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cutieodonoghue · 2 years

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solace

summary: [mandomera week day 7: (alt prompt) modern au]

Din and his nameless baby boy visit a 24-hour diner in Nevarro every night seeking comfort found only in Omera, a pregnant waitress with kindness in her eyes. (modern au with maybe some super ambiguous cyberpunk vibes)

word count: ~12.1k

rating: T (implied violence, injuries, and language)

read it on ao3 or down below :)

The 24-hour diner just off the highway in Nevarro smelled like coffee and grease. It was never busy, but especially not in the middle of the night. Mostly, vagrants and college students with nothing better to do would shuffle in and hunker down in one or two of the booths along the windows and order coffee that was always at best mediocre.

Din Djarin was neither a vagrant nor a college student. He often went to the diner in the middle of the night as soon as his jobs were finished, just before sun up when the rest of the world got started.

It was easier to work at night. Darkness lent itself to shadows, where he could hide as he sought after his marks. It was hard to work during the day now that he had the kid anyway. At night, the kid slept longer, which gave him more room to operate.

Din entered the diner out of the pouring rain. It was rare for Nevarro to get a downpour, but the desert town desperately needed a refresher. Thunder rolled in the distance as the door swung closed and the welcoming bell chimed.

In one hand, he carried his sleeping baby boy, and carefully made his way to his favorite back booth with a view of the rest of the diner in full view. Seated, he looked out the window as the rain splattered against it in harsh gusts.

His throat went tight when he thought about the job he’d just completed. It hadn’t been pretty. Sometimes, he had no choice but to use his gun. He’d spent thirty minutes washing his hands and tried to push the thoughts of what he’d done out of his mind.

There was really only one way he’d found to clear his mind. It wasn’t absolution, and it wasn’t necessarily pure, but it brought clarity and peace that he craved. He’d craved it his whole life, but it was easier to seek out the darkness and hide in it to forget the brokenness inside of him.

There were glimpses of light in his life. It was most often in a nameless baby boy’s fingers wrapped around one of his. However, for a short time each night, a diner at the outskirts of town was a different type of light- one that shined brighter than the rest.

Din snapped to reality in a sharp instant when a mug of fresh coffee hit the table in front of him.

His eyes went from the window to the pretty young waitress. Her hair was tied up, as it always was, and she greeted him with a small smile. Her figure was thin, with the notable exception of the sizable swell of her pregnant belly. She wore a name tag, but he didn’t need to read it to know who she was. Omera.

“Your burger’s on the grill,” she told him. “Can I get you anything else?”

He swallowed and felt the weight of the job begin to slide off of his shoulders. Somehow, she was the beacon of light that could draw him away from the darkness when it felt easiest to slip away into nothingness.

“No. Thank you.”

For a moment, she lingered with one hand balanced on her bump. She tilted her head and focused on the window, where the rain continued its noisy assault.

“I hope it clears up soon. I don’t like driving in the rain.”

“When do you get off?”

Omera drew her focus away from the window and looked at the clock on the wall opposite his table. “In about half an hour.”

Din reached for the mug of coffee in front of him and wrapped one hand around it. “I heard on the radio it’s going to rain all night.”

She sighed softly. “I might just sleep in my car if that’s the case.” Before he could reply, she smiled at him and nodded. “I’ll go see about your food.”

He watched her go. She seemed tired. More than usual. Stress informed the way she brushed loose strands of hair behind her ears, and the tone of her voice was a bit harder when he heard her talk to the cook at the grill.

Din sipped on his coffee and looked down at his son. The baby had so far slept blissfully through the storm, comforted by the sound of the rain and thunder. His little lips were parted and his fingers curled together in fists that he kept near his chest.

It was just the two of them. He’d found the kid while on a job, in a cardboard box on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. Din’s heart had broken listening to his cries.

At first, he thought about bringing him into a police station or to an orphanage, but then thought better of it when he considered what had happened to him when he was sentenced to a childhood in the system. It was wrong to keep the kid, but it would be worse to leave him in foster care or a home where he’d grow up lost and alone- the way he did.

Din didn’t know much about raising a kid. He checked out books from the library to read during the day that lectured on practices and structures and how to’s. He still didn’t have a cradle or crib for the baby, even after a few months, but as soon as his next check cleared he’d set his eye on one he’d have to build.

“A plain double cheeseburger and well-done fries,” Omera announced. She set his plate down in front of him and then added a glass bottle of ketchup to the table. “Would you like anything else?”

Din lifted his gaze away from the plate and nodded toward the cushioned booth opposite him.

“Do you have time to sit with me?”

She seemed grateful when she sat down with a tiny relieved sigh. “How was work?”

He took a fry from the plate to eat it. “Job’s done. Glad I can move onto the next.”

The beef and cheese between two buns were exactly the fuel he needed after a day like he’d had. He took two bites before setting the burger down on his plate.

“How’s she doing?”

Omera looked down at her pregnant belly and soothed both hands over it. Her sweet dimpled smile was affectionate.

“She’s been rolling around at all hours of the day. I have hardly slept lately.”

“It doesn’t get easier,” he replied, tilting his head toward the baby.

Din took a few fries and popped them into his mouth. As he chewed, he sat back in his seat, back pressed firmly against the fake leather cushion. Thunder rolled in the distance and he looked down at the kid beside him.

“He’s been sleeping better,” he shared. “You were right about the curtains.”

Omera smiled hopefully when he looked up at her again. “I’m glad. Are you sleeping any better?”

Din’s jaw clenched and he reached for his coffee. “No.”

He’d told her about his nightmares. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep at all because of them. He’d always been haunted by the ghosts of his past, but his job made it worse.

Omera smiled and sat forward. “When I was little, my father told me that if I wanted to have good dreams, I needed to think about just one beautiful, wonderful thing as I closed my eyes.”

He wrapped both hands around his mug of coffee. “What did you think about?”

She laughed and tilted her head. “I don’t know. Whatever a little girl likes to dream about. Flowers and sweets and babies, maybe.”

Din felt a smile twitch at the corners of his lips. His focus sat on the dark liquid within his mug.

“Have you come up with a name?” she asked, changing subjects.

He slid his mug back around his plate and grabbed his burger again. “Haven’t had any time to think about it.”

Omera gazed gently at the baby. He thought, maybe stupidly, that she did so like a mother would.

“I had a few thoughts if you want to hear them.”

Din swallowed a bite. “For the kid?”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “Who else?”

He looked pointedly at her baby bump and she covered it with both hands while she laughed again.

“I know I still have to come up with her name, too, but… I don’t know. I had a few ideas come to me while I was working today. I think of him often. A baby with no name is so…”

Omera didn’t finish her thought. She instead looked out the window when a bolt of lightning struck nearby. Thunder boomed, louder than the times before.

“I thought of the name Milo,” she shared. “Something simple. Just like you said.”

Din set the remaining quarter of his burger down and grabbed a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table to clean his hands. His focus went to the baby, who squirmed in his sleep. He reached down to adjust the blanket on him and considered the name carefully.

“Milo,” he murmured. “I saw that in one of the books.”

Gently, Din allowed the kid to take one of his fingers into his fist in an effort to soothe his sleep. It worked.

“It’s a good name,” he agreed. “Milo.”

Omera gave an easy smile. She parted her lips to speak, but the bell above the diner door chimed before she could. Her hand pressed to the edge of the table and she slid out of the booth.

“Think about it.”

He nodded wordlessly and watched her leave to go help the newest wet and miserable customer. She was kind to everyone, but he had never seen her sit down with anyone in the time he’d spent visiting the diner.

As much as he liked her, the idea of intimacy scared him away from a relationship outside of the one they shared within the walls of the diner. It was easier this way. He didn’t share too much about himself- about his job- and she didn’t have to, either.

Din finished his plate off clean and could only finish about half of the mug before it went tepid. He reached for his wallet and grabbed the bills he’d pay for the meal with before he climbed out of the booth with the kid in tow.

He found Omera behind the counter, working on a meal for the grumpy man seated on one of the stools facing her.

She cast a look at him over her shoulder, eyes wide, and finished flipping something on the grill.

“All done?”

He held out the cash. “Tip’s included. Thank you, Omera.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and gladly took the bills from his hand. Their fingers brushed, naturally, and he couldn’t ignore the way it made his heart leap.

There was optimistic hope in her eyes that never failed to intoxicate him. He wondered if others could see it, the way she cared so deeply without any remorse.

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Same time.”

Just behind him, the bell above the diner door tinkled and he heard a familiar voice grumble, “It’s too damn wet out there to drive.”

Din turned to see the petite owner of the diner named Peli slog her way inside. She lifted both brows at Omera behind the counter.

“Alright, Mama, I’m sorry I’m so late, but I’m here now. You get yourself home and in bed. I don’t want to hear you say no. Get. I’ll clock you out myself if I have to.”

Omera laughed under her breath. “Morning, Peli.”

Peli looked at Din and the baby in the carrier. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Brown Eyes himself. How’s the kid? Still got no name?”

He shook his head. “Thinking about calling him Milo.”

For a moment, Peli considered the name. “Huh. Okay. I don’t hate it.”

She made her way behind the counter while Omera emerged from the back room with her coat and purse.

“Get some rest, Omera. I’ll see you later.”

“Have a good day, Peli.”

Faced with a choice to leave before Omera or to join her, Din waited until she stepped toward the door to move. He grabbed the door handle and opened it on her behalf.

“Oh, thank you.”

The sound of the rain quickly filled his ears and he was urged to move toward his car to prevent the kid from waking, but before he did so, he turned to Omera.

“Do you want a ride home?”

She stared at him, surprised. “A ride home?”

“You sounded worried about driving in the rain,” he replied. “Do you want a ride?”

For a moment, Omera hesitated. A roll of thunder motivated her nod. “If you don’t mind.”

He led her to his car and expertly fastened the car seat into place while Omera slipped into the passenger's side.

With the baby in place, Din stepped into the rain again and then opened the driver’s side door. Finally out of the elements, he turned the key in the ignition.

“Where do you live?”

“Down in Sorgan. Just off of the highway, there’s a building.”

He nodded. “I know it.”

Din was careful as he pulled out of the parking lot. The rain pounded hard enough while the car moved that talking wouldn’t be an option, so they were both silent.

There was a sense of expectancy, however, and he felt himself practically bubbling over because of that feeling. Here he was, driving the best part of his day home, and he couldn’t speak to her.

As they drew close to Sorgan, the rainfall slowed to a light pitter-patter. He brought the windshield wipers down to a slower setting and glanced over at Omera.

“I can pick you up before your shift,” he told her. “What time should I come get you?”

She turned. “I start at ten, but I’ll need my car earlier. I have a doctor’s visit at noon. I can ask-“

“That’s fine.”

Omera was quiet. “Are you sure? This is so kind of you. I didn’t think the rain would last as long as it has.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

They pulled off at the exit to Sorgan and Din focused as hard as he could on driving. It was easy to get distracted and forget the purpose of the drive,

“Can I ask what it is you do for work?” Omera wondered.

He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled against the steering wheel.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Oh.” Silence for a moment. Then, she shifted in her seat. “Is it safe?”

He didn’t reply. His heart began to beat rapidly. Memories of the work he did flashed in his mind. The numbness he’d forced himself to feel when he hunted made him grow stiff in his shoulders.

“You came in last week with a gash in your forehead and I sort of regret that I didn’t ask what happened.” Omera’s words were caring and kind. She meant well by asking him what he did. He couldn’t be upset. “Most nights, you seem… heavy. I hope you know it’s safe to talk to me. We’re… friends. Right?”

Din looked at her briefly. The tension in his shoulders fell. His heart raced for a different reason.

Friends. Were they friends?

“Yeah,” he replied in a voice so quiet that even he could barely hear it. When he focused on the road ahead of him, he swallowed thickly in an effort to come up with an answer for her initial question. “I help find people. Sometimes… it gets messy.”

Omera was silent. The only sounds in the car were that of the rain gently pattering against the outside while the wipers slid in a melodic fashion.

“Like a bounty hunter?”

His jaw clenched. “Something like that.”

After he turned into the parking lot of the apartments she’d directed him to, he looked at her.

Omera glanced into the backseat, where the baby slept, and worry creased her brow. “Do you take him with you?”

“No. Never.”

He parked the car in front of the building and turned toward Omera. She had one hand against her bump. A smile spread wide on her face.

“She’s kicking. Do you want to feel?”

He was surprised that she could move on from the topic of his work so quickly. Didn’t it bother her? He’d admitted it was dangerous work. She’d seen him with scrapes and bruises.

Omera surprised him again when she took one of his hands and planted it on top of her swollen belly. Sure enough, he could feel the baby kick and punch.

“Do you feel her?” Omera laughed happily. “It’s like she’s trying to get out.”

He chuckled at that. “Hope not.”

Omera rested her head against the headrest and sighed as he pulled his hand away. She was lit softly by the lights outside, a warm hue that casted shadows on her skin. In that light, she stared at him like she could see something in him that was good.

A little voice in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t true. He wasn’t good.

“Well, I think we should both get to bed.” She searched his eyes like she had all the time in the world to dwell in the moment with him. “Try to think of nice things. See if you dream of those instead.”

Din nodded. “Sure.”

Omera gazed at him. Long enough that he realized they’d both moved closer to one another, magnetized by the silence and a deep yearning from somewhere within.

He set his eyes on her lips for a second too long. She closed the gap and kissed him.

It was a quick kiss, but it was one that lingered just long enough that it meant something.

Her fingers caressed his cheek as she pulled away. For a heartbeat, he latched onto the reality of what had just happened, but before he could fully process it, she opened the door and climbed out.

“Pick me up at around 11:30?”

He nodded dumbly. “Yeah. Okay.”

She smiled. Closed the door. And then she was gone, on her way into the building with a hurried skip in her step.

Din could only think about one thing as he drove home.

She kissed him.

He wasn’t the kind of guy that did this. Women didn’t throw themselves at him. He avoided close relationships. It wasn’t in his programming to be close with anyone.

But she kissed him.

Her lips had been soft. Her hand had settled on his face gently. It had been an act of genuine interest and desire.

Shaking it off as best he could, he parked the car and climbed out. Grabbed the kid.

His apartment was quiet this early in the morning. The exterior lights helped guide him to his door two stories up, and when he was inside, he opted to just make his way into the bedroom without any fuss.

His bed was a simple frame and mattress, set in the center of an otherwise empty bedroom. He set the kid down on the bed and set to preparing for what would likely amount to a short nap before the baby woke up and needed attention.

His leather jacket discarded, he stepped out of his boots and then shimmied out of his jeans. He climbed into bed and laid down flat on his back with both hands pressed to his chest.

Omera had kissed him.

He wanted to know why. He wanted to know if she realized that he was broken; that he would never be able to give her anything she needed.

Din put both hands against his face and exhaled sharply.

It was times like these that he regretted giving up smoking. He’d decided to go cold turkey when he brought the kid home. Didn’t want to be a bad influence, and he knew it wouldn’t be a healthy environment to raise him in.

The more he thought about Omera’s lips on his, the more he realized: he’d wanted her to kiss him.

Din rolled onto his side and set the alarm on his night stand. 11:00 was optimistic. He knew the kid would wake him up in about an hour- maybe two.

So he shut his eyes and tried to think about something good. Something wonderful.

Omera. Her pretty brown eyes. Her long dark hair swayed in her ponytail when she moved. Her smile, a genuine bright spot in his day. She had a pretty laugh that made her eyes squint shut halfway if she found something funny enough.

The way she looked sitting beside him in his car, the side of her head against the headrest while she so quietly analyzed him.

Again and again, he thought about how softly she’d kissed him. It was like sunlight that seeped into a dark room; a wave of hope in a sea of despair.

He didn’t have any nightmares.

Din held the baby in one arm and pressed the bottle to his lips with the other. It was almost time for them to leave, but the boy was incredibly fussy.

He stared down at the baby’s face as he ate and pressed his back more firmly against the wall behind him.

“I think I have a name for you. Do you like the name Milo?”

The child continued to suckle on the bottle, unbothered by the query. His little fingers curled into fists at the sides of his bottle.

“Milo,” Din repeated. “Think I’m gonna call you that. Better than calling you kid.”

Once the baby was fed, changed, and dressed, Din took exactly four minutes to get himself ready in the bathroom just off of his bedroom.

The alarm went off just as he returned, ready to go. He shut it off and grabbed his leather jacket, the one thing he never left home without.

Milo was quiet, thankfully, as they drove back to Sorgan. He liked this little toy frog that Din had found at a local toy store. He’d suck on the limbs and squish it with all of his strength.

Din parked in front of Omera’s building and thought about the kiss they’d shared just a short time ago. Would it change things? What did it mean?

Several minutes after he arrived, he saw her step outside. Her pace was fast and she seemed frantic. When she got inside the car, she was out of breath.

“I’m so late. I’m so sorry.”

He checked the time on his wrist watch. 11:48. Not enough time to make it to her car back at the diner and to her appointment.

“Where’s your doctor’s office?”

Omera blinked at him. “Oh, no. You don’t have to. It’s my fault. I’ll just have to reschedule.”

“Is it the one in Nevarro or the one over by the movie theater in Tatooine?”

Omera was quiet as she buckled in and thought about what she wanted to do.

He took a beat to study her. She wore soft colors, much different than the uniform at the diner. Most notably, she had left her hair down so it tumbled over her shoulders and back. Her hands lifted to tuck it behind her ears.

Omera’s nose crinkled just slightly. “It’s in Nevarro. I understand if you want to take me to my car and get back to it. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

Din pulled out of his parking spot and set his internal navigation to the doctor in Nevarro. It was silent in the car, but he felt Omera’s presence.

He looked at her briefly. Her focus was out the side window, on the landscape just outside. She held her hands together in her lap, as if nervous.

“When I first found Milo, I brought him to see Dr. Karga. He’s a good guy.”

She looked at him with bright eyes. “Milo?”

Din nodded. A smile found his lips. “Yeah. It’s his name.”

They were quiet again. He remained unsure about what to do where it came to their kiss.

“When do you have time off?” Omera asked suddenly.

He focused on the road ahead of them and gripped the steering wheel a little bit tighter. “I don’t.”

“You don’t take any time to yourself?”

There was surprise in her voice, like she’d never heard of someone who would prioritize work so heavily that it consumed every second of time in their life. He did.

“Here and there,” he amended, avoiding eye contact. “It’s not an easy job.”

From the backseat, the baby made a happy noise. It made Omera turn, smiling at the child.

“Hi, little one,” she greeted. “I haven’t seen you this happy before.”

Din glanced up into the rearview mirror to check on the baby, whose little legs kicked excitedly at the attention Omera gave him.

“He slept well.”

She hummed warmly. “Did you?”

He looked at her briefly and nodded. “Took your advice. No nightmares.”

They pulled off the highway toward Nevarro, passing the diner and her car as they went instead toward the doctor’s office.

She seemed genuine when she replied, “I’m glad to hear that.”

The remainder of the drive to the doctor’s office was made in silence. When he parked out front, he turned to Omera as she gathered herself to go.

“It shouldn’t take long. Twenty minutes, maybe.”

She gave him a little smile, shy and real. In the daylight, outside of the diner, she was different. She was human and flawed, just as he was. He liked it. He liked to see the softened features on her face.

Omera lingered. He could only think of the one other time she slipped out of his car. The kiss.

“I’ll be here,” he told her.

She nodded and a soft smile spread across her face. “Thank you.”

For a second, he thought she might have something else to say, but then she opened the door and stepped outside. He watched her enter the office with a hand on her bump.

Din released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and sat back in his seat. He drew a hand through his hair and again regretted his choice to toss his last pack of cigarettes.

With Omera inside the office and Milo well-behaved, Din closed his eyes to nap. He took these windows for naps as often as they came. It was the only way he could function, even if it meant he rarely entered REM.

He woke to the sound of knuckles on the window and jolted upright, ready to grab his gun and fight. Instead, he saw Omera. She was locked out.

Quickly, he hit the unlock button on the door and gestured for her to enter. She pulled the door open with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for interrupting your nap.”

He dragged a hand over his face and shook his head. “It’s fine.” With a tip of his head toward the office in front of them, he asked, “How’d it go?”

Omera released a sigh. “He said we’re both doing well. He thinks she’ll probably be full term. Maybe a little longer.” She gave a heavy shake of her head and rubbed her hand against her belly. “I hope not. It’s been a difficult few weeks.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. He assumed she meant the symptoms of pregnancy had been difficult. From what little he’d seen of her at the diner, he found it hard to picture it being very hard. But maybe she painted life with a different colored brush there.

“Are you hungry?”

Omera turned, her eyes lit up with surprise. Then, she laughed. “I’m pregnant. I’m always hungry.”

He turned the engine over. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

The smile on Omera’s face was permanent. They sat in the same booth they’d shared in the middle of the night, but this time they were both covered in warm afternoon sunlight and Omera didn’t have responsibilities to pull her away.

He had his regular order, while Omera ordered grilled cheese with fries on the side. She sipped on her water and sat back in her seat, that smile ever-present.

Din chewed on a fry and tried to think of anything except for the way things had changed in the last few hours.

He’d often come to the diner for solace that he found in a friend. He hadn’t meant to make friends with Omera, but she made it easy. In her eyes, there was kindness and goodness that he could never experience for himself.

“You kissed me,” he finally said.

“Yes.” Omera set her cup of water onto the table and her smile faded softly when he didn’t reply. She suddenly covered her face. “Oh, I feel so stupid. I’m so sorry! You didn’t want that at all!”

Din sat forward. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilty or stupid. “Please don’t do that. It’s okay.”

She seemed embarrassed when she pulled her hands away. She looked up at him with sympathy.

“I’m sorry. I misread you. I didn’t mean to-”

He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

Omera calmed herself and looked out the window for a little while.

Din couldn’t look away. She was beautiful, bathed in daylight with her hair let loose and free. She rested her hand comfortably on top of her bump and met his eyes. A smile itched at the corners of her lips.

“I look forward to seeing you here. It’s one of my favorite things about this job. Maybe the best thing.”

His heart raced. He swallowed thickly and parted his lips to say something- anything - but he was wordless. He’d never been much of a conversationalist. He was picked on as a kid for being quiet.

“You and your boy,” she added, as if she wasn’t clear enough. “I like talking to you.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s nice talking to you.”

Omera’s smile spread. She grabbed her grilled cheese while he grabbed his burger.

It was all out there between them now. They both liked spending time together. He tried to see a path forward, a destination for the youthful desires they shared, but struggled.

Their companionable silence was broken by his phone. It rang frantically within his jacket pocket and he cursed as he fished it out.

“Can you keep an eye on him?” He rose to his feet as he drew the flip phone toward his ear.

Omera nodded easily. “Of course.”

Din walked to the front door of the building to take the call outside.

“You’re ignoring my calls.”

“I’m busy.”

“Come by the office. You were sloppy with the last mark. We need to fix it.”

His jaw clenched and he stepped off the diner’s stoop to make his way toward his car. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“I don’t want excuses. I want to be paid.”

Din took a breath and held it. His blood boiled hotter than it should. He didn’t want to have to leave Omera.

“I’ll be at your office in an hour.”

“Half,” his employer snapped. “And if you think I don’t know about the pretty pregnant girl you’ve been driving around all morning, you have another thing coming.”

He closed his eyes and bit down hard. “Why are you keeping tabs on me?”

“See you in thirty minutes.”

The line cut. He cursed and slapped the phone shut before he slid it into his pocket.

From where he stood, he could see Omera inside. She had moved to his side of their shared booth and held Milo in her arms. With affection, she gazed down on him. Somehow, the sight calmed him.

He made his way back to them and as soon as he came to the table side, Omera looked up.

“He started crying,” she explained. “I think he just needed to be held.”

Din nodded. He wasn’t sure how to cleanly end their time together, so he reached in his pocket for his wallet and fished out the cash.

“I have to go. This should cover everything.”

Omera’s shoulders and expression fell, but she looked at Milo and dropped a kiss to his forehead.

“Okay, little one,” she murmured. “Time to go.”

She tucked him easily into his carrier and inched slowly out of the booth, burdened by her pregnant belly. When she was close enough, Din offered her a hand to stand, and she took it with a grateful smile.

“I keep telling myself it will be easier when she’s born,” Omera sighed. “Just a few more weeks of this and it will be over.”

They stood close. The feeling of her hand in his was a weight he so quickly missed when she pulled it away. She looked up at him with hope in her eyes.

“Will I see you tonight?”

As much as he wanted to tell her that he’d be back, he knew better than that. He shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

Omera nodded in understanding. She drew her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for your help, and for lunch. You didn’t have to. It was very kind.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stared at him long enough that his heart began to race all over again. It was wrong to get close. It was wrong to keep letting himself linger. She didn’t need someone like him in her life.

“We should go.”

He stepped around her to grab the kid from the booth. When he was ready to leave, he met her gaze once more.

She was the hope of a life he couldn’t have. Something quiet. Something good. Maybe one day. Maybe he’d earn that one day.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he admitted quietly. “I’m just not a good man, Omera.”

Omera searched his eyes. “You seem good to me.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

She fell quiet, so he nodded at her and took his first step to the door.

“I’ll see you.”

Din’s eye was bruised purple from a punch and his nose still had yet to stop bleeding. He’d thrown his shoulder out, too, but the baby had no understanding of that. He was exhausted as he’d ever been, worn in every physical and mental way, and he had to provide for his son as if he wasn’t.

Sitting up on his bed, Din changed the baby’s diaper and discarded the old one in the bin he kept at his bedside. Once the diaper was pinned into place, Din grabbed a fresh onesie from their go bag- the last onesie- and carefully dressed his son.

He grimaced when the baby cried. Already, he’d grown out of his clothes, which meant in the morning they’d have to go find new ones. And diapers. New diapers, too.

Din hushed the baby and pressed one hand to his belly. It was quiet after a few minutes.

He sat back against the cool wall behind him and closed both eyes. A headache burned behind them, begging him to just get some sleep, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

Briefly, he wondered why he’d decided to take the baby into his life. It had been a hell of a lot simpler when it was just him. He hadn’t been distracted. He hadn’t lost sleep. He could smoke. Drink.

“Shit,” he hissed when the alarm clock buzzed.

At least he could still curse. He’d have to work on that before the kid started talking, though.

Din slapped the alarm clock off. The red numbers indicated that it was 7:00, which left him twenty minutes to get cleaned and changed before they’d have to go to the doctor for a checkup.

Exhaustion pulled at him, yanked him down so he laid flat on his back beside the baby. He turned a little to look at the kid, whose fingers curled into fists on either side of his face.

He was so small. So innocent. He had a whole life ahead of him.

That’s why he’d taken him in. Nobody else would. Nobody else would make sure he had a chance.

But was he going to be able to provide a fair chance at a good life? He doubted it more and more as work dragged him deeper down holes he didn’t like being in.

Din pressed his palm to the baby’s belly again and felt the warmth of him soak into his skin. He stroked his thumb in a gentle circle. The baby reached down and touched his index finger, tightening his small fingers around it to hold on. Din smiled softly at the feeling.

“I know I look pretty beat up, but I’m gonna be okay.”

He wasn’t sure if it was more to tell that to himself or not, but he felt a knot loosen in his gut when he said it. His eyes slid shut.

Sleep came. He wasn’t sure for how long.

When he opened his eyes, he immediately sat upright and checked. 7:49.

“Dammit. We’re gonna be late.”

Din climbed out of bed and fumbled into the bathroom, where he quickly discarded his white tee for another and washed his face with a single splash of water.

He looked beat up. He looked miserable. Tired. His eye was swollen and his nose had probably been broken.

No time to think about it.

He grabbed a ball cap from the closet and slid it on over his unwashed, mussed hair. Then, he grabbed his jacket.

It was a short drive to the doctor, but they were still late. The receptionist gave him a nervous once-over while he stood there waiting to be called in, but said nothing.

Thankfully, after a quick exam, the kid was deemed healthy, and the doctor was the only one who mentioned he might need to get his face looked at.

He drove to the store after. Diapers. Clothes. New formula. Food to last a week.

As soon as he had everything in the trunk of his car, he heard his name from behind him. His heart leapt and he physically froze in place. Omera.

He didn’t want her to see him like this. There wasn’t a way out.

He turned. She had a pretty yellow dress on and her hair was braided. She smiled at him with all of her teeth, like everything he’d said the last time they were together meant absolutely nothing to her.

Shit.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her. Immediately, he felt relief from the stress and pain. He’d tried to hide away, just him and the kid, in the hopes that he might be able to save her from everything wrong with him.

Omera stepped closer and as she did, he avoided looking at her. Instead, he tilted his head down enough that the rim of his cap would cover his face.

“Are you and Milo doing alright?”

She sounded genuine, as she always did. She didn’t care that he hadn’t been by the diner. She just wanted to know how he was.

Din cleared his throat. He nodded, but kept his head low. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

Omera was quiet, so he dared a glance upward. When he did, he saw her brow crease with worry.

“Oh, Din, what happened? Are you alright? That looks bad.”

He shook his head, too proud to tell her that it was agonizing. “I’m going home to ice it.”

She stepped close to him and touched his face so she could examine his bruised eye and nose.

“It’s broken,” she said, worried. “How did this happen? Were you in a fight?”

Din grimaced when her fingertips got closer to his nose. “I just need to ice it. I’m fine.”

Omera pulled away. “Right. I’m sorry.” She took a small step back. “I’ve missed seeing you at the diner. I hope you’re not staying away because of what happened between us.”

He shook his head. “Just been busy.”

“I understand.”

Din glanced at her pregnant belly. “She doing okay?”

In an instant, Omera’s face lit up. She nodded.

“She’s still rolling around like a maniac.” Laughing, she soothed her hand over the bump. “I’ve been working on her nursery. I’m hoping she comes within the next week or two.”

Din couldn’t help but smile a little. “Does she have a name yet?”

Omera sighed. She tilted her head toward her shoulder. “No. Not yet.”

Din glanced toward his car. He stepped toward the driver’s side door and Omera followed his lead in the direction of the store. She lingered slowly, eyes on him.

“I had an idea,” he told her. “What about Winta?”

Omera’s cheeks dimpled when she grinned. She looked down at her bump. “Winta. I like that.”

He opened his door and hung onto the top of it for a few seconds while he watched her. “I’m gonna try to come by tonight.”

She offered him a soft grin. “I’ll keep the coffee hot.”

There were three missed calls on his phone when he checked it from his faux-leather cushioned seat at the diner. All three calls were from work, but rather than call back, he slipped the device into his pocket and watched the clientele instead.

Two teenagers made out in a booth a few away from his. An old homeless man sat at the counter with a mug of coffee. There was a disheveled woman seated against one of the front-facing windows. A cop had entered a short while ago to order a coffee and donut to-go. He stood by the door waiting for the order to be completed.

Din had a throbbing headache behind his eyes that refused to quit. No amount of painkillers seemed to help, but that didn’t keep him from trying. He knew that he should’ve just gone home, gone to bed, but there was something in him that was desperate for this.

Omera handed the officer a bag and a to-go cup. She poured the homeless man another cup of coffee and laughed at something he’d said.

Then, she came to the back corner of the diner where Din sat. She’d given him his meal a while ago, but he hadn’t touched it.

With a frown, she asked, “Is it bad?”

Din shook his head. “No. Just… not hungry.”

Omera nodded soberly. She eyed him for a second and then took a seat across the table from him. She folded her hands together on top of her bump.

It struck him that he missed her. He’d missed sitting with her. Even if their conversations were often simple ones, he’d missed the way it felt to be seen and known by a friend.

“Hard day?” she pressed gently.

Din sat back in his seat. He nodded. “Hard couple of weeks.”

Omera frowned. “I’m sorry.” She searched his face. “You look exhausted. I know it’s not my place to suggest it, but I could take Milo for a little while. You could go get some rest.”

Din looked down at his son, sound asleep in his carrier, and felt envy for the child who could sleep as much as he did. A little smile inched the corner of his lips upward as he dragged his eyes back to Omera.

“I came to see you,” he said quietly. “I can sleep after.”

She tilted her head. “I’m not… you don’t have to…”

“I come here after a hard day because it helps.”

Omera’s eyes were bright. One of her thumbs dragged a circle against her bump and she stopped the motion when she sat forward slightly.

“I know the cheeseburgers are okay, but the coffee is terrible. How does it help?”

He shook his head and smiled a little more.

His admission sat on his tongue for a few heartbeats as he recalled their last conversation in this booth. They’d expressed their interest in the other, which meant that all they needed to do was jump in.

In the back of his mind, there was a voice that said he wasn’t good enough for Omera. But when he looked at her, he saw something in her eyes that said the opposite.

“You,” Din finally replied in a quiet voice. “You help.”

Omera’s didn’t move or say anything at all. She didn’t need to. The way her eyes softened and her smile curled with nervous delight spoke louder than any words would.

“When I was a kid, I lost both of my parents,” he told her. “Got sent into the foster system. I hated it. The other kids were brutal. I wasn’t ever adopted.”

Din looked down at Milo. Sound asleep, the boy had no cares in the world. He was cared for. Loved. Valued. Wanted. Din made sure of that. He’d always make sure of that.

“When I found him, he was orphaned like I was. I didn’t think he should have to deal with the system, so I made him my own.” He met Omera’s eyes. “I’m thinking about quitting my job because of him.”

She straightened up in her seat. “I can’t imagine it’s easy caring for him while you work.”

Din earnestly shook his head. “I hate every minute.”

Just beyond Omera, the bell above the front door chimed. She sighed softly and slid out of her seat. For a moment, she lingered at the side of the table with her full attention on him. There were very few people in the world that had ever treated him this way.

“I promise I want to talk. Don’t leave just yet.”

He smiled. “I won’t go anywhere.”

Omera quickly made her way to the front, where she greeted her new customer with a polite smile.

Din sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, dragging the unwashed strands back. His thoughts were on what was next. Quitting wasn’t going to be easy, but it would be the right thing to do. Omera had proved that to him. He’d never felt quite as right as he had the day they spent the morning together.

In his pocket, his phone vibrated. He grabbed it to check. Five missed calls.

On a sigh, he cursed under his breath. He’d come to the diner, well outside of the proximity of the job, and it seemed his employer wasn’t about to let him hear the end of it.

When Omera came back to the table, she sat down and asked, as if no time had passed, “What would you do if you quit your job?”

He shook his head slowly. “Sleep in my car, probably.”

She laughed through her nose and pressed both hands to the table. “I can help. We can tear the help wanted section of the newspaper apart trying to find a fit. However long it takes.”

For the first time in a while, Din felt hope. He didn’t have to do it alone.

“Why would you help me?” he asked. “You have a lot going on. You’re about to have a kid.”

Omera looked down at Milo and a smile sat easy on her lips. “I want to see you succeed. Is that so wrong?”

“No one has ever wanted that for me.”

She frowned. “I do. Milo does.” She paused as if she were thinking about who else cared for him. “Peli might.”

Din laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I mean it, Din. I know you think you’re too far gone, but… I see goodness in you. It isn’t too late to make a change for the better.”

He reached into his pocket to pull the cash out to pay her. He slid the money onto the table and then stood, grabbing Milo on his way out.

Omera looked up at him with a slight frown and a tight crease in her brow.

“I’m gonna go hit the rack.” He paused. “If you want to meet me here tomorrow around noon, maybe…”

She smiled, pleased, and nodded. “I’ll have the wanted ads ready.”

On a complete whim, he leaned over her and cradled her face in one hand. His eyes closed when he felt her breath warm against his face. Their lips touched in a kiss that comforted and soothed.

When he broke away from her, he dropped his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Omera’s eyes shined when he stepped away. Her hand soothed over her bump and she awarded him an optimistic smile.

“Get some rest. You deserve it.”

Even though Milo woke him up twice to be fed and changed, Din woke up in the morning feeling rested.

He slept with the baby on his chest and a hand on his lower back, a safe and warm entrapment that he was loathe to extract himself from.

When he checked the alarm clock, he saw that they had an hour to get ready for the diner, so he dragged a hand over his face and scooped Milo into his arm to climb out of bed.

He took a hot shower. It had been a while. He rarely had the opportunity, and he often had to cut himself short, but today he didn’t need to.

Once he was refreshed from the warm water in the shower, he took time to shave his face and trim his unruly hair. He even brushed his teeth.

Dressed and ready, Din stuffed his feet into his boots and grabbed his leather jacket, but thought better of it. Instead, he decided he’d go to the diner in one of his plain white tees, unarmored and with an open mind.

He and Milo pulled up to the diner at noon, ready for a change. Something in the air felt different. It was a new day, a fresh start. His past mistakes and wrongdoings sat quiet in the back of his mind, but he would press forward regardless. He’d made his decision.

When he stepped inside the diner, the bell chimed and Peli greeted him from behind the counter. Her hand rested on her hip and she canted her head so her curls danced just a little.

“Come here, Brown Eyes. I gotta tell you something about Omera.”

He frowned. “Is she okay?”

“Well…” Peli sighed. “Last night, as she was getting ready to go home, she went into labor. Her water broke all over my nice linoleum floors! I’ve been cleaning ‘em all morning.”

Din’s eyes widened. His heart leapt. “She went into labor?”

Peli hummed. “I had someone drive her to the hospital. I’m not sure how it turned out, but she wanted me to let you know. She seemed really bent up about it for some reason.”

“Which hospital?”

“Nevarro. It's the closest. She needed some help pretty quick by the sounds of things.”

Din turned, ready to go, but he stopped short when he spotted a familiar face staring back at him from one of the stools at the counter.

His employer, Gideon, stared at him with a lifted eyebrow as if daring him to say something.

He refused to engage. Instead, he made his way outside and to his car.

As soon as he had the kid secured in his seat in the back, he closed the door and he knew he wasn’t alone.

“You keep ignoring my calls.”

Din opened the driver’s side door and hung onto the top of it with one hand. He stared at Gideon and was forced to submit to his choice. Either he stayed the path he was on, or he tried a new course. There was no middle ground.

“I’m done. I don’t want to work for you anymore.”

Gideon nodded slowly. “I figured you were done when you found the kid. Surprised it took this long.”

His jaw clenched when Gideon looked into the backseat. In seconds, he imagined six ways he’d keep the kid safe should Gideon try anything.

“Surely, you know ending our arrangement isn’t as simple as walking away.”

“It is because I say it is.”

Gideon hummed. He folded both hands together behind his back and approached Din. “It’s because of that girl, isn’t it? The one you come here and see. Omera.”

When Din refused to respond, Gideon nodded.

“No attachments. You told me you could abide by that rule.”

Din pushed on the door to open it some and quickly reached inside the middle console to grab his gun.

“This ends with one of us dead. Remember that rule?” He cocked the gun. Gideon immediately blanched and took a step backward. “If you come near me or the people I care about again, you’ll regret not letting me go on my way.”

Chin pushed forward, Gideon snarled in defeat. “Fine.”

Din unarmed the gun and bent his head low as he climbed into the car. He tucked the weapon away and backed out of the parking lot with Gideon in his sights.

Was this what it felt like to be free? He pondered the question in an endless loop as he drove to the hospital.

It was hard not to speed, but he kept the car just over the speed limit in his haste to see that Omera was alright.

The hospital didn’t seem all that busy when he and Milo fumbled into the reception area.

As soon as he was shown Omera’s room, he entered with his heart racing fast. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was.

Omera laid in the hospital bed with a slightly deflated midsection and an absolutely tiny baby on her breast. As he stepped inside, she instantly lit up.

“Din. Hi.”

He set Milo in his carrier down on a nearby chair and went to Omera’s side to check on her. Visually, she seemed fine. So did the baby.

“Peli told me you made a mess of her floors.”

Omera laughed. “It was such a whirlwind. Before you came to visit, I’d started feeling contractions, but I didn’t think they were real until my water broke.”

He studied her. She wore a hospital gown and her hair was matted. Her brow was still damp from her labor. She seemed tired, but pure joy radiated from somewhere within.

“You’re okay? You’re both okay?”

“I’m feeling much better now that she’s here.” Omera looked down at the newborn and brushed an affectionate knuckle against her cheek. “Her name is Winta.”

Din smiled. She hadn’t been lying when she told him she liked the name.

Upon closer examination, he saw that the baby had dark hair and her little fingers were wrapped around just one of Omera’s. Somehow, she was even smaller than Milo was.

“She’s beautiful. Like her mother.”

“I think she’s perfect,” Omera whispered. She smiled some and soothed her thumb against the baby’s temple gently. “I’m not alone now that I have you.”

Din swallowed. He hadn’t realized the gravity of her loneliness. She hid it well in hope and kindness, but she was more like him than he’d realized.

He lifted his eyes to Omera’s, exhausted but joy-filled in the new hope that her future carried. She had been his solace; his safe place, his comfort. How would things be different now?

“I quit my job.”

Her eyes widened just a little. “You did?”

He nodded. “It’s over.”

She reached out and touched her hand against the side of his face. In that touch, there was meaning that mirrored the kisses they’d shared. She hadn’t given up on him.

He dropped his lips to her forehead in a sign of his affection for her. When he leaned away, he saw his future in her eyes. It was more than he deserved.

“My office isn’t a nursery,” Peli grumbled. “I say it every day, but I still don’t know how you talked me into this. I know better. I am better.”

From his spot on the floor beside the playpen he’d erected in Peli’s office two months ago, Din watched Winta and Milo snooze. He stood, satisfied with his check on the pair, and turned to face his boss who stood in the doorway of her office with a Big Gulp in hand.

“I know it’s not ideal, but we’re thankful you let us do this.”

Peli tossed a hand at him as she sucked down a sip of her drink. “Yeah, yeah. Something about owing me. Blah, blah, blah.”

She stepped into the room and set her styrofoam cup down onto her cluttered desk.

“When are you going to ask Omera to marry you, again?”

Din’s shoulders fell. His heart skipped a frantic beat. “I’m not-”

Peli scoffed. She pointed a hard finger at him. “Quit lying to me, kid. You love her. She loves you. You’re raising your kids together. What’s the big deal?”

He parted his lips to explain it, but before he could, Omera stepped into the doorframe.

“Peli, I need you. Someone’s upset about the ice cream machine.”

“Argh,” Peli grumbled. She set both hands on her hips. “Always the ice cream machine. Never a compliment about the chili recipe. I roast that meat myself, you know.”

Omera laughed. “I know. They’re just asking for you. I’ve done all I can.”

Before Peli snaked her way around Omera, she eyed Din and tipped her head toward Omera. He could only shake his head in response.

Omera crossed the tiny room toward him. She leaned down to check on the kids and smiled, satisfied, before she curled her hands together against his heart and smiled at him in a way that made his heart soar.

“I heard something.”

Din smiled back at her. He lifted his fingers to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face.

“What’d you hear?”

She gave him a coy look. “Something about an engagement.”

Din lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s getting engaged?”

Omera searched his eyes and pressed up on her toes to kiss him. “Just don’t propose to me at the diner. That’s my only request.”

He hummed at the back of his throat. “Good to know. I’ll keep an ear out for people interested in proposing to you at the diner.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. He followed her lead out of the back office and they each went their separate ways to their workstations.

He was lucky that Peli needed a night cook when she did. Now, he and Omera could work in tandem and share time off.

They’d moved in together shortly after Winta was born.

Consolidating what little he had into her place was easy. He fit right in almost like he’d always been there. He slept on the couch at first, until they accidentally both fell asleep together in her bed when both of the kids needed to be fed.

They had a nursery that the babies shared and they put them on a relatively normal schedule. They cooked meals and watched television and did chores. It was easier than breathing, this life they’d made.

They were together. They had each other. She was goodness and calm when he didn’t know what to do. He was an anchor for her when she was overwhelmed.

Work at the diner wouldn’t last forever. They told each other that every day, when they drove home with two sleeping babies in the backseat. They all smelled of grease and bad coffee that almost refused to wash out even in a hot shower. It wasn’t forever. There were dreams still to be had in the future- dreams that didn’t smell like grease or coffee.

When their shift ended, Peli came to him at the grill as he cleaned it and nudged him. “Hey, Brown Eyes. Got a minute?”

He finished his task and glanced over at Omera, who had started chatting with a girl at the counter.

“Without the Missus.”

Peli’s nickname for Omera made Din release a soft sigh as he turned away from the kitchen to follow her into the back room. He met her in her office, where she shut the door behind him.

“I want to promote Omera,” she said evenly.

Din folded his arms against his chest. “Then why are you talking to me?”

“Because…” Peli tilted her head. “If I promote her, it means you’ll get a promotion, too.”

“What’s the job?”

“I want to make her manager of the day shift,” Peli shared. “You’d be a day cook. That’s a big deal, Brown Eyes, but I think you can handle it - if you want it, that is.”

“Did you ask her what she thinks?”

Peli nodded. “She said she wanted me to ask you, too, before she made a decision.” She grabbed a slip of paper from her desk and shoved it at him. He took it. “Details. Numbers. Yada, yada.”

She slipped away from him and slumped into the chair at her desk.

“I don’t think you two want to be here forever,” Peli told him. “Which is why I’m doing this. One day, maybe you can get out of Nevarro. Start a business of your own, maybe.”

Din studied the paperwork in his hand and looked up when he heard Milo begin to fuss.

“So what do you think, Dad?”

Din reached down for Milo and perched him on his hip. When he turned, Omera entered the office. She gave them an apologetic smile.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“We were talking about the promotion,” Din said, partly distracted by his son. “Do you want it?”

Omera held her hands together in front of her. She smiled. “I do, but only if you’re on board.”

Din considered the opportunity. It would be a big step for them in the right direction.

“Yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Great!” Peli grinned. “You take the weekend off. See you both on Monday morning.”

Din tucked both of the kids into the backseat while Omera nursed tea in a to-go cup in the front seat. She was abnormally quiet, even though they were both tired after a long shift.

When he began the drive to their apartment, he glanced over at her. “You okay?”

She turned to look at him and smiled. “Yeah. I’m okay. Sorry if I seem distracted. I’m just tired.”

Omera reached out to take his hand in his lap.

“I know this isn’t your dream,” he said. “But it’s a stepping stone.”

She sighed softly and drew her thumb against his knuckles. “You’re my dream. As long as Winta and Milo grow up happy and loved, that’s everything I need. It isn’t about any job I have.”

Din kept his eyes on the road and smiled a little. He heard her relax into her seat with a small sigh of contentment.

“I’m so happy I have you,” she murmured sleepily.

He drew their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers. With a shy glance in her direction, he thought about the ring that hid in his sock drawer.

Lights from street lights pooled into the car in a fading pattern, in and out again. It was a cozy night drive, with music low on the radio and Omera’s hand in his.

They made it to the apartment and carried the kids into the nursery first, just in time to change and feed them each. In tandem, they worked seamlessly together to get them soothed back to sleep.

Din slipped out of the nursery before Omera did and led the way up the tiny hallway to their bedroom.

“I’m too tired to shower,” Omera shared. She grabbed her favorite sweats from the dresser against the wall in the tiny closet. She had already thrown her hair up into a messy bun, which left strands of it free around her face. “You can go ahead if you want.”

He shook his head. “Ladies first.”

Omera hummed tiredly. She opened the bathroom door and he heard her begin her bedtime routine.

As she did so, he stepped into the closet and pulled open his sock drawer. Hidden within a gray wool pair he stashed deep within, he pulled the little velvet box out and opened it to check that it was still there. It was.

“I was thinking about looking for a different brand of coffee when we go to the store,” Omera said casually. “I think this one is too weak. Even for me.”

He stepped out of the closet and moved into their bedroom again. “Okay.”

“Oh,” Omera stepped into the doorframe between the bathroom and bedroom. “Did you check to see if we were running low on Winta’s diapers? She went through a bunch of them the other day. We should probably just get more regardless, but-”

He saw her eyes go to the secret he held in his hand.

“What’s that?”

He cleared his throat. “What’s what?”

Omera pointed toward his hand and laughed. “In your hand.”

Din didn’t look at the box in his hand. He stepped toward her and then dropped to one knee with the box popped open so that the ring inside was revealed.

“You said you didn’t want me to do this at the diner,” he said. “Which was my original plan…”

Omera shook her head, but she smiled. Tears sat in her eyes.

“You’re my dream,” he told her earnestly. “Will you marry me?”

Her answer was instant, a simple whisper of, “Yes.”

Din wasn’t sure why he thought she might say no, but he felt a wave of relief the moment she nodded at him and laughed lightly.

He helped put the ring on her finger and stood up again so he could wrap his arms around her.

“I’m in my sweats and I was just talking about diapers,” Omera murmured into his ear. “Why now?”

He set his hand to her face and searched her eyes. “In the car, you were talking about what you wanted, and I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

She smiled and pressed up onto her toes to kiss him. “I’m so glad you didn’t propose at the diner.”

He laughed into a kiss. “Should’ve just had Peli do it for me.”

“Oh, she’s been insufferable,” Omera giggled. She stepped with him toward their bed and sat him down, her hands on his shoulders. “You know what would be funny to see?”

He shook his head. “What?”

Omera bit down on her lip as his hands rested on her hips. “If we got married before work on Monday, how do you think she’d react?”

Peli didn’t notice their rings. She didn’t ask them how their weekend was, so they couldn’t tease her about the wedding they’d had in the company of a government official and a friend of theirs named Cara as a witness.

“Peli?” Omera asked as they prepared to leave her office to start their first day back off of the weekend.

“Yes?”

“You’ll need to write your checks out to Omera Djarin now,” she replied easily. “Din and I got married this weekend. I’m taking his name.”

Peli’s eyes were as big as saucers. “What?”

The kids were four when they moved into a house. It had a backyard and three bedrooms and a full laundry room. It was in Sorgan, tucked in a cul-de-sac with a couple of close neighbors who also had kids of their own. And it was perfect.

Din and Omera spent their nights after work at business school. It was difficult, but they had each other. In the middle of the night, after their final class, they’d go to the diner and share one side of the booth with a basket of fries and mediocre coffee.

Omera leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Why is this homework so hard?”

He laughed as he finished jotting down the answer to the final question on the page. Looking at her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and then kissed the side of her head.

“You’re pregnant and tired. That’s why.”

She frowned and placed her hand over the small bump.

It was a happy surprise when they found out. Since the kids turned three, they’d been trying on and off again to see if they could have a third, but it had taken time.

“Just one more credit and we’re done,” he reminded her. “Then we get to the hard part.”

Omera sighed heavily and put her hand over her eyes as she groaned. “Who’s idea was it to get pregnant while we plan on opening our own restaurant again?”

He smiled easily and kissed the side of her head again. “C’mon. We should get home. It’s almost one.”

She slid out of their booth and waited for him to join her before she took his hand and walked with him to the front door. Peli winked at them from behind the counter.

“How’s class?”

“Exhausting,” Omera sighed. “But we’re getting through it.”

“I’m proud of you two. Feels like I’ve seen you grow up.”

Omera soothed her hand against her bump. “Oh, Peli. Thank you for saying that. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth all of this. I miss the days when we could just go home and play with the kids after work.”

“When you have your own restaurant, I’m shutting mine down,” she told them. “Retiring. Nobody needs this diner.”

Din shook his head. “I did.”

Peli’s eyes found his. Omera squeezed on his hand and leaned her head against his arm.

“It saved me,” he told Peli. “Just being here.”

He glanced around the interior of the place he’d grown to love over the course of several years. It was a second home to him and Omera and the kids.

Milo took his first steps in the kitchen. Winta liked to curl up in the booths with him and read her favorite books when things got slow. Both of the kids befriended the regulars and sat with them to keep them company when they came in alone. He and Omera brought the kids to the diner every weekend at least once, even when they were off, just so they could say hello to their beloved Aunt Peli, who doted on them with free hugs and cookies.

“Don’t give up on it. It was the only thing that gave me a place to find solace for a while.”

He walked Omera outside and went to her door with her, opening it on her behalf, but she stood with him and pushed up onto her toes to kiss him.

“You’re a good man, Din,” she told him softly. “Don’t ever doubt it, my love.”

She climbed into the car and he closed the door after her. With a deep breath of the night into his lungs, he slowly made his way around the car to the driver’s side.

Once he climbed in, he turned over the engine and pulled carefully out of the parking lot. He couldn’t help but smile when Omera took his hand in his lap.

When they got home, they thanked their sitter and sent her home with a few extra dollars. Then, they went to check on the kids. Even though they had their own bedrooms, with their own beds, it wasn’t uncommon to find that one had gone to the other.

Tonight, Milo had gone to Winta. He curled up beside his sister and held her. Both of them were sound asleep when Din knelt at the bedside. He drew a blanket over them and kissed their foreheads. Omera did the same.

They retreated to bed and when they were covered in darkness, he stared up at the ceiling with one train of thought running through his mind.

When he was a child, he’d never once dreamed that he could have a life like this. He never thought he’d have comfort again after his parents died. Nobody wanted him. The system bounced him left and right and back again. Kids hit him and called him names.

As a teenager, he’d leaned on the first thing to give him any sort of safe feeling. Cigarettes. Danger. Fights. Later, it was Gideon who scooped him out and used him.

He was free from all of that.

Din wrapped his arms around Omera from behind. She was turned onto her side, which permitted his arm to slip between her breasts while he buried his face in her neck.

Omera reached up for his face and hummed softly. She was quiet when her fingers threaded into his hair and soothed his scalp.

“Okay?”

He nodded into her. “Just… love you.”

#mandomera #din x omera #mandomeraweek2022 #the mandalorian #my writing #fun fact i've had this one written for like..... a year?#idk if it's even good but i like the ~moody vibes~#mm os

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year

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I wake up to see drama and a 💩 storm with this au so I'll clear up all the emotions everyone felt when I sent in my ask about Stev getting her tit for tat and how Oberyn got to Robyn.

1. No Tywin would not go back to Robyn,as I said he got to experience the array of emotions Stev felt and even thinking about doing that to her again would make him sick,Robyn is now tied to all the negative emotions he experienced when he walked in on Stev and Oberyn. I also don't think he'd leave any space for Robyn to get pregnant, he'd have her take birth control because Stev is his wife,the one he loves to have children with and enjoys a family life with.

Tywin would also open up to doing some harder BDSM with Stev when she expresses she wouldn't mind it and that it would be very cathartic for her,to rebuild that trust again and go even further with it.

2. Robyn wouldn't be "broken" or stuck on Tywin,Robyn enjoys harsher sex but she also wants love and appreciation and that's where Oberyn comes in,a man who lives to show women love and would show her the love and aftercare she needs. He is much better to her while being very compatible. (I will not ever believe she'd prefer abuse over sex she enjoys+aftercare)

3.And Robyn and Stev don't have any bad blood,to think that is utterly dumb.

While I love both Stev and Robyn I don't think it's smart for us to put them together anymore (unless we are shipping the 2 of them together, which I'm open too,I think it would be cute) because people start fights.

I think this AU should stop where it is an if people really want Mafia AUs they should do ones separately for Stev and Robyn.

-🦒

I appreciate your breakdown ( i think it wasn't your ask that started it tbh)

I'm not going to allow anons to dictate what happens just because of this drama. If people what them in the same au they can do...people need to grow up.

Again, not directed at you.

I won't tip toe around my own blog about what people want especially when I don't think it's the majority; could be wrong..might do a vote but I doubt many would use it ..but anyway, rambling now

#🦒anon

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babbushka · 3 years

Note

Make a wish for Flip please?? 🌹

A/N: Thank you so much for sending this in! I love soft prompts like this for my mr zimmerman, I hope that you enjoy this little something! :,)

1k, warnings for pregnancy, set in the Darling Jewish Wife AU

Lying on the large picnic blanket, you’re admiring the way the light shines through the orange leaves of the lakeside park on one sunny afternoon. It was a rare day for the sun to be out for it to still be chilly, a cloudless powder blue thirty degree day, which meant that just about everyone was outside enjoying the weather.

It was going to get snowy and bitter cold soon, so many of your neighbors in Colorado Springs were treating this as the last true day of autumn, before that strange in-between period when all the leaves started to fall and it felt like winter arrived.

You and Flip are doing just the same, he called you excitedly to ask him to join you at the park as he got out of work early. Too much overtime, he had said, but you were sure he just lied to Bridges to get out of the office.

Your husband was a bit of a golden retriever when it came to the crisp leaves, brisk air, hot coffees and apple ciders of autumn. So you packed a basket and drove your convertible down to the park where he had happily embraced you.

Now, you’re trying to enjoy the peace of the water, when heavy thunk!s of something hitting the water keep distracting you, making you prop yourself up on your side and ask, “What are you doing, handsome?”

“Have you ever heard that thing about how if you can throw a stone ten skips, and you make a wish, it’ll come true?” He’s facing the lake, bent over and searching the grassy ground for something.

“No I haven’t. Are you just chucking shit into the lake?” Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head at him fondly, watching as he freezes mid-grasp of a nice flat looking rock.

“Maybe.” He blushes, and you can’t help but laugh a little more, loving him with your whole heart, especially when he asks you, “Will you show me how to do it?”

Flip definitely had a problem with being too proud for his own good sometimes. A typical Taurus, he was stubborn as all hell, so he often refused to ask for help even when he needed it. But for whatever reason, maybe because you’re heavily pregnant with his baby, he’s been feeling a little more vulnerable these days. You’re more than happy to do what he asks, because he asks for things so far and few in between.

“Help me up.” You reach out your hands for him, and he quickly abandons the lakeside and rushes to you, using his strength to get you onto your feet. That was becoming harder and harder these days, but eventually you managed and hoped that you didn’t look too ridiculous to the passersbys in the park.

Not letting go of your hand, Flip leads you over to the lakeside, and offers you a variety of rocks that you reject, until finally he picks one up that is flat and smooth enough to work. Coming to stand close against him, you place the rock in his hand and demonstrate the motion with your own, “It’s all in the flick of the wrist.”

“You’re so big.” Flip grins, loving the sight of you healthy and glowing in the cool light. He’s not paying attention to your demonstration, but that’s okay. You love him enough to show him again and again.

“I know.” You pat your stomach with your hand gently, due to have this baby in just two weeks. You couldn’t wait to have this snuggly bundle of joy out of your body and in the real world, it had been a long pregnancy. “I wish I could stand behind you and take your hand, you know, like in the movies.”

“That’s okay ketsl,” Flip takes the proper stance and asks, “Is it like this?”

On the first throw, it kerplunk!s right into the water without so much of a single skip, making you crack up with laughter. Flip’s ears go red, but he’s determined, that’s one thing that the Marines made even more evident -- he wasn’t going to stop until he got a skip.

“Try again.” You encourage him, pushing him a little to go pick up another rock.

The second and third times are also pitiful, but on the fourth he manages to get it to skip three times before sinking, and this makes him whirl around and put his hands up in the air for you to jump and high-five.

“There!” You beam at him, proud that he didn’t give up when you know how frustrated he can sometimes get over things that didn’t really matter, “You’ve got it!”

On the sixth attempt, he got the stone to skip ten whole times before sinking, and even people who are walking by with their families, strollers, dogs, bicycles, are all stopping to point out how impressive that was. Your husband beams with pride, and once again immediately looks to you for your praise.

Instead of giving it to him with words, you simply grasp him by the collar of his sherpa lined jacket and tug him town to meet your lips with a smiling kiss. He happily wraps his arms around you and holds you close, kissing you back with happy excitement.

“Make a wish honey.” You smile brightly.

Flip looks out at the lake then, and then looks back down at you, a light blush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he rubs his nose against yours and replies with a dreamlike look to his eyes, “It already came true.”

Grinning at him, you only kiss him again, and again, the stones, the picnic, and the park melting away into the background of your love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging some Flip loving friends!

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip @goddessofsprings @sweetlyours @mrs-gucci @baubub @bucky-j-barnes @beachwoodmonet @darkhairedmenrule @nekonaomitard @einmal-im-traum @justlenastuff @ohsolonelyghosts @depressedkyloren @pop-rocks-and-skittles @emi11ie @durangoninetyfive

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #adam driver fanfic #adcu #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman fluff

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

Spread ‘Em Wide {Clyde Logan x pregnant!Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! happy memorial day everyone :) I’m so soft for Clyde and his pregnant girl...but I’m also horny. so, this is the resulting fic lol

**this is part of the Clyde & Pumpkin AU**

warnings: smut. fluff. literally just smut. error: plot not found. pregnancy/belly kink. some breeding kink (v light, though). use of a clit vibrator. a dash of dirty talk.

(possible) tw’s: pregnancy.

“Oh pumpkin, oh honey…” Clyde sighs, kissing your lips as his hands gently hold your hips, pulling you further onto his lap.

You whine softly into his mouth, already feeling your panties soaking. Pregnancy hormones were no joke, you’ve discovered, especially in the second trimester when you began showing.

Luckily, Clyde is always ready and willing to help you out with your sudden feelings of intense horniness.

“Ye look so pretty, so fuckin’ beautiful all swollen like this.” He moans, hips pressing up against you. “Love havin’ ya on top of me, pressin’ yer big belly on me, pumpkin.”

You bite your lip, looking down at your handsome husband with lust-blown eyes. “Yeah? You like seeing me pregnant?”

“Shit, oh god, y-yeah.”

His cock throbs beneath his jeans and he groans, nodding eagerly, beard gently scratching your neck as he kisses and nips your skin.

Your hands run through his hair as he continues his assault on your neck, covering seemingly every inch of it with kisses.

“Wanna put ‘nother one in ye, pumpkin, keep ya swollen ‘s long as I can.” His hips buck up gently as he nips your collarbones. “Love burying my cum in ya.”

You moan softly as he pulls your shirt up over your head, licking his lips when his eyes come in contact with your breasts. You’ve grown two sizes during the pregnancy, and you practically spill out of every bra you own now, even if you buy the correct size.

Clyde loves it, though, and his mouth instantly gets to work on the exposed mounds poking out the top of the cups. “Jesus, I love these tits so fuckin’ much, love seein ‘em spill out of yer bra. So big, so full...fuck.”

“P-Please.” You whine, starting to bounce lightly up and down on him. “I’m ready for you, wanna ride your big fat cock, Clyde.”

He growls, holding your hips still.

“So eager, hm? I think I wanna take ye from behind today, pumpkin, get real far inside ye so that I can put my cum in nice n’ deep.”

The prospect makes you shudder with excitement. “Where do y-you want me?”

His lips curl up into a small smirk and he leans forward, mouthing at your earlobe, breath hot.

“Go on upstairs n’ bend yourself over on the bed. Take these leggin’s off, hold onto the headboard, n’ spread yer legs nice n’ wide for me. Can ye do that, pumpkin?”

You quickly nod and get up off his lap, walking upstairs as fast as was possible with a pregnant belly. Your leggings are all but torn off, with a bit of maneuvering of course, before you take your position on the bed.

Clyde comes up a minute later, groaning softly as he sees you fully naked and bent over just as he’d asked. He quickly sheds his clothes and strokes himself as he walks up beside you, spreading your lips with his prosthetic, extra careful as your glistening folds are exposed.

He suddenly gets an idea, pulling away and walking over to the closet, pulling out one of your favorite clit vibrators. He puts a dot of lube on the toy before turning to the lowest setting, setting it gently on your sensitive nub.

The way you gasp and your hips instinctively roll down against it makes Clyde throb in his palm.

“Yeah, yer pussy loves this lil thing, huh pumpkin?”

You nod, biting your lip as your hips grind roughly and desperately down onto the small toy. You’re sweating with the effort, quickly reaching the edge of orgasm. He couldn’t believe how quickly you’d reached this point.

“G-Gon--gonna fucking c-cum, baby.”

When Clyde senses you’re about to orgasm, he clicks the button, turning it up a setting. Your eyes fly open and you cry out as an intense and sudden climax hits.

“Fuck, oh god, C-Clyde!”

The headboard bangs on the wall as your hips buck and squirm against the vibrations, enjoying the delicious pressure and subtle pain of overstimulation.

As soon as you’re finished, he turns off the toy and tosses it onto his pile of clothes, quickly mounting the mattress behind you. He rubs his cockhead through your slick, moaning softly when he feels how much has come along with your orgasm before lining up with your entrance.

“Ya ready, pumpkin?”

You nod, and he holds your hips as he pushes forward, sheathing himself fully inside you with a long, drawn out growl.

“Lord...j-jesus christ, Y/N.”

Your hands tighten against the beam of the headboard as your body begins rocking back and forth with each snap of your husband’s skilled hips.

“O-Oh, Clyde, baby…”

“Goddamn lil pussy’s gon’ be the d-death o’ me, I s-swear.” He mumbles, fucking you a little faster. “Yer fuckin’ soaked, pumpkin, so wet fer my c-cock.”

The whole bed squeaks and creaks against the hardwood as Clyde fucks you harder, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls.

“Y-Yes, baby, yes!” You cry when he begins stroking that one special spot inside of you. “Right there, oh yeah honey, right f-fucking there!”

Clyde absolutely loves it when you make lots of noise for him, because he knows it’s all genuine. That’s one thing you told him right off the bat when you first met ten years ago, that you’d never, ever fake sexual noises or releases. And you never did.

His strokes speed up and he switches the position of his thrusts a bit so that he’s now coming up a bit underneath you. This allowed him to fully rub against your g-spot while also continuing the deep penetration that comes with the doggy-style position.

You’re seeing stars as you cum for the second time that evening, tears burning in your eyes as you cry out again with orgasm. Your walls grip him tightly and spasm around him, hips jerking randomly as you ride out your climax.

He cums not too long after you, good hand reaching up to grip your shoulder as he ruts his hips erratically, cock buried as deeply inside you as it can while rope after rope of thick seed spurts into your cunt.

“Fuck, p-pumpkin, take it all inside ye. That’s--ohhhh--that’s right, ma g-good girl, ma good lil w-wife.”

It’s already pouring out of you even before Clyde pulls out, dripping down your thighs and even some onto the bedding below. He always has really big loads, which at first he was embarrassed by, but you quickly showed him how much you loved it when he made a mess of you.

Both of you are catching your breath as Clyde slides out of you, then gets up to grab a warm washcloth. He wipes your folds gently, planting a soft kiss on your oversensitive clit before wiping up your thighs, nonchalantly tossing the used cloth aside before laying down. He has a hand on your back the entire time you gently lay down onto the bed, pulling you close once you’re down comfortably.

His textured fingertips lightly trace random patterns on your swollen stomach, laughing softly to himself when the baby starts kicking. You laugh, too, your fingers playing with his raven waves.

“She knows her daddy already.” You say with a smile.

Clyde beams with pride, scooting down so that his face can be nice and close to your stomach.

“Hey there, lil peach. Yer mom ‘n me are real excited to meet ya in a few months, an’ so are yer aunt and uncle. You’re already so loved, peach, yer not gon’ know what to do with all of it when ya finally get here.”

You both laugh softly, and your eyes fill up with tears as you rub the back of Clyde’s head. He kisses your bump, hand still rubbing it, before sliding back up to kiss you on the lips.

“Yer amazin’, ya know that? Givin’ me a daughter, carryin’ her fer me...I’ll never be able to repay ya in this lifetime, but I’ll do my damndest.” He smiles, kissing you again. “I love ya so damn much, Y/N, ma beautiful wife ‘n momma of m’ daughter.”

Tears are beginning to dribble down your cheeks, feeling so overwhelmed with love at this moment. You’re sure that you’ll never get used to Clyde’s love and appreciation for you, but you still treasure it very, very much.

You nuzzle your nose against his, unable to wipe the smile from your expression.

“I love you more, Clyde.”

#adamdriverwriter #adcu author #adcu writer #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver smut #adam driver fluff #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x you #clyde logan x reader smut #clyde logan x you smut #tw: pregnancy #cw: pregnancy #clyde logan smut #clyde x reader #clyde logan fluff #clyde & pumpkin au

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sunlightandsuffering · 3 years

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I have another btl hc. Mikasa is smart istg but so innocent at the same time and when Eren is fucking her, she just becomes a little dumb bitch. Eren loves how she can't say something coherent or how she cries bc his dick it's too big and she is trying to take it. So when he is really horny (all the time) he's breeding kink show up and start to ask her if she knows how the babies are made, she is to busy being fucked dumb and just say no with the head

Idk why a man explaining this to me while he is hitting makes me horny lmfo

STOP THIS IS SO HOT I LOVE IT!! NO I totally get u anon, something about being fucked so dumb u can't think just 🥵🥵 I think this might be better in corruption AU? Because in that one Mikasa is like crazy smart, she's only a little bit ditzy when it comes to Eren and I could totally see this happening especially bc Eren has his whole complex about secretly hating her. He'd be so happy if he fucked her so dumb she didn't know.

Eren doesn't know why this turns him on so much, probably some psychologically messed up crap but he can't help it, it's so hot. Smart, elite, prim Mikasa at his mercy, the smartest girl in their grade and his tutor, in his arms while he fucks her into the navy blue sheets of his bed. Her eyes are glassy, glazed over a bit, she's cum so many times now he can't blame her. The first when he'd eaten her out and then when he'd teased her with her vibrator until she screamed for him, and now as he hits her deep, every time, his fat cock disappearing inside her so easily, she's so sensitive, letting out these sweet little whimpers whenever he bumps at her cervix.

Eren leans in closer, one hand holding himself up above her while the other holds her leg up to his shoulder for better access and she cries as he stretches it back a little further, forcing himself deeper. He's close, so close, his stomach muscles twitching with how he holds back but he wants something, he's not entirely sure what until he opens his mouth, but Mikasa at his mercy is everything. "'M gonna cum inside you Miks."

She squints her eyes shut, nodding as she bites her lip, completely engulfed by the pleasure. He pushes just a little more, "Know what happens when I do that Mikasa?" Her eyes open up a little bit, tilting her head curiously and he hits her just right, she whines around him.

"Mikasa, I asked you a question?" He stops his motion, letting himself rest inside her for a second and it's so deliciously warm and tight, it's everything. She shakes her head aggressively, "No, Ren, please?" She doesn't even care, that's obvious and he smirks. "Baby so fucked out she doesn't know huh?"

She's still shaking her head, in the fog of lust and he moves just slightly, circling his hips, his cock moving inside her for her honesty and she sighs in relief.

"Should I tell you Miks? Tell my little slut how if I fuck her she'll get pregnant?" Mikasa nods, as soon as soon as she hears the phrase "fuck her" she's nodding so vehemently her whole body shakes. And Eren can't say no, not to her. He resumes a slow pace inside her, rocking into her all the way, his hips connecting with her, giving it to her deep so she can feel every precious inch of him, all that he's got to give.

"First baby, I fuck you nice and deep, make sure you're all wet for me, just like you are now." Her hands grip his arm for purchase, "Then," he picks up his pace, thrusting a little harder, "you start squeezing me, lets me know you want to take it, you want to take all my cum, fuck." He groans as he feels her walls contract around him, another orgasm for his pretty girl. she's convulsing in his arms and he doesn't care how overstimulated she is, he hits her womb every time, leaning in to whisper, "I fuck you so deep you can feel me in ur tummy yeah?In your womb, that's where I'm gonna put a baby."

He moves a hand down to rub at her stomach, slowing down again and Mikasa cries for him, "Eren please!" He's rubbing it so tenderly, his brain fogged with Mikasa, all nice and round with his kid, and he knows she's on birth control right now, but fuck one day.

He picks up his pace brutally, Mikasa basically permanently pressed into the bed, no escape, all she can do is take him, take his cock and nothing else. "Then baby, when I'm as deep as I can get," he groans as her hands tangle in his hair, "I give you all my cum, and you take it baby. All of it." And that's exactly what she does as Eren paints her walls white, shooting as deep as he can get, pulling her thighs up to tilt her hips back so she can keep it all inside. She might be on birth control now, but this is good practice for one day.

#lys's drabbles

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astermacguffin · 3 years

Text

Okay. I warn y'all that this is very much a Poast™. This is another one of Those Poasts™. You have been warned.

I very much blame (affectionate) @autisticandroids for this, since this is pretty much me trying to combine as many concepts as possible from the #mpregpocalypse tag.

In this au, Cas is pretty much just collecting babies left and right. The following stuff are all simultaneously true in this spn mpreg rewrite:

- Cas absorbs the deanlisa baby and carries the child himself. This is his first pregnancy. This is also the most "monstrous" of his children because of the godstiel stuff and the leviathans.

- For maximum effect, I don't want Cas to give birth just yet. I want Benny to see Cas with the baby bump and put the dots together in his head. I want Cas to give birth alone, after Dean and Benny already went through the rift. I want Naomi to take Cas out of purgatory and leave his child alone there. I want Cas to grieve for the loss of his child when he remembers. (We'll go back to this in the future.)

- Dean fucks Casifer at one point and impregnates Cas' body. (I mean, with Casifer peeling off his layers and thotting up the place while in the bunker? Not surprising tbh.) NOTE. I wanna be clear with something: this baby is Dean and Lucifer's nephil. I mean, biologically it's a Destiel baby, but with Cas' grace growing weaker and him being possessed by Lucifer, in terms of grace this is pretty much Lucifer's nephil. (But also not??? Because what allowed the conception to happen in the first place is Cas wanting it SO BAD.)

- No one else notices the conception of this baby because Cas hides it within himself (the same way he did with the deanlisa baby) and pauses the pregnancy at will.

- When Cas meets Kelly, they are very much BOTH pregnant with Lucifer's kid. Remember that screenshot where they both look pregnant and bonding about their babies? Yeah, this is inspired by that. When Cas touches Kelly's baby bump and they like soulbond or whatever, Kelly looks at him and goes "oh you're pregnant too?"

- Cas tells him that it's Dean's child, but leaves out the Lucifer part. They already have one Lucifer nephil in danger, he doesn't need anyone else knowing this secret (especially since he hid the nature of this child so well for so long). Kelly thinks he's hiding it because of the Dean part.

- They both know Kelly's not gonna survive giving birth, so they already have a plan: Cas will transfer the pregnancy to himself when it's almost time for Jack to come out (the same way he did with the deanlisa baby). Cas is confident that he'll survive what Kelly cannot. (His hubris, of course, always tend to bite him back.) Dean, Mary, and Sam arrive just in time to see Cas pregnant and about to give birth. Kelly catches them up on the plot.

- Cas dies of childbirth due to an unexpected complication: the pregnancy transfer triggers the birth of the other child inside him, which makes him give birth to TWO children. The strength of the explosion unfortunately kills both him and Kelly, rendering Cas' sacrifice as pointless. (As much as I wanna keep Kelly alive, the point of this au is to inflict as much damage as possible)

- Lucifer and Mary still get stuck in Apocalypse world, and now Dean and Sam have to care for TWO children, one of which is Jack (who still grows quickly) and...another baby? They have no idea who the fuck this baby is until they find two videos: one made by Kelly and one by Cas (a backup plan they made just in case one or both of them don't survive).

- In the video, Cas reveals that the child is his and Dean's nephil (again, removing the Lucifer part). Dean just takes it in stride (since they had enough sex in the later seasons for it to be a genuine possibility) and takes Cas's word.

- In any other scenario, Sam would definitely be teasing Dean for impregnating Cas. But since Cas is dead and they're still grieving, he shelves this conversation for a future time. (With so much plot happening, Sam never finds the right chance and eventually just forgets it. He's just happy that he was right all along.)

- They agree to never let anyone else learn about the baby's nature, which the baby seems to understand as well, choosing to not manifest any angelic abilities. In fact, the baby internalized Cas' instructions to keep all their secrets under wraps that the kid goes selectively mute throughout the series. (I wanna see Eileen teaching ASL to the kid.)

- The two babies scenario works great for two reasons: it satisfies my "give Dean a baby" instinct (that pretty much drives my baby jack truthing) while still keeping Jack the way that he is in canon.

- Dean lets the baby rest on Cas' chest for a short while before wrapping Cas up with the curtains. Both Dean and the baby cry over the body.

- I want to give Jack as many Problems Disorders in this au. I want him to be jealous of the way Dean treats his twin (because they're pretty much twins, right? They have the same grace-father, they got birthed by the same body, so yeah).

- Dean treats the baby with as much care and love while still treating Jack like shit. Sam once calls him out on it and says "Dean, they're both Cas' children." Dean throws out an "I can hardly look at the freak" rant. Jack wakes up Cas from the Empty, yada yada.

More fucked up shit below the cut:

- I wanna keep this as close to canon as I can, so Dean would still exhibit suicidality before Tombstone. You would think that the baby would at least hinder this instinct, but he genuinely believes that he's poison and that everyone he touches dies. (And besides, Sam is good with both Jack and the baby so they won't need me anymore, right?)

- Cas comes back, and things mostly stay the same as in canon (except there's now a baby there, who honestly won't influence much of the plot until later). Dean never really apologized that much to Jack in canon (and I still hate it) but in this au, it would work perfectly. I want Jack to believe that Dean still sees him as a freak, even if he's a bit nicer now that Cas is back. (I can and will put my entire pussy into the Dean-as-John, Jack-as-Sam parallels.)

- When Jack kills Mary, Cas hides it from Dean and Sam. We're going full Torturewife on this one, folks.

- Jack's truth spell forces Cas to confess that (1) Cas hid the fact about Jack's soullessness; (2) Cas lied about Jack killing Mary, and; (3) the Destiel baby is technically a Dean/Lucifer nephil. Chaos fucking ensues.

- Dean has to confront the fact that both of the kids (HIS kids) are Lucifer's spawn.

- Chuck doesn't really care about the baby since it never manifested any powers (yet), unlike Jack (who is a genuine threat to him).

- Moriah happens, Jack dies. (And it's even more fucked up now because despite being soulless, Jack remembers all the insecurities he got from Dean. The "It's okay, I understand" line Jack says to Dean while having a gun pointed to him is sooooooo.) Rupture happens, their divorce is finalized and Cas takes custody of the baby.

- Cas having some father-child bonding with the baby as a breather between all this fucked up stuff.

- The Trap happens, they make up, and oh? Who's this person who helped Cas escape and get the flower? It's the deanlisa baby, but now grown! Together with Emma! She was thankfully found by her big sister, Emma, when she was a baby in purgatory. She had to grow up fast and now they survive together.

- After eating Eve in order to save Cas, the deanlisa child is now technically the new Mother of monsters. Dean explains the Chuck problem, so the two choose to come with them to help.

- Cas never really explained the deanlisa baby, huh? When they get back with their now grown child (and Emma, who doesn't really hold a grudge over the entire Sam killing her thing) and Cas explains, Dean is baffled but takes it in stride. I mean, they just made up! He doesn't wanna fight with him anymore and he wants the family together again!

- They make the two stay with the baby so they'll be safe in the bunker while they try to trap Chuck with the Mark of Cain spell. It fails, of course. (But hey, at least there was sibling bonding time in the bunker.)

- Billie brings back Jack and they formulate a plan (Billie doesn't go evil in this one btw.) They strengthen Jack, Jack knows that he'll be a bomb and is totally fine with it. "Maybe if I do this one good thing, Dean won't see me as a freak anymore." Remember, Jack internalized a lot of the shit Dean said.

- Cas attempts to call out the self-sacrificial bullshit and that Dean actually loves him, but Jack insists. "You would do the same! In fact, you have done the same! (In reference to the Empty deal, which still happens here btw.) I'm just learning from all of you." If there's one thing I'm obsessed about in fics, it's when Jack calls them out for learning martyrdom from team free will.

- Dean finds out about the plan and tries to talk Jack out of it. They have a heart-to-heart, Dean finally fucking apologizes for all the complexes that he's given Jack, and Jack (for the first time) finally believes that Dean doesn't see him as a monster anymore. Jack stops the process so he doesn't become a bomb (but at least he's stronger than he was before).

- They call Billie to come up with an alternative plan. She considers the options, and says an alternative plan would be harder and would require more players in the field. "As long as we don't have to sacrifice any of our loved ones anymore, we're good," Dean says. "I don't think that's an easy request, but we'll try," Billie says, giving a pointed look at Cas. (Hmmmm, wonder how this would come to play later?)

- Billie points out that the destiel baby is in fact not powerless, but is instead choosing to supress their own power. If the child can be convinced to unlock their own capabilities, then perhaps they might stand a better chance at winning.

- They spread out to gather more allies: Sam goes to Rowena, Dean goes to Michael, Billie goes to Gabriel (yes, he's alive here), and the kids stay in the bunker with Cas to try and explore each other's abilities. (Since I hated the Michael-Lucifer nonsense of 15x19, none of that happens here. Lucifer doesn't go back and Michael doesn't betray them.)

- Jack finds out that he can push out all the energy he gathered for the bomb into a one-time-use blast. They find out that the baby can apparently enhance the power of whoever they're holding. And the new Eve apparently has traces of Godstiel/Leviathan still in her after being in the womb with them. (She also spends the time catching up with Cas because they've not seen each other for years.) Emma is just vibing there, adoring her powerful younger siblings and interrogating her father's...husband? Boyfriend? Ex? (She's still confused about their status.)

- This goes just like in S11, and they go all out and attack Chuck together until he's weak enough for Death's scythe. There's one shot where the kids are just holding hands to power each other for Jack to deliver a fatal blow. Billie is just around the corner, ready for the final blow, when Cas turns to Dean.

- "Dean, I need to say something." Cue the 15x18 confession scene, except this time Dean knows about the deal now. So the moment Dean realizes what Cas is doing, he tries to stop him.

- "Stop, please stop. Don't say it, you don't have to say it." Because of course, happiness is in just being, it's in just saying it. And Dean knows what true happiness would do.

- But unfortunately, Cas has to do it. (Billie talked to him about it, and her scythe won't exactly do a clean job with something as powerful as a Chuck-Amara hybrid. I don't know when or why they fused together since the bomb plan was cancelled, but it happened here okay? Yeah. So they need something that is guaranteed to be older and greater than God or the Darkness—the Empty. Billie can only go there, but she can't summon it to be on Earth. Enter Cas' deal.)

- Cas says "I love you," Dean reciprocates, they share a final kiss, and then Billie finally reaps God. The Empty arrives to take Chuck, and Cas shares one final moment with his kids before accepting his fate.

- Billie goes to the Empty to make sure the job was done, and she finally gives the Shadow the sleep that she promised. She uses her scythe on the Shadow, because death is the final slumber. (Of course, you can't exactly kill nothingness; she only destroyed an embodiment/personification of the Empty.)

- Post-fight. They're happy because Chuck is finally defeated but also...Cas. Before they even have the chance to process what the fuck just happened, Billie is back and she has Cas with her. "I just put the Shadow into sleep, so it's not like anyone would notice," she says. The problem is that Cas is still very much asleep. (He still has some grace here btw. Maybe he's not at full angel anymore, but he's not fully human either. There wasn't a need to cut out his grace without warning.)

- Dean and the kids crowd Cas' body. The baby's touch on Cas's shoulder (which burns a mark that parallels Dean's) is what wakes him up. Reunion kiss!

- Happy ending! Michael (with Adam) goes back to heaven to fix things, and they are very much implied to be a couple. Midam rights babyyyyyy! Gabriel goes back to roaming the world and occasionally visits the kids.

- Sam and Eileen organizes a hunter's network and organizes a bunch of safety protocols and rehabilitation projects with the help of the new Eve (which most monsters obey, key word most). Oh, and Saileen definitely swings regularly with Rowena (and occasionally with Gabriel when he's around).

- Emma decides that she likes hanging out with the Wayward Sisters better (and you know what? Good for her). The new Eve decides to hang out there often as well (whenever she isn't busy with monster diplomacy or something).

- When Jack finally feels safe and peaceful enough, he reverts back to his child form. The baby, who has been selectively mute this entire time, holds their brother's face in recognition and utters their first word, which is "JACK!" Dean and Cas cry in joy over this entire exchange. (That's his twin! He missed his twin!)

- They move out of the bunker to get their own house by a lake or something. Whenever the topic of pregnancy comes up again ("Dean, when do you want another baby again?"), they can now playfully joke about it and Dean says something like "Don't steal someone else's baby again, okay? The next baby to be inside you needs to be mine." They're both stupidly horny about the subject, I hate them so much.

- Whenever there's an important event, they all celebrate it in the bunker for the extra space (because their family is, indeed, very large). END.

There's something poetic to me about the Empty being the one that beats Chuck in this mpreg rewrite because technically, the Empty is the Original Womb that gave birth to God. It it the nothingness of potential, the dark water of pregnant beginnings.

All this talk about the Empty and stuff also made me stop and think about the metaphysics of spn. The fact that the Darkness and the Empty are two distinct entities says something interesting about the metaphysical reality of spn. It doesn't treat darkness as a mere absence of light, a mere nothingness, but rather a thing/substance of its own. It's a very Manichean kind of metaphysics as opposed to a Platonic/Neoplatonic one. (Oh, St. Augustine would probably have a blast trying to unravel whatever the fuck is happening with spn.)

The fact that it's also Cas' free will that brought upon God's demise? Delicious.

(If you're still reading, congratulations for finishing my very long spn mpreg rewrite. Why did you do this to yourself tho.)

(also apologies if I didn't give a name to Jack's siblings. I haven't thought of a good name for them just yet)

#spn #destiel #mpregpocalypse #long post #literally what the fuck is this post #aster writes #spn mpreg rewrite #tw suicide #tw mpreg

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shades-of-stony · 3 years

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ABO Stony AUs! (Part 2)

As promised, here is part 2! [link to Part 1] I’m not sure if I’m gonna make part 3 but there are still a bit ABO fics left.

A King For Christmas by iam93percentstardust

Summary: In 1867, Tony Stark flees New York after refusing to marry the alpha his parents chose for him. His money runs out in the small kingdom of Dacia, ruled over by King Steven of the Rogers line. Somehow, and he’s not entirely sure how, he ends up accepting the position of nanny to the king’s four children: Harley, Peter, Sarah, and Morgan.

Tony bonds with the children easily but their father is harder to get to know. Steve is still grieving his wife’s death four years earlier. His continued mourning has turned the once bright halls into dark and somber shadows of their former glory. Tony isn’t entirely certain what he can do but he knows that he has to do something or else the whole country, so attuned to their leader, will sink into despair. He begins by reconciling the king with his young children.

Meanwhile, the children have decided that it’s high time their father fall in love again—and Tony is the obvious choice. They concoct elaborate plans to force the two together, hardly realizing that Steve and Tony are falling in love, not through their shenanigans but through the quiet moments they share bonding over the love they have for the children.

What, Like It’s Hard? by JehBeeEh

Summary: Omega Tony Stark has it all, until his alpha boyfriend breaks his heart. In an effort to win him back, he follows the alpha of his dreams to Harvard Law School, where he discovers there might be more to being the first omega at the prestigious school. He also meets another alpha that might just make him forget the one he drove across the country for.

Two-Point Perspective by FestiveFerret for sabrecmc

Dear omega,

Congratulations! You've been selected. Alpha #95847872 has been assigned as your pre-bondee. A group bonding ceremony will take place on the 14th, unless other arrangements have been made by your alpha or their family. A valid bonding license must be submitted to Omega Services within 45 days of this letter or all services will be cancelled and any transferable benefits will not be applied to your alpha's package.

If there is some reason why you cannot be bonded on this date, please apply for an extension by calling 1-800-555-6827 within 7 days of receiving this letter.

Sincerely, National Omega Services

I Love You (From the Bottom to the Top) by RomancebyFaye for Reioka

Summary: Steve and Tony have a great relationship. They may have only been dating for a few months, but the truth is, they had been in love for years before that. Their relationship is only getting better from adding this new intimacy and Steve is very satisfied with how open Tony is in the bedroom. He’s giving and generous, sometimes to a fault, just as he is with everything.

And then Steve comes home early and catches sight of something he wasn’t meant to see. The shock he gets from the sight of watching his alpha ride a toy might not have been meant for him, but it doesn't stop him from wanting.

Now, if he can just figure out how to tell Tony how much he wants what he witnessed without putting his foot in his mouth…

Or Tony offers Steve something in the bedroom and Steve misunderstands the offer.

Until he doesn’t.

A Prime, Divided by avengersasssemble

Summary: Facing his and his infant son's possible death sentence, young prince Tony runs away to the only place where his father would dare not follow: the Northern Territories, known to house the most savage and brutal Alphas--including their bloodthirsty leader, the Prime Alpha. Forced to navigate fatherhood and diplomacy while being unable to speak the Northern language, Tony has to make decisions to save his son, even at his own expense.

Oversight by ShyOwl

Summary: It really wasn’t Steve’s fault that no one knew he was an omega.

I Love You 3000 by NazakiSama166

Summary: After the death of his husband, the only thing Steven Rogers could think of was going on and dying in one of his missions, and Steven was happy to get his wish.... that was until he woke up in a strange universe when people can shift into wolves and men can get pregnant... Oh, and did he mention that Tony was there too and was in love with his younger jackass self? And let's not forget about Peggy...

Life just loves to mess with him...

Dear Enemy by AvengersNewB

Summary: Alpha Steve and omega Tony are SHIELD agents who don't always see eye to eye, but some benefits on the side help them work things out in the most non-traditional way. Steve's jealousy after an unfortunate encounter with Ty Stone, however, makes things complicated.

Love Match by FestiveFerret

Summary: Tony had but one goal for the season: secure a marriage proposal from an alpha with the position and means enough to remove him from his father's house. Love was wholly irrelevant to the matter.

Stuck in a... by Annie D (scaramouche)

Summary: Steve gets into a serum-enhanced rut. Tony figures that there’d be a long list of people who’d volunteer to help Steve out, but there’s only one person Steve wants.

A Late-Night Snacks, and Other Good Ideas by Annie D (scaramouche)

Summary: Steve's heightened senses means that he always knows when Tony's in heat. One night, he finally does something about it.

citrus and lavender by JehBeeEh

Summary: Steve laid Tony on his bed as delicately as he could manage. Which was ridiculous because he knew, logically, that Tony was absolutely fine. JARVIS himself had told him. And that’s 100% why he had fought Natasha so hard on Tony not needing to go to medical when they came back, even though he probably could use the check up. Yup. That was definitely the only reason he had insisted on bringing Tony back to the penthouse. No other reason at all. If you keep this up, you just might start believing it, he thought to himself ruefully. Tony wasn’t his. He had made it very clear that he didn’t need some alpha in his life to mess with everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish. Especially not Steve Rogers.

Found Love in a Hopeless Place by crispybacon

Summary: Steve really, really did not want to tag along with his brother to the bar, no matter how many times the jerk nagged him that he needed to get laid. Just because Bucky’s known his Omega since kindergarten, and the pair have loud obnoxious sex in their shared small two bedroom apartment, didn’t mean Steve needed to stick his knot in any Omega that looks his way.

That’s not the kind of Alpha Steve was.

Or, Steve goes to a bar and meets an Omega with a complicated past that changes his life forever.

This is Not a Drill by sabrecmc

Summary: “Can I—can I see him? I mean meet him. Uh…welcome him to the team?” Tony clarified, probably not very well, he knew.

“Well…there’s a bit of an issue with that,” Fury said, and Tony figured this was where Fury got to whatever it was that had really forced his hand and made him call Tony in, knowing how much the man detested having to do so. “You see, well. He was suspended in the ice for nearly seventy years,” Fury began. Tony nodded along, because he could do math.

“I’m sure he has a lot of adjusting to do—“ Tony started.

“Seventy years,” Fury repeated, cutting Tony off and leaning back in his chair and making it rock slightly. “Of no suppressants.”

“Oh,” Tony managed to choke out past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Oh.”

Everybody's got a hungry heart. by Perlmutt for ShadowsintheClouds

Summary: Tony Stark has never experienced a true heat due to the suppressants he's taking on a daily basis. Society accepts him as a beta, together with his friends and teammates and the alpha he's secretly in love with. But some things are just too big to be kept hidden forever. An unfortunate turn of events forces Tony to reveal his biggest secret to the world...

Baby, Just Say Yes by betheflame for starksnack

Summary: In a world where Tony's life looks a lot like Taylor Swift's, Steve realizes there always more to omegas than meets the eye.

Apple Pie and Sunshine by betheflame, starksnack

Summary: Even though they've loved each other for years, Steve and Tony have each convinced themselves that their one-night-stand was a fluke. Thing is, it also resulted in Tony getting pregnant and as the birth approaches, perhaps it's time to use their words.

blue since the day we parted by funkyspacegirlfriend

Summary: When he's twenty, the man Tony thinks will be his alpha and mate walks away, leaving Tony with a gift he'll never regret.

The same alpha reappears fifteen years later in the form of SI's new military liaison.

In my Favorite Dreams (I feel your heat) by Corsets_and_Cardigans for wingheads

Summary: Steve is on his morning run in DC when a ghost from his past comes back into his life. And he's not alone. *** “Steve?” Sam’s voice cut through the veil of the past, the crushing weight of memory that stole his breath. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

His staring must have finally alerted another parent, a woman eyeing him warily while tugging on Tony’s sleeve until he turned around. His eyes were just as expressive and wide as they were ten years ago, piercing the cold morning air straight to Steve’s own.

“Tony.”

“Wait. Tony Tony? The Tony? The Tony that Bucky busts your chops over Tony?”

His voice cracked, wrent into pieces at seeing his omega who wasn’t his anymore, body flaring in pain. Years worth of aching denial like a hot fireplace poker to his soul. “Yeah.”

“Okay then, who’s the kid?”

The Couch by Perlmutt

Summary: Steve overstepped a mark, when he accidentally called Tony, his mate, tiny. Because his omega was very self-conscious when it came to his height. So he needed to show him that he thought Tony's perfect just the way he was, if he didn't want to sleep on the couch for the next week. Luckily Steve was the man with a plan...

be the summer in my heart by billyscissors

Summary: After Obadiah betrays the Southern Isles, he offers Omega Prince Anthony Stark as tribute to appease the Warlord of the North

#stony #stony fics #stony fanfic #steve and tony #stevetony #stevetony fanfic #stevetony fic rec #stevetony fic #stony fic #SUPERHUSBANDS #fic rec

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 20.9k / genre: street racer au, driftracer!jimin, driftracer!reader, rivals to lovers, smut, some fluff too

summary: You used to think that there was nothing better than the sensation of coming first place. However, your rival- the talented, gorgeous, dangerous Park Jimin- is more than happy to prove you wrong.

warnings: unsafe driving (street races are technically illegal), cursing, sexually explicit content, fingering, slight orgasm delay, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cum eating, unprotected sex, car sex (duh), creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk I think that’s everything

EDIT: part two now available!

It’s hot tonight.

Humid, too. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo and your makeup is fierce, as always, and despite the mugginess in the air, you’re still wearing your usual leather jacket even though you can feel how the inside lining is sticking to your skin. You have appearances to maintain and the pastel pink jacket is part of your signature look, even in the heat of summer.

“Busy tonight,” Taehyung comments idly as he leans against the side of your car, and you hum in response.

“Good turn out.” You slam the bright red hood of your baby shut, finally satisfied. “Get off, please.”

Taehyung pouts as he does what he’s told, and pouts even harder when you end up reclining against the hood of the car, leaning your weight into your palms. Jungkook snickers at him from where he’s squatted to shut the toolbox and you laugh when Taehyung swings a halfhearted kick at the younger boy which is effortlessly parried.

The mountain road in Seongdong-gu is crowded. It’s rammed full of fans, throngs of men and women swarming the start of tonight’s route, mingling with each other and ogling the cars and their racers. Most people give you a wide berth, though; by now they’ve learned to stay away from your Pontiac, even if the flame-bright 2007 Solstice GXP is eye-catching in its rarity. Most racers don’t take kindly to random strangers touching their vehicles anyway. Jungkook and Taehyung are the only people who can touch your Solstice without you ripping them to shreds, your childhood friends working alongside you to make sure the engine is in full working order for the rigorous pacing you’re about to put it through.

Sometimes, though, other racers come over to try and flirt with you, usually people new to Seoul, unfamiliar with the circuit. You’ll giggle and simper under their gazes, acting like the ditz that they think you are, coquettish flirting that they don’t realise is a front. You know that a female drift racer is an oddity, and you are especially so with your American sports car standing out amongst a collection of souped up Nissans and Toyotas— you know they think you’re here for fun. That you’re in over your head.

You always make sure to prove them wrong.

“Heads up,” Jungkook mutters. You glance up to see where he’s looking, the lingering smile of your laughter immediately smoothing out when you spot who it is, face going neutral as you sit up.

Park Jimin looks beautiful tonight. He always does, though; plump lips, soft face, eyes darkened with shimmer, the blond of his styled hair contrasting with the dark roots of his undercut. Arresting and stunning. And, just like you, an oddity on these tracks. He knows how good he looks and leans into that beauty, and you know that the other men on this circuit used to underestimate him because of it, too. Just like they had with you and the overtly feminine colours of your outfits. A masquerade.

“Jimin.” You greet him coolly.

“Y/n,” he responds, as cordial as always. He tilts his head, the chains in his earrings swinging with the motion. “You’re looking well today.” When you don’t respond, he continues: “I came over to wish you good luck for the race.”

“I don’t need luck, but thank you.”

Jimin seems amused, smiling a little at your statement. You keep your eyes locked on his, refusing to let your gaze fall down to his lips. You never let yourself be caught off guard around him.

You remember when he’d first started here, slipping into the pack of racers without any of them taking notice, a quiet, beautiful man surrounded by larger, louder men, his Skyline GTR just one car amongst many— but from the second you’d laid eyes on him, you’d known he was a force to be reckoned with. You could read it in every line of his stance, the way he moved, and how he had introduced himself to you: politely and civilly. No preening and strutting around, no sly attempts to look down your shirt, no ham-handed attempts at negging you.

Isn’t it sad that the second someone around here treats you like an equal, you have to be on guard?

“Good luck to you,” you say. Jimin laughs outright at this, the implication that you don’t need luck but he does; he seems genuinely amused rather than offended. He’s beautiful when he laughs, eyes squeezing shut into crescents, the apples of his cheeks defined with how his lips curve upwards, and honestly, it’s almost overwhelming— how he instantly turns so boyish, rather than remaining like some sort of distant, ethereal angel of beauty.

For all that you consider Jimin a threat and your biggest rival— in your opinion your win records are starting to look too even— you don’t actually dislike him. It’s just wariness on your part, tempered with respect, though you have no idea what Jimin really thinks about you.

“Thank you.”

He leaves after giving you one, last lingering look, expression unreadable, returning to his black Nissan and his group that surround it. Jimin says something to Min Yoongi, who smiles so widely that you can see his gums. Taehyung muffles a small sigh of longing.

“The sexual tension between you two couldn’t be more obvious,” Jungkook says. For a second you think he’s talking about Taehyung and Yoongi, even if Yoongi isn’t looking in this direction, but then you realise Jungkook is talking about you. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Have you forgotten that I’m in a relationship, Kook?”

“You can still have sexual tension with someone.” Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “If you keep eyefucking each other like that I’m going to have to request that you start wearing protection, otherwise someone’s going to get pregnant.”

“Glasses are just eyeball condoms,” Taehyung says, and then both boys crack up.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Despite the tone of your voice a smile twists up the corners of your lips.

The only other driver who comes up to greet you is Hoseok. You genuinely like Hoseok, waving at him when he approaches and tipping your head back in laughter when he jokes with you; you’ve known him for long enough to have learned that he’s not actually sleazy, so when he says something flirtatious you play up to it and bat your eyelashes at him before the two of you end up giggling at each other. When he leaves he winks at you and you blow him a small kiss, which makes him clutch his heart as he staggers back and you laugh again.

Your smile still lingers after your laughter has faded, and you’re still smiling when you happen to make eye contact with Jimin, who’s looking over at you—the second your eyes lock he’s wrenching his gaze away, and even from this distance you can’t help but notice the hard set to his lips. Strange.

When you finally pull up to the start line, all semblance of laughter and levity has gone from your face. The course tonight isn’t entirely simple— the forested hills in the centre of Seoul are popular for good reason, usually deserted at night, the loops of the mountainous roads letting the racers show off exactly how good they are. The start line is just before a horseshoe curve, an arcing bend that’ll immediately set you at a disadvantage if you fuck up, but you’re not worried. You haven’t driven this particular route in Seongdong-gu in a race, the winding snake of a road falling down the mountainside in front of you, but you’ve driven similar routes plenty of times and all your practices have gone well. You feel confident.

Your baby purrs underneath and around you. The sound of the engine is one that’s as familiar to you as your own breathing, the feeling of the steering wheel under your hands entirely comfortable. You’re aware of every one of her parts, having rebuilt and tweaked her yourself, replacing the drop top, modifying her into the perfect drifting machine, and you’ve grown with her; you don’t like to wax lyrical but this car is an extension of yourself and you know her inside and out. Even if Jungkook and Taehyung are your friends and fellow co-owners of the garage, and help you check her over before each race, you’re the one who built her and maintains her.

Along the line other cars roll into place, flanking you. There’re familiar faces— Jimin and Hoseok, of course, but also Kim Namjoon, as well as the other usual people that Seokjin makes sure to invite to his meets, plus a few newcomers that you don’t recognise. The sound of your engines drown out the noises from the crowd, as loud as they are, milling around and holding their phones up to film the start of the race; the usual busy chaos. A flagger appears, a gorgeous girl in revealing clothes who soaks up the wolf whistles from the crowd as she saunters onto the track. You see how she flicks a wink at Namjoon, who grins back at her with bared teeth as she gets ready to motion with the checkered flag in her hands.

One of your hands tightens on the wheel. The other grips the gearstick, hard. The second the flag drops, you’re leaping forwards from the start line, Pontiac’s engine roaring as she responds eagerly to your commands. You round the first bend with ease, flicking your car into a smooth turn that sends dust flying from your tyres; in your mirrors you catch glimpses of the other drivers doing the same, and even if you weren’t familiar with the newbies and the regulars you’d be able to tell who was who from this one moment. A few struggle to complete the bend— one even goes into a tailspin, though fortunately he just stalls on the road instead of plummeting off it— and you and your competitors leave them in the dust as you approach the next turn.

Namjoon is next to you while Jimin is in front. The glint of your headlights off the sleek black paintwork of your rival's car seems almost like it’s taunting you. You grit your teeth and approach the next turn faster, harder, shaving off precious seconds by arcing your car more tightly after you’ve popped your handbrake, edging ahead of Namjoon and pulling closer to Jimin. You want to win, of course, but more than that, you have to beat him— you need another tally against your name.

The adrenaline is running high in your blood, rushing through your veins, spiking each time you squeal into another curve of road; where Jimin was initially ahead of you, you’re now almost level, approaching the last turn of the track. You suck in a lungful of air and lean your body into the weight of your car, throttling her to get more of an angle in the restricted hairpin turn, familiar and confident enough in your Solstice to know exactly how to steer her so you don’t lose control.

It’s perfect. Jimin curves out more widely and takes longer to straighten up and by this point you’ve slammed down on the accelerator for the final, straight part of the road; you scream over the finish line first to the roar of the awaiting crowd and the wide grins of your teammates, Jungkook and Taehyung elated at your win.

It doesn’t take long for the other racers to finish after you. Jimin is only a few seconds behind you, an insignificant amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment, on this track, it means everything— the difference between winning or losing.

“That was dope!” Jungkook whoops when you swing your door open, and you grin at him. You’re a little shaky as you step out of the car, breathing hard with the adrenaline that’s still in your system, lightheaded. You love this feeling. You love when you’re driving and your entire body is on edge and wound tight— but you love the come down, too, the way you can feel how the adrenaline is still roiling through your veins, dissipating.

You’re surrounded by the hubbub of the crowd, screaming and yelling at each other and the racers, but they’re still careful to steer clear of the cars. You can feel the heat of your engine through the hood and touch your fingers tenderly to the warm metal; you briefly catch Jimin’s eye as he climbs out of his Skyline but before you can do anything, your crew are grabbing you and you’re inevitably pulled away to collect your prize money and, as Taehyung says, ‘get turnt’.

(You don’t do this for the prize money, though. You don’t do it for the free booze, the drugs, the sex: none of that interests you. You do it because you love to drive, love the sensation of control as you make your car dance in ways most drivers can’t even dream of— love showing that you’re good enough to win.)

Jimin finds you later, sequestered from the crowd and sitting on the hood of your car. Even though you’d won you hadn’t searched out the limelight and had slipped out after making a cursory appearance. It’s this little ritual the two of you have, searching each other out after your races, a few stolen moments of privacy despite the throngs of fans that fill whatever area that Seokjin has relegated the afterparty to. You see that Jimin notices the still full bottle of soju in your hands. You’re only holding onto it for appearance’s sake, an excuse if someone tries to foist more on you— you don’t drink and drive.

“Congratulations,” he says. His eye makeup is a little smudged, probably from the humidity, but he looks just as alluring as before, stylish rather than mussed. “You drove beautifully.”

“So did you,” you reply, honest. It had been a close call, but Jimin had drifted as well as always, Skyline gliding as smooth and soft as silk over the rough asphalt of the mountain roads. You might be wary of Park Jimin but you’re always civil with each other and you’re nothing if not honest— he’s incredible at what he does.

“Not beautifully enough.” Jimin smiles wryly, but you know this is directed at himself and not you. You’ve never seen him act bitter after losing, unlike some other racers. Then again, he doesn’t flaunt his wins, either. Which is similar to you, you guess, although you wonder why he races at all. You don’t judge based on appearances or personality— you’re certainly the poster girl for being an unusual candidate for a street racer— but you have to wonder what set Jimin onto this path in the first place. “I’ll have to do better next time.”

“Feel free not to, I’m happy if you want to let me win,” you joke.

“We both know that’s not true.” Jimin’s smile has shifted from wry into something smaller. It feels almost like a secret, and you find your heart stuttering in your chest at the sight of it, this tiny bit of- this tiny bit of openness from him. “You want to race against the best, not someone who’ll just hand you first place.”

You blink with surprise. You can’t help but let this surprise show on your face even if you normally try to control your expressions around Jimin; you never want to show vulnerability to any of your competitors, even the ones who seem like genuinely okay people, like Namjoon or Hoseok. “That’s true,” you say. What’s the point of coming first if it isn’t actually a challenge? That’s what makes wins all the better— knowing that you’ve worked for it, that you’ve worked hard, that you’re racing against the best of the best and still come out on top. There’s a difference between being inexperienced and incompetent. You have no time for the latter.

Jimin is close enough to touch you. You’re acutely aware of the sweat that’s beaded along your hairline, both your forehead and at the back of your neck; you’ve shed your leather jacket to try your best to cool down in the humid night air and the baring of your skin has helped somewhat, shorts and vest revealing swathes of skin that can feel the light touch of the breeze, as heavy with mugginess as it is.

Of course, he doesn’t touch you. Instead he brushes his fingers across the metal of the Solstice’s hood, light enough that his fingers don’t leave a mark. Normally if anyone even approaches her you can feel your hackles rising, the urge to snap at them overwhelming— there’s a reason people usually avoid approaching your car— but for some reason Jimin doesn’t conjure this feeling in you. You let the touch pass without comment and you notice that Jimin’s fingers go still for a moment. He’d been expecting you to tell him to stop.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. He’s still looking at you.

“The love of my life.” You can’t help but smile a little when you say this. You lavish praise onto this car, calling her your love and baby, and she gives back as much as you put in.

“Mm.” Jimin hums lightly and strokes his fingers down the car again, before splaying fingers out, palm pressed flat against the hood; you hear the metal of his rings touch against it. The suspension of your Solstice isn’t exactly the highest in the world and with the curve of the hood this has Jimin leaning against it in a way that seems almost flirtatious, his hip cocked, although his expression doesn’t betray anything. He’s intimidatingly gorgeous. “What made you choose this car?”

You shrug. “Gut feeling,” you say. “Desire. I saw it, I wanted it. I got it. Why did you choose a Skyline?”

“Because they’re good for drifting,” Jimin says, with a small grin. Skylines aren’t an uncommon sight on the circuit and it certainly would have been a lot cheaper to tweak a Nissan than your Pontiac, what with export costs and difficulties getting American car parts over here— but that’s one good thing about owning a garage. Easier access because of your connections. “And because I like them.”

You point at him, other fingers still hooked around the neck of the soju bottle. “See, that’s how you should think,” you say. “It’s what I did. Don’t choose something because it’s the smart choice. Choose it because you like it. If you want something, go for it. You’ll make it work.”

Something flickers across Jimin’s face. He opens his mouth to speak but then your phone goes off; it’s in your back pocket, pressed against the hood of your car, vibrations amplified against the metal. Jungkook’s calling you. No doubt he’s wondering where you’ve gone and if he needs to save you from hordes of fans or something.

You decline the call and shoot him a quick text, wedging the soju bottle between your thighs before you begin to type both hands. You don’t notice how Jimin eyes the motion, how the beads of condensation on the glass are slick against your skin, shining; by the time you glance up, looking through your lashes, Jimin has straightened and taken a step back, no longer touching the Solstice. “Stay out of trouble,” he says. “I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” you say, but it doesn’t come out as sarcastically as you mean it to. Jimin gives you one last smile, a subtle upturn to his perfect lips, before he turns to go. You find yourself staring at Jimin as he leaves and absently wondering how on earth he fits that spectacular ass into those jeans of his.

The next time you race against Jimin you’re kind of a mess.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asks, hesitantly, as you try to slam the hood of your car shut with less force than necessary; you fumble as you raise it and get it shut on the second try.

“I’m fine.”

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a look, but neither of them say anything. They’re clearly concerned about you and your weird behaviour.

You haven’t told them the reason why you’re like this, not yet. You’d caught your boyfriend in bed with his ex; after their break-up they’d remained friends, and you being an idiot, had allowed it. You’d been unsure at first, but you’d decided to trust him after he'd kept on at you about it, only to discover that not only had he been cheating on you with his ex, he’d been cheating on you the whole time you’d been dating. Months of your time, spat on, wasted. You’re mad at him, at her, at them both, of course— you’d kicked them out of your apartment immediately, literally throwing their things out and slamming the door shut in his face when he’d tried to beg for forgiveness— but since that afternoon you’ve gone weirdly numb alongside the rage, and you go quiet when you’re angry, anyway.

He’d been so nice on the surface, so kind to you, one of your few partners who’d been okay with the street racing and hadn’t tried to fight you on it, even if he’d never actually come to watch or actively encouraged you— but now that you think about it this is probably because it would have given him time to go fuck his sidepiece, which is what’s kind of messing you up the most. You feel stupid, too. Taehyung and Jungkook had always been wary of him, not liking his attitude and being mad that he hadn’t supported your interests. Boy, had they been proven right. Why hadn’t you listened to them?

(Why had you trusted him?)

You’re holding onto a spanner but fumble and drop it onto your foot. You’re wearing boots today so it’s not like it hurts, but the surprise of it brings you back into the moment, angry at your own clumsiness. Jungkook and Taehyung have retreated to the other side of the car; you haven’t told them about the cause of your mood yet and so they’re understandably perplexed at it. But you feel embarrassed and ashamed even if you logically know that it’s not your fault that you’d been cheated on and your oldest friends would never judge you— once this feeling passes, you’ll tell them. You know they’ll come up with some convoluted revenge plan, one that you’ll be totally on board with— but right now? Right now, you’re going to channel everything into this race.

You’ve just finished flicking the clasps of your toolbox shut and straightened up when you notice that Min Yoongi has apparently walked over and is now talking to Taehyung, who looks faint, while Jungkook looks on with unbridled glee. You feel entertained at their expressions despite the tumult of feelings inside you, but then—

“Everything in working order?”

Of course, if Yoongi is here, Jimin would be, too. He looks so good it kind of hurts. His blonde hair has been pushed out of his face today, swooping away from his forehead, and rather than dangling chains he has simple hoops in his ears; it seems like he’s wearing contacts as well, light hazel eyes piercing as he watches you. (You miss the usual warmth of his dark brown eyes.)

“Pretty much,” you say. Jimin seems surprised at your lacklustre response but you can’t summon the energy needed to be your usual self, none of your subtle biting humour shining through tonight. You see how his brow twitches as he frowns a little; if you weren’t incorrect you’d say he seems— seems worried, almost?

“That’s good.” He seems unsure about what to say, which is a first for him, and pauses before he speaks again, asking something he never has before. “Are you alright?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “No, I’m half left,” you say, but then you give him a polite smile. “I’m okay. Do I not seem okay? Are you worried that I’ll pull out before the race starts? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

It’s weird. Jimin is clearly unsatisfied with your response, but not because it could be considered kind of rude— although it definitely could— but because you’re deflecting, and he’s concerned about you.

Concerned about you? Huh. What an odd realisation.

“I know you wouldn’t pull out of a race,” Jimin says. His eyebrows have both risen a little, face somewhat dubious, but when he says this you know he means it. “I’ll see you on the track.”

When he goes, Yoongi does too, though not before smirking at Taehyung in a way that should probably be illegal— judging from the expression on Taehyung’s face he’s ascended to nirvana and Jungkook muffles a laugh into his palm as you wander over.

“Min Yoongi gave me his number.” Taehyung sounds faint. “Someone pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

Jungkook socks him in the shoulder and Taehyung yelps.

“He said pinch, not punch, Kook,” you say, but Jungkook looks unrepentant until Taehyung punches him back, and then he just looks hurt (emotionally and physically). Neither of you buy it. “I’m happy for you, Tae.”

“You should plan your wedding for October. I bet Yoongi loves Halloween and you’d look great in autumnal colours,” Jungkook says. Taehyung sighs dreamily.

They’re both so caught up in this development in Taehyung’s long term crush that it allows you to let the smile drop off your face, and for a second your exhaustion and hurt shines through before you school your expression. You can’t let anyone on the track witness you being weak— you’ve had to claw your way up in their estimations and you’re not going to let one shitty guy fuck up your performance and take away all that work from you.

A few cars away, unnoticed, Yoongi watches as Jimin watches you in turn, then claps him on the shoulder. “You’re not being especially subtle, kid.”

“I— subtle about what, hyung?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “That girl is a competitor, not your friend. Why are you worrying about her?”

Jimin pauses before a slow frown starts to grow on his face, organising his thoughts. “I don’t want to race against someone when they’re not giving me their best,” he says. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

Yoongi looks skeptical but decides not to comment and so Jimin is free to glance back at you.

You look fine now. Maybe a little more stern faced than usual, though it can be hard to read your expressions sometimes; Jimin has watched you enough to become infinitely familiar with the line of your lips and the steel in your eyes, the determination written into you, even if most people seem to be unable to see past the makeup and clothes you put on, a way to lull them into underestimating you.

Most people are so quick to jump to conclusions based on appearance. You must have been the only one who hadn’t done that to him, shaking his hand firmly and carefully when he’d first rolled onto the circuit— he could see how your eyes had darted over him, reading him, taking him in, immediately cautious. You’d seen past the front he’d put on.

You’re endlessly fascinating. Whip smart and talented without being narcissistic, but also without any false humility. You know you’re good. And you know how to play the game, too, coy and flirtatious with the men who underestimate you before blasting past them on the track. Before Jisoo had quit and moved back to Gunpo, you’d been friendly with her, a measured rapport that you no longer have now that you’re the only female racer in the Seoul circuit, and it must be exhausting to consistently be discredited just because you’re a woman— but you never seem ruffled by it.

So what’s happened to you tonight?

He keeps his eyes on you when you pull up to the line. Today you’re in Incheon and your route is to the airport and back again. The start is on the top level of a car park and you’re behind Jimin at the starting line; he keeps his eyes on you in his rearview mirror and notices the hardness of your face, none of the usual anticipation and excitement that colours your features before a race has begun. He can’t help but wonder.

Then the flagger walks onto the track, and Jimin focuses on them, on the swoop of the flag, before the race begins.

You come fifth.

All things told, fifth place isn’t bad, especially considering who you were racing tonight; there are a lot of really talented drifters in Incheon who are a lot more familiar with its roads than you are, driving the airport route regularly and drifting in the deserted airport car parks, leaving evidence of their visits with black tyre marks in ringed circles in the parking lots.

So it’s no surprise that an Incheon native had come first (Choi Minho clearly knows what he’s doing). Jimin had come second. You’d just beaten out Namjoon, who’d shaken your hand afterwards and congratulated you on the last turn before the finish line, the way you’d ridden his drag to get the momentum needed to sling yourself forwards and beat him. It had been a good manoeuvre, sure, but you’re still disappointed in yourself.

It’s not the fact that you hadn’t won that’s bothering you. It’s the fact you’d driven terribly, even if someone watching from the outside wouldn’t have been able to tell. For all that you’d been planning to channel your turbulent emotions into drifting, your handling had been off and your reactions had been stunted and so your driving had suffered. Your Solstice had given you as good a performance as always, but it wasn’t the car, it was you.

You feel like shit.

You leave the afterparty sooner than usual and rather than just escaping somewhere, you leave altogether; it’s hard to be subtle with the loud exhaust of your Pontiac but you manage it somehow, the crowds of fans and drivers too caught up in their own revelries to notice you slipping away. You pull up into the dark of a deserted car park. The only light is from street lamps on the ridge behind you and the moon in the clear sky above and you’re surrounded by nothing but the silence of abandoned vehicles. You let your head tip forward until you’re resting your forehead against the grip of your steering wheel, warm from where you’ve been holding it.

You lift your head to roll your windows down to try and get some cooler night air in, and so you hear the sound of another car pulling into the lot— you know the spread of those headlights, the rumble of that exhaust. Jimin pulls up next to you, coming to a sharp stop before he cuts his engine and the lights die. He climbs out of his car with his usual grace, though when he rounds the hood of your Pontiac to approach the driver’s side he seems to be moving faster than normal.

“Y/n.” He sounds oddly serious, almost accusatory. “What was that?”

“What?”

He’s staring at you through your open window, his face austere; there’s a loose lock of his hair hanging across his forehead, now, falling away from how it had been pushed out of his face. He looks a little dishevelled, but artfully so, and you can’t help but envy his ability to look fashionably beautiful at all times, even when he’s frowning at you. “Tonight. Your driving was off. What happened?”

Oh. You look away from him, staring back out of the front windscreen, unable to keep staring into his eyes. You feel weirdly ashamed, like you’ve disappointed him. Normally you couldn’t give two shits about what other racers think of you, but Jimin— Jimin is different. Jimin is the one person you measure yourself against, the one person who you feel personally challenged by, as distinctive and unusual as you both seem on the circuit, standing out in your own idiosyncratic ways, and he’s struck right into the heart of things: your driving was shoddy and he knows it.

“I—” Your mouth opens, and then shuts again. Oh, God. You’ve been holding it together, but as you sit there with Jimin still watching you, something inside you starts to fray and unravel, the tightness of your control slipping away from you. “My boyfriend was cheating on me,” you confess, and then you splay a hand across your face. You hide your face from him and so you don’t see how Jimin stiffens, eyes widening when he notices that you’ve started to cry; you’re not sobbing or making any noise, but there’s a glint of wetness on your cheeks, tears silently rolling down your face. “I only found out today and I can’t stop thinking about it and it fucked up my driving. I should have done better.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this. Every part of your reputation is built up around not letting your competitors see any weakness in you, and here you are, spilling a private facet of your life to your personal rival and crying in front of him. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see the judgement on his face, the way you must be falling in his estimations: the way he must be realising that you’re just some weak little girl who isn’t even good enough to keep a relationship going. No doubt any second he’s about to laugh at you, or scoff derisively, or tell you to stop being so dramatic and to stop snivelling like some sort of child, and you’ll be left trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation from the dark grey tarmac.

“Hey.”

Jimin’s voice is soft. When you don’t respond you feel the lightest touch of his fingers against the back of your hand, still pressed against your face; you sniff and pull the hand away, hesitantly turning your head to look at Jimin, afraid of what you’re going to see, even after hearing the tone of his voice.

But there’s no judgement on his face. No derision. He’s crouched down by the side of your Pontiac so your faces are level— his earlier frown has disappeared completely and all you can see is compassion. He doesn’t look like he pities you and instead he looks warm and empathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He clearly, genuinely means it. “It must really hurt.”

You laugh wetly. “It’s so stupid.” There are tears still dribbling down your cheeks, though they’ve started to slow. “The more I think about it, the more I realise I didn’t even really like him that much? I just… I don’t know,” you sigh. “It does hurt. When you trust someone and they break that trust. Of course I immediately dumped him and I’ll never take him back, but… I still can’t believe he did that to me. With his ex? I should have seen it coming. I feel so stupid.”

Jimin stays quiet as you sniff again. You feel gross and messy, your face swollen from tears, and your makeup must be running, too. You must look terrible right now. And yet Jimin continues to look at you with that gentle understanding, like he doesn’t care about how you’ve just let slip this raw part of yourself.

You wonder if he’s going to say the usual set phrases— that you deserve better (you do), that your ex was probably a dick anyway (he was), all of that— but he doesn’t. He doesn’t cheapen your pain with any normal idioms. Instead, he slowly reaches forward, giving you plenty of time to stop him or pull away, but you don’t. You let him take the edge of his sleeve and lightly dab at your cheeks, unheeding of how your tears darken the fabric of his expensive looking bomber jacket; the fabric isn’t exactly soft, but his touch is. You don’t know why you let him touch you, yet you don’t regret it, not with how kind he’s being to you right now. You let your traitorous body lean into his touch and he doesn’t react, but you’re not sure if that’s because he chooses not to or if he doesn’t notice.

When Jimin pulls back he keeps his fingers hooked on your door, on the lip where the window has retracted into, and his face is closer now. What little light is reaching the two of you seems to have gathered on him, like the moon can’t help but shine on the man— the silver light mellows him, softening the edges of his beauty, and he doesn’t look like your indomitable rival. He just looks like a person, a boy, surprisingly soft and cute, eyes warm.

(He looks like a friend.)

“There’s nothing stupid about trusting someone that you’re in a relationship with,” Jimin says. “Relationships should be built on trust, and you weren’t stupid for investing yourself in that. What he did wasn’t a reflection on you, and it’s his burden to bear. Please don’t feel stupid.” He’s looking at you so sincerely and the thing inside you that had frayed and unraveled turns to liquid at the sight, trickling through your chest like a refreshing rush of water.

“Okay.” Your voice is a murmur. “I mean, I do feel stupid right now, but I know you’re right.” It’s one thing to know an emotional truth, but it’s another to hear it said out loud by another person— and it’s nice to know that someone you’re not even that close to supports you. It’s why, in a way, it’s almost easier to believe Jimin; he has no reason to be nice to you. And yet here he is.

“Good.” Jimin is equally as quiet as you, but he sounds pleased, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“I’ll be fine by the next race,” you say. Even as you say that, you know it’s true— your sudden outburst of tears has already started to dry up, and for all that you still feel the pain inside you, you feel… better. Admitting this to Jimin has been weirdly soothing, even if you should probably be worried about how this is going to come back and bite you on the ass. For all that you’ve just been speaking about how someone had broken your trust, you find yourself trusting Jimin, trusting that he’s not going to use this moment of weakness against you later.

You already trust him more than you’d trusted your ex— but you’re not sure if that says something about Jimin or if that says something about you.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says. “We won’t count this race.”

You let slip a surprised cough of laughter. Even though you’d been crying less than five minutes ago you find that a smile begins to split your face and your spirits quietly lift when Jimin smiles back at you. You can’t help but notice that one of his front teeth is a little bit crooked, and you’re just— just captivated by it. You've never been this close to Jimin before, or let your eyes run across his face the way they are right now; it seems like there's still more to learn about his features, as familiar with them as you thought you were.

“How gracious. That means I’m still ahead of you.” Your smile has grown smaller but no less happy, and you hope that Jimin knows that. Judging from the look on his face you’d say that he does. He’s always polite, but he’s never been this overtly, directly kind before, but you’ve also never allowed him the opportunity, the two of you keeping each other at a respectful arm’s length. You can’t help but feel grateful. “Jimin… thank you.”

He gives you a little shake of the head. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt like this,” he says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re cheaper than therapy,” you reply, grinning at him while pressing your tongue against your teeth and touching it to your lower lip, a little cheeky; he seems surprised at the fact you’re talking to him like this when you’re normally more distant and deliver your lines without the weight of your laughter behind it, especially off the back of just crying. You’ve never seen Jimin caught off guard, even if he seems to gather himself up almost immediately.

“Maybe I should charge you, then,” he says with a smile, and you huff out a breath of laughter.

“That’s just greedy.” You lean back in the seat of your car, hair pressing against the headrest, and look at yourself in your rearview mirror. You don’t look anywhere as bad as you’d thought but you still wince a little. “Oh, wow. I should go home and wash off this mascara before someone sees me and mistakes me for a panda.”

“You make a very cute panda,” Jimin says. You scoff.

“Don’t try and lull me into a false sense of security so I go easy on you the next time we have a race. Just because I spilled a secret to you doesn’t mean that I like you.” You point at him, but the words come out softer than you mean them to and Jimin clearly doesn’t take them to heart.

“Of course not.”

The two of you drive back to Seoul together. When you get to longer, empty stretches of road you throttle your cars and weave around each other; your windows are still down and Jimin’s put his down too, heedless of how the wind is making a mess of his hair. At one point the two of you hit a turn and when you drift around it you let out a loud whoop of joy, chasing away your earlier sadness in the face of this euphoria.

When you race you don’t let yourself go like this but there’s something to be said about letting yourself shout out loud as you drop into a corkscrew of a turn, riding it out with a screech from your tires, drifting and slamming down on the accelerator because you can. Jimin is grinning and though it’s hard to hear over the roar of your exhausts, he’s laughing; it’s nice to see that he's enjoying himself, too. Normally on the track he's single-minded and only focused on the win, not giving himself over to theatrics, but this, this lets you know that Jimin genuinely loves to drift, and something in you is glad.

You slide into another turn, popping your handbrake and letting the car swing around, and Jimin moves in tandem with you— when you race you’ll try to throw your opponents off, force risky moves so they’re forced off balance, but right now you’re not competing with each other and so you match each other’s motions. Smoke goes flying from your tyres, kicking back dust and burnt rubber, and you ride the spike of adrenaline in your blood with wide eyes and bared teeth. The adrenaline rises in your veins, and the unhappiness dims, and you join in with Jimin’s laughter when you hit another straight stretch of road. You leave your sadness behind in Incheon as you rush forwards and back to Seoul, Jimin matching your pace and coasting alongside you, and it feels weirdly peaceful. Weirdly right.

Once you reach the city and have to part, you pull up at a deserted intersection, adjacent to each other. Jimin’s hair has been entirely pulled out of its earlier style and he looks so much younger like this, blond locks falling over his forehead, dishevelled— you find that you really, really like it. He catches you looking and parts his lips, flicking out his tongue on one side of his mouth, similar to your earlier motion but a lot more shameless. You know the fact that you’re startled is obvious on your face but you’ve never seen him like this before, provocative and wild and free.

“How dare you,” you say mildly, and he throws his head back when he laughs.

“Okay, seriously,” Jungkook says. “What is going on between you and Jimin?”

You glance away from the aforementioned man who you’ve been watching as he’s been bent over the hood of his car, fiddling with something in the engine; it’s hard not to look, eyes glued to the motion of his hips and how he fills out his black jeans so perfectly. “Hm? What?”

“Kookie’s right, you’ve kind of been… uh… weird, recently.” Taehyung sounds hesitant.

“Weird? Tae, she goes up to Jimin to talk to him before races. She never does that with other people, let alone Park Jimin.”

“She does sometimes. She likes Hoseok.”

“Guys, I’m still here,” you say, lifting a hand. Both men shut up. “What’s weird about it?”

“Uh, everything?” Jungkook looks baffled. “Since when are you and Park Jimin bosom buddies? I thought you hated him.”

“I never said that,” you protest, which is true. “I just said he’s my biggest rival on the circuit. Doesn’t mean that I hate him.”

“Clearly not,” Jungkook says. “I was joking about the sexual tension before, but nowadays the two of you look like you’re constantly two seconds away from just eating each other. When did that happen?”

“You’re talking about cannibalism, Kook,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook flaps his hand at the other boy while saying you know what I mean.

Okay, admittedly, your friends both have a point. After you’d confessed your break-up to Jimin, even though you instinctively trust him (for some reason), there’d been the lingering concern that he was going to see this chink in your armour and exploit that weakness— but he hasn’t. He hasn’t even referred to it again, not explicitly; the next time you’d seen each other he’d just softly asked if you were okay, and when you’d said yes, that had been that. But as time has gone on you find that when you and Jimin talk, it’s not just the cursory exchanges you used to have. He lingers longer when he speaks to you before races and you open up conversation more when you find each other alone during the afterparties and it’s… it’s strangely easy to open up to Jimin.

So, yeah, you’ve been walking over to talk to him, too. He’d always been the one to search you out first, and you don’t want him to think that your friendship is one-sided, so you’ve been doing the same for him. Friendship. You’re friends with Park Jimin. Who would have thought you’d live to see the day?

“He’s looking over here,” Jungkook says, and you glance in Jimin’s direction. He always looks great but tonight he’s fucking devastating, hair in stylish waves and eyes smoky, the neckline of his shirt almost scandalously low, revealing his collarbones. When you make eye contact, rather than looking away he just stares back at you, before letting his lips curl up in what could be considered a flirtatious smirk— even from this far you can see the glisten of his lips, the dark pink of his pout.

That’s something that’s new, too. As you’ve both been getting to know each other more you’ve been letting down your defences, and one thing that’s apparently developed is this sort of give and take of coy banter, teasing flirtation that just slips out. Sure, you flirt jokingly with Hoseok too, but with Jimin it’s… it’s a bit heavier than that, a little more direct. But feels so natural that you don’t second guess it and you’re not about to stop someone as fucking hot as Park Jimin acting like he wants you, so.

You mirror a similar expression back, pouting your lips at him, and Jimin’s eyes look like they darken in response. Taehyung makes a little noise of distress. “Oh, my God, Kookie, I take it back, you’re right,” he says. “They do want to eat each other.”

“Shut up,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from Jimin. “Don’t act like you don’t want Yoongi to eat your ass out on a car.”

“I do not!” Taehyung squeaks in a way that says he kind of absolutely does, but he’s embarrassed about it. “Shut up!”

“We’re just friends,” you say, before picking up your toolbox and shoving it into Jungkook’s arms. He makes a little oof sound as the weight of it hits his chest. “Don’t be jealous, you know I’m ride or die for the two of you.”

“You don’t try to eyefuck us like you do with Jimin,” Jungkook says.

“Do you want me to?” You raise your eyebrows at him. Taehyung looks horrified and Jungkooks makes a noise of disgust.

“You’re like our sister! That’s heinous,” he says. “I’m going to get rid of the toolbox and we’re never going to speak of this conversation again.”

“Please, let’s do that,” Taehyung begs. You laugh and roll your eyes but agree, glad that they’ve both dropped the Jimin thing.

You’re not blind. You’ve always known Jimin is drop-dead gorgeous, and it’s also hard not to admire someone when they’re as talented as he is— working hard to grow a skill is something you’ve always found attractive and Jimin drives his Skyline like it’s effortless, wheels spinning and car gliding into each bend as easy as breathing. Jungkook wasn’t necessarily wrong when he said you look like you want to eat him, but as close as Jimin and you are apparently getting, you have no plans to try and fuck your rival any time soon. He’s a friend now, yes, but you’re both competitors, too.

Taehyung catches sight of Yoongi nearby and brightens before wandering off, and Jungkook’s still absent— presumably putting the toolbox away— so you’re left alone by your Pontiac. You run a hand up the back of your neck and just under your updo, feeling your hair under your fingers, an instinctive habit that you don’t think about, but then someone behind you lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.”

You turn away from your car to see who it is. It’s a newcomer to the circuit, someone you haven’t spoken to so far, even if you’ve seen him around. He’s handsome, his hair a red that's darker than the eye-catching brightness of your car and he has a piercing in one of his undyed brows. You’ve only raced against him once— all things told he’s pretty good, even if he hadn’t made it to the top three (you’d beaten Jimin that time, too).

“And you are?” You decide to play ignorant. The man grins at you, amused.

“I’m Changkyun,” he says. “And I know who you are, Y/n.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head at him. “How do you know that, exactly?”

“It’s hard to ignore a queen when she’s carving up the track.” His eyes slide away from you to your Pontiac, the way the light is glinting off her smooth curves and clean lines. “And when her car is almost as gorgeous as she is.”

You have to admit, as much as Changkyun is shamelessly flirting right now, he’s a lot more nuanced than the usual guys that come over to try it on with you. He clearly knows how good you are and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him around the circuit so he’s probably aware of your reputation— but he’s still decided to bite the bullet and speak to you anyway. You have to give him props for that.

“A queen, huh?” His eyes flick back up to your face when you say this. “Is that what people say about me?”

“I don’t need someone to tell me that you deserve to be treated like royalty,” he says. “I knew that from the second I laid eyes on you.”

His voice is pitched low and there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips. You raise your eyebrows and let your mouth purse a little, touching a finger to your bottom lip as if in thought; Changkyun’s dark eyes trace every motion, shameless.

“What does being treated like royalty mean, exactly?” You tap your lip, letting your nail press into the swell of flesh. “Being nice to me?”

“A hands on demonstration would be the best way to show you.” Changkyun has stepped closer to you, leaning in, although you notice he’s still giving you space— he really is a lot more nuanced than you’re used to. You’re begrudgingly impressed, even if you don’t show it. “If you’d like.”

“If I’m a queen, I don’t think I should let some regular commoner just touch me,” you say, a little haughty, and Changkyun laughs.

“That’s true,” he says, grinning at you with a mouthful of teeth, a wolf. “Winners are kings, right? How about if I beat you in the race today, you’ll think about it?”

You let out a little giggle, making it obvious that you don’t feel threatened. He really has endless confidence, especially considering how you’d outpaced him easily in the one race you’ve had together; he’s definitely capable of winning in his Silvia but it doesn’t matter how well he’s tweaked the S15 if he’s not able to drive it as well as he needs to.

“Oh, I’ll definitely think about it,” you say. “I guess I should wish you good luck then, hm?”

He’s not offended by your laughter and instead it just seems like he wants to rise to the bait. “You’re too kind,” he says. “Would it be too much to ask for a good luck kiss?”

“It would.” You toss your head and he laughs again, quiet and low.

“Alright,” he says, that ever present grin still on his lips. “I’ll see you at the starting line, queen.”

When you climb into your car you know he’ll be watching you. You’re wearing a skirt today and the fabric hitches up when you lower yourself into your seat, revealing the skin of your thigh; you pay no attention to whoever’s looking. You don't have to. You know you look good.

You’ve driven this route in Namsan enough times that you could map out its topography in your sleep, its looping curves lending itself to being one of the most fun roads you get to drift on. Jimin rolls into a smooth stop next to you, Skyline easing into place, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. When you take in the expression on his face you almost do a double take.

He looks hungry. There’s no other way to describe it, really. You’re used to seeing resolve on his face, of course, his determination to win— but tonight he looks almost on edge, eyes hard as he stares out at the road and fingers wrapped tight around his steering wheel, like he’s going to throw his car forwards so he can win, starving for it.

When the flag drops Jimin’s Skyline jumps forward like a bullet from a gun. You try to match his pace but he throws you off when he slings himself out of a turn and slides into a choku-dori, the zig-zagging motion of his car catching you off guard and forcing you to drift longer after the turn, your foot tight on the clutch as the back of your Solstice swings around in a wider arc to avoid him. Jimin drives more recklessly tonight than you’re used to, drifting around each bend faster than you would dare: it’s exhilarating to watch even if he’s absolutely destroying you— he blasts over the finish line first to the roar of the crowd, the sound of his screaming throttle dying down as he pulls to a screeching stop, triumphant.

You and Hoseok come joint second, exactly the same time on the clock. You’re panting as you step out of your car, hands shaking with adrenaline, staring in Jimin’s direction with incredulity. Jungkook and Taehyung are waiting for you but when you ask for water they both rush off, saying they can cover more ground with the two of them (whatever that means). Hoseok distracts you when he comes over and high-fives you over your combined second place, indifferent to his loss.

“Jimin was driving like a beast today,” he comments as he glances over at the man. “I wonder what got into him?”

“I have no clue,” you say. Jimin isn’t looking over at you, distracted by groups of fans who have surrounded him before he disappears to collect his prize money, and you wonder what’s going through his head. “Did you see how he approached that second turn?”

“Yeah, I did.” Hoseok nods. “It was way more aggressive than usual, wasn’t it? Oh, I think someone wants to talk to you,” he says as he spots someone over your shoulder, taking a step back and wiggling his fingers at you in a goodbye wave. “I’ll catch you at the afterparty, cutie.”

‘Someone’ turns out to be Changkyun, of course. He’d come fourth. The final hairpin turn seems like it had thrown him off, though he’d recovered well from it if he’d only been beaten out by Namjoon. “Guess someone else has the title of king, tonight,” Changkyun says, and though he sounds disappointed, he sounds less bothered than you would have expected.

“So it seems.” You straighten as Jungkook approaches with a water bottle, already uncapped for you, and you accept it from him gratefully before taking in a sip. He gives Changkyun a long look but doesn’t say anything, though Changkyun seems uncowed. “You drove well, though.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.” Changkyun seems pleased at your compliment. “Maybe I’ll beat you next time, huh?”

“I’ll try not to hold my breath,” you say drily, no longer in the mood to play along with him. You’re not trying to be cocky but the truth is that you’d never been worried about him beating you— and even if he had, you don’t fuck around with other drivers, or fans, as desperate as they might be. The underground racing scene is rife with this sort of stuff but you still have no interest in it and for all that Changkyun is undeniably attractive and admittedly intriguing, it’s nowhere near enough to genuinely catch your attention.

(There's only one driver on the circuit who has your attention the way Changkyun wants it, but no one needs to know that.)

Changkyun just laughs. He doesn’t seem surprised or offended at all. “Whatever makes you happy. Maybe I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

As he walks away, Jungkook clicks his tongue, unimpressed, while you gulp down another mouthful of water and try to still your adrenaline-shaking fingers.

The crowd at Namsan is pretty big tonight, the openness of the mountain roads allowing more people to get out here and park up to watch, but on the same token of being on a mountain it doesn’t exactly lend itself to being the sort of place that’s good to stand around and drink. There are some warehouses nearby that are empty overnight and it’s only a short drive there, people migrating after the race has finished; you’ll get other drivers who are too afraid to race coming to show off their cars, revving their engines and doing doughnuts in the deserted warehouse car parks. You park your Solstice away from this revelry, not wanting to be asked to join in— you’ve already had your adrenaline high of the night, and besides, everyone knows how good you are without you having to prove it by doing figure 8s in an old parking lot or burning out your tyres.

At one point you see Changkyun again but when he looks like he’s about to approach you, you just raise your eyebrows at him. He lifts his hands in a deferential act of surrender and leaves you alone which shows a surprising amount of self-awareness on his part.

You know Taehyung has wandered off with Yoongi, but you wonder where Jungkook is and turn away from where Changkyun is retreating to see if you can find him. Instead you see Jimin for the first time since the race, making eye contact— he must have been watching you, already looking in your direction when you spot him.

The second you see him, your lips unwittingly lift into a smile. It’s not even conscious on your part, your genuine happiness at seeing him shining through on your face. Jimin pauses but then a girl appears out of the crowd nearby and latches onto his arm, batting her eyelashes at the winner of the night; he’s startled by her appearance and looks away from you before he can smile back.

Normally you’d find it funny, that brief moment of bewilderment on Jimin’s face as he’s being accosted by someone, but for some reason today you don’t feel amused— the smile hardens on your face and jealousy licks at your insides before your eyes widen in surprise. You have no right or reason to feel like this. Jimin is free to do what he likes, of course, and the girl is gorgeous— why shouldn’t he just do what every other driver does and take what he wants?

You think you’re done socialising for the night. You’ll catch up with Taehyung and Jungkook later.

For once you’ve managed to get your hands on a non-alcoholic drink. You crack open the can of peach water and lean against your car as you sip it, feeling refreshed even if the liquid is tepid at best. You’re idly reading the ingredients list and raising your eyebrows at the sugar content when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching you; you glance up, wondering who’s come this far away from the party to your concealed parking spot.

“Jimin?” The surprise is obvious in your voice. Even though you still meet each other alone during each afterparty you’d never expected to see him so soon, especially considering the groupies who’d been gathering around him after he’d come first. The stunning girl who’d been clinging onto his arm is nowhere in sight. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s something in his expression that you can’t read. Despite his win, he still has that look of hunger on his face, although it seems more muted than it had earlier. Speaking of his win—

“Congrats on coming first,” you say, raising your can at him in a cheers motion. “That was some incredible driving. You deserve that win.” And everything else that comes with it, you think to yourself, the voice in your head shockingly bitter. You need to calm down.

Jimin is standing a lot closer than he normally does. It’s kind of hard to keep your eyes off the line of his neck and his collarbones; the vee of his shirt has dipped even lower, showing off even more of his skin. “It was close.”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, it wasn’t, and you know it. There’s no need to be humble. But really, your driving was unparalleled tonight. What was up with that? You’re not normally that much of a daredevil.”

Jimin pauses. “You want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know, Jimin.” You’re being more standoffish now than you have been recently, but you can’t help it, even if you sort of feel like a petulant child. You’re still holding onto your can of peach water, arms loosely crossed in a way that allows you to keep lifting it to your mouth, and you raise one of your eyebrows at him as you take a drink from it; you almost choke on that sip of water when Jimin gets closer, crowding you against the car. His arms come to either side of you and he cages you in, trapping you. He leans forwards and your eyes go wide.

“You really want to know?” When he speaks his face is so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath curling out of his mouth; your eyes betray you and flit down to his lips, watching the way they curve themselves around the words. Even though you wrench them back up immediately you know Jimin would have seen you look, and there’s a quiet, pleased upturn to his lips now, though the intensity in his eyes hasn’t dimmed at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You might be at Jimin’s mercy right now, but you’re not about to let him know that— even if it’s patently obvious. You’ve pulled your arms closer to your chest, trying to crowd as far back against your car as you can, but Jimin is still so close. “Yeah. I do.”

“To prove that I’m better than him,” he says. “To put him in his place.”

Even though you probably shouldn’t laugh directly in Jimin’s face when he looks as intense as he does, you can’t help it. “What, Changkyun? Of course you’re better than him. Why would you feel the need to prove it?”

Jimin seems pleased by your praise, preening a little, but his eyes are still hooded as he looks at you. “So he knows that he’s never going to be good enough.”

His gaze is still heavy, eyes piercing. This entire situation is already spiralling out of your grasp, but even though your heart is pounding, you find that you don’t mind it at all. You'd told Jungkook earlier that you and Jimin are just friends, and you hadn't been lying, but right now it's getting hard to hold onto that fact— the warmth of Jimin's body so close to yours, his face so near to your own, the two of you almost flush.

“Good enough for what, Jimin?”

“Good enough to be the challenge that you want,” he answers. His voice is quiet but you still hear him perfectly. “The challenge that you need.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh. “I don’t have to look for that.” Your voice is a whisper, almost trembling as you admit this. As you lay yourself bare in front of Jimin. “You know that I’ve already found it.”

And Jimin— Jimin smiles. He takes a hand off the Pontiac and runs the pad of his thumb down your jawline before resting it just under the swell of your bottom lip. His touch is slow and languid, giving you time to pull away if you want to: but you don't want to. You tilt your head forward into his touch, tipping your head down so that his thumb rests on the seam of your lips instead, but then he takes the hand away. Before you can do or say anything, he sets it on your outer thigh, just below the hem of your skirt, and waits. There's a question in his eyes, a little lift of his eyebrows, still giving you a chance to push him away— but you don't, so he drags his hand upwards and begins to hitch up the material.

You set your can of unfinished peach water aside, metal clinking against the roof of your car. Now that your hands are free you wind them behind Jimin’s neck and tug him closer. Your noses brush as his hand changes direction, drawing his small, delicate fingers over the lace trim of your panties; your mouth opens and you tilt your head forwards, your lips almost touching, but not quite. Jimin doesn’t bridge that gap and seems content to let you get wound up, the way your hips twitch each time it seems like he’s going to dip between your legs but doesn’t.

“Stop teasing me.” Your voice comes out weak and breathy.

“Stop teasing you?” Jimin raises his eyebrows like he’s affronted, even as you part your legs further and he runs his fingers up the seam of your inner thigh, rather than where you really want him to touch. “I’m just returning the favour.”

It’s a little hard to focus on what he’s saying, your focus on the sensation of his fingertips on your skin, but you frown in confusion. “Returning the favour?”

“I’m showing you what you can have, but not giving it to you,” he says. “Changkyun almost thought he could have you. You’re always so coy with Hoseok, too. But you think I haven’t noticed how you’re different with me? You actually want me. But you just tease and flirt and then leave me wanting more.”

“Jimin.” You suck in a breath as you feel a fleeting touch of his fingers where you’ve been wanting them, the lightest run of his fingers over your slit, though you barely feel it through the fabric of your underwear. He must be able to feel the wetness of you through it. He’s barely touched you and you already feel like a wreck. “Kiss me.”

For a long second you think that he won’t acquiesce, but then his lips are against yours and you sigh against his mouth. You’ve always thought that his lips were sinful and you’re proven right, the swell of them so soft, the way he fits them together with yours; you bask in how gentle the kiss is, eyes slipping shut so you can focus on the sensation. One kiss turns into two, into three, presses of your lips against each other, and you’re so caught up in it that you almost forget about the warmth of Jimin’s hand between your thighs— but your eyes fly open and your breath hitches when he finally slips his fingers into your panties. He runs them up your lower lips, touch still teasing, but then he presses his fingertips against your clit, hard, and you gasp against his lips.

He swallows the sound. Your kisses become open mouthed and you lick desperately into his mouth before he starts to circle his fingers around your pearl of nerves, making you jolt against the side of the car. You have to tip your head back to suck in air, breathless from the kisses and sensitivity, and Jimin takes the opportunity to dip his head and kiss the side of your neck, dragging his teeth over your skin. He nips at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder and purses his lips before he sucks hard at it, laving his tongue over the mark that's sure to blossom into a hickey.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. Jimin takes the hand that has been bracing himself against the car and moves it to the back of your neck instead, fingers resting at your lower hairline in a grasp that feels surprisingly tender even as he tips your head forward so he can catch your lips again, now that he's left a physical reminder of himself in your skin. The juxtaposition between the slowness of these kisses and the way he’s starting to teasingly dip his fingers just into your entrance is making your head spin, reeling, his soft lips opposing his firm touch. “Jimin.” Your voice is needy as you dig your fingers into Jimin’s shoulder blades. “Please, I need more.”

Jimin rests his forehead against yours, staring at you, and his voice is low as he speaks. “Don’t worry,” he says, with a little smile. “When we’re not racing, I’ll always make sure that you come first.”

You can’t help but giggle. “That’s so stupid,” you say, and Jimin laughs quietly with you, but then your laughter cuts into an inhalation of air as Jimin presses two fingers into you. “Oh, that’s just unfair,” you pant, but you tilt your hips forward to give him a better angle. You’ve always been fascinated with Jimin’s hands, as small and pretty as they are, and they don’t need to hit deep to make you feel good, filling you up so well as he continues to slide them into your tight, wet heat.

He uses the heel of his palm to grind against your clit as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, and it’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you approach your peak. Since you broke up with your ex you haven’t had sex with anyone else, and you’re usually so tired after work or racing that you don’t make time to pleasure yourself alone— but you get the feeling that even if these things weren’t true, you’d still get wound up this quickly, because it’s Jimin.

You think he knows that, too. You’ve stopped kissing, now, your mouths just open against each other, barely touching, and his eyes are drinking each of your reactions in, the way your body responds to him, the way the pleasure is written across your face. Your brows are drawn together and your breaths are coming faster, and Jimin pushes another finger in— it’s lewd, the slick sound of your wetness against his hand as he thrusts his fingers and continues to press his palm against your clit, the metal of his rings warmed from your skin.

Just as you think you’re about to cum, Jimin’s hand stops. You make a noise of need, one of your hands coming to clutch his arm as you try to buck your hips, but it’s not enough. You choke back a sob. “Jimin,” you say. “I’m so close.”

“Ask politely, baby,” he replies, smile wicked, and you almost keen. Normally you’d refuse to beg, but you’re wound so tight right now, so needy—

“Please, Jimin,” you beg. “Let me cum, please, I wanna cum, please, fuck, oh—” Jimin’s started to move his hand again, even faster than before, and you grind your hips into it, riding those fingers with wanton desperation.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “I want to see you fall apart.”

You shudder at his words. It only takes a few more hard curls of his fingers and one particularly long press against your clit and you tumble over the edge; you can feel how your walls ripple around him as waves of pleasure spark through you, the cum that flushes out of you, and you’re writhing against the Pontiac, riding out your orgasm around his fingers. You don’t know what noises you’re making but Jimin muffles them, pressing his tongue past your lips and licking the sounds out of your mouth.

When he pulls his fingers out of you and takes his hands out of your panties, you shiver, still oversensitive. “God, Jimin, you make me feel so good,” you whimper. Jimin looks pleased, and when he lifts his hand to your lips you let them fall open as you stare up at him. You take his fingers into your mouth without protest, circling them with your tongue, licking across his knuckles and fingertips hungrily, the taste of your own pleasure lingering on your tongue as you bob your head and look at Jimin meaningfully.

You’re both startled out of the moment when you hear footsteps and voices approaching. You freeze, the two of you stiffening against each other; although you’re sequestered from the party, you’re not so far away that people couldn’t stumble across you. Jimin pulls your head into his chest so that you’re hidden from view, his head turning in the direction of the sounds— when they fade he lets you go and you go lax and flop backwards over the roof of your car, letting your arms spread wide after that brief moment of panic passes. Jimin turns his head to look down at you, and you give him a smile, still punch-drunk from your post orgasm come down, which he returns. His lips are kiss swollen and he looks so beautiful like this, silhouetted by the night sky behind him as he smiles at you, even if the rest of your surroundings leave something to be desired.

“Wow, Jimin.” You lift one of your hands to draw it down his chest, pulling the neckline of his shirt even lower, revealing more of his skin to you. You can’t help but sigh with delight, almost overwhelmed. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

His smile turns surprisingly cheeky. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to tell me again,” he says, and you laugh.

“Your praise kink is showing,” you tease. You lift your other hand and draw your palms over his stomach, surprised but pleased when you feel lines of hard muscle through the fabric of his shirt. “You never had anything to prove, you know,” you say, softer now. “Changkyun is nothing to me. No one else is. You’re the only person on this circuit who I watch.”

Jimin bends forwards, resting his elbows on the roof, hovering above you as he continues to give you that cheeky smile. “Oh?”

You smile back. “Don’t act like you don’t know it,” you say. It’s true that you hadn’t had plans to try and fuck Jimin, but it’s also true that— “When I drive, the only person I want to beat is you. No one else matters. You’ve ruined me, Park Jimin. I never used to care like this.”

In the distance, someone’s engine backfires. Neither of you react to the noise. Jimin is looking down at you with a soft but unreadable expression on his face. “I saw Changkyun approaching you at the afterparty.”

You tilt your head back against the car, lifting your chin as your eyes squeeze with laughter. “Then you saw how I basically told him to fuck off?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s smile goes so wide you can see his teeth, eyes crescents, face bright. “That made me happy.”

“Ah, so you like praise and you’re possessive. Cute,” you say, running a finger down Jimin’s forehead and to the end of his nose, before tapping it. “I suppose now is a good time to let you know that I’m possessive, too.”

“Good,” Jimin says, and then lets out a tinkling laugh when you make a kissing noise at him through pursed lips. “Is that why I saw you disappear after that girl grabbed me?”

“No comment,” you reply, but then pout at him when he crooks an eyebrow at you. “I wasn’t about to watch someone else climbing all over you, was I? She was gorgeous, of course I was jealous.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” Jimin lightly draws one of his hands over your collarbones, thumbing at the hollow under your neck, your skin hypersensitive to his touch. “You’re the only one I want.”

You let the self-satisfaction show on your face and Jimin laughs again. He’s still giggling when you start to run your fingers rhythmically through his hair, combing through the product that’s keeping it out of his face, and watch as the locks start to cover his forehead. He makes a questioning noise at the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I want to look,” you say. He always has his forehead at least a little bared, and the one time you’d seen it covered, it had transformed his whole look, and you want to see if it was a fluke.

It wasn’t. Like this his hair is so long it hangs in his eyes, but because he’s bent forward it just frames his face instead, and it almost feels like a curtain that’s shutting off the rest of the world, letting you see a softer side that he never reveals on the circuit. “Ah, there it is. The duality of man,” you sigh happily. Cute, but gorgeous. Soft, but devastating. Incredible.

You draw your hands back down his body, and then you roughly tug his shirt out from where it’s been tucked into his trousers. You feel how his stomach jumps when you lightly drag your fingers across it, feeling the faint definition of abs, and you can’t help but grin. “You’re a fucking meal, Park Jimin,” you say, hooking your fingers in his belt. You tug on it, using the weight of Jimin’s body help you up— he straightens as you do, and your hips are flush, the material of your skirt still hitched up so that the damp material of your panties is rubbing against him, and you can feel his growing hardness. “Can I have a taste?”

Jimin laughs again. When you smile back at him, he leans in and slants his mouth against yours, a small touch of your lips before he pulls back. “Anything you want,” he says, and your smile turns hungry.

You tug at him, repositioning your bodies so that he’s pressed up against the Pontiac instead. He leans back on his arms, bracing his palms against the low roof of the car as you step back for a little bit of room so that you can unbuckle his belt. You use one hand to lift his shirt up, revealing his chest and stomach to you, the lines of muscle he keeps hidden away. Your mouth waters. You’re briefly distracted when you notice stark lines of black on his ribs, splaying your fingers under the tattoo you find there; you want to taste it. So you crouch, dipping your head to lick across the sensitive skin of his rib cage and over each letter, NEVERMIND etched permanently into his skin.

You can feel how Jimin reacts, the way his chest jumps as he sucks in a breath. You want to know what the tattoo means, why he got it, but that can wait— right now you have more pressing matters to attend to. You run your tongue down the line of his stomach as you drag his zipper down with deft fingers, and then pull your face away to watch as you start to pull his jeans down. You take in the sight of his hard cock, contained by his briefs, the damp patch of precum darkening the fabric around the head.

You glance up at Jimin as you shift from a crouch and fully onto your knees. Your bare skin presses against the pavement, rough, but you don’t care; Jimin’s eyes are dark and heavy as he watches you kneel in front of him, and you keep your eyes locked as you purse your lips and kiss the tip of his cock through his underwear. He hisses. You grip his shaft through the fabric, mouthing at the head and dragging your wet tongue across the cotton, staring coyly up at him the whole time.

“Tease,” Jimin says. You huff out a laugh and take your hand away from where it’s been holding his shirt up and cup his balls through his briefs, drunk on how you can see and feel his dick twitching when you do.

“I give as good as I get, babe,” you say. Jimin takes one of his hands off the Pontiac to rest on the top of your head and lightly tangles his fingers in your hair, grip just edging on firm— you understand the tacit implication of his action and surrender control to him, skimming your hands over his hip bones and around to his ass.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t stared at his behind a thousand times, his thick thighs and his round ass, and it feels even better under your hands than you thought. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his briefs and into the soft flesh underneath it, digging your fingernails in before pulling the underwear down so you expose Jimin to the night air. His cock bobs as it comes free of the fabric, as perfect as the rest of him, flushed red head shining with precum.

Maybe you have a bit of an oral fixation and love giving head, or maybe Jimin’s cock is impossible to resist: all you know is that you need to taste him. Your mouth falls open and you let your tongue rest on your bottom lip for just a moment before you suck the head of his cock into your mouth. He makes the prettiest noise, his fingers tightening against your scalp as you tongue at the slit and lap up the precum that’s gathered there, salt and warmth bursting across your taste buds. Your hands aren’t idle, either, touching the parts of his cock that aren’t in your mouth, fingers on his shaft and around his balls.

You run your mouth along the side of his length, flicking your tongue and dragging it across a vein, watching Jimin the whole time. He’s staring at you, the way you use your spit-slick lips to press kisses along his cock, the tip, drinking down every drip of precum that beads there, tonguing the sensitive spot just under the head where it meets the shaft.

Saliva is filling your mouth, mingling with the taste of Jimin on your tongue, and you swallow him back down. You relax your jaw and lower your head, taking Jimin down inch by inch, the weight of his cock heavy in your mouth; you continue to roll his balls in your hand while you use the other to grip what little’s not in your mouth. Jimin’s eyes are wide as he watches how you skilfully swallow him down until you can feel him at the back of your throat, breathing through your nose, and then you start to rapidly bob your head.

“Oh, fuck!” Jimin’s hips jump and you almost gag when his cock thrusts into your throat, off rhythm to how you’re moving, but you’re nothing if not a trooper and recover quickly. He’s not the biggest you’ve ever had but that just means that you can swallow most of him down, deepthroating him, noises lewd as saliva drips past your lips and onto your chin. You’ve never been afraid to get dirty, and seeing the way Jimin is quickly losing control makes it all the better; you feel his balls tightening in your hand and you can see how his face is twisting, his brows furrowed and his lips falling open as he breathes through his mouth, thrusting forwards in time with the bobbing of your head. You desperately chase that, matching his rhythm as he speeds up; you want to wreck him.

His fingers dig into your scalp. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, and you just flick him a glance through your lashes as you swallow particularly loudly and start to go faster, turning your focus to his head, using a hand to twist around his shaft and jerk off his length. His hips drive forward one more time before he cries out, and you can feel how his cock twitches as he cums into your mouth, hot and salty; you suck down each wave of cum, lips tight around him as your hand continues to milk him, grip firm, until he’s twitching from oversensitivity and pulling you off him with the fingers in your hair.

You’re still holding onto his softening length. He looks fucked out, pupils blown, a pink flush down his neck, and he’s panting almost as hard as you are; he watches as you lick your lips, and you feel how his dick gives a half-hearted twitch in your hands, although his face twists a little into a pained expression. “You’re unbelievable,” Jimin says, and you let out a little laugh, pleased.

“And your dick is spectacular,” you say. Your voice is a little hoarse, but god, that was worth it and you would do it again. You’d suck Park Jimin’s cock until you lost your voice if he’d let you. You lift the fabric of your shirt to wipe your chin and mouth, cleaning the saliva that’s gathered and then turn your attention back to the man, hand gentle in your hair as he’s been watching you.

You lift his briefs and jeans for him, standing up and brushing your knees off before you tuck his shirt back in and then do up his zip and buckle his belt, smoothing his outfit back into place. You’re looking down at your hands as you do this, and so you don’t see the way Jimin is looking at you with something akin to affection. “I know a lot of guys don’t like dick mouth,” you say, flicking your eyes up. “But—”

Jimin’s kissing you before you can finish your sentence. You muffle a noise of surprise and kiss him back, shivering when he licks into your mouth, running his tongue across your teeth and over your lips. When you pull back, you end up giggling a little, running a finger under his chin and then tapping his swollen lips. “I was about to say, I still have my water, but I guess that doesn’t matter now, huh?”

You still reach for your drink, lifting the can from where it’s remained steady on the car, filling your mouth with the sweet taste of peach and fizz as you swish it around and then swallow. Jimin watches as you do and then reaches for the can himself— you tip it against his lips and let him finish the rest, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs, and tilt your head to kiss it as it does. He shivers, and you nose at his neck before sucking the skin so that you'll leave a mark on him, too. A reminder of you. He smells so nice, soft orange and something floral, maybe, subtle and light; you really like all these little details about Jimin, how he’s not brash at all, but rather, elegant and understated— and yet still undeniably powerful in his own way.

You both startle when you hear someone calling out your name, surprisingly nearby. It sounds like they’re coming right in your direction, just around the corner, and there’s only two people who know where you like to park—

“Y/n! I’ve been looking everywhere for y- oh.” Jungkook literally freezes mid step, one foot in the air, blinking at how you and Jimin are standing flush with each other, Jimin’s stance wide so you can stand between his legs, while his hands are resting on your waist. You can see the cogs in Jungkook's mind working, and he puts his foot down in slow-mo as he slowly starts to smile. "Oh, didn't mean to interrupt, don't mind me," he says with a shit eating grin.

"It's okay," Jimin says. "I should go."

You can't help but pout. "So soon? Kookie can leave."

Jimin seems amused, but much to your surprise he indulges you with a small kiss; you didn't think he'd be so forward when someone else was watching. “I'll see you at the next race, sweet thing,” he murmurs, acting as if Jungkook isn't there.

“If you win again, I'll do something nice for you,” you say, and he laughs.

“And if you win?”

“Then you have to do something nice for me. Equal exchange, darling.”

Jimin just smiles. “Sounds like an agreement.”

He leaves with a small wave, and even flicks a wink at Jungkook as he goes past, the taller man watching him go. As soon as Jimin is out of sight your friend rounds on you with a I Knew It expression on his face.

“Yeah, okay, you were right,” you say, lifting a hand to cut him off before he can say anything. “You should just feel glad you hadn't turned up earlier. I think you might have seen some things you would regret.”

“That's gross,” Jungkook says, though he sounds cheerful. He loves being proven right. Brat. “You’d better not start letting him win, though.”

You snort. “Please, as if I would. The race is part of the foreplay.”

“That’s gross,” Jungkook says again. This time he sounds like he means it, and you laugh.

“There are way too many people here today,” Taehyung says. You can’t help but agree.

“They need to back off before I start swinging,” you mutter. Jungkook grabs your shoulder and squeezes it.

“We’ve got you,” he says, and you relax.

The multi-level car park in Yongsan is packed to the gills with people, faces in the crowd you know you’ve never seen; you’ve never raced here before and you’re not sure how word got out to so many people, but they’re clearly not familiar with the unspoken etiquette of the circuit and people keep trying to approach your goddamn car. You’ll allow it after a race, people rushing up to congratulate or whatever, but right now you’re grateful to have Jungkook and Taehyung warding people off while you staunchly ignore the wolf whistles aimed in your direction. You're too uncomfortable to play up to it today.

There are a lot of really tweaked out cars here. There’s even another American car, an electric blue Mustang that’s really beautiful, but you wonder at the choice of such a long pony car in the tight corners of an indoor car park.

“At least the prize money will be good?” Taehyung hazards. He’s not wrong— the prize money is a few hundred thousand won higher than normal, probably reflecting the more luxurious district that you’re racing in today. You wonder if that’s why Seokjin organised it here, for more exposure, more cash. The truth is, though, there are more important things that you want to win tonight. On that note—

“Hi, sweet thing,” Jimin says from behind you, and you turn around.

“Jiminie,” you sigh, relieved. Under his jacket his shirt is loose, material tastefully flimsy, and you can’t help but feel smug at the blossoms of colour over his pale neck and across his clavicle, tacit reminders of the race before last when he’d edged ahead of you just before the finish line. The pleats of your skirt cover your upper legs, but Jimin has already seen the similar blooms he’d left on your inner thighs, drawing out the noises you’d made as he’d eaten you out on the hood of his Nissan after your last win. “God, you look good.”

He smiles. “You do too, baby.”

You already feel more relaxed upon seeing him, warmth bursting through your chest at the pet names. “It’s so busy today.” There’s a little whine in your voice as you complain to Jimin and he crooks you a smile, indulgent.

“Just keep your eyes on me, ignore everyone else.”

“That’s like telling the sun to shine, it’s going to happen whether you say it or not,” you scoff. Jimin gives you that smile that he reserves for you, that only you can read because no one else is as good at deciphering his expressions as you are— flattered, bashful, pleased. It’s small, subdued because of the people around you, but you’ll make sure to make him smile like that again later when the two of you are alone together. You melt a little and try not to overthink how quickly Jimin has wormed his way inside your heart; at the end of the day, despite how many times you’ve touched him with your mouth and your hands, you’re still rivals. (Even if that line seems to be growing ever more blurred as time goes on.)

“So when’s the wedding?” Jungkook asks once Jimin’s out of earshot.

“It’s not like that, it’s just a physical thing,” you say.

“Riiiiiiiiiiight.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“He really likes you, you know,” Taehyung mentions conversationally. “Yoongi says he talks about you a lot.”

“Almost as much as she talks about him?” Jungkook looks at you knowingly, and you pout at them both.

“Leave me alone, you know I’m a delicate flower,” you say, which makes them laugh. You don’t talk about Jimin that much, no matter what Jungkook says.

Your eyebrows raise when you find out who you’re racing tonight. They’ve put you up against someone you don’t recognise or know the name of, the driver of the Mustang, it turns out, the Yongsan crowd wanting to see how both American cars will fare against each other. Your Pontiac is a lot smaller, nippier, but you have no idea what’s under the hood of the other car— although you have to admit the matching blue LEDs that are shining out under the Mustang and from its headlights are pretty, a lot more dramatic than your unadorned Solstice. But you’ve never been showy, and theatrical prettiness means nothing when you’re racing. It’s down to mechanics and skill, not aesthetic. (Besides, your car is beautiful enough that she doesn’t need flashy additions to draw the eye.)

You catch sight of Jimin in your rearview mirror just as you’ve finished strapping yourself in. He’s a point of stillness in the heaving crowd that’s pressing in on the start of the race from all sides, and you see how his eyes crinkle as he smiles and mouths good luck. You rev your engine, finding yourself smiling back before you look over at the driver of the Mustang, who has a cocky grin on his face.

“I’m going to eat you alive,” he says, and you just smile beatifically while batting your eyelashes.

“Big words for such a small man,” you reply, and you see how his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, white knuckled. “Ooh, did that make you mad? Would you rather I pretended to be worried? Who even are you, anyway?”

“I’m going to make you regret saying that,” he snarls, and you laugh.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you say, winking at him before your window rises and cuts him off.

The second the race begins you slam down on your accelerator, Solstice leaping forward as the Mustang screeches to life beside you. He’s a reckless driver, slamming into turns with too much speed and relying on the heavier weight of his car to keep him steady; you’re having to drive cautiously, swerving away from him when he seems to get too close to you, which happens more often than you like. It almost seems intentional, like he’s trying to take you out, and you grit your teeth as you slide into another turn, watching as he goes wide and sends safety cones scattering as his car swings into them.

It’s not hard to pull out ahead. You pop your handbrake as you approach the spiral ramp up to the final level and your Solstice curls into the rising turn with ease, the shortness of your car meaning that you can soar through the tightness of the walls without scraping along the sides. You emerge onto the rooftop to a yelling crowd and pump your throttle, turning your wheel so you arc out and slide to a smooth stop.

The Mustang appears moments after, though you’re being swarmed by the crowd and almost don’t notice. Thankfully Jungkook and Taehyung are the first to reach you, as normal, a fact which you’re grateful for moments later when the Mustang driver shoves his way through the crowd and makes a direct beeline for you.

You’ve been drifting for a long time, and you’ve experienced your fair share of abuse and bitterness from people who’ve lost against you, but you’ve been around long enough and built up enough of a reputation that you avoid most of it nowadays. The Mustang driver, however, looks furious, apoplectic with rage, and you don’t know what’s going through his head as he approaches you, but it can’t be anything good. You instinctively reach out for the person closest to you— Taehyung— who starts to turn, and Jungkook has noticed him too, already moving to interpose himself.

“Get out of my way,” the Mustang driver barks. “That bitch is mine.”

“Back off,” Jungkook snarls. You’ve never heard him sound like this before, this level of ferocity, eyes wild. “Take one step closer and I’ll make you fucking regret it.”

Taehyung also steps in front of you. There’s a moment where you wonder if you could have avoided this— if you hadn’t taunted him at the beginning, maybe?— but Taehyung’s hand squeezes yours reassuringly, and you realise it probably would have panned out like this anyway. Some people just hate to lose. You catch sight of Jimin at the front of the crowd, staring at you with concern, but Yoongi’s got a hold of him, fingers wrapped tight around his wrist as he holds him in place.

“What are you, her little bitch boy?” The Mustang driver barks at Jungkook. “Are you her little fuckbuddy, huh?”

Jungkook has a black belt in Taekwondo and he’s recently started boxing, too, on top of his general gym rat lifestyle, muscles visible under the tattoos that adorn his arms. Jungkook is literally the worst person you could ever want to get into a fight against; he’s sweet and lovely but he won’t take things lying down, especially if it’s one of his friends being threatened. You see how Jungkook’s shoulders go stiff, and you know you’re seconds away from a physical altercation— the onlookers are making no moves to intervene, and instead are fumbling for their phones to film it— but then Hoseok is there, sliding between them, fingers touching Jungkook’s rising hand.

“Guys, guys, guys,” he laughs breezily, as if he isn’t in the firing line right now. “What’s the hold up? I’m waiting for my turn to race but it seems like the crowd is all here rather than at the starting line.”

“I have some things to say to her,” the Mustang driver says, pointing at you. “And this asshole is in my way.”

Jungkook’s lip curls back from his teeth, but before he can say anything, Hoseok laughs again. “Is that what this is about? Is she really worth your time and energy? If you start a fight, you’ll be banned from the circuit.”

You don’t catch the rest of what Hoseok says, Taehyung turning you away from them and hustling you to your car. “We’ll deal with this, don’t worry,” he says, voice low as he opens your door for you. “I’ll speak to Seokjin and make sure this guy gets dealt with, but for now it’s probably a good idea to get out of here.”

Your eyes flicker over to where the guys are still standing— Jungkook still looks tense, even if it seems like Hoseok is doing his best to smooth things over, casual and at ease. You have no doubt that this is the last time you’ll see the Mustang driver, as confrontational and aggressive as he is, but you still don’t like how genuinely useless you feel right now. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Taehyung says. “Go on. I promise I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

You relent and do as you’re told. “I’m going to Namsan,” you tell him, and he nods in understanding.

You catch Jimin’s eye in your rearview as you gun your engine and leave, and you know without a doubt that he’ll come find you later. The drive to Namsan is a familiar one, although you don’t drift or speed and instead you take your time; you roll to a quiet stop once you reach your destination, rough dirt underfoot as you step out of your car, staring at the panorama of downtown Seoul. You don’t know how long you’ve been reclining against your car and drinking down the sight of the city lights below you when you register the sound of Jimin’s deep exhaust rumbling up the mountain road, the sound of his Skyline as familiar to you as your Pontiac by this point, turning your head to see him pull into the deserted lay-by beside you.

“You found me,” you say by way of greeting. Jimin doesn’t even shut his door and immediately makes his way over to you and cups your face in his hands. You relax into his touch, letting your eyes slip shut as he brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“Tae told me where you’d be,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile lazily, eyes slowly opening. Jimin is filling your vision, surrounded by the twinkling lights of Seoul below and the dark night sky above, and he’s still the most beautiful thing you can see. “It’s not the first time I’ve had an asshole get angry at me, but he’s definitely the most aggressive I’ve ever experienced.” A frown mars Jimin’s features, and you lift one of your hands to smooth out the lines in his brow. “It’s okay. I’m grateful that I have the boys to look after me. And you, too.”

Jimin’s frown fades, but he still looks unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For not being able to do more. I just stood there and watched.”

You smile gently. “You didn’t have to get involved, Jimin,” you say. “I didn’t expect you to do anything.”

You mean this in a nice way but Jimin’s face goes hard. You’re about to ask if you said something wrong when he cuts you off by kissing you fiercely, and you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself to tipping backwards on the Pontiac’s hood. Jimin’s hands slide down your waist and he cups your ass before he lifts you; you squeal in surprise and latch onto him, curling your arms and legs around him so he doesn’t drop you.

Jimin might look lithe, but you’ve seen his bare arms and chest often enough to know of the muscle power he has. He walks the two of you to his car, kissing you as he does and your eyes widen as you realise he’s about to try and manoeuvre you both in through the open door while still holding onto you. He makes a noise against your lips as you pull away from the kiss.

“Jimin, put me down for a second,” you say.

“I don’t want to stop touching you.” He noses at your neck, and you shiver.

“If you drop me I’ll never forgive you,” you murmur, and he relents, careful as he sets you down, digging his fingers hard into your ass before he lets go. You’ve barely caught your balance before Jimin slides into his seat, kicking the bar under the chair to send it as far back as possible.

“Get in,” he says, and you instantly comply, climbing into his lap before he slams the door shut. It’s cramped like this but neither of you care, Jimin capturing your lips again as you grind against him, the fabric of your skirt rubbing over his jeans— you’ve started to wear skirts and dresses more often for the ease of access it offers Jimin once a race is over.

“Someone seems a little desperate today.” You mean to sound teasing but you’re too breathless to do so. “You want me to suck your dick that badly?”

“No,” Jimin answers, and the movement of your hips stutters a little as you react with confusion, but then— “I’m going to fuck you tonight, sweet thing,” he continues, and a moan slips unbidden from your lips. The two of you haven’t fucked yet, never going further than using your hands and mouths, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t imagined Jimin’s cock inside you instead of just his fingers and tongue. “Does my baby like the sound of that?”

“Please,” you say. “God, please, Jimin, I want it so bad, want you to fuck me.”

One thing you’ve learned about Jimin is that he likes it when you’re desperate. He loves to edge you, watch you squirm, the power of your pleasure entirely in his hands, but you know how to play with him, too— know how to beg the way he likes it so that he gives you what you want. His pupils dilate as he listens to you plead and you can feel how hard he’s growing beneath you. He slides his hands under your jacket and over your shoulders, helping you slide it off, although it almost gets tangled over the steering wheel as you wriggle in his lap.

“This is so clumsy,” you giggle, and Jimin laughs too as you both struggle to throw the leather jacket onto the passenger seat, but then he grabs your hips and grinds up against your clothed heat and you gasp. “Oh, fuck. Take that damn shirt off, I want to see you too.”

It’s fumbled and chaotic but the two of you end up shedding your upper layer of clothes, shirts cast aside and forgotten. Jimin helps unclasp your bra, kissing the swell of your breasts before the garment drops and is thrown aside too, Jimin taking the opportunity to dip his head and lick one of your nipples. You gasp again and grab at his hair, grip tightening as he runs his tongue over the hardening bud while circling the other with a fingertip. He keeps changing his attention between them, sucking and licking them until you’re a panting, writhing mess in his lap, lips moving so perfectly against your skin.

“Jimin, please,” you whisper, running your hands over all the bare skin you can touch. “I want to feel you.”

It takes less effort than you’d thought as you crane your body upwards to give Jimin space to shove his jeans and underwear down. His cock is hard, lying against his stomach and smearing precum against his skin as he leans back in the chair. You spit into your palm before taking the length in your hand; a familiar weight by now, the curve of him so perfect in your palm, and you shiver in anticipation. Jimin jolts as you pump him to full hardness, running your thumb over the slit of his cock and gathering the wetness there before spreading it over the rest of him, twisting your wrist as you let your hand rise and fall.

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, grip on your hips so tight it’s almost bruising. You’re still in your skirt and panties, but somehow it seems dirtier like this than if you’d been fully naked; Jimin’s hand slips under your skirt and pushes the material of your panties aside, revealing your core to him, and you shudder when he drags a finger up your slit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered around your opening. His eyes are hungry. “Always so wet for me.”

You drag your hips forward into his touch, trembling when you feel the press of his fingers over your clit. “Always want you,” you breathe. “Please, I want your cock in me so bad—”

He silences you with a kiss, tongue slick and wet in your mouth, and you lean into it, hand tightening around his length as you move to guide it into you. He stops you with firm hands, one on your waist and the other bracing your inner thigh, and you whine against his lips. “Jimin, Jiminie, I need you.”

“Hold on,” he says, but you can hear the edge to his voice, how he doesn’t want to stop either. “I just— condom—”

“I’m clean,” you say, legs trembling as you continue to hold your position above him, muscles screaming at you to just drop down and let Jimin’s cock fill you up the way you want, but you stay steady. “I got tested after I broke up with my ex— and I’m still on the pill— fuck, Jimin, wanna feel you fill me up.”

Jimin’s eyes are blown, swallowing the dark brown of his irises. The hand on your inner thigh moves and he plunges two fingers into you and you suck in air, your body opening up for him as he presses deep into your inner walls. One thing you’ve discovered over the months is that Jimin reverts to his Busan dialect when he’s turned on, his voice a surprisingly deep drawl that makes you shiver. “Baby wants my cum, hm?”

Your head drops forward and you pant against his shoulder, body jolting each time he curls his fingers against your sweet spot just the way you like it. “Yes, I want it,” you say, and then gasp as he pushes another finger in, hard and fast, stretching you; you’re so turned on and wet that it slips in easily. “Jimin, please.”

Normally you’re certain he’d drag this out longer but he seems as desperate as you, pulling his fingers out of you in one deft motion that has your pussy clenching around the sudden emptiness. He shifts his hands to your waist, holding you tight, and you use one of your hands to keep the material of your sodden panties out of the way as you hold onto his cock with the other, guiding the tip towards your entrance. Jimin lets you down slowly, his head breaching you first and stretching you so well; you tip your head back and arch your spine as you feel him slowly splitting you open, thicker than his fingers as you lower down inch by glorious inch until your hips are flush and you’ve taken him as deep as you can.

Jimin rolls his hips upwards and your hands fly to his shoulders for balance as you clench around him. He hisses. “You’re so tight, sweet thing,” he says, and you grind down against him, moving your hips in little circular motions that has both of you gasping. You bite your lip as Jimin lifts you back up, just as slow as before, and you revel in the sensation of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sensations electric inside you.

You keep this languid pace for a while, wet and slick, Jimin sucking more marks into your neck as you drag your nails down his chest before you decide to switch things up— you catch Jimin off guard, his hands loose around your waist now, and drop your hips down. The air is punched out of your lungs at the way Jimin’s cock thrusts into you and fills you up all at once, so deep and full, a similar moan ripped out of his lips before his eyes go dark.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” he says. You grin mischievously as you tilt your hips so that your clit rubs against him, shuddering as your toes curl at the pleasure shooting through you.

“You said you’d always make me come first,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him innocently, as if you’re not grinding down his cock. “I thought I’d help you out.”

A thrill sparks through you at Jimin’s expression. He doesn’t respond with words and instead he tightens his grip around your waist before he pulls you almost entirely off his cock, the flushed head just touching your entrance as you squirm in his hold. You wonder if he’s going to keep teasing you but then his hips buck upwards as he pulls you down, and you cry out as he drives into you, setting an unforgiving pace as he begins to drill into you. The car starts to rock with his sharp motions, filled with the sounds of your gasps and moans as you ride him, the slap of skin on skin as you edge closer and closer to your orgasm— but when you tilt your face back and your eyes slip shut one of his hands grips your chin and pulls your head forward.

“Eyes on me.” He’s slowed his ruthless pace, staring into your eyes as he rolls his hips fluidly against yours. “I want to look at me when you cum around my cock.”

“J-Jimin,” you hiccup, and he continues to watch your face as he thrusts into you again— your mouth falls open as your body jolts forward in his lap, but you keep your eyes locked on his. “Jimin, I’m so close,” you say, and he responds with a particularly hard drive upwards. One of your hands drops from his shoulder to rub at your clit, fingers desperate as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with the motion of Jimin’s hips, and you know you’re so close to your peak— a few more presses of his cock into you and you’re gone, pleasure sparking through you as you cum and tighten around him, walls rippling against his cock. You cry out, body tensing as you lean into the sensation, shuddering at how much wetter you grow, flushing out of you onto Jimin’s still-hard erection.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t stop moving. You’re being thrown into oversensitivity, writhing as Jimin continues to pump his hard length into you, but he knows you can take it, drawing multiple orgasms out of you with his fingers and tongue; your hand falls away from your sensitive pearl as Jimin keeps you bouncing in his lap, each deep push into you more than enough to draw out the pleasure from your first orgasm, sobbing in a gasping breath each time he breaches you again. You do your best to match his pace, and you can tell that he’s close, his rhythm starting to falter as the noises slipping past his lips grow more guttural. All his usual sophistication is completely gone as he chases his own release, but he’s still elegant, still gorgeous— it’s the shimmer of sweat at his temples from his exertions and the growing heat in the car, the motion of his body as he rolls his hips, the beautiful dark of his eyes and the kiss-swollen flush to his already full lips. Park Jimin is so utterly overwhelming, and somehow, in some way, he’s yours, and you’re blindsided by your second orgasm, the realisation throwing you into more waves of pleasure as your body goes tense again and you grind down into Jimin with a drawn out moan.

Jimin’s hips stutter. He’s clearly as surprised as you at the fact you’ve come again so soon, but then his eyes fall shut as he grits his teeth after one particularly tight clench of your pussy and he’s cumming too. He empties himself inside you, hot cum painting your insides with each twitch of his cock as you press closer to him, bodies locked together. He chases each wave of his cum with a thrust, pushing as deep into you as he can, the last, weaker ripples of your own orgasm drawing the evidence of his pleasure further inside you until he finally stills, hips flush.

You’re both panting as you come down from your highs, your muscles protesting in the uncomfortable position you’re keeping them in, as cramped as you are- but you don’t want to separate from Jimin, and he seems to feel the same, grip sliding from your waist to circle his arms around you and pull you impossibly closer. He keeps you close as he helps lift you upwards, his cock sliding out of you; you clench as tight as you can but not before a dribble of his cum drips out of you and runs down his softening length, and you shiver at the sensation of that warmth as Jimin sets you gently back down in his lap before settling against you.

His head is nestled against your chest, hair tickling your neck and under your chin. All the lust from your fucking feels like it’s slowly ebbing away, and you’re left with tenderness instead, your fingers scratching lightly through the shorter hair at the nape of Jimin’s neck in a manner that’s more affectionate than it probably should be; this is just physical, it’s all physical, but you like Jimin so much that you can’t help but let that adoration shine through right now. If he says anything about it afterwards you can just blame it on the post orgasm glow. It’s fine. This is fine. He doesn’t need to know.

Eventually Jimin pulls his head away and you lean back so that he can look up at you. You’re stunned by how unguarded his expression is, how warm his eyes are. (He looks how you feel.)

“My baby,” he murmurs, and you smile.

“Jiminie.” A giggle slips out of you as Jimin’s hands cup your face, touch so light it’s ticklish. “Say it again.”

“My baby,” he repeats, fond, but then the warmth fades from his face and his expression becomes serious. “Y/n. Do you want this?”

“Hm?” You make a little noise of confusion. “Want what? You? Of course. Isn’t that obvious? I thought the fact that we just fucked would have been a giveaway.”

Normally he would have laughed at this, you know he would have, but his face stays level. He draws a thumb down the side of your face, and you turn into the touch. “Is that all you want? Just to fuck?”

Your eyes widen as they flick over his face, the implication behind his words. “What?”

“Do you know how much it killed me to watch Hoseok step in for you? It should have been me.” Jimin’s frowning, and you hate that expression, hate the anger on his face that he has directed towards himself. “I don’t want to stand by and pretend like you don’t mean anything to me. I don’t want to have to keep sneaking around and acting like I don’t want you. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours, that they shouldn’t dare to try and put their hands on you.”

“Jimin,” you breathe. “Are you… are you saying you want to make this official? You want to be my boyfriend?” You run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, looking him in the eye even though you feel oddly vulnerable. “You want that?”

“Yes.” He lets you continue to fiddle with his hair, rhythmically combing it away from his forehead with your fingers. “Do you?”

You sigh as you go boneless against him. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. “I think I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, even though I thought you were a threat.”

Jimin stills at your confession and then laughs. “Because I’m so gorgeous?”

“And so humble, too,” you say, before pulling back to kiss his forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips. He smiles so wide his eyes squeeze shut. “Oh, keep smiling like that, you’re so cute when you smile like that.”

He keeps smiling like that as you kiss him again. He’s still smiling once you’ve redressed, even though you keep whining about your leg muscles cramping from how you’ve been curled into his lap; you lean against the door as you sit in his passenger seat and have your legs kicked over the centre console of his car so that he can massage your thighs, so maybe you’re exaggerating your complaints so that Jimin keeps his hands on you, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve been watching you from the very beginning, too,” Jimin says, and you kick your foot lightly in his grasp.

“That’s rivalry, babe,” you tease, and giggle when he catches your foot and holds it still. “Of course you’ve been watching me, you had to know what the competition was up to.”

“I wanted to bend you over the hood of your pretty little car from the second I heard you open that smart mouth of yours,” he says, and looks pleased when he feels how you shiver under his touch.

“You can do that whenever you’d like, now,” you say. You draw your legs back so that you can shift forwards and lean over the centre console, putting your fingers under Jimin’s chin so that you can plant a small kiss on his lips. “Boyfriend privileges.”

If someone had told you, back when you’d first met Park Jimin, that you’d end up like this, you would have laughed in their face and called them ridiculous. But now when he smiles up at you in a way that’s utterly open and sweet, completely at odds to how he presents himself on the circuit, it just feels natural. Like you’ve been drifting towards this moment from the second you’d locked eyes and shaken hands, rivals to lovers to partners, blending all those different facets into one; like it was inevitable from the start.

“Does that mean I can kiss you in public?” Jimin asks, and you kiss him again, letting it linger this time, sucking his plush bottom lip into your mouth and nipping lightly at it before pulling your head back.

“Baby, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

The next time you meet at Namsan, Jimin’s dyed his hair. It’s no longer honey blond, and instead it’s baby pink, a soft pastel shade that of course looks beautiful on him, not to mention—

“You dyed your hair the same colour as my jacket,” you say, voice faint.

“Surprise, sweet thing.” This time when Jimin smiles it’s wide and open, ignoring the fact you’re about to race each other, ignoring the other drivers on the track, ignoring the crowd of onlookers; he only has eyes for you. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like— Park Jimin, I’m going to fuck your brains out after this race is over,” you say. “But right now I demand that you kiss me before I lose my mind.”

You end up kissing him against the side of your Pontiac, sucking on his tongue in a way that’s utterly lewd and scandalous, neither of you paying attention to shocked reactions it causes.

“Get a room,” Jungkook hollers, and Jimin laughs into your mouth as you flip him the bird.

[you can read the second part here!]

#jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts smut #bts #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #jimin fanfic #bts x reader #jimin #park jimin #joy.masterlist

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 6) (Yoonminjoon x Reader)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn't want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, themes of healing, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, themes of deception, complex characters

W/c: 10.6k

Song Rec: Hozier ~ Eden

Series Masterlist

An informative bulletin on Hybrid sense of Smell:

Out of all of the positives that hybrids inherit from their animal dna- their sense of smell is simply unparalleled. It’s one of the more peculiar and therefore interesting subsets of hybrid behavior. Hybrid sense of smell is just like any of the other senses though, in terms of the amount of sensory information contained, it is more on par with sight than the fragile human nose. It is possible that the vast majority of hybrid to hybrid communication is completely pheromonal. most scent glands are found on the wrists and neck.

When an owner or human initially comes into contact with a hybrid, the flush of new sensory information will be hard to parse out for most hybrids (and all but those with the most sensitive smell). At first, a hybrid will only be able to sense if you are feeling “good” or “bad” the same way we can often only tell when food smells good or bad.

But as time goes on, and hybrids become more accustomed to the particular hormonal balance of their humans they become more adept at deciphering their emotional state through their scent. Eventually, a person smelling simply ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ becomes “amused” and “contemplative” or any other host of emotions. This is one of the reasons why hybrids make intense emotional partners, as hybrids become accustomed to their owners or pack mates and they become extremely attuned. Some hybrids are even able to smell their female owner's ovulation cycle and if they’re pregnant before the owner themselves.

Scent is one of the most highly individualized parts of hybrid society, with no two hybrids smelling exactly the same (some exceptions can be made for close siblings and twins) scent-marking behavior is something commonly seen only between hybrids and their owners, as well as between hybrids in the same pack. As scent-marking leaves sort of an imprint of hybrid's emotional state on their partner. It is also a nonverbal queue for other hybrids “this person makes me very happy- please be kind to them for me” or “this is my human, please stay away” a negative impression will also be left on a human if they cause a hybrid distress.

Of course, certain species hybrids are more adept at this kind of empathy than others, with rabbit hybrids having the most sensitive sense of smell and therefore pungent scents, and most exotic hybrids including bird hybrids and snake hybrids, having a less sensitive nose and more mild scents which are harder to discern.

Many other tidbits of information can be conveyed through scents, weather a possible partner will be compatible for a heat/rut cycle, if they are upset and if they are injured or hurt, and their emotional state. There is even some debate that deception can be gleaned through scent (but that claim will need further research).

~~~~

- You wake with a start, started into wakefulness by a piercing shriek and then shouting. Out of all of the times you’ve suddenly woken out of a dead sleep this is by far the least violent. There isn’t anyone in your room but you, the covers overly warm, golden early morning light seeping through the windows, peaceful and idyllic.

- it isn’t one of the times that your late husband had dragged you out of the bed, kicking and screaming because he’d found something on your phone, a strange charge on your credit card, or woken to the feel of him above you, or woken to his screaming at Namjoon.

- You tell yourself that it’s just any other day, that this morning isn’t one of those. but your heart dosent understands that. thundering, your hands shaking.

- The days when you wake up slowly in Namjoon’s arms- those are the best mornings. But Namjoon isn’t next to you- and somehow your heart won’t start shuddering. Namjoon isn’t here and you want him there and your mind somewhere else entirely as you shakily exit your bedroom, tying your robe around you deftly.

- One benefit of living in an old house is that you can hear nearly everything that goes on, and you can hear Jimin's words below you “Yoongi- don’t look”

- Sometimes- you still have days where you hate your bedroom. Days where you won’t cross over the threshold with Namjoon already there, his every presence comforting to you- willing away any bad thought that might arise, any trigger or memory. You’d painted the walls a different color- the dark green changed to a light pastel blue- but some of the memories still linger even though it looks different and far warmer than it did when it was your husband's old bedroom.

- Most of the positive change has to do with Namjoon’s presence, the countless pillows that he likes to sleep with, the fluffy throws, his organized but slightly wry shirts in your open closet, his small stack of parenting books by your dresser. It might be the same room you were hurt in, but it feels different most of the time, especially when you’ve got namjoon all stretched out in your bed, All of the peace you have starts and ends with Namjoon.

- But maybe that’s changing, maybe you find a certain calm in Yoongi and Jimin too. Jimin is the first one you see, sending you a panicked glance as Namjoon cleans his face of blood, trying to stand in front of Yoongi for whatever reason the snake hybrid looking a little paler than usual.

- You stumble to the bottom of the stairs in your thick fluffy robe, some of your hair sticking up at the back. You take one good look at the snake, rub your eyes a bit, and then turn to the cat hybrid sprawled in the grass. Your eyes are steely, unflinching as you help her up, ask if she’s okay. All the while, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin blink back the sleep from their eyes, not knowing what to do about the snake, hanging flayed open on your front door.

- You take one long look at the snake too. All of you silent for a moment before you jump into action. “We’ll get this cleaned up before you get back with the others, wake Taehyung too if you wouldn’t mind? Tell him I’m calling a meeting before breakfast to make sure no one slips away for chores.”

- That Jimin understands, Many a time had he seen the younger and teenaged hybrids leave the table the second their plates where finished. Though he has to admit- this feels less like a prank gone wrong and more like I direct threat with the way Yoongi is blinking behind Namjoon, the other hybrid talking to him in his low voice. Hands out like they might touch him, Namjoon’s tail hanging low between his legs.

- You’re just about to turn away when Jimin grabs your arm. “There’s something you should know,” he’s quick to explain what happened last night, who kicked him out of his bed and the reason why he’d been asleep on your couch. Your mouth turns down the more he talks. “Bring Minhyung too okay? Are you okay lovely?” you keep Jimin’s hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

- The cat smooth’s out a wrinkle in her skirt and clears her butt of any dirt that might have gotten on it when she’d fallen backward, her tail flicks agitatedly “I’m okay miss, it just gave me a fright.”

- “I can’t imagine how none of us heard anything,” Namjoon says- finishing cleaning the blood from his face, thanking Yoongi for the towel. He looks a little shaken but mostly all right. “I know” Jimin agrees- “it was barely 10 feet from me and I didn’t hear it.” You grimace, still looking at the door and the snake, Namjoon finished wiping the blood off his face and you gesture for the rag.

- Jimin steps up “I’ll do it- you don’t have too” surprisingly the nail isn’t that deeply driven into the wood once Jimin gets over his initial squeamishness over handling the dead animal. Namjoon heads off as soon after Jimin gets it free to bury it in the garden. Still in his pajamas. You usher Yoongi upstairs while Jimin cleans the door of blood.

- You’ve been in Yoongi’s room a handful of times (when it was just your husband's house it used to be an office) but the dark blue walls fit Yoongi better now. His queen mattress pushed in the corner, an old ladder that Yoongi had repurposed hanging with half a dozen thick blankets and fluffy duvets, assorted space heaters and fans sitting on the desk pushed up against the foot of his bed. It’s cozy mostly- the curtains all drawn so the room feels more like a den or a cave. Dark- but warm and comforting, it feels safe even.

- Now that Yoongi’s away from the others it looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, raking his fingers through his hair and twitching a little, He can’t relax or standstill. You set a cup of coffee for him on his bedside table and linger. Unsure if you don’t want to leave him alone or if he wants to be to regroup for a second. “Yoongi” he turns and looks at you, and sometimes- like this time. It almost seems like Yoongi wants to say something to you- but just- can’t get the words out.

- You wonder more than you’d care to admit- if his muteness is selective or something physical. Namjoon wonders too, what his voice sounds like if his laugh is more of a giggle like Jimin’s or something crackling like Nam Joon. “Do you-“ a little noise stops you, Yoongi’s hands clench and unclench by his side.

- You reach out a hand unthinking, stopping a second before you actually cup his cheek. You and Yoongi are no stranger to almost touches, especially on his good days. Many times you’ve felt the almost brush of his hand on your lower back when you stand, sometimes you actually do feel it.

- You were no stranger to slight touches either, always in the secluded privacy of your garden or the house when it’s late and the curtains are drawn. In front of namjoon too. You’d linked pinky’s more than once over a bed of flowers when you were taking a break. as he fed you a sweet strawberry or green beans from the garden. The pad of his finger lingering on your lower lip for just a second too long to not be intentional.

- But never had you initiated the touch, not like this. Your hand cups his cheek and Yoongi leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. The bags under his eyes are almost black-purple. The scales under his chin feel cool under your fingers, only slightly smoother and cooler than the rest of his skin.

- You’d asked Namjoon about it, pacing in your room after one day when you’d seen Namjoon watch you and Yoongi with a strange look on his face. You didn’t want to do anything that made him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it will always be Namjoon. You won’t leave him or hurt him- not ever if you can help it. Thought at the beginning, you feared you could hurt him by accident with Yoongi.

- It was back when your baby bump had barely been visible- not like now when even your baggiest dresses barely conceal your bump. Nothing but a strategically placed pillow concealing Namjoon’s nakedness as he laid back in your bed late at night. Namjoon scrolling through his phone (new, a gift from you. though it will only last about a week until he decideds to try and ‘wash’ off the dirt that got on it and compeltly ruin it)

- You’d had minor disagreements over other hybrids in the past. Namjoon was mostly okay with you giving out pets like they’re one-dollar bills at the strip club. And was equally as nonplussed when some of the younger hybrids that don’t know any better cuddled close enough to you that you ended up smelling like them. But there had been one incident where one of the older canine hybrids had mistakenly scent marked you.

- Namjoon had been a little angry growling at you the second he’d smelled the fox’s scent on you and demanding you shower. Rightfully upset, he’d explained that that was practically a claiming mark. He’d been touchy and a little bit grumpy the rest of the week, an arm thrown around your waist whenever the other hybrid was around.

- But Yoongi Doesn’t seem to upset him in the same way. “I don’t get what you’re so worried about- it’s fine- it’s not like he’s not part of our pack or a stranger.”

- You’d stopped where you’d been pacing a hole in your carpet. “What do you mean- apart of the same pack?” Namjoon sighed, tossing his phone to the side (he doesn’t quite understand that he needs to be gentle with it yet). “it’s like- it’s not the same as if it was a random farmer across the street- because it’s Yoongi and he’s one of us, it doesn’t make me feel possessive because he’s mine too you know?”

- They had been getting close recently, there aren’t many hybrids at the farm yet, and Yoongi, Taehyung, and Seokjin are the only ones who’ve stayed any length of time you’d consider significant. You’d woken alone late at night a few times in the last week and gone down to the living room lower level only to find Namjoon and Yoongi asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

- “But he’s not a canine hybrid Joonie? Don’t you only form pack bonds with other dog hybrids?” Namjoon shaking his head, ears flapping a little, “not at all, though it is rarer- and Yoongi won’t exactly feel it the same way I do, he’s still apart of this too.”

- It hits you like a truck, “you mean- you love him too?”

- You’d been meaning to ask Namjoon- if the pack bonds now extended to Jimin too, you had a feeling they did but it was probably better to ask…before anything more significant happens.

- You know that Yoongi is okay with touch as long as it’s not skin on skin and if he can control it. But you can’t not offer the affection now- not when you think it might help- not when Yoongi looks like he’s about ready to jump out of his skin with how afraid he is.

- You can tell his whole body is shivering but he doesn’t move to pull away when you lift up your other hand to slowly cup his cheek. He doesn’t move away when you get up on your tippy-toes to press your lips to his forehead. He smells soft and sweet like freshly done laundry. His hands come up too, loosely settling around your waist like he’s not sure he wants to pull you in for a hug yet.

- “We’ll get to the bottom of this yoongi, I promise” you give him one shorter squeeze and then separate. And Yoongi looks like he wants to keep holding you and also like he doesn’t. So you figure it’s best. You hover in the doorway, “take your time coming down today okay? We’ll have the meeting and then we can have breakfast up here if you’re not feeling up to being around the others today.”

- Your front door is clean, the light blue wood spotless when you come down the stairs, and By that time the cat hybrids have already returned to the kitchen. after changing into a loose knee-length dress, spotted with little flowers. It’s too hot for anything-tight today- but with your growing bump- everything feels tight. You’re only a few weeks away from the end of your second trimester, and you’re thankful that so far- you haven’t felt much morning sickness. You think you have a doctor’s visit later this week though- you’ll have to ask namjoon, he’s better at remembering that sort of thing than you are.

- One hybrid comes through the backdoor with a clutch of eggs from the chicken coop, the egg basket piled high, Jimin is with them too- holding a few eggs in his shirt- held out tight to make a basket, the cat hybrid smiles at you, “got almost 3 dozen today miss!”

- “Perfect for the frittata?” Jimin asks, unsure. “Quiche.” you and the cat hybrid correct at the same time. The three of you filing into the kitchen, Jimin careful not to break the eggs.

- A certain sleepy wolf hybrid is already sitting at your prep table, looking nervous, his scent souring when he sees you and Jimin. Jimin stays, this time crossing his arms and leaning up against the cabinets to watch Minhyung squirm. You sit down at the prep table across from him and pour him a cup of tea.

- He looks worried- sending a glance back and forth to Jimin and then to you. He knows what he did last night was wrong- and though Jimin can’t see any snake’s blood underneath his fingernails, the suspicion and dislike of the wolf hybrid still linger.

- But he doesn’t look like he’s trying to conceal anything. He just looks scared, eyes flicking from hybrid to hybrid, to the door and then the window and anywhere but at you and Jimin. Before the conversation’s even started, Jimin’s suspicion dissipates. While he agrees that Minhyung may be a dick, Jimin can’t believe that a hybrid would do this- they all know what discrimination feels like. Which is what makes their distaste of Yoongi particularly abhorrent.

- “I hear you have a certain problem with how I treat Yoongi, Minhyung. Would you like to elaborate? Or maybe explain why you kicked Jimin out of the bunk room last night? Or why you left a snake nailed to my front door-“

- “What?! I didn’t- I promise that wasn’t me,” Minhyung is smart- he understands what the commotion this morning was about. By now Taehyung must have woken everyone up- must have already told everyone about the meeting. Jimin doesn’t know if they’ve ever had one before, but judging by the general tense atmosphere in the kitchen alone- it must not be a regular occurrence.

- “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Jimin, “I honestly thought you would be sleeping up here. I don’t sleep well and when you woke me up- I reacted badly. I promise I’ll be kinder- just don’t- please don’t throw me out.”

- “It’s not up to me,” Jimin says, his voice small, he gives you a look- that he hopes you interpret as ‘it’s up to you- I’m done with this’ and leaves the room. Only to find Yoongi hovering just outside, hidden behind the wall listening in.

- Jimin hears you and Minhyung starting up the conversation again, mostly it's him speaking this time- talking about his old owner who used sleep deprivation as a tactic to make him obedient. You don’t say much, just listen sipping at your tea. Yoongi lifts a finger to his lips and hands Jimin a carefully folded piece of paper. “I don’t think it was him.” By now Jimin is used to the way Yoongi sometimes converses on paper when he needs to communicate.

- “Do you know who it was then?” Jimin whispers, Yoongi shakes his head, but there is something about the tilt of his eyes that Jimin can’t find it in him to trust. But if there is a reason that Yoongi has for lying to him- then Jimin will trust it’s a good reason.

- He goes back into the kitchen, summoning you; you stand and walk to the door so that you won’t be overheard. Teetering a little bit, you look a little shaky too like you aren’t quite awake. Maybe that’s it- or is there something else? A shakiness behind your eyes too? Jimin can’t decipher it. Minhyung stays there, sitting looking contrite and like he’s close to tears. Fiddling with his hands under the table.

- “What are you going to do?” Jimin asks, Yoongi waiting too, his note crumpled in his fist. Namjoon comes thundering down the stairs in his work boots, looking intimidating as ever in all black. He must have snuck upstairs to change after he buried the snake in your garden. “I don’t know,” you say easily, crossing your arms over your baby bump, looking at Namjoon and sighing before you meet Jimin and Yoongi’s eyes. “Do you think he did it Yoongi?”

- Yoongi shakes his head, pursing his lips and Jimin decides that damn- he’s either a convincing liar or what he noticed earlier was just something else. Maybe Yoongi feeling uncomfortable. The buttons on his usual linen button-down aren’t buttoned right and his hair doesn’t have that usual perfectly swept out of his face look. Jimin is the only one still in his pajamas (which actually belongs to Yoongi) but he’ll try to change during the meeting.

- “If I throw him out there is a chance I could be punishing someone innocent, and if I let him stay there is a chance he could be guilty” Namjoon sits across the armrest of the old couch. “You’ve never thrown out someone before,” he says, bending down to tie his work boots.

- “No,” you say, eyes sharp on Namjoon, “but I’ve let you do it.”

- Namjoon freezes, standing up looking contrite, “I didn’t know you knew about that” Yoongi sends Jimin a panicked look; worried they’re about to witness some sort of fight between the two of you. But you just raise an eyebrow at Namjoon looking more tired than annoyed. “I’m not angry, but this should always be a joint decision,” you fiddle with Namjoon’s sleeve, tenderly smoothing over the edge of it. “So it’s settled then?”

- “This isn’t only our home anymore” you peer into the kitchen, keeping part of your body hidden by the wall. Minhyung still sits hands underneath his thighs, his head snaps up, black ears still buried in his hair. “You can stay, I trust you know that if anything else happens…” you trail off, he scrambles up from the prep-table. “Well, I trust you’ll have more sense than that.”

- He scrambles up from the prep-table. Minhyung almost breaks his back bowing to you, promising that he won’t do anything, that he’ll be the perfect hybrid again and again before he’s off down the hill- back to change out of his pajamas.

- It’s a humid day out and it isn’t even sunny, the moisture in the air oppressive. The hybrids are sleepy- hair and ears ruffled from sleep, some of them in work clothes and some of them still in their pajamas.

- Jimin sees one of the little ones make grabby arms at Seokjin (who looks clean pressed as ever) and the alpaca hybrid heaves the young one up into his arms, where it promptly closes its eyes and leans on his wide shoulder- the perfect place for a nap. Seokjin blushes when the new hybrid from a few weeks back, the otter Hoseok, comes over to coo at the little doe hybrid. His hands smoothing up and down her spine.

- Someone gets you a step stool and though Namjoon makes a face- he lets you use it to climb up onto a table. His hands anxiously hovering around your waist to make sure you won’t fall, he whines. But you ignore his instincts to be overprotective. Jimin can see the tension in Namjoon’s arms- he seems so worried that you’re going to fall- it’s almost cute.

- “This morning, a snake was nailed to my front door.” This is greeted by a few murmurs, nervous glances, and internal cringes. You hold up a hand, and the gathered hybrids all fall silent again. “You should all understand what safety means for a hybrid, and the fact that you would make one of your own feel unsafe and unwelcome- it hurts me. Because I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of taking care of you if you’re lashing out at one of your own. Yoongi is not to blame for your hurt.”

- Jimin is impressed by the way that you command their attention, The surrounding hybrids look scared; some look contrite, but most just look uncomfortable at being called out. They all know that Yoongi staying up in the main house and not in the barns isn’t a result of favoritism, but a necessity because of his inability to regulate his own body temperature. And even if you were playing favorites- it’s not like you don’t do the same with Namjoon?

- “If anyone has any complaints or is upset by the way I treat any one of you- you should come to me and talk about it. Not take it out on each other or my front door for that matter.” that gets a few chuckles out of the crowd. And it’s mostly the cat hybrids that have left the dishes in the kitchen to simmer rather than miss your announcement.

- After the meeting and breakfast, the four of you linger in the lower level of your house. The cleanup crew already blasting country music in your kitchen, and Jimin can see every twang of the country music irritates Yoongi and Namjoon

- Namjoon even making a small noise and rubbing his ears. You sigh, straightening out your dress on the bottom step, your hands shake a little. And you’re not the only one, Yoongi sits, his shoulders hunched. It only takes one glance up at them all for you to stop. Setting your sun hat back on the hook.

- “You know what- fuck this. We need to get out of here today.”

- All of you piling into your beat-up red truck, the same one Jimin had come to the farm in. Namjoon runs back in at the last moment to grab your purse. Yoongi and Jimin in the back two seats, a little cramped. Namjoon gets the front on account of his long legs. None of you talk about a destination as you make a three-point turn rather than try and back out of your near mile-long driveway.

- Not one hybrid lounging in the fields or moving about had given them so much as a look when you’d drove down the long hill. Pausing at the end only because Taehyung was nearby, the hybrid calling to you and trotting over to lean at your car door, his smile as happy as ever. Bear ears flickering in the holes cut out of his baseball cap.

- “Want to come with?” you offer, but Taehyung just shakes his head, “Nah my queen needs me” he tilts his head back in the direction of the bee hutches. is it Jimin’s imagination, or do you look a little crestfallen? “Need anything?” you’d proffered. He’s so tall he has to slouch to be at face level with you. Taehyung doesn't ask where you’re going, only looks as Yoongi leans over the front seat to fiddle with the radio, as if judging how affected the snake hybrid is by what transpired this morning. he flicks from channel to channel trying to find a song he likes. “Nothing really, maybe some more jars for honey if you can find them?”

- You nod softly “that I can do.” Taehyung steps back and waves as you pull out of the gates of the farm. And Jimin feels anticipation build underneath his skin. He’d rarely ever been outside of his old home before and now- now he was leaving the farm too- the destination uncertain.

- “Please don’t speed,” Namjoon says, Yoongi leans back from the radio, finally settled on some song with a low thread beat, more musical than anything else. The snake seems to vibrate with the force of the music and between that, the sound of the engine, and the wind whipping through the open windows, Namjoon has to shout to be heard. The wind tickles, but it’s the only relief from the muggy June heat since your air-conditioning is busted.

- You smile at him lightly; at 10am on the dusty dirt road there isn’t a sing soul with you on the road. You gun it. Namjoon grips the handle on the roof looking green, but when jimin looks over and sees you and Yoongi smiling at Namjoon’s queasy ness- his anxiety dissipates. It doesn’t matter that your truck is rusty and that you’re barely going over 40 in a 35- to Namjoon, one mile over the speed limit is breaking the law.

- You stop at the drive-through before you get on the highway, iced coffee for Yoongi, blended lemonade for Jimin, a hot chocolate for Namjoon (a travesty when it’s this hot) and an iced tea for you. The yellow lemons in your tea Jiggling with the ice as you hit potholes with little care for your truck. Yoongi leaning over periodically to change the song. Namjoon telling Jimin what genre is playing when he confesses he doesn’t know one, “is it jazz or ska?” Yoongi holds up two fingers- indicating the second choice, Namjoon nods.

- You look over your shoulder- sharing a special secret glance with jimin, rolling your eyes a little. Now he understands why you rarely ever play music when you work- if you did yoongi would get up to change the music every few seconds.

- “So where are we going?” you tap your fingers against the steering wheel, waiting to turn south onto the highway. “Probably not the beach, but maybe the State park? What do you think Joonie?”

- “I wouldn’t mind the state park, it’s got a pretty view” Jimin tries not to let his Disappointment show, especially when Namjoon turns to Jimin, sensing the whine that died in his throat. Yoongi nudges Jimin's foot with his own. The light turns green and you start to turn onto the highway. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

- “What!?” you and Namjoon shout in tandem, you lurch to a dead stop, suddenly turning, around instead of just turning left. Yoongi turning to jimin mouth open. “Yeah- I’d never- I’d only been outside of like one block before coming to you?” Yoongi shakes his head as you get going the opposite way on the highway- getting into the slow lane because your truck just can’t handle going over 60 no matter how much you want it to be able to do that. “You don’t have to” Jimin tries to say; you smile when you glance over your shoulder at him. “I’m already on the highway Jimin.”

- Jimin pretends it doesn’t make his heart hurt a little bit to see you change so easily for him, the truck thudding along. Yoongi holding out the last half of his ice coffee for Jimin to try, smiling when he makes a face at the bitterness. You hold out your ice tea too, trading it for a sip of Jimin’s frozen lemonade. Namjoon offering him, but you being a little snarky, “sorry babe but I don’t think anyone but you want a hot chocolate in the middle of June.”

- Namjoon turns his full lanky body in your direction, thighs bulging out on the pleather, tipping his back and out of the window. “It just makes me unique,” you swallow, and jimin sees how viscerally you’re affected by the long line of him stretched out in the front seat of your car.

- Yoongi’s writes something on his notepad and handing it over to Jimin. “Yoongi wants you to know that you’re as unique as a dog sticking his head out the window of a car.” Namjoon scoffs, you laugh, Namjoon’s smirk as he looks at Yoongi is shy, and Jimin knows how that feels- the pride you feel at being known enough to be teased. “At least I know the difference between Ska and jazz now, that has to count something for uniqueness.”

- Jimin scoffs, “you gonna keep an imaginary tally or something?” Namjoon flicks his ears in Jimin’s direction, grinning, happy to be teased. “Yes- we can keep track, start being really weird like cutting our shirts into crop tops and painting them and shit,”

- “Oh please do that,” you say, and it’s a surprisingly attractive offer. Jimin has seen Namjoon’s stomach, all hard lines, and juicy skin when it pulls up or when it gets really hot and he takes off his shirt. And he can’t say he disagrees and judging by the high blush on Yoongi’s cheeks, he dosent either. All of you laugh with the way that Namjoon blushes and grumbles and fiddles with the edge of his shirt. The puppy is just too easy to tease.

- After some prodding, Jimin is tempted to lean his head out of the window too, and when he does he has to admit- looking down the narrow stretch of highway, eyes watering, his ears getting battered like hell because of the wind. It is worth it, his sensitive nose catching bits of something that smells like salt and fish the closer you get.

- Even Yoongi is tempted to do the same, though he might not get the same amount of joy the dog hybrids get from sticking their heads out the window. The wind sending his hair all windswept against his forehead. Curling because of the humidity.

- Yoongi’s tongue sticks out a little, as a snake hybrid his sense of smell isn’t nearly as good as Namjoon and Jimin’s, but it’s better when he can taste the air, the saltiness thicker the closer you get to the coast. Namjoon and Jimin’s tails wag out a rhythm on the seats.

- The beach is absolutely beautiful, the waves rolling and curling light blue but stormy the further out you go, Namjoon leaves his workboots in your truck and Jimin gets his knees and shorts all dirty in the sea spray, Yoongi declining to join in the water, writes that the salt makes his scales feel sticky and sits in the sand with your and Jimin’s shoes. Content to lean back and watch.

- Namjoon holding your hand to keep you steady as you dip your feet into the spray, your dress wiping in the wind. Jimin going crazy with excitement for a moment before he kicks at the spray and chases a few seagulls. None of you brought your swimsuits but Jimin dunks his full body once you gesture for him to take off his shirt so it won't get wet. You and Namjoon seem to have enough fun just dipping your feet in the cold water- but Jimin can’t get enough of the ocean now that he’s seen it. The way the waves curl, the thunder, the sharpness of salt on his tongue.

- He gets to knee height, and then to stomach height, the water is cold and a little unpleasant, but it’s worth it for the way the small waves ripple around him. Looking down at his body in the sea spray Jimin realizes- he doesn’t have a single bruise left on his body. It’s been some time since he came to stay at the farm and besides a few scars and aches, he doesn’t have a single mark on his body from what happened to him.

- The marks that lie underneath his skin- on Jimin’s soul could never go away as easily as that- but for a moment, he lets himself believe that the water could wash away even the wounds unseen. The last few weeks have taught Jimin that it’s not that easy, but if grief is the cousin of healing then Jimin will let himself feel sad about this if it means he can hope that one day he’ll barely feel broken.

- When he submerges his body and feels the drag of the ocean out to see, he lets himself imagine that the ocean is taking something from him and dragging it to a deep place where it can weigh on him anymore. And maybe when he gets his head above water- he feels a tiny infinitesimal bit better. but only time will tell if it actually makes it better. Jimin is on his way to healing and he knows he only needs time.

- When he gets back out, he almost stumbles in the surf and looks back at the beach, where the three of you are waiting for him. The three of you watch him separate himself from the waves. Your eyes going up and down his chest. Yoongi looking away after a moment. Writing on his pad of paper and scribbling it out angrily after a moment. Handing it over to Jimin

- “Feel better?” “Yeah- it’s” he shakes his body, ears flopping and sticking to his wet hair, the seawater beading in the sand. “It's nice in there. You should go in” “next time,” Yoongi writes. “You look a lot better Jiminie,” Namjoon says, handing over his flannel so that Jimin can use it to dry off. “What do you mean?” you stand to poke playfully at Jimin’s little poochy tummy, “you’ve gained a lot of weight you look healthy, I love it. ”

- He feels the fire in his cheeks, your words making his heart stutter. “Just one second” he turns away and hides his blush in Namjoon’s flannel, a high-pitched and very loud whine building in his chest or something like the need to scream swallowed by his throat because- ah fuck. He’s feeling something he shouldn’t be, isn’t he? But he must make some noise because you’re all laughing, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as he hides his smile behind his hand.

- Before he’s turning back and handing it back to Namjoon face redder than a tomato. The other hybrid doesn’t say a thing about how it’s soaked in both water and Jimin’s scent, he Just ties it around his waist like Jimin’s scent clinging to him is the most natural thing in the world.

- You go back to the car so Namjoon can get his shoes, you talk about heading back but Yoongi isn’t ready to leave, wants to stay a little bit longer. You walk along the boardwalk; you buy some fried food that the three of you snack on, cyclone potatoes, and fried clams. Yoongi crunches into them happily, his cute little fang curling around his lip.

- Eventually, the boardwalk turns from games and restaurants into a small flea market, kitschy decorations, an overpriced Pepsi sign from the 1950s, a table made out of a glass coffin, curling horns mounted from some sort of creature. You mill about when your phone rings, shrill. “Hey Tae, what’s wrong?” you fiddle with a glass wall hanging; the stained glass fashioned to look like a cherry. Prattling onto Taehyung over the phone as Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin look through the tables of knickknacks.

- Yoongi eyes a silk dress shirt- Kind of garishly patterned. As behind them, a little girl points in their direction. There aren’t many other hybrids out on the boardwalk today, so Namjoon smiles at her, his scarred lip always moves a little less than the rest of his face, and the little girl’s mother pulls her closer and moves on quickly. Namjoon’s smile falls crestfallen.

- But as quick as the disquiet comes Yoongi is making him laugh by showing him a figurine- a piggybank that looks like a butt, the crack a hole for a coin. And the moment is forgotten. Most of the time- Jimin forgets what Namjoon must look like to the others, the scars that stretch, one from his jaw to halfway up to his cheek, another across and eye, and the newer one- from his chin to his lip.

- Jimin spies a weird metal holder, a sun on the front, mostly rusty, weird holes and test tubes set up so that they can stand in the holes. The man who runs the stand comes over to him. He’s not unkind to them, seems to be something of an outcast himself with his tattoos and gauged piercings. He greets jimin with a wide smile. “It’s meant for flowers, the test tubes hold one a piece” Namjoon smiles at him too. Sidling up behind Jimin, putting a hand on his shoulder. Namjoon’s warmth splaying over half his back “how much is it?”

- By now it's no secret how much Jimin loves flowers, a love both of you share (Yoongi’s thing is more vegetables). “Namjoon you don’t have too- I don’t need it” he looks like he’s about to say something, Yoongi scrawling something but before either of them can say anything, you get off the phone a few feet away. Pinching the bridge of your nose and their attention is diverted.

- You look substantially more stressed and they don’t need to ask what happened. “Apparently everything goes to shit when we’re gone, but a fuse blew in the house and now none of the refrigerators are working. We also got another call but the old owners are gonna drop the hybrid off later tonight. And apparently, a goat got into the garden but Seokjin got to him before he’d done any damage.” Yoongi looks about ready to run back into the truck at that.

- “Probably because he was distracted running after that otter hybrid again” you slap Namjoon’s arm good-naturedly. “Hush they’ve got crushes, and you remember what that’s like right?” Namjoon glances at Jimin and then at Yoongi, “yeah- I think I do.”

- As you’re on the way out you pass by the fruit section of the flea market- the place that is more a farmers market at the edge of the boardwalk. “those watermelons look good” you divert your course, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, “next thing I know her cravings are going to have me putting watermelon in sour cream soon”

- “That doesn’t seem like a bad combination at all” Yoongi makes a disgusting face, suddenly freezing when he looks over your shoulder, someone walks close to him, nearly knocking into Yoongi and his scent, disquieted and afraid fluffs towards Namjoon and jimin, they hover- instantly surrounding Yoongi while you are unaware.

- Which is fine- you’re not a hybrid and you can’t smell Yoongi’s distress like they can, you’re distracted by the lady who owns the stand coming upfront to greet you. Namjoon shrivels his nose, the smell of cigarettes permeating and making it hard for him to smell anything else.

- He tries to waves his hands and tell Namjoon and Jimin he’s fine but they won’t listen, the two of them stand on either side of him, staying close but not touching Yoongi- keeping anyone else in the crowd from coming close.

- You start talking to the woman who looks like she owns the stand. she gives one of the watermelons a hearty slap and yoongi flinches. She’s got long black hair and a wide smile- but she looks nice. She makes a wry comment about your baby bump and the watermelons, which you laugh about good naturedly about even if it is a little rude in Jimin’s opinion. Saying that you’re not at the true watermelon part of your pregnancy yet.

- In the end- you part with 10 (for everyone on the farm- it can never hurt to have easy snacks like watermelon in storage) and a half-bushel of their assorted vegetables. As much as you want to be completely self-sustainable your vegetable garden isn’t nearly ready to support every hungry mouth at the farm, and their English cucumbers are long and hard. You look happy to do business with them all said and done.

- The lady directs one of her farm hands, a big burly man with a bunch of tattoos to help Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi carry them back and fort to your truck. Yoongi stops you when they’re finished. Shoving a note in your direction. “There’s something I want to go do, can you give me a second?”

- You nod, already taking out your wallet. Behind the two of you Jimin sneaks a handful of grape tomatoes into his pocket- they’re still his favorite. “we’ll get a few snacks for the drive home, take your time” he tries to not take your money but you won’t take no for an answer. Eventually shoving it in the breast pocket of his linen shirt if he won’t take it with his hands. He grumbles, shoving the wad of 20’s deep in his pocket.

- The three of you don’t think anything of it at all. After all- snake hybrids have uniquely tricky scents to parse out. So it’s no wonder why Jimin and Namjoon don’t smell the distress coming from him still. You think you notice something- but you let it slide. You’re never one to let Yoongi’s sudden mood changes affect you or take them personally.

- Sometimes he just gets too overheated to process things right. And you can tell from the way he’s listless that he’s at least approaching overheating. Getting into the car with the air-conditioning will be good for him. You make a mental note to pick him up another ice coffee.

- But meanwhile- while you’re waiting in line at a fast-food stand, Namjoon grabbing a few bags of chips off of a rack and jimin screwing around with a soda dispenser- figuring out how many different types of soda he can fit in one cup. Yoongi is being thrown into the side of a truck with a loud clang. His back hitting it and then his head jarring painfully. The sound alone sending him reeling into the dirt. But the man doesn’t let him fall. A hand savagely yanking his hair back. The unwanted contact sending shivers all up and down his body.

- “And here I thought you’d be more careful not to come so close. Did you think no one here would recognize you? We knew you where here the second you stepped out of that shitty truck.”

- Yoongi blinks, trying to keep the black spots out of his eyes. And she’s right. He did know better, the beachfront has always been their territory. Yoongi remembers the days he’d sneaked out and walked down to the beach in the middle of the night. The only time he ever felt some semblance of freedom. As long as he remained unseen and unheard she didn’t care. But today he’d been the opposite of unseen.

- He can’t respond. And Knows better than to try. His owner has never been fond of Yoongi’s voice, and she’s trained him well enough to know not to use it ever in front of her, his whole body had almost jumped out of his skin when he’d seen her, and seen you in front of her. All of the protective instincts in his body screaming at him to get you away from her to get you away from danger.

- Yoongi might be a liar, and a filthy double-crosser, worth every bit of ire and distrust from the other hybrids. He might not deserve your kindness or your care- not even a little bit and still, he’d never let anyone hurt you.

- She kicks off a crate of peaches; her black boots clicking on something metallic in the dust, cracking into one with a pop of her teeth into the tight skin. Coming close and getting in Yoongi’s face as the man holds him there for a second more, but then releases him. Both of them know they can’t rough Yoongi up like usual- any bruises would be too suspicious.

- “Did you like my little present this morning?” Yoongi flinches and she laughs. He’d suspected but hadn’t really known for sure if the message this morning was from her. But now he knows, he’s even more afraid than he was opening the door this morning. At least he’d come when called, Yoongi doesn’t want to think about what would have happened or what might have popped up on your front door had you gone somewhere else today.

- Yoongi is a good hybrid. Years of getting thrown into walls and slapped and kicked and burned by the stray end of a cigarette have trained him well, he always comes when he’s called.

- “You have until the end of the summer Yoongi- after that if you’re not back and with what I asked for, I’ll make sure that house goes up in flames.” She flicks a lighter, starting up a cigarette that makes Yoongi’s nose twinge uncomfortably. Bad memories. So many bad memories from looks like that as she puffs on her cigarette and blows the smoke in his face.

- “It’s a cute house, especially the garden. I didn’t know you had a thing for that- maybe I’ll have you grow some kale or vegan shit for me when you get back. And then I’ll really be like little miss high brow too huh? Looks like she eats healthy” Yoongi shakes and his owner laughs. So then she has been watching him. He doesn’t let himself wonder who at the farm might be there for a reason like Yoongi. What other snakes you might have in your garden.

- Yoongi can’t be there for long, can’t be absent. But he knew from the second he met his owner’s eyes over your shoulder that she would expect him to report back. That to not come when he was called would be as good as promising violent retribution, something far worse than a snake nailed to your front door.

- She leans in close to Yoongi, and Yoongi can’t resist leaning away, as she breathes the smoke in his face, his hands shaking at his sides. He watches her put out her cigarette in the peachy pink flesh of the peach wincing.

- He knows better than to talk back now or even squirm as she leans closer, barely a centimeter from his face. Even though a hook on the side of the truck is digging into the small of his back. “Remember little viper- if I see you so much as touch them- or let out even a fucking whisper- I’ll kill them in front of you then kill you myself”

- Yoongi understands- how could he not- he’s nothing more than her plaything- her spy. Yoongi wonders what she’d do if she knew he’d already broken the first rule. No touching though there had only been a few times, your hand on his arm when he was in the middle of a heat-induced meltdown, and this morning when you’d cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

- Before anything else happens, 3 other men of her’s come around the corner of the truck, two of them hooding up the third who looks close to passing out. blood dripping down the side of his shirt. Yoongi has seen enough fights to know how someone looks when they’ve lost one. What’s more surprising is the fact that they’ve lost one here- the boardwalk is supposed to be his owner's territory. To touch her operation here- that means something significant, but even more strangely, his owner and her right-hand man don’t even look surprised.

- He struggles to put the situation together, Yoongi remembers one time when they were teenagers- back when it wasn’t his owner's gang, but her father’s. How he’d gone into a rage because some rival had decided to even vacation on their beaches- nearly unloading the full clip of a gun into their group in broad daylight.

- If they’re being pushed back- even to here, then there is something wrong- a rival gang or the police- whichever party had earned his owner's aggression this time, was surely soon to fall. But a gang war isn’t something that Yoongi’s ever seen. She fusses over the man two others holding him up, and Yoongi slides away, back into the crowd of the boardwalk. Knowing this time- he won’t be missed.

- Yoongi walks back to the car, telling himself to enjoy every minute that he has left. Because once the summer heat fades. He knows it’s all going to go away. As he walks, even as he knows there’s probably someone watching him. He stops in front of the flea market. His feet unable to take him closer to you, the closer he gets- the less safe you are. and still- he wants to be close to you- for just a little longer, so that he knows what it’s like.

- To have a pack, a family, people who care about him and love him. Before he goes back to how he lived before he wants you to know that he loves you, loves Namjoon and Jiminie too. That he would stay if he could.

- He might not be able to touch any of the people he wants to touch in the way that he wants or say the words that he wants to say, but he can show you all that you mean to him. At least now- before time runs out and it’s too late.

- Maybe some acts of defiance are less about trying to live, and more about making sure you have a chance to live before his misdeeds eventually catch up with him. And if anyone is deserving of some sort of karmic judgment It’s Yoongi.

- He hopes you won't hate him when you find out- if you ever do.

- It’s worth it- it’s all worth it to see the way that Jimin’s ears perk up when Yoongi brings back the flower holder from the stand for him, that and a silk bandana for Namjoon to keep his hair back when he’s working, and the little wall trinket you were looking at. stained glass cut in the shape of a pair of cherries. (He won’t know- but later- you’ll hang it in the window of the nursery of your and Namjoon’s room)

- The puppy holds the flower holder in his lap the whole ride home. Nearly getting his chubby finger stuck in one of the test tubes at one point. That nearly makes Yoongi laugh out loud. As you wind your way back to the farm, snacking on fried dough and blooming onions making Namjoon’s breath stinky enough that you press on his chest when he leans in for a kiss and eventually relents when he lets out a heartbreaking wine.

- Yoongi doesn’t let himself dream for more of this- because however long he gets he know he won't deserve it either way- he doesn’t deserve a single act of kindness from you. Let alone the kind of care and love you’ve all shown him. He just closes his eyes, leans his cheek against the open window, and lets his soul rest. Just for a little longer. All he needs is a little longer.

- Yoongi lies to himself and tells himself that the summer will be enough.

- Later that night, You’re already underneath your covers, turning restless in your too warm sheets. Namjoon lingers in the bathroom brushing his teeth. “Did you notice something strange with Yoongi today?”

- “No- why?” you fiddle with the edge of your coverlet.

- “He seemed super tense on the way how and somehow I got it into my head that there was something more wrong with him than usual” Namjoon sets a glass of water for you on your bedside table pulls himself over the top of your bedspread. Pressing a toothpasty kiss to your mouth that makes you smile. His hand coming up to cradle your hip, thumb rubbing wide strokes over your baby bump.

- He always gets this look in his eyes. A little lost in his own love when he looks at you late at night like this. You pepper a kiss down his cheek and over his scar, making his face twitch a little-you know it tickles in the same way he knows you’re teasing him- just a little. “If you want to go check on him, I don’t mind.”

- Namjoon’s point is clear, the emphasis on check you know what he means and what he wants. The emphasis on hybrid pack dynamics, that it really wouldn’t be strange to Namjoon If you went to Yoongi’s room…and ended up spending a little time there. If anything- it probably seems weird to him if you haven’t.

- You let the moment slide, lean over to turn off the light, and kiss Namjoon a little more, his lips are hot but gentle on yours. Taking the time to kiss you without a rush for more, nipping at your neck once before he settles in- you’re getting into the stage of your pregnancy where its hard to lay on your side too much so instead- Namjoon mimics your usual position, his leg slung over your thighs, head tucked close to your shoulder.

- And he makes these cute little noises, little huffs and small growl groans that remind you of a puppy before he falls asleep. But you can’t sleep- you stare at the ceiling in your bedroom and can’t help but think about Yoongi earlier. How you thought for a second you’d seen him crying on the way home, spied in your rearview mirror, head hanging out the window and his cheeks wet. somehow your bed feels more empty than it used too. Even with you and Namjoon in it.

- after a few more minutes where you wonder if you’ll ever get to sleep, You slip out of your and Namjoon’s bed and sneak down the hallway. Your footsteps cushioned against the carpet as you head down the hall to Yoongi’s room. and you know it’s late but you can’t leave him alone- not when you could fix it and help him.

- You knock softly; thinking about all of the times in which you try to help- on your worst days- when it feels like helping others is all your good for. nothing else in you but that, nothing to appreciate or love beyond what you can do for others because you feels so broken- too broken to be loved without giving up your time like an apology. A lot of the time it feels like you have nothing but acts of service to offer. But on those days, it’s always Namjoon, Yoongi, and jimin that soothe you without even trying,

- Your lover cupping your chin in his hand and telling you that he can’t get enough of you, that he thought about you all day and couldn’t wait to just stand close to you. The quiet care he shows you, massaging the puffy ball of your ankle. The way sometimes he’ll come up behind you when you’re fiddling with your outfit in the morning, his wide hands fisting in the sides of your dress. Making a low whine and scent marking along your shoulder so that every hybrid on the farm knows you’re his.

- The way namjoon can tell just by looking at you if you need his help, and knows better, like today, when you need a little distance to get your thoughts sorted.

- Yoongi’s soft companionship the way he’ll shake his head and take the heavy things from you, the roll of his eyes doing the speaking for him, “what would Namjoon think if I let you carry this on your own” or the way that he’d sometimes tap the edge of your hat with his long fingers making it bounce, lip pulling up to show his cute little fangs.

- When jimin looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the side for him. Ready to ramble on and on about whatever new thing he’d tried today. Wanting to include you in his process as he became adjusted to the world. The way that he hangs on to every word you say, following you around like a lost puppy, but you would never mind that- how could you? When he was so smitten that it made your heart flutter to be liked with such loving intent.

- You knock on Yoongi’s door, and he answers with wet cheeks, looking startled, rubbing his cheek with the side of his hand. “Yoongi, are you alright?” he shakes his head, hovering, body swaying. You can tell from the hum that the air-conditioning is on high. Not too surprising given the heat of the day, and you know it’s easier for Yoongi to make his room cool and then work up to the kind of warmth he needs then do it the other way.

- His blinds are all drawn, no light on in his room. Thought you peeked outside and sure enough- the stars were shining bright, no moon in the sky. “Can I come in?” Yoongi looks like- fuck- this is going to hurt him, but he nods anyway.

- He scoots over in his bed and moves one of the covers down and lets you climb in on the other side of the bed, and the covers are cool and comfortable beneath your skin, the only light in the room comes from the display panel of the air-conditioning unit and the green makes Yoongi’s eyes glow yellow. “You can tell me- something’s wrong, isn’t it? if its something I can fix you’ve got to tell me- Yoongi- I-“

- Yoongi pulls himself up to hover over you on one arm, his other hand coming up to comb back your hair, you’re stunned into silence. The words leaving your mouth as you find yourself inches away from him, the cool line of his body pressed up against yours. And you think- because you’re both in pajamas and not actually touching skin to skin- you think that is the reason why it might not bother him so much.

- Yoongi is all lithe muscle and harsh edges, but he’s nothing more than gentle with his hands when he softly brushes over your cheek, his eyes molten gold as he tilts his chin up, his soft lips press against your forehead for just a second, the reverse of what you’d done for him this morning.

- Maybe you were both too worn out from the day’s events not too need each other’s company. He tilts his body to the side and leans up on his elbow to watch you. And you might expect it to feel strange- his body and it’s the absence of heat, but underneath the covers it actually feels comforting, cooling amid the summer humidity that just won’t quit.

- He leans in close to poke at your cheek with his nose, nuzzling with slow curling motions as if to tell you- go to sleep, and sleep you do, the coolness of the bed and Yoongi’s body supplying relief to your overheated muscles. Yoongi knows what you needed without you having to say it- the same way that you always knew what he needed. Yoongi stays close and curls around you tightly- his arm and his leg wrapping around you, protecting you both from something you might not see.

- Your last thought before you fall asleep is a question, is Yoongi’s strong grip on you- like he’s holding on for dear life, something to do with his snake genes? Or is there some other reason why his muscles and legs tremble when they hold you close like he’s afraid something is going to be able to separate you.

- Before you truly fall asleep, you think you hear a low voice say something, just a few words, but regardless of what Yoongi might have said- or if he spoke at all, You won’t remember it in the morning.

Kofi

BONUS: Jimin’s little flower holder!

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