it twice. "Really? Thanks!"

While Jungkook and Yoongi go off to go to the local school to dump the trash, you decide to help Seokjin out in the kitchen. He normally doesn't let anyone around his precious workspace, but he found that you're significantly less clumsy than the other men.

The two of you end up making some soup from scraps and heating up bread. By the time everyone gathers around the living room with their bowls of piping hot soup, it's already dark out. Another day is nearly over.

And what better way to end the day than spend it with family time?

"I had so much time to think about this today," Jimin says. "What about twenty questions?"

"Oh, the thing where we ask twenty questions to come up with an object?" you say. "I'm down."

Everyone else mumbles their validations.

"I have a word," Jungkook snickers. "Shoot the questions." He downs his bowl of soup until there's nothing left.

"Okay, first thing's first," Namjoon says. "Is it alive?"

"No," Jungkook answers. "Is it not. The purpose of it is that it is not alive."

"Hmm..." Yoongi says. "Okay, then is it... um, a household object?"

"Well..." Jungkook pauses. "Yes?"

"Why'd you say that in a question?" you laugh. "Is it a weird household object?"

"Wait, that doesn't count as a question!" Hoseok says.

"Oh shit, sorry. I meant to say, have we ever used it in this house?"

"Um, I hope not," Jungkook snickers.

"Yes or no?!"

"No?? I think?"

"You don't know for sure??"

"I don't know if Yoongi has one of these! And if he uses it!" Jungkook says.

"Okay, fine. Then is it something essential to survival?" Yoongi asks.

"Oh, definitely not."

"Did you use it before the apocalypse?"

"Oh, hell no," Jungkook laughs. "But some of you might've."

"Some of us??" Seokjin says. "Wanna waste seven questions and find out who?"

"No!" everyone else choruses.

"So we know that it's kind of a household object, but we haven't exactly used it in this house... But some of us may have used it before we got stuck here..." Namjoon says. He hums thoughtfully. "Do you think it'd be smart to try to find out the general size of this object?"

Jungkook stifles a laugh.

"Why? Why was that funny?" Hoseok says. He narrows his eyes. "Hm, okay, is it larger than my hand?"

Jungkook laughs out loud. "I mean, it depends, really."

"You need to start giving better answers," Taehyung groans. "You're so fucking vague."

"So the size varies..." you say. "A shit ton of things have varying sizes!"

"I got a question!" Taehyung announces. "Would you typically let this object out in the open?"

"What kind of dumb question is that?" Yoongi rolls his eyes.

"What?? I'm sensing that this object is a weird one and I just wanna confirm it!!"

"No!" Jungkook exclaims. "Never. You would not wanna leave it out in the open."

"Money???" Namjoon guesses. "Do you guys think it's money?"

"How could some of us have used money before the apocalypse?" Hoseok laughs. "It's not money... We have to figure out which people would've used it before."

"Or we can ask where most people would keep the object," you say. "Here's my question, would it be in the kitchen?"

"Not typically, no. I also hope not," Jungkook says.

"Oh god, I can't help you guys now," Seokjin shrugs.

"Would it be in the bedroom, then?" Jimin asks.

"Oh, yes. Yes."

"What would you wanna keep hidden in the bedroom?" Namjoon scrunches his forehead.

Taehyung sniggers. "My mind is going places right now."

"Oh god," you groan. "Please don't—"

"Is it related to sex?" the law student blurts out before anyone can stop him.

There's a dramatic pause before Jungkook nods. "Yes."

"I KNEW IT!" Taehyung pumps his fist in the air victoriously. "It's a sex toy. I can feel it."

"Something that only a few of us would use..." Jimin trails off. "Is it for both sexes?"

"Um..." Jungkook says. "Yes? I mean, you would think it's for women... But I think some men would use it too... Aw man, I just gave you guys a huge hint."

All of the men turn to you. "What have you got for us?" Yoongi says.

You try to rack your brain. "Um... maybe a vibrator?"

"Is that your answer?" Jungkook says.

"Um, yes?"

"Nope!"

"How many questions do we have left?" Hoseok asks.

"Eight," Jungkook answers, grinning. "But I'm pretty sure you guys will get it right."

"Um... um..." you try to think, but nothing's coming up in your head. "I don't know! I don't really use toys in the bedroom!"

"I got it!" Namjoon shrieks. "I got it!"

"What is it??"

"Butt plugs!!"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh. "N-No!!" he wheezes.

"Oh, wait," Seokjin says. "I think I know."

Everyone holds their breaths as he prepares to reveal the answer.

"A dilidio."

"A WHAT?" you nearly fall over laughing.

"NOOOO!" Taehyung screams, slapping his thighs and doubling over.

"Did you fucking mean dildo???" Hoseok yells, his face turning red as he laughs.

"Oh my god," Jimin giggles.

"I-I choked on my soup," Yoongi coughs, but he's laughing so hard it seems as if he doesn't mind.

"Oh no," Seokjin says. "I suppose I did mean dildo..."

Jungkook seems to be at a loss for words. He's laughing so hard that he's completely silent, his mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut as he gasps for air. "Y-YES!" he finally screams. "You guessed it!"

"Your word was dildo the whole time?!" you shriek. "And you thought some of us used it??"

"Wait, you never used one?" Jungkook gapes. "I thought all girls—"

"No! Not all—I am not talking about this in public!"

"I've considered it before," Taehyung giggles. "But I backed down before things got serious."

"Oh my god," Namjoon wheezes. "I almost lost my lungs thanks to Seokjin."

Seokjin just shrugs. "I'm just here for comedic relief."

"Did you really not know how to say dildo??" Taehyung says.

Seokjin laughs nervously. "I mean... it slipped from my mind for a second... C'mon I'm a straight male who's a virgin. Cut me some slack."

"Sure," Taehyung giggles. "...dilidio," he whispers.

That results in another loud friendly argument, and by the time things are settled and everyone's abs are hurting from laughing, Yoongi decides to call it a night.

You slip into bed after changing tampons and try to drift off the sleep. But the worst thing about being on your period is that sometimes, you get bad insomnia on top of cramps. Curling up into the mattress, you hold your stomach protectively as you try to count the sheep to bore yourself to sleep. However, in your visions, the sheep turn into mutated zombies, so you have to force yourself to open your eyes to get the hideous image out of your head.

Sighing, you turn over so you're on your side and facing the side that Jungkook's sleeping on.

"Still awake?" comes a hushed whisper from below the bed. You can recognize the silvery undertone of Jungkook's voice anywhere.

"Yeah, just some insomnia," you shrug. "And cramps."

"Sucks," Jungkook whispers.

"Yeah..."

"Want me to help?"

"What??"

Before you know it, you hear rustling and Jungkook slips under the covers with you. "Here, I'll big spoon you," he says. "Some extra heat might help, right?"

"O-Oh, y-yeah..." You're so caught off guard that you can't help but stutter. "Are you sure this isn't some plot to just sleep in the comfortable bed?"

Jungkook laughs quietly. "Something like that," he jokes. He puts a reassuring arm around you, and you can't help but flush when he whispers, "Comfortable?"

"Mhm... T-Thanks," is all you can manage. You're so caught up in the fact that you're spooning with Jungkook that you completely forget about your cramps. He smells like Yoongi's soap—clean and a bit minty—like his usual spearmint cologne. It brings back old memories of the Jungkook you barely knew but was still attracted to. The Jungkook you know now is infinitely better.

A part of you knows he actually, genuinely cares for you. But another part of you worries that he's just being nice to get into your pants. You're usually good at spotting the typical ding-dong-ditch boys, so you hope your good judgments about Jungkook are correct as well.

But what kind of bad man cuddles platonically with a girl to help her with her period cramps?? Exactly. Jeon Jungkook is a saint.

And that's the last thought you have before you drift asleep in his strong arms.

When you wake up, Jungkook's not in bed with you; nor is he in the bedroom. It seems as if it's just you and Yoongi left sleeping. The others must be awake.

Waking up without Jungkook next to you almost makes you feel like yesterday had just been a miraculous dream. But you know it had happened. Why else would Jungkook's sleeping bag be arranged so neatly? He'd definitely fallen asleep with you. The thought makes your cheeks blush and you try to shake the feeling away.

You rub your eyes, yawn and carefully maneuver out of the room, avoiding sleeping Yoongi. Making a quick stop to the restroom to change your tampon, you walk out, stretching your arms and yawning. The cramps seemed to have ceased early this time, so you're feeling much lighter and happier.

The others give you their salutations.

"Feeling better?" Jungkook says. He sits up from the single couch to let you sit down.

"Thanks," you say, smiling at him. "Yeah, the cramps are gone at least."

"Sounds good, Y/N!" Seokjin sings from the kitchen. "Can someone wake Yoongi up??"

"I'll go," Hoseok sighs. "I swear, that man could sleep through the world ending."

"He already is," Taehyung laughs.

You smile at Taehyung's joke, turning to Jungkook to see if he had found it funny too. To your shock, you see Jungkook already looking at you, smiling softly.

"The worst's already over, right?" he says. "Maybe we can snag some painkillers for you one day."

"Oh, we shouldn't bother—"

"Come on, lovebirds!" Namjoon says. "Breakfast's ready!"

"Lovebirds?!" you and Jungkook shout at the same time.

"As if you guys don't make it obvious enough," Yoongi grumbles, scratching his back and squinting at the bright lights. "Didn't you two play footsie last night in bed?"

"We did not!" Jungkook scoffs.

"Wait, does that mean I get to move into the bedroom?" Taehyung asks hopefully.

"Why would it be you? What about me?" Hoseok says.

"Yeah! And me??" Jimin argues.

"Whatever. Whatever!" you shout, effectively silencing everyone. "Let's just please eat breakfast."

After another meal consisting of everyone talking over each other and making hilarious jokes, Seokjin announces that he's in need of more eggs. More vegetables would be nice too.

You and Jungkook immediately stand up and Yoongi just groans. "Do we really have to go today?" he grumbles. "I just wanna stay home."

"You've been staying home for over a week," Taehyung says. "Hey, can I tag along this time? I'm not afraid of a couple of zombies."

"Why so suddenly?" Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "It's not a fairytale, you know. It's serious work."

"I mean, Y/N and Jungkook make it look so fun..."

"Yes, we're pretty cool, we know," Jungkook laughs, scrounging around for his baseball bat and picking it up. "We're every zombie movie director's dream."

"As long as you can run really fast, then sure," you say.

"Yes!!" Taehyung exclaims.

Jimin shudders. "I still don't understand why you would want to go outside into the zombie-infested world..."

"One wrong move could get you killed," Hoseok says. "It's dangerous."

You shrug. "We've survived every time. And besides, zombies are the lesser species. They're stupid. Slow. And incredibly weak."

"Careful. Don't get too cocky," Namjoon says. "You sure you need an extra pair of hands to carry everything?"

"The more people we have, the more supplies we can get at a time," Jungkook answers. "Tae can come and that's final."

Taehyung won't shut up about how cool it would be to have zombies chasing after him as he ducks heroically around obstacles and wacks a few of them with makeshift weapons. It's like his head's stuck in the movie world.

Yoongi ends up putting his earplugs in.

You and Jungkook patiently listen to Taehyung's fantastical visions, wondering if the two of you should break it to him that yes, being a supplier is cool, but no, it is not action zombie movie cool.

When Yoongi announces that you've arrived at the destination, Jungkook cautiously pulls back the curtains on the bus and then frowns.

"Yoongi, this is Costco, not Target."

"Yeah, I know," the stoic man answers. "Figured the eggs came in larger packs here. And they have a special section for their fruits and vegetables to keep them fresh."

"Fresh after four months?" you raise your eyebrows.

"You can see for yourselves," Yoongi answers. "If not, there's a shit ton of food there anyway. Thought we needed a little upgrade from Target."

"Right..." Jungkook says. "But we also don't know how many more zombies are roaming around here."

"Seems like none to me!" Taehyung exclaims as he scans the perimeter. "Uh, at least none on the outside."

"Well... we have each other's phone numbers just in case. Ringtones on silent, right?" you say. "We'll call you if we have any trouble. And you'll call us if you're in trouble too. Though I doubt it." You shrug. "The most zombies we might have to encounter might be ten. And we can take ten easily."

"Exactly," Jungkook says. "But we'll still exercise caution."

"Right," Taehyung says. "We must exercise caution."

"And try to talk in a low volume," you say.

"Then everything will be just fine," Jungkook says, puffing out his chest.

Five minutes later, things are looking out to be... quite... not fine. But it's also too late to back down. The three of you are already deep in the large Costco building, and though it looked like there were no zombies outside, there were a shit ton inside. All sleeping.

You try to signal Jungkook and Taehyung to go back to the bus just in case, but the other two are firm on going through with the mission. The three of you tiptoe carefully across the building, making sure to speak sparingly or stay silent altogether.

Unfortunately, Costco doesn't have plastic bags, so you end up having to carry the carton of eggs. The vegetable section stinks of rotten food, so you avoid it completely. There aren't that many fresh foods in Costco that you can hold without making a complete racket, so the three of you gravitate towards the canned foods sections once more. You admit, there are way more options in Costco than in Target, but you quickly find out that it's hard to carry multiple cans at once without a bag.

You ditch the canned foods and pick up boxes of waffle, pancake and cake mix. In the midst of choosing how many of these boxes you should bring with Jungkook, Taehyung interrupts the quiet conversation by whispering aggressively: "Look! Look at this!"

Jungkook puts his finger to his lips. "Not so aggressively," he whispers. He nods at the couple of zombies sleeping in the same aisle, just several feet away—the closest you've ever been to those limping monsters. And all of you know there might be tens and tens more scattered around the store. No one wants to find out what would happen if they all woke up.

Taehyung pouts and twirls around in—

"A leather jacket?" you say. "Where the fuck did you get that?"

"It was literally lying on the ground somewhere. Pretty neat, huh? Makes me feel like I'm the star of a zombie apocalypse movie!"

"That's half true," you say. "You're not a star in a movie... Also, that's a woman's jacket. See the details on the side?"

"I don't care! It's still fucking cool—"

"Shh!! Shut the fuck—FUCK!" Jungkook shrieks.

The zombies in the aisle have opened their eyes and have seen the three of you. They slowly get up from the ground and begin to limp toward you, but surely, gaining speed.

"Ohhh no, oh no, oh no," you panic, gripping Jungkook's arms and nearly dropping the eggs in your arms.

"S-Stay calm," Jungkook says, but his eyes are huge and he looks panicked. "Um... run!" he whispers.

Taehyung grabs an extra box of waffle mix before dashing away, catching up to you and Jungkook. The three of you dash for your lives. You take a look back to see if the zombies are still following you, but you wish you hadn't. There are way more than the two initial ones who had spotted you. Now there's a gigantic hoard of them limping after you.

And man, the movies got it all wrong! These motherfuckers are kinda fast.

Maybe they can't exactly run, but they can definitely speed walk. Your feet pound against Costco's floors and the impact vibrates from your foot to the top of your head. The bat wedged between your arms has never felt so useless. The eggs held tightly against your chest are threatening to crack under the pressure of your hold. But you don't care. You've never been more afraid in your life.

One or two zombies is a joke. But at least thirty?? Wanting to bite your neck off? No fucking thank you. You cannot possibly fight that.

The only solace you have is Jungkook, who constantly looks over to make sure you're next to him. Though you know he can run faster than this, he keeps his running at your pace, and Taehyung runs behind both of you because either he's willing to turn himself into a sacrifice or he's willing to prove he's not afraid of zombies.

It might be the latter.

There's no time to text Yoongi; you'll just have to pray that he'll be waiting on the bus, ready to zoom off the moment the three of you get on. But when you finally run out of Costco's confining walls, your heart sinks. Jungkook puts his arm out in front of you to stop you from running any closer to the hoard of zombies bumping their heads on the very walls of the bus.

But there's little to no time to think.

Taehyung gestures violently and leads you and Jungkook to hop into Costco's food court kitchen, where thankfully, the windows are open. Jungkook slides into the room first and double-checks that it's completely safe and empty before helping you in. Taehyung comes in last, just before the zombies spill out of the entrance of Costco. They look confused, wondering where their three meals have vanished off into nowhere. But they don't seem to mind, wandering off to the bus where the rest of their ugly monster friends are.

You're breathing hard, so hard that you can barely breathe. All you can do is clutch your carton of eggs and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet as you squat down on the ground. Even Jungkook, the brave, seems a little fazed as he tries to comfort your shaking body by patting your back.

Only Taehyung doesn't look affected at all. He shrugs, setting down the boxes of food and pats his newly acquired leather jacket. "Everything will be fine," he whispers so quietly you can hardly catch his words.

"I-It's not!" you manage to whisper. "Yoongi's on that bus! A-And... I—what if—"

Taehyung pats your leg, helping you put down the eggs. You just hold your bat—as if it'll save you from the at least fifty zombies waiting outside. "Yoongi will be fine..." he reassures you. "Things will work out."

Jungkook shows his phone to the two of you, and there are several texts from Yoongi that indicate not to go near the bus right now.

"Tell him that we're fine," Taehyung says quietly. "That we'll wait for the zombies to go away or something."

Thank god Taehyung's here. It always helps to have someone who is unafraid. Someone who is still able to think straight after being chased by a hoard of flesh-eating zombies.

You decide to check your suspicions and open the carton of eggs to find eight of them cracked and leaking. You don't know what washes over you, but you're suddenly crying silent tears. Something about being stuck in the Costco kitchen with zombies guarding the bus you're supposed to go into and not exactly knowing what the future holds for you is fucking terrifying. And even worse, you had one job. But you'd managed to crack the eggs.

Taehyung and Jungkook are surprised to see your tears—especially Taehyung because he had never seen your vulnerable side before. Jungkook just hugs you, and you try to focus on the scent of mint clinging to his hair, while Taehyung lets you hold his hand.

No one dares to speak after that.

The zombies are pretty far away, but you're not willing to take any chances when the kitchen is a closed space. There's nowhere to run. And you obviously don't want to stay here all night. Night is when the zombie numbers multiply—at least in the movies.

You try to take silent, deep breaths to calm your rapidly beating heart. Jungkook's chest rests against your back, and you can hear his thumping heart as well. You know that he's a lot more scared than he lets on. But he stays calm for your sake.

Meanwhile, Taehyung just looks bored.

He taps meme song rhythms against the back of your hand and frequently (but also carefully) looks out the window to check if the zombies are gone. But they are not. They continue to rack their heads against the walls of the bus, and there are so many of them that sometimes, with a particularly hard knock, the bus leans to the side.

Maybe they can smell humans...

You just hope if they can, they won't be able to smell you three. If worse comes to worst, you'll actually have to fight for your life.

It's been nearly five hours.

Your legs are sweaty and your thighs stick to the ground, and it's gotten so stuffy that you, Jungkook and Taehyung have all given each other some space. There's still not much to say and it's too risky to talk, though.

The silence is horrible.

You start to think about everything. All the people you've wronged. All the people who hated you and would probably kill to see you like this. All the people who love you and would be heartbroken over the deadly situation you've entangled yourself in. All the people who you loved and are dead now, after meeting a tragic, zombie-ridden death.

It's worse that you're still on your period, and you've still got the tampon in—for more than eight hours too. But you try to forget about it; it's the least of your worries now.

At this point, you're not sure if you should just accept your fate. It already feels like you've lost a big battle. Why not just give up? The five hours you've stayed cramped up in the small kitchen felt like five days.

The others must be worrying at home. And oh god, Yoongi... He must be even more terrified to be alone on the bus and surrounded by zombies.

"H-Hey..." Jungkook whispers, placing his hand on yours. "Maybe we should go now..."

"What??" you exclaim in a low voice. "What do you mean go now??"

"Jungkook's right. There're fewer zombies surrounding the bus," Taehyung says, he crouches down but levels his eyesight to the parked vehicle.

"If we can manage to push them away from the doors and get in..." Jungkook starts. "Um..."

"We'll be totally fine," Taehyung says. He's got a small smile on his face—not a hopeful smile but a confident smile. You wonder what it takes to be so unafraid and unbothered.

But they're right. What used to be about fifty zombies have dwindled down to a measly ten to fifteen. Possibly twenty-five since some of them might be out of your line of sight. But it's much better than fifty. Still...

This would totally be asking to get bitten.

"I've already texted Yoongi. He says he'll keep a close lookout for us, and when the coast's clear, he'll let us in," Jungkook says. "C'mon..." He squeezes your shoulder. "It's better to try now than later, right?"

"You two can swing your bats around like mad," Taehyung says. "And I'll just, you know, try to stay alive and hold the supplies."

You twirl on him, your mouth gaping. "You're not gonna fight??"

"Someone has to hold the groceries," Taehyung laughs. "It's better for me to hold everything so you two have more mobility."

"Oh god. Oh god," you mumble. "We're going to have to do it..."

"Duh," Taehyung snorts. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Like in the movies."

Fun?? You could think of a billion counterarguments, but you shut your mouth.

"Just pretend the zombies are that creepy sexist male baseball coach you had in high school," Jungkook says. "Does that help?"

"I'm not very imaginative—"

"Okay, the goal is not to beat them up, anyways," Jungkook says. "Just enough for us to get into that bus in one piece..."

"Right," you say with a curt nod. "Just enough to survive..."

"They're just a couple of idiots with mangled bodies," Taehyung grins. "We'll survive."

"Of course," Jungkook snorts. He looks over at you as if to check up on your mental state. Though you're screaming on the inside, you manage to put on a stoic look on your face.

"Okay, well I'm ready," you finally whisper, gritting your teeth. "We'll uh... yeah, survive..."

"Exactly," Taehyung says, he pats your back before beginning to pick up all of the supplies. "You guys got my back, right?"

"Sure," Jungkook grins. "We'll keep you covered."

You nod along, though biting your lip nervously. "So we're just going to... make a run for it?"

"We're not really in the position to make up a battle strategy," Jungkook shrugs. "I'll be in the front, you can be right behind me and Tae'll be right at the back."

"Sounds like a plan," Taehyung says.

It's a simple plan that seems to be effective, but there are still a million things that can go wrong. Jungkook grips his bat tightly in his hands before looking back at you. He looks a little apprehensive himself, but he offers a tight smile.

"On the count of three, right?" Jungkook says, he looks at you specifically. "And no running off before."

You manage to smile nervously. "Yeah..."

"One..."

You take in a deep breath.

"Two..."

You breathe out.

"Three!"

You hold your breath as you charge, right behind Jungkook. Your feet pad silently against the ground; your surroundings are blurred. You can only see straight ahead.

You raise your bat above your head, ready to strike. Your grip around it tightens.

The zombies are still oblivious, but there are so many of them. Your ears can't seem to comprehend sound anymore. Your eyes narrow in on the monsters, and you make a mental target of the ones you're going to go after first. It's almost in slow-mo. Right before two opposing sides meet in war and clash.

Jungkook lets out a muffled gasp when he hits the first zombie across the head.

It's enough force for the monster to stumble back and fall to the ground. The other zombies notice and begin to charge slowly. You hesitate for just a second, watching Jungkook lash out at the monsters to clear the way for you and Taehyung to get into the bus. Then with revitalized vigor, you move, swinging your bat with all of your strength at the nearest, blood-thirsty zombie.

It growls before flinging backwards. The impact of the hit has your arms shaking uncontrollably, but there's no time to pause and recuperate. In fact, there's no time for you to think. One wrong move can get you killed.

You swing your bat over and over again. Never hitting the same zombie twice. Knocking down as many as you can. Helping Jungkook protect Taehyung who has no weapons at all.

Blood splatters everywhere, but you don't dare close your eyes. And it's too much of a risk to scream. You pant quietly, sweating profusely but gritting your teeth and fighting for your life. Literally.

But the zombies won't die the second time around. They manage to stand straight again and hobble towards you and the two others.

"Y/N!" Jungkook hisses, hair wet with sweat and eyebrows furrowed. "Knock on the bus door!"

He swings his own baseball bat around, subsequently knocking down three monsters. He's offering you and Taehyung protection while your backs are turned.

Following his order, you frantically knock on the bus door covered by curtains. As soon as your knuckle hits the glass, Yoongi peels back the curtain, his eyes wide and lips parted.

You know he can see the hoard of zombies still trying to maul Jungkook. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing in the process. Nevertheless, in just a few seconds, the bus door opens.

"Hurry!"

Taehyung's the first one in, and you only stay to kick a zombie away from the entrance. Its hanging guts explode right on your shoe, making a disgusting mess.

"Jungkook!" you shriek.

He turns around, cursing as he knocks down more of the monsters.

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, looking between the safe insides of the bus and your friend struggling to fight the zombies. More of them are ganging up on him, definitely more angry that he'd tried to hurt them. There's no time to think at all. It's all instinct when you jump out, unexpectedly knocking one zombie over. But it creates a miracle domino effect.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate. He grabs your arm, turns around and runs toward the entrance of the bus. The moment your foot is in the door, Yoongi slams it shut.

Loud thumps can be heard from the glass as the zombies angrily protest against the loss of a meal.

Just when you worry that the glass might crack from their vicious head-butting, Yoongi gets in the driver seat and slams his foot down on the gas. The bus lurches forward, definitely crunching over some of the zombies and subsequently flinging you, Jungkook and Taehyung to the back of the vehicle. The gathered supplies fly every which way, but Yoongi continues on, jerking the steering wheel left and right to throw off the zombies.

Your heart is thumping so loud, you can't even hear the skids of the bus wheels against the concrete. Hell, you can barely even see straight.

Even after Yoongi pulls out of Costco's parking lot and continues to speed out of the city, you're unable to speak, completely frozen. And no one speaks another word until you can see Yoongi's modest home several yards away.

Safety is close.

The anxiousness is just about dissipating within you when—

"Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!" Yoongi curses, repeatedly slamming his foot on the gas pedal only for the bus to slow down, sputter and come to a complete stop. "Well, shit," he sighs, turning around to face you, Jungkook and Taehyung. "Bus broke down."

"Welp!" Taehyung sighs, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his clothes. He's got a few bloody smudges on his cheap Target t-shirt (he had to give up Gucci ever since the apocalypse), but he's in a much cleaner state than you and Jungkook. The law student shrugs, gathering up most of the supplies in his arms. "At least it didn't break down back at Costco."

"Do you think we can fix it?" you say, eyebrows furrowed. "And is it safe outside?"

"Zombies don't really come here... I think," Jungkook says, frowning. "Um, but I'm sure we won't be ambushed out there."

"We'll have to see if the bus is fixable," Yoongi says. "But I'm no mechanic." He looks more on the worried side, fidgeting with his hands. "Let's get out of here."

With your knees still shaking and head still light, you stand up, nearly wobbling over if Jungkook had not supported you. Yoongi carries the rest of the supplies, unveiling the bus door and busting it open. You and Jungkook carry your bloody bats, you especially distraught over the violent mess that had been made of your precious sports equipment.

Taehyung's the first one out, stretching his back leisurely before taking a look around the surroundings. "Zombie-free!" he exclaims. "Damn, look at the bus! Didn't know zombies could even bleed that much!"

You make a disgusted face at his comment. I definitely don't want to be reminded of fighting those monsters anytime soon.

Taehyung's right, though. The bus windows are splattered with now dried droplets of blood, and the sides are even worse, harboring the brunt of the zombies' remains. You have to look away.

Though there are seemingly no monsters roaming about in the vicinity, Jungkook ushers you towards the house as quickly as he can. It's not worth the risk. Not worth the extra trauma.

Before any of you can get to the front door though, it swings open with a very worried looking Jimin nearly in tears.

"I thought you guys were dead!" he screams, tugging everyone in the house before slamming the door shut. When he pulls back, Jimin's jaw drops open. "Blood?!"

"Oh god..." Namjoon gasps, quickly rushing over to check up on you and Jungkook. "Anyone bitten?"

"What the hell happened?" Hoseok cries. "We couldn't even call! Our phones died and you took the chargers!" He points at Taehyung.

"Oh, Y/N..." Seokjin gasps when he realizes you've started to cry. "Hey... hey..."

"We had a little bit of a problem," Yoongi says. "Went to Costco instead of Target. It's my fault... And they had to deal with it."

"It's cool, bro," Taehyung says. "Got this cool leather jacket out of it. But also almost died in the process."

Seokjin embraces you, making you cry even harder. The stoic façade that you had put up inside the bus and all throughout the afternoon had broken apart.

"I-It was," sniff, "n-not c-c...ool," you manage to get out against Seokjin's chest. "I... I've never b-been s-so... scared."

"You've made it out alive," Seokjin whispers, patting your head. "It's okay..." He pulls back and murmurs a quiet "Yikes," when he sees blood splatters across your face and even down to your neck.

"Y-Yikes?!" You cry even harder. Everything you'd been holding in for the last four months, all the times you missed everyone you'd known in your life, all the times you'd had a major existential crisis—it all comes crashing down on you. Leaving you broken.

Seokjin awkwardly holds you, not sure of what to say and do. The rest of the men seem at a loss for words as well.

Finally, Jungkook's the first to take action. He walks forward, wiping off the dried blood from your chin before sighing. "You're a professional zombie fighter," he says, crouching down to meet your eye level. "You were brave, calm and collected when you needed to be, and you survived. Plus, you saved me. You should be proud of yourself. You did good."

You manage to scoff amidst your tears. "Y-You mean," sniff, "that you did w-well."

"Yeah, whatever," Jungkook snorts. He just pats your back and helps you sit down on the couch in the living room.

"What's that about Y/N saving your life?" Jimin says.

"Um... well, how about we start from the very beginning?" Jungkook suggests, sitting on the couch ledge. "It's a long story."

"Man, it was bad fortune after bad fortune after bad fortune!" Taehyung exclaims. "Like literally, just when we thought we survived everything and could live to see another day, the bus fucking broke down!"

"Wait, the bus broke down??" Hoseok shrieks. "And eggs and what the fuck is that—cake mix—are the last things we got???"

When you look like you're going to start crying again, Namjoon cuts in. "Cake mix can last for months. And eggs are delicious!"

"We're doomed," Jimin groans. "How are we gonna get our supplies?"

"And the eggs are cracked," Seokjin says as he frowns at the opened carton of eggs. "Thirteen out of twenty-four."

You shake your head in disbelief, biting your lip to keep yourself from crying tears of frustration. Nothing had gone right today. Nothing at all.

"I'm so sorry," you mutter. "I was holding them so tight... I didn't think they'd..." You can't even continue on, losing your voice mid-sentence.

"Hey, no," Seokjin says. "I uh, didn't mean it like that. Um, I can still totally cook with what's left!"

He tries to lighten the downwards spiraling mood, but it's no use.

"You guys could've died," Jimin gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. "Like, Jungkook could've really been a goner."

"I can't even imagine myself being in a rocking bus," Hoseok shudders. "And zombies are the ones rocking it."

"I'm just glad no one got bitten," Namjoon says. "We were worried sick!"

"No, seriously," Jimin says, "we thought you guys died."

"Yeah, it felt like I was close to death," Yoongi snorts.

"Every day we're out here means we're closer to death," Namjoon sighs, shaking his head.

"Oh, man, I don't wanna die... and then become undead," Taehyung grumbles. "Then what's the point of dying??"

"Actually, though," Hoseok grumbles. "You're right. Would we still be conscious if we were bitten and turned into monsters? Or would we be stripped from our personalities and minds?"

"I'm not sure about you, but I personally don't think I have the 'I want to bite your head off' personality within me," Jungkook snickers.

"Ew, stop talking about death," Seokjin complains. "It's stinking up the whole place." He looks at you, Jungkook and Taehyung. "And you guys need a good shower," he says as-a-matter-of-factly. "I'll make some omelets for dinner. Jimin? Hoseok? Help me, please."

"Wait what about m—" Namjoon says.

"No," Seokjin says abruptly. "You're not allowed in the kitchen."

Namjoon pouts but he soon finds something to do in his study binder. Yoongi trudges into the bedroom saying he needs to sleep the terror off.

That leaves you, Jungkook and Taehyung amongst yourselves.

"You can go first, Y/N," Taehyung says, taking one look at the tears staining your cheeks and the state of your clothes. "You look like you really need that shower."

"Agreed," Jungkook says. "We might have to throw our clothes away too. The blood on it is disgusting considering that it's not even ours..."

"Wait... blood?" You freeze as horror dawns on you. "Oh no. Oh fuck."

Before either Jungkook or Taehyung can ask what's wrong, you dash into the bathroom and lock the door.

With all the stupid commotion, you had totally forgotten about your tampon. Cursing under your breath, you manage to get it out—though with a bit more struggle than usual. But no matter, right? It's out now. Albeit, it had been inside for way longer than eight hours.

But nothing feels wrong down there, so you shrug. You've lucked out; you just won't be as reckless again.

Hopping into the shower, you let the warm water caress your skin before scrubbing your body from head to toe. You leave the shower a bit early (so the others have warm water too), but you leave feeling more refreshed, alive and relaxed.

While Jungkook and Taehyung take their turns in the shower stall, you meander into the kitchen to help Seokjin. (Jimin and Hoseok had come up with elaborate excuses to not cook, leaving the intern chef to do everything.)

By the time everyone is gathered in the living room, dinner preparation is finished. Normally, there's a lot of chatter, but the mood is solemn today. Everyone eats in silence.

In the beginning, you're unable to conjure enough of an appetite to eat. But the omelet smells heavenly and watching the others scarf it down helps a lot. You're able to ignore all the horrible images of blood and gore and zombies from your mind, picking up your fork to finally dig into the food. The omelet is delicious, but you don't have the guts to compliment Seokjin's efforts. Even the normally talkative people are quiet, preferring to dine in silence to succumb to the somber mood.

You're not even sure family game time will progress like this. Everyone's too preoccupied with the fact that half of the group could've died today. From just a simple mistake. And the fact that you broke down crying multiple times has made everyone cautious of their word choice.

"...Maybe we shouldn't play a game today," Jungkook says, looking carefully at you to check your reaction.

You bite your lip. "I don't know... It's almost like tradition."

"I know..." Jungkook sighs. "But is everyone in the mood, though?"

There are quiet murmurs; no one's feeling like they have to outwardly voice their opinions, but everyone's nodding subtly. Even so, an awkward silence befalls upon the group. You fidget with your hands, unsure whether you should just go to bed or not. There's an unsettling feeling taking over your stomach, which you're pretty sure has something to do with the traumatic events that had unfolded earlier today.

Finally, Namjoon clears his throat.

"I never really told anyone this..." he starts, playing with his fork. "Um... but I guess I can say it now... Not that there's any way the secret'll get out..."

"Secret?" Hoseok raises his eyebrows. "Did you start the damned apocalypse?"

"Oh my god, movie plot twist!!" Taehyung gushes.

"What?? No!" Namjoon says. "It's just a small secret I've been carrying with me since I was six."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "I know I'm supposed to be the face of intelligence, but I suppose I wasn't a bright child... Um, well... You see, when I was the ripe age of six, I genuinely thought the moon and the sun were the same thing..."

"No way," Taehyung gasps.

"Yes way," Namjoon shakes his head. There's a pink blush on his cheeks, signifying that he was already embarrassed. "I just thought people called the same circle in the sky different things depending on whether it was day or night! C'mon, I was six."

"Um, when I was six, I definitely knew the difference between the sun and moon," Jimin snickers. "That's like, common sense."

"Oh, I doubt you've never had a dumb moment in your life," Namjoon says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"I've had plenty, actually," Jimin says—almost as if he's bragging about it—"you see, there was this one time—"

"Wait, are we just going to share our funniest secrets?" Hoseok cuts in.

"Yes!" everyone except him choruses.

"Anyways," Jimin drags out, "okay, so starting with the bad news first. I think it was back in high school or something. Junior year, maybe? I totally forgot we had a test in the middle of the week so, of course, I didn't study. Bombed that test. Like to the point that I was the lowest score."

"How can you have any good news after this?" you gape.

"You would not believe it," Jimin cracks a smile. "I got my test back and sure enough, I got a 43%. But the best part!!" Jimin pauses dramatically. "My class grade went up!"

Namjoon's jaw drops open and you wonder if it could've unhinged if he had dropped it any faster.

"What do you mean your grade went up after scoring a 43%?!" the med school student roars. "How low was your grade?!"

Jimin just grins. "One secret at a time, my man. One secret at a time."

"You think that's bad?" Jungkook chimes in. "I used to hold my breath in front of the microwave so I wouldn't get hit by the fucking electromagnetic spectrum microwaves."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that works," Yoongi snorts.

"I know," Jungkook sighs. "That's why it's so embarrassing."

"Oh, really? I broke up with the love of my life because she didn't know who Gordon Ramsay was," Seokjin admits. "And now she's with a better man."

"Sucks, dude," Taehyung shakes his head.

"I know, it was some rough times," Seokjin shakes his head. "I really clowned myself on that one."

"It's okay," Jimin says. "Single people are superior people."

"That's what single people say to make themselves feel better," Jungkook snickers.

"It doesn't make me feel better. It's a fact!" Jimin protests.

"Where's the evidence, though?" Namjoon says. "Facts need supporting evidence."

"Oh my god, can we please go back to the confessions?" you say.

"Oh! I have a funny one from law school!" Taehyung volunteers.

Everyone shuts up and becomes all-ears.

"Okay, so in law school, sometimes, the prof cold calls you. You know, where they basically call on you in front of the whole fucking class to brief a case. Which basically means you're supposed to summarize the details of a case, right?" Taehyung laughs at his own memories. "But guess who didn't read about the case at all?" He pauses just a bit before declaring the obvious answer: "Me! That's who! Too busy getting hammered the night before. And guess who the fucking prof cold called? Also me!"

"Oh no..." you groan. "What happened?"

"I had no idea what the case was even about," Taehyung snorts. "So I made one up on the spot. A criminal case—just because those usually get so much more exciting. Everyone around me was confused as fuck. So was the professor. But I briefed such a good imaginary case that the prof let it go. I would've been the best lawyer ever if it hadn't been for this stupid apocalypse."

"What the fuck? Your professor didn't even get mad?" Jimin says. "What was the case about?"

Taehyung grins. "Oh, I put in a little bit of this, a little bit of that. A hybrid of a Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper and Zodiac Killer did the trick. Also the story of a heroic woman who escaped the mad man and made it alive to press charges. It was insane. I loved every single second of it, and I was making it up as I went!"

"Sometimes, Tae, I think you're a different breed," Jungkook says.

"I think we all agree with that," Hoseok says. "I mean, imagine having the nerve to completely disregard important college assignments!"

"Everyone makes mistakes!" Taehyung argues. "You probably did a couple of stupid things in your life. Why don't you share some with us?"

"I don't think I've done anything stupid in my life," Hoseok says. But he freezes. "Well, I was only thirteen then... It shouldn't count."

"Thirteen-year-old boys are idiotic," you say. "That's tea. Continue."

"I-It's not uh, very dramatic at all," Hoseok says, suddenly turning a bright shade of red. "It was no big deal, actually..."

"Spill," Jimin threatens.

Hoseok sighs. "Fine. One faithful day in junior high, I got in a fight with my mother. I told her I never needed her help with anything ever again. So she told me she wouldn't drive me to school that morning. I said I didn't care and proceeded to put on my rollerblades and skated to school to show that I was an independent young man."

"Where's the catch?"

"Um... I forgot to bring an extra pair of shoes to change into at school," Hoseok says. "But I didn't want to call my mom because that would mean I would've lost. I voluntarily walked in my socks for the rest of the day."

"I mean, at least you went through with it," Seokjin laughs. "I kind of have respect for that."

"Well, thanks," Hoseok shrugs. "I thought I was an idiot. Looking back now, I guess we all made stupid mistakes."

"Not all of us. Y/N, do you have something to share?" Taehyung asks.

"Hm..." You try to wrack your brain to come up with something. "Oh yeah. Once, I got fired from my barista job because some dude tried to hit on me."

"Why would you get fired for being attractive?" Jimin squints his eyes.

"Uh... Well, he was rude when he tried to get me to go on a date with him. Think he was some fucking incel or something. Super sexist. Anyways... I might've lashed back and said something that really made him get mad."

"What did you say?" Jungkook says. "Did you put the pig in his place?"

"Well, kind of. I did get fired for it," you shrug. "After I refused his offer to go on a date, he scoffed and told me he was too good for me anyway. And that a woman's place was in the lowly kitchen, so I was just on the right track."

"Woah," Seokjin gasps. "That is not cool. That is disgusting."

"How did you react?" Yoongi says, raising his eyebrows. "It's not easy coming back from something so rude."

"I think I have a special talent for that," you smile. "I told him, 'you are absolutely right sir, lemme go grab a knife while I'm at it.' He got really pale and called the manager. I lost my job."

"That's unfair!" Namjoon shouts. "And he didn't get in trouble whatsoever?"

"Nope," you sigh. "I had to starve myself for a few days just to save up money after I lost that job. Tough times."

"Oh, wow... I'm sorry," Jungkook says. "Some men are just not... it."

"I figured," you snort. "But I know how to put bad men in their place."

"I think you also know how to put good men in their place," Jimin whispers under his breath.

Next to him, Namjoon laughs. "As she should."

"So? Yoongi? Have you got anything?" you say, turning to the sleepy man who was mid-yawn.

Yoongi shrugs with a blank face. He begins to stand up, stacking everyone's empty dishes and taking them to the kitchen sink. You think he has nothing to share and is done with the confessions, but you're proven wrong when he comes back to the living room. He only pauses for a second to think. "I don't regret bringing the seven of you here the day the zombie breakout hit our city."

And then without a second glance, he walks out of the living room and into the bedroom, mumbling that he was tired and needed some sleep.

The rest of you blink at each other, unable to believe your ears. Usually, Yoongi is quiet and when he does speak, it's often without much emotional input. But this...

"That was weird," Jimin says. "He dropped the bomb on us and then just... left."

"I think it was sweet," you say.

"I agree," Jungkook smiles. "It was a nice way to end the night, anyway. Yoongi must've been so tired... I know we were out there fighting off the zombies, but he was on the bus, waiting and waiting, barely sure if we could get out alive."

"The stress probably got to him," Hoseok says. "We should all go to bed early. After today, we all need a good night's sleep."

"Yeah..." Namjoon agrees.

"Can I sleep in the bedroom?" Taehyung asks hopefully. "It's the only way I can actually get to sleep tonight," he pleads, though everyone knows he's lying through his teeth.

You and Jungkook look at each other, wordlessly communicating that the two of you would share the bed again. Your cheeks warm even at the thought.

"Fine," Jungkook answers. "But the bedroom policy's strict. No talking after lights out."

Taehyung laughs. "Don't worry. I'm so tired, I'll fall asleep before my head even hits the pillow."

You'd gotten in bed with Jungkook, him holding you tight in his arms and playing with your hands until he'd heard your soft, even breaths. He helps you calm down. Helps you escape.

But in the middle of the night, you wake up shivering violently. Jungkook is still embracing you and there is a blanket encompassing your body, but you are uncannily chilled. Almost as if you can't breathe. You struggle against the blankets, kicking them away, much to Jungkook's sleepy groaning protest. And when Jungkook complains too much, you end up kicking him out of the bed. You just feel too suffocated.

And when you wake up in the morning, you dash to the bathroom and vomit last night's dinner in the toilet.

The moment Namjoon sees you looking barely alive, he declares you need to stay in bed. You comply, trying to fight off that stupid headache you have. Crawling back under the covers, you attempt to focus your mind elsewhere to ignore the pain burning throughout your whole body.

Even Namjoon and Taehyung are stumped.

"It can't really be something you ate..." Namjoon says. "Because we eat the same things. If you caught it, we all should've as well."

"And we've had literally zero contact with other people, right?" Taehyung says. "Where could she have gotten it?"

Nevertheless, Namjoon rules your illness as the stomach flu—especially when you'd started to get severe diarrhea. No one else is allowed around you, even though Jungkook tries to talk to you from the other side of the bedroom door.

And for two days, you're given the stomach flu treatment. Seokjin cooks up rice in the kitchen to feed you and Jungkook and Taehyung follow Yoongi on a walking trip to a small but local convenience store to get some Gatorade and frozen bananas. Namjoon even finds some antibiotics that might work.

Although you feel like shit, you know that with your friends nurturing you and making sure you eat all the right foods and get proper rest, you'll be up and at it in no time.

Except on the fourth day, you pop a 103-degree fever with symptoms that include but are definitely not limited to delusion, fatigue, redness and irritation.

Namjoon sighs, looking at Yoongi's old, outdated thermometer. "I really hope this is broken and the numbers are far off."

You're almost in no state to react.

"She's burning up, though," Taehyung says. "We've tried everything..."

They sound worried and unsure of what to do next. But you can barely comprehend their words, head lolling tiredly to the side as you try to shut out everything in the world and rest. It's a hard thing to do too—your body feels like it's burning in the pits of hell and your head spins even though you're lying completely still. Whatever cold you caught, it's the worst you've had in your whole life.

When Jungkook worriedly peeks his head through the bedroom door, Namjoon crossly waves him away. He lets out a frustrated grunt, looking between you and Taehyung with a frown stretched across his forehead. "Maybe it's not... stomach flu...?" He says it like a question rather than a sure statement.

"These are stomach flu symptoms, though," Taehyung sighs, pointing at you. "What else are we supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure..." Namjoon trails off. "Stomach flu symptoms usually call for a low-grade fever. 103 is something else. 103 is..." he trails off. "That's really dangerous..."

"Is she..." Taehyung bites back his words. "Is she going to be okay?"

Namjoon looks at you again. He reaches over with a moist rag and pats it across your forehead to clean up the perspiration. "Y-Yeah," he says in his shaky voice. "She'll be fine..."

The mood is quiet and solemn. It's hard for the two men to watch you suffer, but they're supposed to supervise you, so it's their job to stay put and tend to your every need. But Jungkook suddenly barges into the bedroom with wild hair and crazed eyes. He's panting, sweating even.

"I don't think that's stomach flu!" he yells.

"Shh!" Namjoon shushes Jungkook aggressively. "Keep it down!"

"Not stomach flu??" Taehyung gasps. "How do you know??"

Jungkook tosses Taehyung a blue box, which the law student catches with quick reflex. "Read the fucking box, guys. Read it."

"J-Jungkook?" you groan. Your eyes flutter as you try to get a clear vision of the man. "Kook?"

He just shakes his head repeatedly, unable to walk any closer to you. "Y/N..."

Taehyung holds up the blue tampon box, frowning. "So you're saying she has Toxic Shock Syndrome?"

Namjoon gasps. "Oh god."

"According to the internet, Y/N's showing the exact symptoms of it," Jungkook says. "We have to get her to the hospital."

"We can't be 100% about that, though," Namjoon says. "TSS requires a medical diagnosis... you know, with medical equipment."

"The hospital has medical equipment," Taehyung points out.

"We'll have to figure out a way to get there safely, though," Jungkook says. "Because the damn bus broke."

The others begin to pour into the bedroom, all looking extremely stressed and worried. "I told her tampons were dangerous," Seokjin says.

"Not really," Jungkook sighs. "Apparently, TSS is rare... but like... it kind of happens when you leave the tampon in for too long."

You deliriously shake your head. "A-Am I... Gonna d-die?"

"No," Namjoon says firmly. "We'll get you to the hospital."

"Yeah, and the nearest one's about a five hours walk from here," Yoongi says, crossing his arms. "And the box label right here says that TSS is a serious disease that may cause d—"

"Shut up," Seokjin scoffs, giving Yoongi a meaningful glare. "Serious or not, we'll cure it."

"We should leave right now, then," Taehyung suggests. "I mean, look, she's been like this for four days..."

"Right now??" Hoseok says, raising his voice. "We're not prepared! It's a five-hour walk. And we don't even have a bus!"

"Hoseok's right," Jimin butts in. "We need to prepare for this."

"So we prepare now, rest and go tomorrow morning," Hoseok says. "It's a plan, right?"

"We??" Namjoon counters.

You manage to turn your head to stare blankly at Jungkook. "Is... everyone gonna go...?"

Jungkook kneels down and grabs your hand. "We're all going to go. I promise."

"What??" Jimin hisses. "I thought when we were saying we, we meant—"

Namjoon shushes him.

"It's okay..." Jungkook whispers, resting his forehead against the back of your hand. "We'll get you treated," he says. "You'll be okay..."

It's the last thing you hear before you fall into a painful slumber.

—part 1 | part 2

—masterlist

[starsfic]

Spider-Webbed- Chapter 1/3

Summary: A mysterious new racing rival asks Xiaojiao out and Red Son suspects that she’s a spy for the Spider Queen

Notes: This is the idea based off Tourist Trapped that I mentioned a few days ago. There’s Spicynoodleshipping (new boyfriends) and Zoisiteshipping, created by @pechachaos. @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off, since you showed interest...

-_-

The race today wasn’t as big as the Great Wall Race, but there was still a massive crowd. “Do you want to wear the hat?” Tang asked as he and Xiaotian walked up to the seating. The younger shook his head at the sight of the green dragon hat. “Fair enough.” The scholar placed the hat on his head.

“Qi Xiaotian! Mr. Tang!” The two stopped at the voices. Mr. and Mrs. Long were walking up together, wide smiles bright on their faces. Xiaotian couldn’t help but snuggle into the hug he was scooped in by his bestie’s mother. “Are you two here to support Xiaojiao?”

“Like always, Mr. Long.” Tang said, shaking the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you here!”

“Well, we don’t understand all…” Mr. Long gestured to everything. “This. But we do want to support Xiaojiao.” Mrs. Long nodded, finally releasing Xiaotian. The boy smiled before rising on his tippy toes to look around. “Xiaotian, my boy? Are you looking for something?”

“I invited someone.” Xiaotian admitted, his smile fading as he fell back down to his feet. “But it looks like-” A throat cleared and his smile returned. “Red!”

Red Son stood there, looking a little confused and flustered. Xiaotian bounded up, hugging his boyfriend and ignoring the little flames that came off his hair. A moment later, he shot back, cheeks warming. They didn’t look at each other before the mortal gathered his courage. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“I...was doing something.” Red pulled a tablet out of his pocket. “I had a drone install spy cameras in the Spider Queen’s base.” He pressed a button and the tablet turned on to reveal a feed of the webby lair. “Now we have a live feed of what they’re doing!”

“That’s so cool! What have you found?”

“Well, apparently some new person is joining them...”

(Neither of the boys noticed Mrs. Long lean over, eyeing how the demon flushed at the praise. “Have they just started dating?” she whispered. Tang held up two fingers. “Well, they’re doing better than you and your partner were.”) Before Tang could muster a snarky response, an announcement came over the loudspeakers to ask people to take their seats. “I guess that’s for us!”

The group took their seats. Xiaotian settled next to Red's side. After a moment, his boyfriend wrapped an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. Heat formed in their faces when their sides pressed together. (They ignored the Longs and Tang's coos.)

The racers took their positions as the commentators listed out the course and the racers. There was an excited roar when Long Xiaojiao, house favorite, was introduced. Tang, very used to this at this point, was the loudest. Xiaotian was close behind.

Then it was time.

"On your marks!" The racers finished last minute position shifts. "Get set!" Engines turned over. Everyone held their breath…

"GO!"

The racers took off.

The white and emerald green of Xiaojiao led the way.

The race went like normal, the commentators listing out the upcoming turns and who was out. There were cheers every time Xiaojiao's position was confirmed. A close call with a wall and another racer made the crowd go wild.

"No!"

Xiaotian snapped out of his excitement to glance over. At the sudden noise increase, Red had startled and dropped his tablet. It had slipped through the gaps in the seating. The two winced when there was an audible crack.

"We can get it when the race is-"

"Looks like we have a last minute entry!"

Everyone looked up at the screen. It replayed a purple and black motorcycle crossing the starting line. When it switched over to the live feed, it revealed that the new racer was in hot pursuit of Xiaojiao. "It looks like- who is that?!" There was some muffled whispering. As it continued, the new racer managed to drive up so they and Xiaojiao were neck to neck. "Well, whoever that is, they're neck in neck with Long!"

The two racers were in a hot game of mock tag, zooming in front of and behind each other. Xiaotian gripped Red as they watched. The finish line was coming up…

Xiaojiao cut in front.

The new racer zoomed up.

The two glanced at each other.

The finish line was engulfed in a cloud of dust and wind.

Xiaotian released Red to instead help steady Tang. Red, used to his mother's powers with wind, and the Longs, who were dragons, stayed still. Everyone else was holding on for dear life.

Finally, the wind died down. The dust cleared.

And the mysterious new racer had crossed first.

Gasps and whispers rolled through the crowd before people started clapping. None of Xiaojiao's family did. Xiaotian made eye contact with his friend when she pulled off her helmet. The same question was in her eyes.

Who is that?

-_-

Xiaojiao wanted to be left alone. That was understood. The Longs said their goodbyes before heading to their car. The boys promised to meet her at the shop.

Red and Xiaotian managed to collect the former's tablet. The casing was bent and the screen was slightly shattered. But Red claimed it was still usable. Now he and Xiaotian sat at a booth, Tang eating noodles at the bar, and Red poked and prodded his tablet.

That was where everyone was.

When Xiaojiao finally came back to the noodle shop, it wasn’t how anybody expected.

She was happily humming as she skipped into the shop. Skipped. Tang, eating his sixth bowl of noodles, Red, who was smacking his spy tablet, and Xiaotian, who was watching Red smack his tablet with some minor concern, stared as she twirled before finally coming to a stop. Tang was the first to speak. “Uh...Mei? Honey? Are you feeling alright?”

“Just peachy!”

“Are you sure? You usually aren’t so…” Tang made a gesture of her cheerful self. “Happy after a loss. You’re glum for a day before getting back into practice.”

Xiaojiao stared before shrugging. “Alright, I guess it’s time to spill the beans.” Pulling out her phone, she typed out something. The sound of a can falling over played before she grinned. “I have a date!”

Red stared. “...You were gone for half an hour. You have a date?!”

Xiaojiao shrugged again, her smile fading. “Yeah! I ended up talking with someone and they seemed nice and they like motorcycles and video games. What’s the harm?” Red held up his tablet and gestured to the screen. Between the glitching and static, the image of one of the spider goons trying to do the worm was playing. Xiaojiao raised a brow in confusion. “I see.”

He glanced over and yelped at the sight. “I mean, it’s-”

The sound of a motorcycle cut off whatever Red was going to say next. Xiaojiao gasped happily. “She’s here!” 

She ran outside and Red seized the opportunity to turn the tablet off. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“It’s just a date.” Xiaotian said, leaning into him. The demon stiffened before awkwardly wrapping his arm around his shoulders. His frown didn't fade. “What’s the harm?”

Red’s expression did not get better when Xiaojiao came in with “Hey, family…” She was escorting a familiar purple-clad rider inside. “Say hello to my new girlfriend!” 

The rider took off her helmet, revealing messy dark hair and several piercings. Her smile was sharp as green green eyes took in the establishment. The bad feeling grew worse. “What’s up?” she said, flashing them a finger gun.

Tang had clearly recognized who this was. His voice was gritted as he managed out “Hello.”

Xiaotian was much more friendly as he waved. “Hi.” Red glared, ignoring the elbow to the gut that his boyfriend gave him. “So, is this your date?”

“Yep!” Xiaojiao said, leaning into her new ‘girlfriend’ like Xiaotian was doing to Red. “She came up and we started talking. She’s really cool.”

“Not as cool as you, pretty girl.” Then she wrapped an arm around Xiaojiao’s shoulder and squeezed her, seemingly not noticing the girl flush. “It’s nice to meet you, everyone. I’m Spin.”

Red raised a brow. “Is that your full name?”

“Eh, you could say it’s a nickname.” Spin shrugged, sounding cool and unbothered. “Anyway,” she said as she turned her attention back to Xiaojiao. “We should head out before the cafe gets too crowded.” She dropped her arm to instead hold Xiaojiao’s hand. Spin gave a nod to the trio before walking away.

“Don’t wait up!” Xiaojiao yelled before disappearing as well. There was a moment of silence before a motorcycle started up. It zoomed away with the dragon girl’s cheer echoing behind it.

The three of them stared at the doorway.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Red finally voiced.

-_-

The next afternoon, Red and Xiaotian were hanging out in the latter’s room. The demon, sitting on the bed, was still having trouble with his broken tablet and growled as he flicked it again. The image managed to clear for a moment before dissolving back into static. Red dropped it with a groan. “Uh, maybe you should hook that up to a new tablet?” Xiaotian suggested, looking up from his desk from where he was drawing.

“I can’t. All my spares are back in the palace my mother’s staying in and she’s still in a mood.” Said mood was why she wasn’t with her son and her husband. All Red had said was that his parents had argued and she had stormed off to one of their spare homes. “And I don’t know whether or not Father’s told her about...us.”

‘Us’ was something DBK seemed to be ignoring for the time being. All of Xiaotian’s guardians had given their approval but DBK hadn’t said a word. Which was fine. Really. Red returned his attention to the tablet, picking it up and giving it another smack. There was a screech before someone started speaking, the words breaking in and out. “Finally!” he said.

“Where is-told that she would be here-where is she?”

“My apologies, my Queen- busy.”

“BUSY!?”

“Yes-she said she was visiting- motorcycle race.”

Red froze, staring at the screen. He didn’t notice as the audio died. “Did you hear that?!” he said, whirling onto his boyfriend. “He said the new person was visiting the motorcycle race yesterday!”

Xiaotian raised a brow. “...yeah? What about it?”

“Think about it! Who else randomly showed up at the motorcycle race?!” The delivery boy opened his mouth but before he could say a word, the demon continued. “Spin! She has to be the new agent!” He started pacing, going over the idea. “I mean she has the same purple scheme as everyone else in the Spider Queen’s clan, it’s easy for them to disguise themselves…” He whirled around to shake his boyfriend. “Xiaojiao!”

“Xiaojiao?!”

“She must be using Xiaojiao to gather intel on you!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Xiaotian gently pried Red’s hands off his shoulders. “Maybe she’s not? I mean, lots of people wear purple and like motorcycle races. It could be a coincidence.” The demon stared and he held up his hands. “I’m not saying you’re crazy. I’m saying that you gotta have evidence. Otherwise, people will think you’re crazy.”

Red took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. “Evidence. Right. I’ll go do that.” He ran to the door, paused, and walked back to Xiaotian. He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Uh, thanks. For the advice.”

He returned to walking out, not noticing the mortal flush, touching where he had kissed him.

[celosiaa]

H/C prompt: Jon breaking down crying and Martin being there to hold him. possible reason(s) for crying: guilt? exhaustion? frustration? despair? after leaving the Dark's domain? after waking up from a particularly horrifying nightmare (his own or someone else's)? ALL OF THE ABOVE? (PS: I adore your fic 'Steady, love'. so beautifully written, it had me crying like a baby, and the sickfic elements were absolutely *chef's kiss*.

thank you so much for this prompt!!! I loved it so much!!  this is set right as they’re leaving the Dark.  Martin’s thoughts are formatted in italics.

CW: mention of hitting, monster Jon

 The instant a bit of light had managed to seep through the Dark, just barely enough to see, they had dropped each other’s hands.

Martin isn’t sure who was first, and finds that he doesn’t care much at the moment.  He walks on ahead of Jon now, holding a pace that’s just a bit too fast for the shorter man behind him.  Altogether, he’s mainly pleased to have a moment to himself—to take the reins, even—since they were obviously heading toward the light.  And of course, Jon would tell him if he was turning the wrong way.

Probably.

He peeks over his left shoulder anyway, just to make sure that Jon is still there.  Naturally, he’s following at some distance behind—probably on purpose, allowing them both some space to breathe.  If Martin weren’t so angry, he would likely feel immense gratitude for this action, but he simply does not have the room in his heart to do so at the moment.

It’s not his fault, some small voice behind the seething anger tells him.

You’re only angry at yourself.

For pushing him so hard.

For leaving the children to their terror.

For doing nothing.

Monster.

Sighing and hanging his head, he claws at the anger over their powerlessness, wanting more than anything to tear it down, to have Jon at his side again.  Anything to ease the leaden weight that has settled on his heart.  With the growing light comes a rising discomfort over the emptiness; the space where Jon should be like a gaping wound.  Even so, Martin does not slow his pace nor turn around—unable to bear looking at Jon’s face now.  Not when he knows he’ll be met with his gorgeous eyes, filled with nothing but disappointment and hurt.

Coward.

The weight on his chest sinks beneath the earth.

They walk a bit further, the stark white light surrounding them forcing Martin to stop briefly to blink it away.  As he recovers his vision, he notices with a start that the asphalt of the Dark’s streets trails off just ahead—crumbling into the endless sea of sand now stretching out before them.  His stomach drops as he passes his gaze over their surroundings, overwhelmed with such unfathomable nothingness that he feels his anger immediately melt away into anxiety.

The Vast.  Has to be.

Behind him, Martin can hear Jon’s shuffling, much slower than usual, before—

He stumbles.

Shit.

“Jon?”

Martin whirls around at once, greeted with the sight of Jon bent over, bracing on wobbling knees—and knows he’s about to go down.

“Oh shit shit shit—”

Martin dashes toward him, arms outstretched, as Jon falls—managing to catch him around the waist just in time to lower him gently to the ground.

Should have known should have known should have known

He moves with practiced motion now, adrenaline pumping, glancing around for any potential threats as he feels Jon’s pulse—a bit more rapid than he’d like, but still thrumming forcefully against his fingers.  Satisfied for the moment, he moves to crouch by Jon’s feet, lifting them up to rest on his right shoulder in an attempt to bring him around.

“Come on, Jon, wake up,” he murmurs, eyes still flitting around periodically for any sign of danger.

This is the fourth time Jon has blacked out after leaving a domain.  Though he tends to mince words about these things, Martin had managed to coax him into explaining that, occasionally, the sheer amount of horror that piles into his head from some of these places is simply too much to bear.  Too painful to swallow, too painful even to speak.  His brain—the human part, that is—simply shorts out when the weight of it sinks in, sometimes sending him to the ground faster than Martin can catch him.

Thankfully, this had not been one of those times.

This was, however, becoming concerning—Jon has woken up within a minute each and every time before.  Nearly two minutes have gone by now, and he’s shown no sign of increasing awareness—no twitching, no gasps, nothing—and Martin’s heart beats faster with every passing second.  Sliding his legs off his shoulder, unsure of how much that really helps in this situation anyway, Martin takes his hand and kisses his wrist briefly.

“Come on, love, please.”

Please don’t leave me here alone.

The wind is rising now, kicking up the sand around them and tossing Martin’s hair wild.  The sound of it rings through Martin’s head like an empty cavern—or as if he’s on the top of a tall building, toes tipping over the edge, ready to blow over the side and down, down, down at any moment.  Shuddering at the thought, he swipes a hand over his face as the sand begins to sting in his eyes.

We need to find shelter.  Fast.

As the wind rushes even faster, Martin finds himself angling his back against it in front of Jon, in some feeble attempt to protect Jon’s face from the harshness.  Already he can feel his lips beginning to chap in the never-ending dryness, and licks at them—only to find them instantly more chapped than before.

“Please, wake up, Jon please,” he begs, shaking Jon’s shoulders in earnest now.

At last, at long last, Jon begins to stir—static pulsing from him in a blast loud enough to force Martin to cover his ears.

“Nngh—”

His eyes, now an aberrant green, flit about wildly—seeing without taking anything in.  Martin does his best to recover himself quickly, and clasps Jon’s hand in both of his own.

“Hey, you’re alright, you’ve just blacked out again.  You’re alright.”

Attempting to lift his head off the ground, Jon finally meets his eyes.  The confusion displayed there is enough to send Martin’s heart straight into his throat.

“M’tin?” he slurs, blinking sluggishly at him.

Oh god.

Martin is thoroughly worried at this point, as Jon has never been this confused when he awakens from these episodes.  To be sure, he’s often forced to rest in the wake of their intensity, but never has he seemed so completely unaware of their surroundings, unaware of him.  In an attempt to conceal his growing panic, Martin clutches his hand just a little bit tighter.

“That’s right, Jon, it’s me.  You with me?”

He receives no reply, Jon merely staring at him for a moment with bloodshot eyes before his gaze drifts away, scanning around listlessly.

“Okay.  Okay, that’s fine, that’s fine,” Martin says in a shaking voice, mostly to assure himself of this lie.

He forces himself to take a steadying breath, and becomes suddenly aware of the sand stinging the back of his neck.

Focus.

What do we do?

…

Shelter. Now.

Leaning back over Jon, patting his hand against his cheek, Martin steels himself for action.

“Listen, Jon—can you hear me?”

Martin is forced to shout against the howling of the wind.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Jon’s eyes drift back to his.

“I-I think we’re in the Vast.  We need shelter, now.  Can you See if there’s anything around?”

For a long moment, Jon merely stares back at him, and Martin is unsure if he is even able to comprehend his words.  To his relief, he’s proven wrong when Jon closes his eyes, and Martin immediately senses the power building in him.  He reaches his mind across this wasteland, searching every hill and valley for any bit of it that might protect them—then snatches Martin’s wrist, squeezing it tightly.

“Ow, Jon, you’re hurting—”

Jon’s eyes meet his, and suddenly Martin can See too.

A cliffside, impossibly tall—a barrier from the wind, if I’ve ever seen one.

Jon drops his hand at once, exhausted, as black ink begins to cascade from his eyes and nose—and Martin knows he is utterly spent.  With overwhelming relief, Martin wipes at the wetness with his sleeve.

“Thank you, love, thank you, thank you,” he whispers, leaning down to plant a kiss on Jon’s clammy forehead.

Even as he does so, the wind against his back rises, and Martin is suddenly launched back to the task at hand.

Shelter.  Focus.

“Jon, we need to move.  I’m going to have to carry you, I’m sorry.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes, his brows knitting together at once in silent apology.

“It’s alright, love.  Don’t worry.  If I put you on my back, could you hold on?”

After considering this for a moment, Jon nods determinedly and moves to sit up.  Martin supports his shoulders at once, pulling him gently upwards—but he loses Martin’s body as a barrier against the wind, sand flying immediately toward his face.

“Ooh, close your eyes, close your eyes—” Martin says as he lifts a hand to shield Jon’s face. 

It takes Jon a few moments, as he’s teetering on the brink of consciousness, before he complies.

“Keep them closed, alright?  And keep your head down.  Ruddy sand is everywhere.”

Jon nods and coughs weakly, pulling at Martin’s heartstrings.

There’s got to be something I can do.

Thinking for a moment, Martin slips his bag from his shoulders, rummaging around until he finds his t-shirt.  Unfortunately, it’s an old favorite of his—a prize from a writing competition where he’d won third place.  He pulls out his knife.

Sorry, old friend.

Slashing it to pieces, he turns back to Jon and places a hand on his shoulder to alert him to his presence.

“I’m going to tie this fabric around your nose and mouth, and another one over your eyes, okay?”

As he does so, Jon reaches up to meet his hands, fumbling to help him.  It’s to no avail, however—left without his arms to brace him, Jon immediately begins to tip over, listing into Martin’s arms.

“It’s alright, Jon—let me, let me,” Martin soothes, pushing Jon’s hands down.

He props him back up to sitting and completes his task before tying his own makeshift bandanna over his face.  Turning back to his bag, Martin realizes his problem—if he’s going to carry Jon on his back, he’ll have to strap his bag onto Jon’s shoulders as well.

Shit.

He freezes in place for a moment, unwilling to do anything to make this worse for Jon, when—

A gust of wind throws the sand behind his glasses, stinging painfully at his eyes, and he remembers that they need to move now.

I’m sorry, my love.

Regretfully, Martin loosens the straps of his bag before draping it across Jon’s shoulders, over his own pack.  Moving toward his front, Martin clips both bags across Jon’s chest to anchor them.

“Sorry, Jon, I’m so sorry.”

Jon does not reply, head merely lolling forward in response.

At last, Martin turns, crouching with his back toward Jon, and guides his arms to drape around his neck.  When he feels Jon’s grip tightening, Martin lifts himself to half-standing so that he can hoist Jon’s legs, holding them tightly in his arms.

It’s heavy, and it’s painful, but it will have to do.

“Alright?” Martin asks, testing Jon’s consciousness.

Jon nods weakly against his shoulder, where his head has tipped against him, and Martin begins their trudge toward the cliff.

---

Time.

What is time, really?

Is there anything so silly as time?

Even the word sounds funny.

Time, time, time—

Hardly even a word at all, I’d say.

…how long have I been walking, then?

Martin is beginning to stumble now, his breath coming in audible, wheezing gasps.  He can feel the tender skin of his lips split and bleeding below his bandanna, the sand somehow managing to reach beneath it to tear at his skin and lungs.  All he can do now is move forward, braced against the onslaught, and hope to god he’ll see the cliff face rising from the emptiness.

Any moment now.  Surely.

At last, at long last, his prayer is answered—the cliffside juts out before them, and Martin desperately wishes he had the energy to run toward it.  His entire body shakes with effort, back aching impossibly, eyes barely open against the wind.  Nevertheless, he presses on—feet slipping in the sand in his hurry to get behind the rocky outcropping.

“Almost there, Jon, almost there,” he mutters, voice cracked and thin.

The moment he gets them out of the wind, Martin’s knees slam onto the ground, Jon slipping from his back at once as he leans forward on all fours.  Coughing and gagging desperately, his limbs barely willing to support him, he is forced to allow himself a minute or so of recovery.  His vision spins and pulses wildly—whether from exhaustion or relief, Martin cannot tell.

We made it we made it we made it

When the coughing subsides, he turns slowly back to Jon, who has propped himself up on one shaking elbow to watch him with concern.  Martin pulls the cloth from his face at once and offers him a pained smile. 

“It’s okay, I’m alright.  Just have to—get the tent going—and we can rest,” he assures between pants.

Martin can read the guilt written across Jon’s face like a billboard.  He crawls toward him, unclipping the bags from his chest and sliding them gently from his shoulders—as he does so, Jon’s eyelids begin to flutter as he swoons.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Cradling him where he lies, Martin wishes he had anything at all with which to comfort him, but knows he needs to get the tent up first.

You can’t trust comfort.

Not anymore.

He sets Jon’s head on the ground gently and stands, vision swimming unpleasantly.

Keep going, Martin. 

Work yet to be done.

---

“Ow, fuck, ow ow—”

Martin curses against the stinging of the water that he’s just poured over his eyes, attempting to wash the sand out yet again.  He’s leaning halfway out of their now fully-staked tent, which he dragged Jon’s unconscious form into nearly half an hour ago.  All things considered, Martin feels that he’s done at least a decent job at caring for him—he’s been carefully tucked beneath their threadbare blanket, head pillowed on a pile of clothes that Martin has stuffed into a t-shirt, face washed of the ink that had spilled from him earlier.  Unconsciousness has lightened gradually into what appears to be sleep, and for that, Martin is grateful.

Sighing, he zips up the tent flap before taking a swig from the canteen, careful not to drink too much.  They haven’t needed water during the entirety of their journey thus far—different reality, and all—but who knows what may lie around the next corner?  He swishes the water around his mouth before swallowing, savoring the sensation of moisture over the cracking dryness.

There’s a poem in there somewhere.

Should write it down.

Turning around to grab his notebook from his bag, he notices with a start that Jon’s eyes are now open, watching him intently.  Martin’s face immediately melts into an easy smile as he moves to kneel beside him, brushing away the loose strands of hair hanging over his face.

God, I love him.

“Hey, there you are.  How are you feeling?”

Jon says nothing, continuing to stare deeply into Martin’s eyes before his gaze moves lower, taking in the full extent of his form—dirty, bleeding, and exhausted.  Tears well up when he looks back up at him, giving a shuddering gasp as a hand flies up to cover his mouth.

“Jon?  What is it?” Martin asks, grasping his hand in concern.

All at once, Jon’s expression falls, tears cascading down his cheeks like a river.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes, before breaking off into wrenching sobs.

Martin’s heart is absolutely shattered.

“Oh no, it’s okay, it’s okay, shh—”

He pulls Jon up into a gentle embrace, pressing his violently shaking form against his chest.  Jon buries his face into Martin’s shoulder, unable to control this ultimate expression of sorrow, of grief, of bottled-up anxiety, of overwhelming guilt.  

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, Jon—please don’t.”

Running a hand up into Jon’s locks, Martin continues to whisper soothingly, fighting back against his own tears now threatening to spill over.

“You’re alright, love; I’m alright, we’re safe, and I’m here—”

Jon only sobs harder at this, the dryness of his throat pulling such raw cries from him that Martin can no longer hold back his own tears.  Grasping him even tighter, he angles his head downward to press his lips against Jon’s cheek, and again into his hair.  Martin has run out of words now, letting his arms be the hope to which Jon clings.

Please let it be enough.

I know it’s not, but please.

After several minutes, Jon’s sobs fade away, leaving only the trembling of his weakened body behind.

“Here, let’s—here, lie down with me, alright?” Martin says, fearing that Jon might lose consciousness again if he stays upright any longer.

Jon does not reply, still clinging to him, but Martin reaches out for his pack anyway—pulling it behind his head as he guides Jon down to lie against him.  Nuzzling into his shoulder at once, Jon lays a hand across his chest as Martin strokes his free hand through Jon’s hair.

“Must have been a bad one, eh?” Martin whispers, unable to imagine the magnitude of the nightmares filling Jon’s head.

“It…it was,” Jon replies shakily.  “It is.”

Oh, darling.  I’m sorry.

Silence falls for a moment, and Martin pulls Jon even closer to his chest.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” he asks, wanting desperately to take even a small portion of this burden from him.

Jon’s eyes well with tears once again, and Martin’s heart sinks.

“…I can’t.”

The tears spill over, and Martin knows he has no recourse for comfort but to press his chapped and bleeding lips against Jon’s forehead, willing it all away in silent prayer.  Mercifully, these are quicker to subside—the quiet resumes after a few moments, and they begin to speak over each other.

“Jon, I—”

“Martin—”

They pause, staring into the other’s eyes before Martin continues.

“Jon, listen, I owe you an apology.”

Jon’s hand clenches around a fistful of Martin’s shirt.

“You—what?”

“No, I do.  I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard back in the Dark, made you explain everything to me.  It was obviously hurting you, and I just acted like I didn’t care, and I should have trusted your judgement,” Martin says, the words spilling out of him in a rush.

Jon’s voice is low and solemn when he replies.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

A shiver runs up Martin’s spine.

“What?”

“Look, I…I’m not—”

He breaks off, tears pooling yet again at the corners of his eyes, breath picking up as he continues.

“I’m not the same anymore, Martin.  You had to beg me to even think about saving children from—from unconscionable torment, and I-I’m so sorry I couldn’t, that I put them there, that I—”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, darling.  Try to breathe.  Breathe with me, love.”

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, a few more tears leaking out between gasps, and clutches at Martin’s shirt like a lifeline. 

Like I might fade away again.

Jon has never looked so young in the nearly five years that Martin has known him—graying hair and all.

“You didn’t put them there, Jon.  Eli— Jonah did.  This is not your fault, do you understand?  And we’ll—we’ll come back for them.  We’ll save them.  If there’s a way, I know we will find it.”

At his words, Jon nuzzles deeper into Martin’ chest, tears still dripping silently down his face.  With his free hand, Martin strokes a thumb over his cheek to wipe them away—

The cheek that I hit.

I hit him.

“Oh my god,” Martin says, stomach lurching.

Jon opens his eyes, lifting his head slightly to look at him.

“What is it?”

“Jon, I…god.  Fuck.”

Martin sits up fully, unable to bear the thought that Jon was forced to be here with him, a person who had hurt him.

His breath picks up, coming in short gasps.  With some difficulty, Jon half-props himself up on one elbow, craning his neck to look at his face.

“What is it, Martin?  What’s wrong?”

So gentle.  God.

Martin turns to look at him, eyes brimming with horror.

“I hit you.”

Jon sighs, hanging his head momentarily.

“Martin, no, you—”

“No, Jon.  No.  There’s no excuse, all this time I could have just talked you out of the statements, but I settled on hitting you first—”

“You didn’t know.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“You didn’t know, Martin.  That’s all.  You were trying to help.”

Martin falls silent, chest heaving, distinctly not looking at Jon.  The way he swallows now tells Jon of his growing nausea over the whole affair—the guilt, the shame, the regret—too much for anyone to bear; especially here, especially now.  When Jon begins running a soothing hand along the length of Martin’s thigh, he comes undone.

I don’t deserve this.

“I…I am so sorry, Jon.”

Martin does look at him now, pulling every ounce of sincerity within him into this one gaze.

“A-and I know that doesn’t even begin to cover it, but—”

“It’s alright.”

Martin shakes his head fervently.

“No, it’s not alright.”

“Then I forgive you, darling.”

Jon takes his hand, ever so gently, and the tears fall unbidden from Martin’s cheeks.

I do not deserve this.

Martin brings Jon’s hand to his lips to kiss it.  To Martin’s astonishment, Jon huffs out a laugh.

“It’s not like they were very hard anyway.  More like a…gentle slapping.”

Shocked, Martin’s mouth drops open for a moment as more tears cascade down his cheeks.

“Jon, that is not funny.”

“Oh—oh no, I’m sorry dear, I was just trying to make you laugh,” Jon says, brow furrowing as he attempts to sit up—and nearly goes back down again, the dizziness threatening to pull him under.

“Lie back, Jon, just lie back—”

Martin pushes against his chest with a lighter touch than any Jon has felt, suddenly afraid even to touch him.  Leaning over, he fusses at Jon’s makeshift pillow, his blanket, before—

Jon reaches up to cup a hand around the back of his neck, and he freezes in place, hazel eyes meeting bright green.

“I love you, you know,” Jon says, voice nearly a whisper.

You shouldn’t you shouldn’t you shouldn’t

Jon’s brow furrows at once, as if Martin’s thoughts were written across his face.  The hand at the back of his neck moves forward to cup his cheek, Jon’s other hand reaching up in parallel.

“Hey.  Hey.  Listen.  I love you—you gentle, kind, compassionate, gorgeous man.”

The way Jon looks at him now—eyes full of sincerity and honest love—forces Martin to believe him, bringing a blush to his sand-flecked cheeks.  There’s nothing for it now—Martin smashes his lips into Jon’s, smiling against him when Jon lets out a noise of pleasant surprise.

I love him I love him I love him

Martin deepens the kiss for just a moment before pulling back, resting their foreheads together.

“And I love you—you brave, passionate, protective, beautiful man.”

Jon pulls him back down at once, and they find nothing but rest in each other’s arms.

[neostriatum]

Restoring Force

[AO3]

In physics, the restoring force is a force which acts to bring a body to its equilibrium position. The restoring force is a function only of position of the mass or particle, and it is always directed back toward the equilibrium position of the system. The restoring force is often referred to in simple harmonic motion. The force which is responsible to restore original size and shape is called restoring force.

- Wikipedia

"See also: Response amplitude operator"

--

He stepped out of the room, aware of the vague humming that indicated Ziggy processing- what, he didn’t know, but his gut told him it was shock. Me, too, Ziggy, he thought, still registering the Fermi suit that clung and shifted to his skin, almost abrasive with how electrified he still felt.

His heart still thudded at a rapid pace, almost concerning if not for the hyperawareness as he cast his eyes over every crevice of his surroundings. The bright white of the Waiting Room shifted to comparative darkness, and it took a moment for the cheery, almost pixelated lights of Ziggy’s interfacing platform to speak through the darkness.

The room was empty, though he guessed not for long, and he curled his fingers inward as if anticipating stiffness from his long time away. The blur of his life was slowly gaining definition, slotting into place subtly with each disoriented step. He exhaled harshly, coming to lean against the operating center.

“Ziggy,” he asked, voice hoarse as it adjusted to being used by him - and not others - again, “Could you- could you tell me the date? Please?”

The humming stopped, a brief stagger, before it resumed at a different pitch that he always associated with the careful cataloguing required of a request. “It is Wednesday, May 5th, 1993, Dr. Beckett.”

He nodded, feeling the edge of one of the command cubes digging into his ribs. Sighing, one of his hands drifted to his temple, pressing a hand there in an attempt to ward off the vertigo and headache that was fluctuating as he recovered from his many years of leaping as his life slotted back into place. “Thank you, Ziggy."

“You’re welcome, Dr. Beckett.”

Something still sounded… off, about Ziggy. He frowned, hand falling away to lever support against the brightly-colored table. “Are you alright?”

A pause. “I am a computer, Dr. Beckett.”

He huffed, amused despite the nagging unease that followed the edges of his thoughts, “I’m aware, Ziggy. But humor me, will you? Are you alright?”

The emphasis of a sigh, modulated through static, “Are you Dr. Beckett?”

He blinked, inhaling as if to answer with a reflexive ‘of course’, but then stopped. It was a fair question, and Ziggy had helped him through many tumultuous events while he was stuck Leaping.

“Where’s Al?”

It wasn’t the question he had intended to ask - in fact, he had intended to rally Ziggy into asking questions of her own, so as to confirm his identity - but his mind was still sluggish, still processing this new data of merging his mind to his own body. Al was always here - Al always reminded him he was Leaping.

If Al wasn’t here - if this wasn’t a Leap - then where was he?

This, apparently, seemed to amuse Ziggy, given the sultry chuckle that answered him. “On the other side of the door, Dr. Beckett.” He answered, “I needed to be sure it was you. … No offense.”

“None taken,” He replied in good humor. His breath still caught in his throat, and he couldn’t ascertain if it was because of nerves, or exhaustion, or both. He squeezed his hand on the console, anyway, in a bid to draw strength from Ziggy’s presence as he stood up on shaky legs.

It took a moment, to regain his breath, and he ignored the intuition that told him Ziggy was closely observing his heartbeat and respiration in order to straighten his posture into some semblance of order.

“Mind unlocking the door, Ziggy?”

“... Of course, Dr. Beckett.”

It seemed not a moment later that Al was careening into the room with all of his usual energy, swearing up a storm at Ziggy and ostensibly followed by the entirety of PQL on his heels.

The entire entourage stopped on a dime as Al caught sight of him, virulent Italian stopped mid-syllable. A breath in, one the same tenuous beat as each other, before Al shuddered, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should make another step forward.

“Are- Wha-” Al marshalled his thoughts, exhaling with a tentative, “... Sam?”

“Yes,” He responded, breathless and suddenly giddy as he cracked a grin, trembling finely with the spurt of adrenaline just seeing his friend incited, “Hi, Al.”

“Oh my god,” Al clapped a hand over his mouth, not moving despite the bustling of Verbena around him to make a beeline straight toward Sam.

“Al-” He found that he didn’t know what to say, how to respond, too busy staring at the north star that had guided him so fervently across time and space. He stood idly as Verbena lifted one of his hands, fingers pressing over his wrist to time his pulse.

“You’re shaking,” She murmured, looking concerned, “Are you alright, Dr. Beckett?”

That seemed to snap Al out of his, and Sam thought wistfully that any injury or slight of his would be enough to rouse the man into action. He glanced at Verbena, the fond smile on his face waxing assuring as he mustered up the energy to place his other hand over hers, “Just fine, Verbena. I’m just tired, is all.”

“I’ll say,” She said, amused. “You’re going to be put on strict bedrest as soon as I get the paperwork through.”

“I know you will,” He said, smile widening at the pace he knew she would take to reassure herself that it was, truly, Sam Beckett in her charge, and not other people wearing his face.

It must have been exhausting, he thought suddenly, feeling a pang of pity for the pain that must have put so many people through. Always seeing the face of Dr. Beckett, but never really the man himself.

Al was still rooted to the spot, ashen and mute, while Tina tried to rouse him, her voice pitched into concern. “Al, honey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

There was no observable response, nothing clicking from the man beneath the shattered mask, and Sam took an instinctive step forward. Verbena’s grasp loosened with a gentle, trailing touch, her own concern evident by how she hovered at his elbow in case of collapse.

He found he couldn’t dredge up annoyance at the action - or anything else, at all - too concerned was he with bridging the remaining gap between him and Al. Silence enveloped them, everyone watching his progress with a critical, concerned eye.

For all that it seemed an eternity, it must have only been a few moments, and the flutter of joy and relief that he could hear Al’s stuttered breathing and smell the clinging wafts of cigar smoke from his clothes almost made him stumble. Here before him was the man who had never abandoned him, and the strain of it showed in the paleness of his face, feather-thin wrinkles he knew intrinsically were borne of stress - a match to the increased smattering of grey and white in Al’s hair.

“Al,” He said, quietly, intensely. It seemed to breathe life back into the other, for Al grabbed Tina’s arm with the strength of a man recently washed ashore. The physical reflection of his own mood felt like a mirror, casting back at him the same rigor that had chased him from Leap to Leap.

He couldn’t raise his voice above a murmur, “I’m here now, Al. It’s all right.”

“It’s all right,” Al repeated faintly. He blinked, nodded, a faint sheen to his eyes as he gazed up at Sam. “It’s all right.”

Abruptly, he grabbed for Sam, and Sam grabbed back, their forearms entangled in a dying man’s grip. He felt a sob bubble up, mixed in with a disbelieving laugh - none of it felt real, had felt real, not without confirming for himself that Al was there in flesh and blood on the same plane of reality as he was.

“Al,” He repeated, if only for the joy in saying the man’s name without needing to hide it under his breath, or pretending through a phone.

He was wrapped in a hug, and oh, he would never complain about the suffocating fugue of cigar smoke again, not if it meant he could feel the iron grip of his friend’s arms around him, fingers digging into his back as the suit was twisted in Al’s grasp. Never again, he thought he could hear, Never, ever again.

“Sam,” And there was his name, so brokenly said, and yet it slotted right into the gaps that his heart was cracking apart without. “Sam, dear God…”

He grinned, well and truly despite the tears filming over his eyes and rendering everything a staccato bluster of color, gripping back with equal strength. For Al- for Al, he would fight over the lassitude of his body, to give back even a single gram of the solidarity that the man had given to him.

The swung, for a moment, stuck in time as they catalogued each adjustment to this new reality, no mere hologram or warping of space-time making a mockery of their existence to each other. He didn’t know when he had tucked Al’s head into the crook of his shoulder, but the steady wetting of his suit made it seem like the right decision as he stood steadfast for this indescribably loyal friend.

He wouldn’t break apart, not now, not when he had the pieces of the puzzle put together despite the quicksand of physics leaching away the horrors of Leaping. He clung to Al as he clung to those memories, not wanting to leave his friend alone for either.

“Sam,” Al said, a tremble to his voice that said he wasn’t done grieving - and, Sam reflected sorrowfully, would likely not be done for many years yet. “Sam, how…? How are you back?”

He inhaled, turning the things he could say over in his mind. No one had been in the room, which indicated that no retrieval program was being run at the time of his reappearance. This return was of his own doing, and it sent a remembrance of exhaustion through him, threatening to take the both of them tumbling down to the floor.

“I suppose it was just time for me to come back home,” He murmured instead, and in the heart of it, that seemed to ring true. Al didn’t let go, and Sam didn’t make any move to shove him aside, continuing on with a voice that felt the need to deliver his speculations gently, “I think I’m needed here more, now.”

That caused a hiccupped breath to echo out from Al to the others, an unexpected unwinding of tension that must have kept them ticking away for the miles of years he was absent for. It sent a pang through his heart, the fleeting misery that he couldn’t take all of them in his arms to soothe them.

But the pain was quickly absolved with the satisfaction that he, at last, was able to help Al in the way Al had so frequently helped him. It was no encouraging word to dust himself off and work towards his release from that Samaritan purgatory, but it was exactly what he knew Al preferred - the physical reassurance that all was right in the world.

He couldn’t change the past - their lives had their own struggles reflected in the broken glass of innocent dreams - but what was here now was an ample bounty unto its own. Shifting his grip, he brought a hand up to cradle Al’s head, protective of the terrific mind housed within it.

The action broke some reticence on the other man’s end, and he slumped into Sam’s arms, heedless of the respectful quiet the others were granting them. “You can rest, now, Al,” He said, dropping the words close to the man’s ear, “I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

“Don’t do that again,” Al mumbled, taking remorseless advantage of the sanctuary Sam was offering him.

He chuckled, giving in to the temptation to drop a kiss to his friend’s temple, “I think I’ve had my fill of it.”

“You’d better!” Tina interjected, voice overlapping Gooshie’s. They glanced at each other, flustered.

No time was given for either to cede, for Ziggy smoothly interrupted, “Perhaps now Admiral Calavicci will rest properly.”

Verbena hummed in vehement agreement, “I expect the both of you to head straight to bed.”

He felt the slim smile that broke through Al’s demeanour as he laughed, “Yes, ma’am.”

They kept close, a huddle of people surrounding them as they were fairly escorted to the room the project’s doctor led them to. The chamber was small, and the bed singular, but the exhaustion that rattled through Sam’s bones made him gratefully compliant as he led Al into the room.

“Sleep well, Dr. Beckett, Admiral Calavicci.” Ziggy bid the both of them, flicking off lights until only the dim, yellow lamp kept them company. It was signal enough, and a yawn broke through Sam, rippling over to Al.

The man looked nearly sickly in the low light, its muted shade drawing shadows over the divots of his skin. He looked up at Sam, the lingering effects of shock on his face piling age into his features. It wasn’t the youthfulness that Sam had gotten to know over the course of building the array of Quantum Leap machines, and it tugged at his heart as he reached down to grasp Al’s hands.

“How are you, really?” He asked softly, thumbs brushing absently over the warm skin.

Al seemed transfixed by the sight, and Sam believed it, knowing this tangible intersection of selves would take time - so much of it, now! - to settle in. He didn’t remove his hands, despite the tug of weariness that made his eyelids slip lower in anticipation of a proper sleep.

“I am…” Al’s voice was rough, as if unused, and Sam knew that to be a lie with how often his ear was chatted off with meandering gossip and helpful advice alike. He squeezed the other’s hands in encouragement, waiting out the startled inhale at the reminder that he was really here, “I- don’t know.”

The wounded undertones made Al seem small, miniscule in comparison to the impact he’s had in Sam’s life for so long. “That’s alright,” He murmured, “I’ll be here, anyway.”

That rattled another would-be sob into existence, from deep in the pit of Al’s stomach. Sam caught sight of the tears that wavered on the edge now, and how Al dragged his hands away to brush them away. He beat him to it, though, cupping the man’s face as he thumbed away the tears as they spilled over.

Once upon a time - probably at the very beginning of this mess - Sam probably looked up at Al with the same look of lost despondency that was directed up at him now. He wondered if Al felt the same brokenheartedness as he did, the same instinctive reaction to soothe and comfort. His friend was pretty terrific, and he didn’t doubt that urge to right the world resided in the same spot as it did in his own heart.

He pressed his forehead against Al’s, abruptly wishing for the urge to be closer. Mindless shushing noises spilled forth from him, accepting the frantic grasping that let Al know this was real. God only knew that he needed his own grounding in reality, listening to the sobs shaking through both of them as he wiped away tear after tear.

“I- I thought,” Al wept, “Thought you would never come- come back.”

“You prayed for me,” He murmured, remembering his guise as a priest and the grieving Al tried so hard to fix, words tumbling forth as they did now, “I’m here, you’ve got me.”

His legs were straining with fatigue, an unpleasant after-effect of merging with his own body after so long, and Al instinctively caught him despite his own turmoil, breath stopping entirely until Sam was righted. It paralleled their lives from the Leaping so closely that he couldn’t help but press forth, reassuring Al that he was here, that he was safe, that Al didn’t fail him like he so feared to do.

They were an unstable tangle, difficult to tell who was which in this superposition of keeping each other anchored. His lips upon Al’s were like the quantization of states, a resonance of softness that lulled each other into stability, something less frenetic and more an induced calm. He swiped his lips across Al’s, gently, taking care to memorize the electrification of nerve endings that overlapped with the salt of tears.

“I’m here,” He murmured, pressing the words in the space between their lips, hands encapsulating Al’s face and providing the end points of his care as he repeated his affections, his gratitude, into the waiting gasp before him, “I’m here, I’m here.”

They slowed, eventually, an easing of momentum that rang outward from their trembling selves to the breath between them. It was difficult to tell the edges of each kiss, or who pressed back against the other, a sharing of sweetness that was their own celebration of equilibrium unto stillness.

He felt each whisper of inhale, the oxygen that must be circulating through Al’s blood, and felt, for a moment, that it trespassed back to him, a reciprocation of the lifeline they had relied on so intensely. His fingers had curled at the edges of Al’s hair, tickling at the tips where he had slipped across the edges of his jaw to cradle the man’s head to succor comfort unto his mouth.

Reluctantly, he withdrew, gladly staying within the boundaries of Al’s arms as he was held close in an embrace that held all the familiar protectiveness he had once enjoyed only in words. They did not move, nor speak, content to savor the moment.

He felt a smile pool across his face, euphoria bubbling up. Al matched it, quick as he ever was, a laugh tumbling between them. It seemed to settle the last echoes of stress between them, and a yawn cracked open from him, breaking the whispers of yearning that grief had threatened to eclipse.

In its place swept exhaustion, and though Al looked more lively than earlier, the deep bags under his eyes couldn’t be missed. He dragged his fingers from Al’s hair, down the man’s neck and across his shoulders, watching the shiver that reverberated through him, finely tuned and deeply-wrought.

“Let us sleep, Al,” He murmured.

Al nodded, pressing his fingers more firmly from where they were comfortably lodged in the shallow curve of his waist before they left with reluctance. He stayed close by, anyway, thigh touching thigh as Al unlaced and slipped off his shoes.

The sigh that echoed forth from that action was deep, already limned in sleep’s catching thrall, and they settled upon the bed side-by-side, arms thrown over each other and legs entangled as they drifted off.

Today may be done, but tomorrow was another day, and one they needn’t race to catch up to.

--

Author's Notes

In the field of ship design and design of other floating structures, a response amplitude operator (RAO) is an engineering statistic, or set of such statistics, that are used to determine the likely behavior of a ship when operating at sea. Known by the acronym of RAO, response amplitude operators are usually obtained from models of proposed ship designs tested in a model basin, or from running specialized CFD computer programs, often both. RAOs are usually calculated for all ship motions and for all wave headings.

- Wikipedia

Pertinent notes:

Original timeline in the sense of Donna Eleese not marrying Sam, nor Beth Calavicci staying married to Al

Although not canon, I kept to the idea of Sam's mind leaping rather than mind + body out of a sense of technical issues that could arise out of our current understanding of physics (i.e. the compression of matter that would deal with the details of "how would Sam fit into everyone's clothes" and the practical consideration of "how would Sam be able to recall his original positioning in the space-time field for an accurate Leap back home")

Quite a lot of the physics and narration is directly influenced by the theory of quantum entanglement

The date Ziggy tells Sam is the premier airing date of "Mirror Image"

[serological]

Serological - ‘The Final Word’

It ends, how it began.

--------

Izuku Midoriya, Quirkless, is watching a television. On the screen is a Hero, defying the odds as a wicked and deranged Villain spouts some nonsense speech.

However, things have changed. 

Midoriya has tasted the power that Quirks can bring- he’s stepped into the Pro-Hero world, and hopefully changed it for the better. He had finally, permanently defeated the villain that almost killed his idol All-Might. All-For-One was beaten and powerless, and so was Midoriya. Even as he sits in his hospital bed, covered in bandages and stitches, Izuku isn’t sad that One-For-All is destroyed. It gave him the chance that he never would have ‘had- for a brief, glorious moment, Izuku was the Number-One Hero. It makes sense- the metaphorical scales have been balanced, and Quirks of that potential are far too dangerous and chaotic for society to have access to.

The villain on the screen, however, is Tomura Shigaraki. His League of Villains has dissolved. The PLF was utterly routed and ‘crushed between the defenders of U.A, and the Pro-Heroes led by Endeavour. Tomura’s own mentor is now as Quirkless as Midoriya himself now-is, and all of his dreams of overthrowing modern society lies in tatters. He might have lost the All-For-One Quirk (as a consequence of his mentor’s defeat), but Shigaraki incredible control over his innate Decay still made him a terrifying threat.

On the television, broadcasting all across Japan, Shigaraki is making one final gamble. In his arms, so close to disintegration, he holds the trembling form of Eri. Scared, helpless, and vulnerable. No Mirio to save her, no Aizawa to protect her. She’s back to the way she was, with Overhaul, and something resembling unbridled rage ‘stirs in Izuku’s battered body. 

“If Izuku Midoriya does not present himself to my agents, I’ll-” “-You’ll what?”

The cameraman ‘swung-around to the sudden sound of the intruder’s voice, and to the horror of the onlookers from Class 1-A, stands Hanta Sero, helmet-less. His gaze is firmly set upon Tomura, and it doesn’t shift; like a Wild-West gunslinger spying his rival, it’s like seeing Hanta’s entire world become focussed to the ‘eye of a needle. Midoriya knows that look well- he felt the same ‘way, when he faced All-For-One.

Tomura narrows his eyes, and tosses Eri away. The villain looks the hero up-and-down, and chews at the cracked skin of his lip.

“...You aren’t Izuku Midoriya. How did you find this location?” “You spot an unmarked van without a license plate ‘snatch a little girl away from her guardian? You give-chase.” Shigaraki steps down from his makeshift stage, and moves in-front of Sero, about a few ‘feet away from . “You’re that tape guy, right? I expected Bakugo, or All-Might, or Eraserhead might try and stop me. I don’t even know who you are.” Sero smirks, and spreads his hands wide. He’s feigning cockiness, trying to get under the villain’s skin. “Disappointed?” Shigaraki’s eyes ‘flash with irritation. “...You bringing any other Pro-Hero’s, tape guy? You wouldn’t be stupid enough to face me alone, surely. You know what I’m capable of.”

Sero knows, Midoriya thinks. They all did. They knew all about his hate, his malice, his cunning, his power. Shigaraki might not have All-For-One’s experience, but he had the fury and destructive potential to back it ‘up.

Shigaraki’s face twists into a psychotic grin, as he tear’s away the hand covering his face. “I mean, seriously?! Of all the Heroes that this wasted, crumbling, toothless society has-left, they send a mere NOBODY to deal with the greatest Villain to-?!”

Suddenly, a laugh interrupts Tomura’s speech. The camera moves back, and sure enough, Hanta Sero is laughing like a child on live national television. This moment of horror, of tension, and of fear, is totally overshadowed by this sudden outburst of hilarity from the ‘Hero’ of this strange broadcast.

“Are you kidding me?! Pfffft, hahaha! Oh, you must be some kind of comedian, man-!” Tomura blinks, and stops smiling. “...W-What are you talking about? Stop that. Stop laughing- what-?” Hanta’s familiar, broad-tooth grin returns, at-last, and points at Shigaraki as he continues to laugh like a ‘fool.

“Ha-Ha! Do you really think, that YOU are the greatest Villain of all-time?!”

Shigaraki’s confusion is replaced by rage, and the villain grits his teeth as Sero continues to laugh his ‘ass off, before turning his joy to the camera.

“Hey, guys at home- can you believe this guy? He should try standup or something-!” “Stop it... what are you-” “Nah, I think that Stain guy was the scariest, don’t you? Man, that guy was crazy, but he sure-was a great villain, huh? Ha, hey, do you all at home remember that ‘Dabi’ character? Y’know, I think he had the makings of a REAL villain...!”

Something instantly clicks in Izuku’s mind, even as his confused classmates look with concern at the televison.  Sero knows he can’t beat Shigaraki in a one-on-one fight. If they fought on equal footing, he’d lose to the villain. No... this whole ‘mocking’ gambit is an act. The one ‘thing that nobody ever did to Shigaraki’s face, is the one thing that’s working on both confusing and dislodging him. After all, Tomura thinks that he’s the one on the top. The destined villain, bred to destroy the society raised by All-Might’s earliest work.

A smile breaks-out across Izuku’s bruised face, remembered how entranced he was as a kid whenever he saw All-Might smiling on the television. A Hero’s smile can go a long-way for the scared masses watching at home... and if there’s one thing that Sero has over everyone else in 1-A, it’s that he’s always smiling about something.

Shigaraki finally sees that he’s being upstaged on his own twisted television show, and lunges towards Sero, but the student just ‘dances out of the way. The cameraman struggles to follow this strange dance around the room: Tomura lunges, Hanta dodges. Tomura dives forward, and Hanta flips backwards. 

Eventually, Sero spies a pattern through these wild and aimless lunges, and begins to put on a show for the struggling cameraman: a ballerina’s prancing-pirouette ‘here, or a series of backflips ‘there. In one instance, he manages to slap some ultra-smooth tape on the soles of his feet, and proceeds to skate around the room like a figure-skater.

“Man, come on, Shiggie, I thought you were meant to be good at chasing Heroes!”  “COME BACK HERE AND LET ME KILL YOU!” “Oh, that’s not very sporting! The audience at home would be heartbroken if I made things easier for you~” “GAHHH, BE QUIET YOU WORTHLESS INSECT-!” “Man, for someone who’s appearing on national TV, your scriptwriter is so generic. I’ve heard better ‘lines from Dynamight! Here, let me help you out-!”

Suddenly, a line of tape launches up towards the ceiling, and Sero begins to swing around the large warehouse, with the same level of ‘showmanship he had shown beforehand. He then ‘arcs in middair, increases his speed, and slams both of his feet ‘downwards into Shigaraki’s face. Tomura lets out a gasp of pain, and tries to grab for Sero’s ankles, but the hero is too-fast, already swinging back into the air!

“Anyway, Shigaraki, I have to be honest with you...”

Hanta swings down towards the ground, and onto the raised dais that previously served as the villain’s makeshift ‘stage’ for his televised address. A  broad arm wraps around Eri’s midsection, scooping the girl up before he soars back-up into the ‘rafters. Shigaraki grits his teeth, glaring-up at Sero’s still-smiling face as the hero holds Eri against his chest.  With his spare hand, Sero reaches into his back-pocket, and pulls out his mobile phone.

“...You aren’t the ‘Number One Villain’, anymore. Heh, if anything, I think this little fight of ours have proven one-thing: that the fear you once projected, is now only an act. You’re no more terrifying than a mugger, or a common crook. After all, if a ‘nobody’ like me can mock you, outmanoeuvre you, save your hostage and ruin your broadcast-”

One of the warehouse walls explodes, and Izuku smiles as he sees the battle-worn but imposing figures of Eraserhead, Endeavour, Snipe and Thirteen standing in the smouldering hole.

“-Imagine what they can do to you?” Hanta finishes. He fires a line of tape at the camera, dragging it’s focus away from the enraged Shigaraki and the advancing Pro-Heroes. Sero then stares into the camera-lense for a moment, and his gaze shifts over the floor for a moment, as Eri shivers against his shoulder.

Izuku holds his breath, and the pause is unbearable.

Then, the young man on the screen gives another toothy grin to the watching audience, and a sly, oh-so-familiar ‘wink.

“Have No Fear.”

The feed then cuts-out, and is reduced to static. Normal programming resumes, as the newscaster scrambles to retain some facet of professionalism on-air.

But Izuku had seen enough. He leans back into his hospital bed, closes his eyes, and finally allows himself to take a breath.

Eri is safe, Shigaraki will be placed into Tartarus, and Sero saved the day. Down the hall, the cheers of the doctors and nurses could be heard, but Izuku only sighed with relief, and rolls his head back against the cushion.

His mind wanders-back, to when he was never ‘Deku’, but the Quirkless and shunned Izuku Midoriya. He remembers one of the first questions he ever asked All-Might. At the time, he couldn’t even imagine how much it would change his fate.

‘Can someone without a Quirk, become a Hero?’

--------

It ends, how it began.

[tehrevving]

(This might be a duplicate cause tumblr sucks so sorry if it is) Did I hear requests are open? 👀 I have a mighty need for male!reader with Dante. I know male!reader isn't for everyone and I totally get that but if you're down, then maaaaaaaybe tipsy or drunk Dante doing anything with male!reader? 👀👀👀 Thank you!

It seems like everytime I write Dante with a male partner he just ends up being a bratty, slutty sub…....

You were just curled up on the couch, barely watching a crappy movie that was mostly static snow anyway, just waiting for Dante to come home. He’d been invited out by a client, to some high brow event, and you’d tried your best to not act disappointed that you hadn’t been invited, and sent Dante off telling him to have fun. 

You heard the stomping of his heavy boots before you saw his shadow at the door and when you heard him fumbling for his keys for a little bit too long, you knew that Dante had indeed enjoyed himself at the party.

Eventually he managed to make his way through the door and you couldn’t help but smile at the way that his face lit up when he saw that you were waiting for him. 

“Fancy seeing you here handsome,” he slurs out enthusiastically, walking over to you and pulling you effortlessly off the couch and into his arms. “I missed you,” he whispers into your hair, pressing gentle kisses to your scalp. You tilt your head up and capture his lips, gently at first before he deepened the kiss. You could taste the whisky on his breath and it was intoxicating mixed with his usual slightly spicy taste. 

 “I missed you too,” you smile, pulling back from him. He looks down at you with a goofy grin on his face. 

“You look really hot tonight,” he smirks, his eyes flicking up and down your form. 

“Really Dante?” you question, shaking your head because he’s fucking adorable when he’s a little bit drunk. You’re just wearing one of his shirts, sweatpants and with a blanket still wrapped haphazardly around your shoulders. 

“Mhmm,” he says against your lips, his voice husky. “So fucking hot.” He kisses you again, twisting his whisky flavoured tongue around your own. He presses his hips against you to confirm his words, and he’s absolutely rocking a semi. 

You pull away from him, pushing at his chest when he tries to pull you back in. “Go upstairs and get ready for bed,” you tell him firmly, “and I’ll close up down here.”

Dante looks for a moment like he’s not going to listen to you, but then to punctuate your words you slap his ass and step out of his arms. Then he gets the message. 

By the time the door is locked and the lights are out, by the time you make it upstairs to Dante’s bedroom, he’s had ample time to sprawl himself naked out on the bed. He’s got one hand leisurely stroking his now fully hard and profusely leaking cock and you can see that he’s got at least two fingers of his other hand in his ass and ff the heavy pulsing and leaking of his cock is anything to go by, he seems to be pressing pretty violently at his prostate. 

It’s not like you can deny that the sight of him like this is simply something else, that it doesn’t affect you. Dante winks at you and squeezes his fingers tight around the base of his cock as he bucks his hips. “I need you Baby,” he moans, “my fingers just aren’t enough,” and he thrusts them violently enough to make his cock shake just to emphasise his words. 

You start undressing, taking a little bit of time. You take your shirt off first, followed by your pants and underwear while Dante’s eyes roam your body appreciatively and he wolf-whistles. You stalk towards him and Dante melts back onto the bed. 

You pick up the towel that’s sitting by the bed and motion to Dante. He pulls his fingers out of his ass with a whine but moves so you can lay the towel down. He’s fucking messy when he gets fucked, and you’re not interested in sleeping on wet sheets tonight; or having to struggle changing them while a drunk, heavy and blissed out Dante tries to sabotage you.

“On your hands and knees,” you bark at him and he immediately complies. He turns his back to you and positions himself doggy style on the bed, ass high up in the air as he wriggles it in your direction. 

Dante has helpfully left the lube on the bed, and you can see how his body shudders when he hears you pop the cap. “You don’t need to prepare me,” he turns and purrs at you, but like you’re gonna pass up the chance when he’s like this. 

Dante is so fucking hot when he comes, cock untouched. When he cries out and his hips shudder, it’s utterly addicting.

Dante groans as your fingers slip easily inside him, he’s practically purring now. He’s so unbelievably warm inside, the temperature is almost unbearable, but you can manage. It’s easy to find his prostate, not just because it’s a little bit engorged but because of the sound that he lets out when you brush against it. 

You’re not gentle with him, fucking him with your fingers and spanking his ass cheek with your other hand. Dante very quickly turns into an incoherent mess against you, legs shaking with the strain of keeping himself together. 

It’s not long until he’s trembling around your frantic fingers, calling out your name interspersed with various swear words and variations of “gonna come.”

Dante howls, writhing and panting while his untouched cock spurts copious amounts of white all over the towel that’s underneath him. It’s practically drenched in his come by the time he stops shouting, his body shaking with left over pleasure. 

He’s still just as hard post orgasm as he was before, his pulsing cock still begging for more. 

You don’t give him any warning, pulling your fingers out and then using them to quickly lube up your own desperate cock. You press the head of it against his entrance and the tight ring of muscle tries to engulf you immediately. You wait for a moment, giving Dante the option to tap out if he wanted to. Instead he pushes himself back against you until your cock sinks easily inside of him. 

He’s absolutely unbearably warm inside, squeezing tight around your cock while you moan and stutter, trying to keep it together. Dante is purring with contentment and you can feel the rumbles in his chest through the pulsing skin around your cock. 

You start with a moderate pace, watching carefully for his reaction. But Dante is a fucking slut and starts rocking his hips back against you, making you increase your pace. He begs for you to fuck him harder while he shreds the pillow underneath him with his fangs. 

You reach over the long, broad expanse of his back and grab a fistful of long white hair. You pull it hard, making him bow his back and forcing a low growl from the depths of his throat. His body tightens around you for a moment and it’s too much. 

“I’m gonna come Dante,” you tell him, tugging on his hair, “you want me to fill you up. Don’t you?”

Dante moans in delirium and you slap his ass, releasing his hair. You use one hand to pull on his hips, accentuating your rhythm while you reach down around his hips and take a firm grasp of his cock. 

You ram your cock against his prostate, frantically stroking his cock and twisting your wrist until Dante is roaring, growing horns as his cock spurts hard against your first and soaks the towel through once more. He tightens impossibly around you, growing even hotter inside and you can’t hold on, pushing your cock as deep as you can and spilling your seed inside him. 

Dante collapses almost straight away once you pull out of him, luckily he’s coherent enough to not fall on the towel. He’s practically dead to the world on the best, and it’s left to you to clean up. Dante would absolutely be happy to fall asleep on the wet patch in the sheets while come leaked out from his ass all night; but you’re not quite that lazy. 

You know by now he’s probably almost completely sober, his metabolism is fast but increasing his heart rate just makes him process the alcohol faster. He’s blissed out from being fucked though, so you pull him gently to your chest and make sure he drinks some water before, with a short, mumbled declaration of his love for you, he passes out. You hold him for a little bit and then turn off the light, curling around your favourite devil as you, yourself fall blissfully asleep.