#charcoal gray metal roof

[lizalaforet]

Porch - Traditional Porch

Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless stone front porch remodel with a roof extension

[caseqin]

Austin Exterior Idea for a large, one-story, beige cottage with a gable roof

[maximefauconnier]

Exterior - Farmhouse Exterior An illustration of a big cottage in beige with a one-story stone gable roof.

[blublucaps]

Craftsman Porch - Porch

Mid-sized arts and crafts stone porch photo with a roof extension

[remedyturtles]

I just finished reading chapter 40. I want to share the experience with you.

When I read Leo taking Donnie into his mind scape, letting him in for the first time to truly see the horror of his own thoughts, I was in the car, the sound of tires distant compared to the water droplets pouring over the metallic roof. Thunder louder than I’ve heard pounding in my ears and vibrating within my body after each bright flash of crackling light. While I read of Leo’s mind scape and of the storm raging inside his head, I heard the storm around me. As the ice cold room was described I felt the cold AC. Then, once I had finished, I looked up. I turned my eyes to the window and processed the chapter I had just read, I saw the charcoal gray clouds retreat and the light begin to seep back into the sky. The rain still poured all around, above was still gray, thunder was still sounding, lighting was still flashing, and yet the light began to shine.

I couldn’t help but think of the chapter. The situation is still awful, it’s still dark, and damp, but you can see the light began to shine; the hope of recovery distant, but still present, still growing closer, and shining brighter through the storm.

Well that’s enough of that! Onto my unintelligible screaming in awe of the incredible chapter.

FIREFIGHT IS SO GOOD. YOU PORTAY EMOTION SO WELL. AKDJNDSCIJNCSDKJNCKJSDNCKSKDNCSD IM NOT OKAY THESE CHAPTERS ARE FANTASTIC. YOU ARE A HUGE INSPIRATION TO ME AND MY WRITING. YOU DESCRIPTIONS ARE SO ENGAGING. YOUR DIALOG IS SO REAL. THE EMOTION IS SO PRESENT. JUST EVERYTHING IS SO GOOD. KSDVNSCJOCNSDOCKNCSDLKCNSCOKNCSDKJCNEFIJNVIJFSJNFSV

LEOPLEASEALLOWYOURFAMILYTOLOVEYOU!!!!!!!!

one of my FAVOURITE things is when people tell me what was going on while they were reading my fics, and this is definitely one of the best ones. WOW!!!! i love that so so much :D

[amy-bbclexnc]

💥 Manager's Special 💥 10x12 Utility - White LP SmartSide, Gray trim and shutters, with a charcoal gray metal roof. 🚨 ONLY $4,295.00 plus tax 🔥 RTO payments as low as $178.15 📌6ft Double doors 📌2 - 2x3 windows 📌7ft Sidewalls 💡Electrical...

[mia20patricia]

Color Your World: A Dynamic Guide to Metal Roofing & Siding Color Options

In the world of home exteriors, metal roofing and siding have emerged as popular choices for homeowners looking for durability, sustainability, and style. Whether you're considering metal siding for homes in Crowley or exploring metal roofing services in the same area, one aspect that stands out is the wide array of color options available. In this dynamic guide, we'll delve into the world of metal roofing and siding colors, helping you find the perfect hue to enhance your home's aesthetic appeal.

**Metal Siding for Homes in Crowley: Adding Vibrancy to Your Exterior**

Metal siding offers homeowners in Crowley a versatile and durable option for protecting and beautifying their homes. One of the key advantages of metal siding is the vast selection of colors available, allowing you to customize your home's exterior to reflect your personal style and preferences.

*Bold and Bright:* If you're looking to make a statement, consider vibrant hues like deep reds, bright blues, or sunny yellows. These bold colors can add personality and charm to your home, making it stand out in the neighborhood.

*Earthy Tones:* For a more subtle and natural look, earthy tones like forest green, terracotta, or slate gray can blend seamlessly with the surrounding landscape. These colors evoke a sense of warmth and harmony, creating an inviting atmosphere for your home.

*Classic Neutrals:* Timeless shades such as crisp white, charcoal black, or taupe are always in style and can complement a variety of architectural designs. Neutral colors offer versatility and sophistication, giving your home a timeless appeal that will never go out of fashion.

**Metal Roofing Services in Crowley: Elevating Your Home's Curb Appeal**

When it comes to metal roofing, Crowley homeowners have an abundance of color options to choose from, allowing them to enhance their home's curb appeal while enjoying the numerous benefits of metal roofing, including durability, energy efficiency, and low maintenance.

*Mimicking Traditional Materials:* Metal roofing is available in a range of finishes that can mimic the appearance of traditional roofing materials like asphalt shingles, wood shakes, or clay tiles. Whether you prefer the rustic charm of aged copper or the warmth of cedar shake, there's a metal roofing option to suit your taste.

*Cool Roofing Solutions:* Light-colored metal roofing reflects sunlight, helping to reduce heat absorption and keep your home cooler in hot climates. Opting for lighter shades such as pale gray, beige, or icy blue can not only lower your energy bills but also contribute to a more comfortable indoor environment.

*Architectural Accents:* Metal roofing can also be used to add architectural interest to your home's exterior. Consider incorporating accent colors or metallic finishes to highlight architectural features such as dormers, gables, or eaves, adding visual interest and depth to your roofline.

**Conclusion: Expressing Your Style with Metal Roofing & Siding Colors**

Whether you're considering metal siding for homes in Crowley or exploring metal roofing services in the area, the color options available to you are virtually limitless. From bold and bright hues to classic neutrals and everything in between, metal roofing and siding allow you to express your personal style and enhance your home's curb appeal. So go ahead, color your world with metal roofing and siding options that reflect your unique personality and make a lasting impression on all who pass by.

In Crowley, metal roofing and siding aren't just functional elements of your home—they're opportunities to infuse your exterior with color, character, and charm. So why settle for ordinary when you can elevate your home's aesthetic appeal with the vibrant hues and timeless elegance of metal roofing and siding?

[legendaryoikawa]

haikyuu boys as part of the mafia + how he met you

note: i just thought of this while im washing the dishes HAHA. female reader insert. also happy birthday to the ultimate baby bokuto 🥺💖

warnings: nsfw, mention of violence, grammar issues because im dumb asf

bokuto kotaro 

decoy/manipulator

has a two persona that is best used especially when he is in the midst of a deal

even though he’s a decoy, it is enough to send a rival down to his knees and beg for his mercy

Because bokuto doesn’t show tiny bit of his mercy especially when his dominating side takes over him

Is a good manipulator. To the point that you would have constant nightmares with just the slip of his words.

Good with his hands. Quite aggressive. Yet he plays his cards elegantly like the man he is.

you met him in a luxurious casino. you were the attendant of his table and you could always note how fast his mood changes and it was scary. you carefully stacked the chips in front of him, feeling the heavy weight of his stern gaze. you saw from your peripheral how his hands slid down the edge of the mahogany. “play with me.”

you didn’t answere and continued on organizing the stacks for a new game as per bokuto’s request but he repeated those words again, “play with me. you. im talking to you.”

and you did. he lost. and that’s what made you terrified even more. he grew dejected and stormed out of the casino like a raging tsunami.

that didn’t made bokuto happy at all, so he made sure to find you so he could play with you once more. it didn’t caused him a sweat when he found out where your apartment complex is. and his words have shaken you when he laid the stacks of money on your table and said, “play with me. the loser gets to kiss the winner, if you’ll allow it of course.”

there’s something with his words that are like witchcraft spells. and you found yourself nodding, yes.

daichi sawamura - 

the kingpin. 

daichi is the leader of the mafia group: karasuno or better known as their alias ‘lethal crows’.

 daichi is born into the syndicate. so he doesn’t get caught up unlike amateur people in the black world. 

undergone strenuous training just to prove himself as the worthy kingpin. 

he often orders the assassination and criminal deals. 

he isn’t as ‘intimidating’ like how people expect kingpins to act, but daichi has his own way that makes people so afraid of him. if he wishes to kill on the spot, he kills. even if you’re something important, if you annoyed him to the edge, you’re six feet deep.

however, one flaw of daichi is that he prioritizes his members that he doesn’t oversees the barriers coming his way. 

you met him during this time when curiosity get the best of you. you entered this fancy yet abandoned building in hopes of scavenging something that was left by its past owners. however, no treasure came to your view, rather a drug deal with bunch of rogue looking guys.

“daichi?” you were so shocked to see your co-worker in an expensive designer coat sitting in this throne like chair with stack of bills piled in front of him. he isn’t the typical guy you were used to seeing: the goofy guy in the fryer with his greasy apron. 

you didn’t expect him to be so, different.

“who’s this?” tanaka rose up to his seat. cracking his knuckles while giving you a dangerous look. 

“let her enjoy her remaining life as a free citizen. after this..” he counted the bills and paused at look at you, “you’re coming with me.”

akaashi keiji 

weaponry/gadgets specialist

Quite reserved.

He is often hired to big projects but he would turn it down if it requires his apperance.

No matter how much his members push him to bite off the job he wouldn’t, not unless he works up in the roofs, alone.

Usually works in the shadows. Where his identity is hidden.

Ask him about any weapon, he’ll have an answer in a few.

give him a vague description of a bomb, he’ll have it ready, ticking, for you.

he met you when you walked into his first walked in his gang’s base, with your red stilettos clicking aggressively against the marbled tile. then comes the second meeting and the third till you’ve both made good acquaintances. you liked him. for both his smart mouth and big dick. if he wasn’t just too difficult to persevere.

but you could see that way his breath hitched the moment you walked in with your fitted versace dress. which made you cocky from head to toe.

he could note the way your lips tugs upward as you scan the whole interior of the place. you didn’t need it though as you know every curvature of the place. you were just that shit going around him so you could give him a good view of yourself that he refused indulge in.

you stopped midway to stare at him from head to toe then back to his pretty face. gaze fixated on his kissable lips. despite your urge to kiss him up, you decided to tease, “give me something bold.”

“pardon?”

“you heard me, akaashi.”

and he gave you a fancy handgun, a caliber. however that wasn’t your request. you pulled his shirt and whispered to his ears, “i said i want something bold. want me to spell it out for you? A-k-a-a-s-h-i”

and you walked away. just like that and things just became bold in your apartment complex.

oikawa tooru 

underboss/ loverboy

Smooth talker. Usually uses his pretty face as an advantage to get something off girls that swoon over him.

he is quite unpredictable as well.

he approached you out of nowhere in the met gala and you were forced to be in his own disposal. he isn’t really a headache to deal with. but you aren’t here to flirt around especially with pretty boys like him. there is something in him that is similar with a ticking bomb. so best is to admire guys like him at a distance.

however, oikawa is determined to chase over you. because you are like a diamond in a room full of charcoal.

he approached you immediately when you stopped by in the concession stand to nurse yourself a cocktail.

“fancy a dance, miss?”

you looked at him. oikawa tooru. beautiful as they say but you immediately walked away.

oikawa smirked to himself, “if you just don’thold a precious information. i wouldn’t chase over a doll like you.”

tendou satori 

head of intelligence

can predict the moves of the rivalry gang

so in result they end up getting butchered thanks to tendou’s half assed predictions.

guess monster

the boys entered the room with a agitated expression painting their faces.

tendou raised a brow and looked at the boy filling in their ammos. “what’s up boys?”

“we got played.”

tendou grinned. “oh, interesting. who pulled an ace card?”

“y/n of the yakuza.”

tendou made sure to track you down for meddling in his play.

kyoutani kentaro 

torture specialist

All the dirty work is assigned to him

But kyoutani is quite carefree with his job, to the point where oikawa needs to step in to clean after his mess.

he is really brutal when it comes to finishing a rat pack from a rivalry gang and he gives no mercy.

knows every possible way of killing

but he fancies using the bat since it can strengthen his arm strength and it’s practical.

loves the sound of metal clashing with hard skull with the splasing sound of fresh blood slightly staining his skin.

you were both childhood sweethearts. however, you were the only one pursuing him because he doesn’t want to commit anything to you. not until you found out about him and his crucial job out of accident and he was forced to confess to you, and it was the reason why he don’t want to accept your heart.

one time he went home and he couldn’t find any trace of you. panic coursed through his veins when he heard your cries over the line.

“fucking touch her and i will drench all of you in boiling acid.”

ushijima wakatoshi 

hand to hand combatant

people are usually afraid of him because of how he could flip people off easily without drenching a sweat

he has the capability to run a whole gang just by himself

but he would just rather go and fight fist first

and chill afterwards

both of you met when you were scouted as a new member and part of the group’s test is to have a hand to hand combant against wakatoshi.

you were mortified when he approached you. with his large built and driving aura.

“ready?” he asked lowly.

“no?”

he raised a brow, “i bet.”

and he let you win just so you would get accepted in the gang.

tanaka ryuunosuke

hand to hand combatant

really moody

aggressive and violent

could kill with just the use of his hands, alone. 

but he has his soft moments too but this happens when the moon turns blue.

you were tasked to be his sparring mate. and to be frank, you were really spooked and frightened that you won’t get out of the arena, working let alone, alive. 

and to see him up close, it was really, a deal. he’s tall, with a slim yet broad frame, and really is intimidating. he gave you a look and ruffled your hair. 

“i don’t hurt girls.”

that was the first time you saw him smile. rumors said he never did. 

sugawara koushi 

consigliere

smart shit. 

he’s usually responsible for the activities of the group.

master at hiding the illegal stuff away from prying eyes

and a genius at continuing the legal stuffs even though it’s just for a front

he is also the adviser of the kingpin, especially at plans and deals on heists and forgery

at some point, he is the official diplomat for Japan.

he met you when he is trying to study the floor plan on the central bank. he was in this beige tux, with his gray hair brush up to give justice to his whole other persona. 

you came up to him and offered him installation plans and bank deals perfect for a bachelor like him. 

he gave you a smile, “i will be meeting you soon.”

and he did. in a creepy dali mask and a red overalls. “i told you, i will be back.”

iwaizumi hajime 

sniper

he goes with codes to maintain his anonymity

he works like a black panther, often sleek yet deadly

even the police couldn’t catch up with his hideous crimes because he never leaves unwanted trails behind

kills in his own special way

one time, he made someone swallow a C-4 and stitched his neck leaving it looking so grotesque

and boom, red, bloody like a slaughter house

he once made his way onto one of oikawa’s fancy bar to unwind. however, things went distrupt when there was a sudden shootout. he was beyond amused at how petty the shooters were aiming down at him. it was full of chaos.

he ducked down to fill in his ammos but he could see a figure crouched down underneath the satin cloths drench haphazardly above the tall tables.

he yanked the cloth and saw you there, looking lost as fuck. “what the hell are you doing here?!”

your eyes widened at the sight of the handsome man looking down at you as if you’re some unknown species. “uhm— chilling?”

he repeated your words. “chilling? in a middle of a fucking shoot out?”

“yo. i was lost okay? i don’t know where the exit is”

he grabbed you and threw his arms over your head so you’re protected from the stray bullets ricocheting over the place. “you’re a fucking goner.”

—

i hope you guys like this 🥺💖💖

[sonichkkaaascreams]

Mountain with a Flower Crown (chapter 1)

Just a super long one shot that is broken into a bunch of parts

Zaraki Kenapchi X OC Yamase Yasu

wordcount: 3090~

this is the fist part instalation of Mountain With A Flower Crown. this was inspire by post made by @bleachhaven  and @shadowsnlace   who both made posts regarding Kenpachi and an S/O who is larger than him. I use their headcanons as inspirational sparks to my own greedy little imagination.

Kenpachi may seem a little off but eh, what can I do about it. it just happened. also the starting point of this oneshot came to me in a hormonal fever dream. this is gonna be a super fudging long thing. i think it may be a very well around 6 to 8 chapters knock on wood to keep up my writing mojou.

enjoy ;) and please let me know what you think. XP

Yamase Yasu prided herself on being an early riser. She had practiced the discipline of waking up before sunrise to another day of hard work no matter how tired she may be from an early age. As such, her current circumstances were less than ideal.

 She was not only awake, forced to endure the bright rays of the sun right in her eyes and listen to the damned feathery monsters sing annoyingly but also she was required to stay still and not move an inch.

 Unlike her, her beloved spouse was sound asleep free from all the worries of office work. She greatly envied the man’s ability to not only sleep through the annoying chirping of birds but also all the way through the morning to evening regardless of the loud ruckus his squad members made. The only thing that would make him open his eyes was if she moved about. Witch is why despite her dire need to get up, stretch, make breakfast for an entire squadron of men who can’t take care of themselves properly and go to her own squad office to work; she was laying on their futon and fighting the urge to coo at the slumbering beast.

 Contrary to the common belief of those who shared a futon or a roof with Zaraki Kenpachi, he is not by any means a light sleeper. Take away the threat of the man rolling on top of his partners and smothering them to death and the man sleeps like a bear through winter. And that extra layer of peace and ease showed on his face and the way he slept.

 For one, he was sprawled on top of her with no care in the world. No matter how neatly or sweetly they sleep he always finds a way to roll over her, using her chest or stomach as his pillow. And so long he didn’t drool on her she wouldn’t mind it. Another sign that he was deep asleep was the light yet deep and rattling snores. And even those were endearing and cute.

 This morning however it seemed her spouse was hellbent in testing her patience – witch she was never renowned for – he was not only sleeping with a slighting parted lips, lightly snoring, and had done this absolutely cute thing where he held a fistful of her sleeping Yukata, but also his stupid and unreasonably soft hair was fanned out over her, tickling her skin.

 She is only but a mere woman. She is flawed and weak to temptation. Especially one as sweet and divine as this one. Not many would describe the 11th captain of the 11th division who just happens to be the sole successor of Kenpachi Yachiru cute. But at the moment that was the only word she knew of, that could capture his peaceful slumber - And until someone made a better word her husband had to deal with being called so – as mentioned Yamase Yasu as disciplined as she claimed to be, was only a mere woman and of course, she gave in to the divine temptation and ran her fingers in her husband’s hair and feel the silky soft yet soapy dry hair – he refused to use any proper hair product and she had no right to complain since she was no better – running her fingers a little higher she reached his scalp and began to massage his head. Feeling every secret scar that charcoal black mane hid. And taking inventory of the one or two gray hair she would find.

 “hmmm.” The rumbling groan of his dry throat rattled her bones and resonated in her skull. How she truly found his voice calming. “you’re awake.”

 “Sorry I woke you up. I couldn’t resist.” Her voice equally cracked and dry was louder and clearer than his own. Zaraki Kenpachi refused to admit that even after 100 years of married life, her voice still made his heart race.

 “I’m not complaining.”

 With a grunt, he pushed himself up and pulled himself up towards her face. His unkempt mane falling around them like a curtain of privacy against the prying eyes of the sun and those birds – that Yasu, who also prided herself on being ‘peaceful’ wanted to kill one by one if they didn’t shut up and let her listen to Kenpachi’s voice and NOTHING else – it was a solid minute or two of them just staring at each other and by any bystanders, it was not only unromantic but also rather unsettling to have the beastly captain Zaraki stare at them for long periods. Usually, a glance was enough to make grown men lose control of their bladers. For this fated pair, however, this was a ritualistic habit of cataloging every scar and wrinkle the other had gained.

 The small scars on her face, the slightly chipped and torn lip, the small scar and the smaller bald patch it had resulted, a barely visible scar on her eyebrow, the shallow wrinkles around her eyes resulted by squinting at the sun, and the visible laugh line, the small blue veins he could see if he paid attention and the way every muscle twitched.

 “it’s a bit late for you to be still in bed.” He stated matter of factly in a way that only she would realize what it meant. It’s a bit late for you to still be in bed meant: did you sleep in again because you didn’t want to wake me up. And only she knew his matter-of-fact tone was not an observation or a statement but a self-condemnation.

 “why captain Zaraki! You think me so cruel that I would up and leave my beloved husband cold in the morning to go to work? Without saying good morning?”

 His grunt made evident that her teasing was effective. With a smile she continued to tease as she wrapped her iron grip around his waist and slide a finger on the arch of his back – she couldn’t bring herself to call anything on this man small even to describe the small of his back – “you’re not just a warm body my dear. I love to wake up to see you still asleep so peacefully. You look so cute I want to eat you up.” She giggled. The Mountain woman of Gotei, in all her 8’8 glory, giggled. “I love it when I get to run my hands in your soft hair and take in your scent and have your head in the crook of my ne-AAHH…” her insufferable cooing was brought to an abrupt end when the strongest Kenpachi hit her in the face with a pillow. Using her initial shock as a distraction he rolled off of her and buried his face in the pillow to cover the ever-growing deep blush that dusted his face. It wasn’t a feminine blush rather it was a dark, red almost brownish. And he was not cute. By gods, he was NoT CuTe. AT ALL. HE WAS THE CAPTAIN OF SQUAD 11 AND HE WAS NOT CUTE GODDAMIT. Well, at least he’s not cute as far as anyone else is concerned.

 Laughing loudly she rolled and embraced her husband in her arms, after 100 years of marriage and 50 more years of knowing the woman beforehand, it still amazes him how easily he is held in her arms. How well fitted his face is in her neck and how safe it all feels. Like he's a scrawny child all over again back in Zaraki woods but this time he’s safe and he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open or dig himself a hole under a tree for warmth, hell he doesn’t even need to hug his sword for safety and safekeeping. No, he can just sleep, or rest, or just lean in the warm embrace and drown himself in the scent of sea salt, peaches and ink. Completely safe and loved. He’d never tell her that, no, he’ll take it to his grave and beyond. But he doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need him to. The simple soft hum that rumbles in his chest and the long, deep exhale on her throat says more than enough.

 “you’d think after this long of a time, you’d be used to my pampering chi-chi.” She cooed at him barring her nose in his hair. She loved how he always smelled so distinctly him. Just him. Nothing ever changed his scent. His sweat, his stupid cheap dry soap – that she also used because she is too busy to use the shampoo and hair conditioner and all the other dumb things lieutenant Matsumoto gives her every year for her birthday – and woods, the special pine woods only found in Zaraki. He always smells of those. And if he comes back from missions, blood. The metallic rusty smell of blood that always compelled her to ask for a full day off from her captain immediately to attend to her… private needs with her husband.

 “Unfortunately, love of my life, you are awake which means I have no excuse to stay in bed any longer. And if you and the boys want breakfast I better shake a leg.” She hummed as she left chaste kisses over his face.

 “Fuck them, the bastards can go eat shit for all I care.” He snarled. How dare they and their needs take his wife from his bed?

 “Honey, you need breakfast as well.”

 “No I don’t.” he – dare she say the word? – whined like a bratty child and gripped at her even harder. It wasn’t even a sexual groping, he just really really wanted the warm embrace to last longer. But from past experiences she knew if she catered to him any longer she would most likely not leave this room for about another years or so. And so as the sensible wife of the squad 11 she wiggled into a comfortable position and willed herself to her feet. Her 2 feet shorter husband refusing to let go, hung from her neck.

 “chi-chi, light of my life please don’t swing from my neck.” She lovingly stroked his back and hair beckoning him to be a little more mature. Earning a guttural, loud, ground shaking, ear-piercing growl as he tightened his equally iron grip. “ at least wrap your legs around my waist so I wouldn’t trip and fall on you. you wouldn’t want to explain to Isane-Chan WHY you have a broken arm early in the morning again…. Right?

 Given the choice of letting go of his precious peach-scented giantess and holding on to her like a monkey’s babe, you’d think the strongest Kenpachi would hold on to his dignity and let go. But no.

 The man had gone nearly 800 something years of his life touch starved with no real understanding of affection, the moment his beloved Yasu had begun to shower him with it his mind was simply blown. ‘Is this why Yachiru always hung off of his shoulder everywhere? Is this why she always ran to his arms like a crazed boar?’ because that’s what he wants to do with her.

 “She can keep her mouth shut.” He says taking in another breath full of sea salt and peaches. But finally, lets her go. It’s been 100 years for them and he knows she gets annoyed when she can’t go to her office on time. But he can sure make it difficult for her as he is still very much salty that she chose squad 10 over his own. “the hell you chose the Lil' brat over meh?” he had thrashed and at one point picked a fight with everyone from squad 10 – the captain in question, the Lil' brat. Refused to indulge her suiter at the time. – “you coming home earlier today? for lunch I mean.”

 Home. Another thing that made her heart flutter and bounces about like a lamb, is Kenpachi referring to squad 11 barracks as home. He had only started calling the place their HOME about 30 years into their marriage and Yasu firmly believed to this day he doesn’t realize he started doing so and if she pointed it out he would instantly stop.

 “Ahh, no. I promised to go to this new ramen stand that’s opened recently with Momo and others.” She smiled apologetically as she followed him to the adjoined captain’s bathroom. Kenpachi fast to strip to wash off before entering the basin of warm water and Yasu, who hated showering in the morning simply brushed her rust-colored crow’s nest, braiding the gray strands and adding her handmade decorations. Smiling at the second set of decorations that belonged to her beloved. They were much simpler and significantly less intricate than hers – just a few sharp wolf teeth and hawk feathers and one or two polished stones kept for special occasions such as date nights – which was just a stroll and wrestle in the woods and sex in the wilds night – and birthdays – the same as date nights but less walking, more sex and a lot steamier plus a gift is given as well –

 “I should seriously get going love, I won't be home for lunch but I’ll try to be home for dinner earlier so we can wrestle.” She smiled her big kind stupidly beautiful smile that made Kenpachi avert his eyes to avoid another humiliating blushing event. And he would have succeeded if Yamase Yasu, the mountain of squad 10 hadn’t bent down – he still can’t wrap his braid around the fact that she has to bend down for him – and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

 He deemed himself lucky that she left and didn’t see how that simple cherishing act turned his whole being into mush. And also very unlucky because now that she had departed for the barracks kitchen, he was left alone to deal with the aftermath of looking at her swaying hips in a thin, light white Yukata. As a married man, he should not have to deal with this predicament alone, however, he realized soon after actually living with Yasu under the same roof that, being an obstacle between her and her career is a fool's errand and it’s best if she is left to manage her time and duties herself. In fact, he begrudgingly admits, their afternoon wrestling is far more enjoyable than any morning quicky he could convince her into.

 On the other side of the barracks, newly dressed in formal black Shikaushou, Ymase Yasu was already in the middle of preparing breakfast for her hundreds of beloved morons. Ymichika, being an early riser himself was also present. Having retired from his morning shower he was enjoying a cup of tea as he helped Yasu warm up her habitual – albeit horrid and unsightly – blood milk. “you don’t have to help you know. I can manage myself.” She would politely say, which was her way of saying ‘please get out of my way.’ She had already stepped on his poor dainty feet and her mobility was further reduced by being careful not to barrel into the small, dainty fellow. “I know. I want to help dear. You don’t let me take care of your hair so I thought I’d do something else.”

 Oh, god. Please no. “ Yumichika, dear, I already told you, I don’t care for hair. It’s fine as it is. And you don’t need to help me in the kitchen.”

 “what she really means is that you’re small and get in her way. Stay around and she might accidentally step on ya like a bug.” Madarame Ikkaku, her husband's lieutenant and right-hand man – and in her personal opinion, the closest thing Kenpachi has to an actual friend. – may be rude and insufferable with absolute no table manners but she could always rely on him to tell the mean things she didn’t want to say.

 “that’s one way of putting it.” She smiled, offering him a full plate of the most protein-filled breakfast a man could ever dream of. “I put extra spinach, berries, and eggs for you; I hear it’s good for hair growth.” She adoringly said as she patted the lieutenant's shoulder. Making Ikkaku break his chop-sticks. Oh, how he wished he could kick her ass. Unfortunately, his captain would kill him if he so much as looked at her with ill intent. – something about her not partaking in violence witch was dumb, he’d seen the way they ‘wrestle’ once by complete accident and the image that’s unfortunately burned in his mind is nothing if not violent and he hears things. Violent-sounding things. How is she not into violence when she married him?- he shouldn’t think about his captain’s wife that way, he tells himself. And instead says:” I’m not bald…my head is shaved.” A vein popping on his head.

 “I didn’t say you were.” She deadpans causing Yumichika to snort into his tea. “just because I’ve never seen you shave your head, or your hair to grow out – even after spending time on missions or never seen you in possession of a single strand of hair – anywhere – doesn’t mean I said you’re bald.”

 Ikkaku Madarame respects his captain greatly. Sometimes, however, he thinks he married a devious demon.

 “you take that back you damn Yama-Oni.” He cries out attempting to draw out his sword but is held back by Yumichika who is using his mastery over his eyebrows to tell Yasu to ‘please don’t bully him.’

 “mountain- demon? Now that’s a new insult. I should write this one down.” She happily sings out as she prepares the last bits of breakfast and proceeds to ring the bells of the kitchen. Informing the squad that their breakfast is now served.

 Yamase Yasu is an eternal pain in Ikkaku madarame's behind, but he admits if it weren’t for her food that this squad would have A) starved to death and B) would have slept till evening. She managed to convince them to get up early and to eat a healthy diet. What was it that Yumichika had said? Something about a woman’s touch?  The berries are too tasty for him to care for anything else.

 And as she is about to leave to her own squad, to the one she actually works at, the members of the loudest, rudest, nastiest squad in Gotei all bow and thank Yamase-san. And the new ones who are still shy around the giantess bow and thank their ‘Oujou-sama’ which makes him want to laugh.

 Yeah…a woman’s touch. Or something.

[just-another-romantic]

Six Times: Part 6/6- The One Time He Did

Series Summary: Five times Bucky wanted to kiss you + the one time he did

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: loads of depressive thoughts from both the reader and the soldier, fluff-so much fluff to make up for the angsty mood.

“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” - Nikka Ursula.

Hands. The workers of our bodies. So many precious moments captured by them. Slender fingers dancing across the bridge of porcelain keys, the magic that sparks when two lovers intertwine their hands together. There’s a reason why old witches read palms, they had seen secrets in ways no one else could. Hands gathered crops, knitted clothing, stitched wounds together again. Hands give life.

Bucky had never liked his hands, for multiple reasons, really. He hated the way his veins popped out on his skin, how calloused they were from working in Brooklyn. He hated that he never had long enough fingers to play the piano or the guitar or no matter how many pretty girls held his hand, they never fit perfectly and there were never explosions of skin on skin.

After that long fall in Austria, he hated how he only had one. And after many cold, sleepless nights in a prison cell when Hydra had to keep him awake, Bucky hated how they were a weapon of war.

Now, sitting on the roof of Avengers tower, looking out on all of New York, Bucky looked down at his hands, blinking tears out of his eyes. He hated his hands more than ever because they had almost taken (Y/n)’s life. 

Obviously, Bucky had no recollection of it- memories of the Winter Soldier only came back in dreams, so vivid there was no denying that they were real. He woke up in his bed with a pounding ache in his right temple. Steve sat next to him, a face so grim it made Bucky’s heart drop.

“What did I do?” he asked, his voice raspy and dry.

Steve just whispered, “She’s in Med bay. We could’ve lost her.” The captain might as well have torn the sergeant in half.

That was a month ago. Bucky refused to see her, even when she got out of hospitalization. It was safer that way. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But (Y/n) was persistent. She knew it wasn’t him that blocked her airway, it was the ghost of what he had to become many many years ago. She didn’t even need to forgive him if there was no way her heart could be mad at him.

However, she still respected his space. She knew that he was ignoring her for a reason-fear. Fear of hurting. Fear of anger. fear of everything that was unknown to him. Instead, Bucky would find letters slipped under his door, the ink of (Y/n)’s loopy cursive bleeding through, still fresh. She built dreams in paragraphs, telling him how there was no possible way for her to be angry. She signed every letter with I love you. Bucky wished he could believe it.

There was no way she could’ve meant it. Bucky was awake at 3:30 in the morning only because he dreamt of it; he had remembered it. (Y/n)’s eyes red and popping, the way how she had tried so desperately to make reason with him, the way her hand delicately caressed his face before passing out, as if it was a romantic moment instead of deadly. 

Just as he was contemplating whether to stay or not, his ears picked up on the soft patter of bare feet against the concrete roof. “FRIDAY still tells me when you have a nightmare,” (Y/n) explained, “guess Tony still has that coded in whatever system.”

Despite himself, Bucky turned to look at her. The first time he laid eyes on her in a month. Her bright eyes were glossy and red rimmed, underlined with dark circles, her hair a mess from sleep and sweatpants and T-shirt wrinkled and lopsided. She was a specimen of true beauty. Her name spilled from Bucky’s lips the same time his did her own. She laughed, as smooth and sweet as honey. Oh, he wished he could smile, laugh along with her as if he wasn’t living his worst nightmare.

 “You should go back to bed,” he told her gruffly. 

“You say that as if I have been sleeping at all,” (Y/n) replied, standing her own like a force of nature. Wildfire, Bucky thought, she’s made of pure gold. “Buck, what you did, wasn’t you.” 

“It was still my hands.” 

“Being controlled by the demon those bastards made you into,” she said, voice raising in volume. Bucky’s voice caught in his throat. “Seventy years, Buck,” she continued, voice cracking in bits and pieces. “Seventy years of torment, brainwashing you to the brink of madness itself. Seventy years of doing the dirty work of high men who couldn’t afford to get their hands bloodied, so they hung the price and guilt over your head.” (Y/n) paused, choking down a sob, wiping the evidence off of her face with her sleeve. “You weren’t yourself all those years. You were thrown into the pit of hell and dragged yourself out of it. That was you, Bucky, not that weapon they made you think you were.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, barely louder than a whisper. “Yes,” she answered. “It wasn’t the Bucky that I know and love.”

He could barely comprehend the fact that (Y/n) (Y/L/n) just admitted that she loved him before she was scrambling forward, boosting herself on the edge of the building next to him. In her charcoal covered hands was a spiraled notebook. Gingerly, she held it out to him, in such a manner that seemed as if she was giving over her own heart. Bucky obliged, the leather of the notebook feeling heavy in his hands. “I don’t know if my words can convince you, Buck, but maybe these will.”

Bucky opened it. The first drawing he saw was a black and white oil pastel. The image so detailed it could be mistaken for a photograph. It was from her point of view, laying on a cold hospital bed (though one could barely consider it a bed), left forearm stretched out, fist clenched, almost painfully tight. The only color on the page was the bright blue liquid that dripped from her IV, flowing into her bloodstream. Hydra’s mixture. Deep breaths, Bucky...

The next page he flipped to was obviously a self portrait done by (Y/n). The image rattled Bucky to his core. It was of her, stuck in the corner of a room, knees to her chest. Zip ties held her hands and feet together, tears streamed out of fearful eyes. She was screaming, but the duck tape against her lips prevented any noise from coming out. But scrawled onto the tape in bright red pen were the words Ready To Comply. Bucky shuddered, a sudden chill washing over him.

He skipped the next few pages until his eyes landed on one that was unmistakably him. His body, tangled in white blankets, only his bare back exposed. His arms used as a pillow for his head, shaggy black hair a mess around him. A image of him during a nightmare, no doubt. Above him, numerous hands reached out to him ominously, blood trickling off of some of the fingers. It was watercolor, brush strokes capturing the beautifully terrifying moment.

There were dozens more. Of him, of her. The last one captured his attention the most. Yet again, its him - pale skin contrasted by long brownish-black locks of hair, limps parted in a whimper. Hands made of smoke cover his eyes and a good portion of his face, the seal of Hydra burnt into the skin in red. He’s trapped, blind, and so vulnerable. Above him, the same red spells out Hail Hydra. The sight made Bucky want to throw up.

A warm flesh hand grasped Bucky’s metal plated one. “That man that I drew, he is not you. You are James Buchanan Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Not the monster the media thinks you are, or the monster you think you are, or the monster Hydra tried to make you. I love you, regardless of what you think you are and what others have made you out to be.”

Throughout her entire speech, (Y/n) had been moving closer to him, snuggling herself into Bucky’s side for comfort, and when the man turned his head, there noses were nearly brushing. Her features were barley visible in the early morning light, but the warm glow of the lights by the door caught the mountains of her cheek bones, the slope of her nose, and the curves of her lips. Her lips - pink, full, and glossy. The pair’s heavy breathing mixed.

“Bucky,” she whispered, her hand grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. His flesh hand cupped her cheek, admiring the handiwork of God himself, and closed the gap.

Bucky’s mind fell into the abyss that was (Y/n). His mind went blank. She tasted like lavender and honey, with the faintest hint of mint. She smelled like vanilla Her embrace felt like home. It was over a second later, (Y/n) being the one to pull away, shaking like a willow. A tear slipped from her closed lids and Bucky was quick to kiss it away, the salt staining his tongue. “It’s happy tears,” she assured, (y/e/c) revealing themselves from under hoods, meeting steel gray. “I love you,” he admitted weakly, “ever since I saw you in that dress at Stark’s party.”

Her laugh echoed through the night, melodious. “About damn time, Barnes.” They chuckled together in harmony. 

“I have a question,” said he.

“I have an answer.”

“How long have you loved me?”

Sighing, (Y/n) leaned against the solid, unmoving man, her head pillowed in the slope of his shoulder. “I was so blind,” she said, barely audible, as if she was afraid to answer. “I didn’t realize I loved you until when you visited me in the hospital, how upset I got when you didn’t kiss me. That’s when I finally began to admit it. But my soul loved yours long before that, maybe even before we met.

“When I first met you,” she continued, “my heart lunged out of my chest. My soul knew yours, no doubt. I kept my distance though.”

“Because you were afraid of me,” Bucky concluded.

“No, because I was afraid to fall in love with you the first day.”

Bucky let go of his metallic grip on her hand, stretching it out. “So...this thing doesn’t bother you?”

She smiled, teeth flashing and light reaching her eyes. “Not in the slightest.” As gentle as a June breeze, she enveloped the hand in her own. “Do you know how it works?”

The childlike curiosity made him chuckle. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve got no clue.”

She playfully swatted him. “I feel like if it’s attached to you, you should know how it works!”

“All I know is that it’s somehow connected to my nervous system!”

The vibranium plates clicked and whirled underneath (Y/n)’s fingertips. “So, like, can you feel things with it?”

“In the hand, yes,” he explained. “In the arm I just feel pressure.”

(Y/n) lifted his hand to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm, then to the pads of his fingers, the coolness enveloping warm lips like a balm. Goosebumps pricked up on Bucky’s flesh as (Y/n) began to leave a trail of kisses, trailing up his arm to his left cheek. The center of his forearm, the crook of his metal elbow, a single tender kiss were scared tissue met bolts and nails, and finally, a soft kiss to the slope of his cheekbone.

“I don’t know how many more times I’ll end up saying this tonight, or how much more in days to come, but oh my god, I love you,” she said with a breathy laugh. 

“You can say it as often as you like, only if you do me the honor of being my girl.”

She smiled, pressing a quick peck to his lips. “Of course,” she murmured before leaning in for another. 

“(Y/n)…tell me this isn’t a dream.” His whisper was pained, frightened. “I don’t want to wake up from it.”

She offered him another kiss, and he quickly complied. Once pulled apart, she said, “I don’t think my heart would be beating this madly if it was.”

FINAL NOTE

Holy crap. It’s finished. I hope you all love this story as much as I do. Special thanks to @acf2510 for unending love and support on this series. Feel free to message me or comment if you would like to be on my EVERYTHING taglist. I love you all. Peace out, ima go cry now.

SIX TIMES TAGLIST

@acf2510 @sweetcarolinestudies @clarinette07 @amyy-moonlightt @mood-pancakes @buckybarnesprotectionsquads @iamquinn @liesllane @destinydameme @the-wayward-robot @booktease21 @wickedapollo @metoo-desu @authorpocketcow

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 2

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Series Masterlist

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The bang of Crowley’s gavel makes you jump, and you’re quickly guided off the stage and through a separate door, which is quickly closed and locked behind you. You wait in silence, cowering in the corner, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes sting with tears. After a few minutes, the side door bursts open, and two men enter the room, led by Crowley. 

One is tall, well over six feet. Brown hair curls around the nape of his neck, and his eyes sparkle with an untamed fire. He smells like warm honey and coffee, something that automatically relaxes you. He’s young, in his mid-twenties, you guess, and judging by the nice suit and shiny shoes, well-off. He’s looking at you like you’re not what he expected, and you lower your head in shame, aware of the tear tracks that stain your cheeks. The older man has to be his father, black hair with dashes of silver, and a graying beard to match.

Before you can move or say a word, Crowley grabs you by the arm and hauls you up so that you’re standing straight. “You have a brand, yes?”

The older man holds up a long metal rod with a flat end. You can barely make out the engraving, but you know exactly what’s coming. They’re going to brand you; it’s an Alpha’s way of making sure that if an Omega runs from them, they’re easily identifiable.

“Come here,” the younger man commands. You obediently shuffle forward, trying to appear brave as he takes you by the hand. His palm is smooth and warm on your skin. “What’s your name?”

You stutter through your name, barely able to make eye contact. He smiles with approval. “I’m Sam,” he replies. “This is my father, John. You’re coming home with me, do you understand that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.” He grips your hand a little harder as Crowley opens the door that leads to the outside and pulls you along behind him. It’s chilly out, and you shiver as the cold air blows over your almost bare skin. There’s a fire burning in an empty metal bin, and you shudder as John shoves the end of their branding stick into the embers. 

“Sign here,” Crowley holds up a sheet of paper and a feather quill. “While we wait, might as well dispense with all the formalities.”

Sam scrawls a sloppy signature on one line and holds the quill out to you. You know what this is; it’s a contract signing yourself, body, mind, and soul, to your Alpha. If you don’t sign, you’ll be made to, and probably suffer more than just a forced signature. Accepting the quill with shaking fingers, you sign your name as best you can, keeping your jaw clenched so as to hold back more tears. Crowley slides the completed contract into the leather folder under his arm and watches as the older man pulls the now glowing brand from the flames. 

Sam takes it, gripping your upper arm with one hand. “Hold still,” he says flatly. 

Instinct takes over, and you wiggle free, letting out a loud cry as he reaches for you again. Your minimal efforts are not naught; John grabs you by the scruff of the neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. “We don’t have time for this,” he snarls, “do it now, Sam.”

Sam looks taken aback by your fear, as if he’s just now registering how scared you are. He reaches for your arm, and you let out another cry, jerking away from him. “Omega, hold still,” he mutters to no avail.

“For God’s sake.” John shoves you forward, pulling the brand from Sam’s grip. “Hold her, I’ll do it myself.”

Sam wraps his powerful arms around you from behind, one hand muffling your sobs and whimpers. John yanks on your upper arm and presses the brand to your skin, just below your shoulder. The pain is almost blinding, and you taste bile in your throat as you scream. It’s over in a matter of seconds, but the burning throb remains. Sam’s holding you upright—your legs have given out—and when he removes his hand from over your mouth, he trails the same fingers through your hair, as if he’s trying to comfort you.

“There,” John spits almost angrily, “let’s go.”

After waiting for an attendant to bring your things down from your private room, you’re escorted into a horse-drawn carriage, where Sam instructs you to sit next to him, opposite his father. The ride passes in a blur, and by the time you reach your destination, the moon is high in the sky. 

The Winchester house is a Victorian monstrosity, two stories high, with steep, gabled roofs, windows glowing eerily with a golden light. You don’t get long to ogle before Sam’s dragging your small suitcase from the floor of the carriage and ushering you up the front stairs. It’s warm inside, and you shudder gratefully. 

“Get her upstairs,” John instructs, “we don’t need your brother sniffin’ around when there’s an unclaimed Omega, he can barely keep his goddamn knot in his pants.”

“I’m very aware of that.” Sam puts his arm around you and makes to leave.

“I mean it.” John’s tone is harsh. “She belongs to you now, boy, better to make her yours before anyone else can.”

Sam lets out a low growl and ushers you through an ornately decorated living room and up two flights of stairs. Your heart accelerates when he pushes you in front of him down a short hallway until he reaches a heavy wooden door. Opening it, he shoves you inside and closes it, locking it behind him. 

Sam’s bedroom is large and sparsely furnished. A large bed sits against one wall, covered in a dark red comforter embroidered with gold. Several matching pillows sit up against the tall wooden headboard. The only other furniture pieces are a wardrobe, chest of drawers, and a round table perched next to a long row of windows. A large fireplace sits opposite the bed, empty of charcoal or ashes. 

“I’m sorry about that.” 

Sam’s words cause you to turn, arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He approaches you gingerly, as if afraid of scaring you further. “My father, he’s… well, he’s got his own way of doing things, and—”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Tears sting your eyes, and you back up against the bed as Sam advances. “Don’t… please, don’t, I’ll do anything, I swear.”

Sam’s eyes soften, and he holds up both hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. Let me see your arm.” His fingertips graze your shoulder, and you tremble under his touch. He examines the burn on your skin, his brow furrowed. “Wait here,” he instructs calmly, “I’m going to make you a bath, you should clean up.”

You shiver as he leaves through a door on the opposite wall. It’s a washroom, and you hear the sound of water running. The Winchesters must be loaded to have a house like this with running water; you’ve never had a bath outside of a metal washtub before. 

After several minutes, he steps out, beckoning to you. You step into the small room, eyeing the ceramic basin nervously. If you’re to bathe, you’ll need to take your dress off, and you’ve never been naked in front of an Alpha before. Sam’s easily twice your size with over a hundred pounds on you. If he wants to mate and claim you, there’s nothing you can do to fight him off.

“Dress,” Sam says, pulling at the bow at the back of your gown. “Lift your arms.”

Trembling, you raise your arms over your head, wincing as the reddened skin of your burn pulls. Sam drops the fabric to the floor and inhales deeply at the sight of your naked body. You’re not like the other Omegas, no full hips and thighs, no round breasts, nothing that an Alpha might take pleasure in. You’re small and stick-thin from living on the streets for so long and not being properly fed at Crowley’s.

“Look at me.” Sam waits for you to turn to face him, and you raise your forearms to cover your pitifully small breasts. “Don’t hide,” he says, offering a kind smile. “I said I won’t hurt you, and I’m a man of my word.”

“I—” you swallow thickly, trying to stop more tears from flooding your eyes, “I’ve never been… l-like this in front of an Alpha…”

“I can tell.” Sam’s jaw tenses as his eyes flicker over your body. You get the feeling that he can see right into your soul. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You step into the tub, fully aware of the fact that Sam’s eyes are fixed on the space between your thighs before you sink into the warm water. He strips his jacket off and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, kneeling behind you and reaching for a metal cup. He scoops up cupfuls of water and pours it through your hair. When you feel his hand on your forehead, you obediently tip your head back and let him wet the rest. There’s a white bar of soap on the edge of the tub and he swirls it in his hands, working the lavender-scented suds into the ends of your hair.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

You take a deep, slightly shaky breath. “Yes.”

Sam doesn’t reply, only reaches for the cup again and begins rinsing your hair. When he’s finished, he stands up, drying his hands on a small towel. “I’m going to get you something to sleep in,” he says, “come into the bedroom when you’re done.”

You finish washing quickly. The lavender scented soap soothes your skin, and when you finally stand up and pull one of the towels from the brass rack, you feel cleaner than ever. Your arm, however, hasn’t stopped burning, and the new tears that fill your eyes aren’t from fear or exhaustion.

Sam’s sitting on the bed, a small basket of bandages and an amber glass bottle of salve by his side. Your suitcase is open on the floor; he’s gone through what little garments you have to see if you have a nightdress to no avail. He’s holding a white nightshirt that looks like it might be his, and when he hands it to you, the size confirms your suspicions. 

“I’ll buy you something that fits tomorrow,” he clarifies, “and you’ll need better clothing than this.” He casts a disdainful eye at the open suitcase. “I brought you some food as well. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

You shrug the nightshirt over your head before dropping the towel. It falls almost to just above your knees, and you hand to pull one shoulder up to stop it from falling down. When you attempt to head towards the tray of food, Sam snaps his fingers, and you flinch. “Come here,” he says, patting the bed beside him. “Let me take a look at your arm before you eat.”

Eager to get this part over with, you allow Sam to push the sleeve of your nightshirt up. His hand’s large enough to wrap easily around your upper arm. You wince and squirm when he presses a fingerful of salve to the wound, but he holds you firmly. “Stop moving,” he commands, evidently irritated at your lack of obedience. You fight to remain still as he covers the skin around the brand mark with the sweet-smelling mixture.

“It’ll stop infection,” he explains, finally letting you go to unwrap a length of bandage. He wraps it several times around your arm, checking to make sure it doesn’t cut off your circulation before tying it. With a nod of his head, he gives you permission to finally eat.

The smell of soup fills your nostrils as you sit down, and you spoon a mouthful of broth, meat, and vegetables into your mouth. It’s delicious, and you eagerly down most of the bowl in less than five minutes, finishing it off with the chunk of bread lying beside it. The cup of tea is the last thing you touch, and you breathe in the sweet fragrance before taking a long sip.

Sam’s been watching you eat with an amused, if slightly pitiful, expression. “Are you still hungry?”

You shake your head. Truthfully, you feel almost too full. It’s been quite a while since you’ve had this much to eat in one sitting. “No,” you answer, still sipping at your tea. “Just tired.”

Sam checks the small clock on the nightstand. “It is late,” he says, as if agreeing with you. “We should sleep.”

You watch, slightly caught off guard, as he pulls his white button-up off and tosses it to the floor. His pants go next, and you stiffen in surprise when he straightens up, fully naked. He’s glorious, every inch of his body suntanned and lean. There’s a sigil inked into his skin, just below his left collarbone, a type of star enclosed in a circle. He smirks at your expression when you tear your eyes from traveling lower than his waist and turns, striding confidently towards the chest of drawers. 

“Scared?” he asks, his tone ever so slightly mocking. “It’s just a body, Omega, I’ve just seen yours.”

“I’ve n-never seen a… a man… naked.” you choke on your words as he pulls a nightshirt out of the top drawer. 

He chuckles, sliding the loose fabric over his head and letting it fall to cover his thighs. “You’ll get used to it. I normally don’t wear anything to bed, but since you’re here…”

You bow your head in shame.  “I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I… I know you don’t want me. Your father made you—”

“My father didn’t make me do anything,” Sam replies, his tone a little colder. “Like I said, he has his own way of running things, and last month…” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I went through a rut and nearly killed someone. I was angry, got in a fight, and my father drew the line. I had a choice to make, and I made the easy one.”

You give a short nod and stand up. Your eyes burn, and you know that the longer you cry, the worse you’re going to feel the next morning. “I think I’d like to sleep,” you say quietly.

Wordlessly, he pulls back the heavy coverlet, allowing you to climb underneath before pacing around to get in on the other side, turning out the oil lamp and shrouding you both in darkness. He’s silent for several long seconds before you hear him speak.

“Good night, Omega,” he whispers.

You turn onto your back, staring up at the dark ceiling. “Good night… Alpha.”

[today-we-will-survive]

As The World Burns Around Us, Ch. 2

header made by me

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader ft. Taehyung

Genre: Apocalypse!AU, Angst, Thriller, Romance

Warning: dark themes, violence, gore

Word Count: 14K

Parts can be found in the masterlist under “As The World Burns Around Us”

Summary: You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”.

You don’t know how far you’ve gone by the time the sky has faded from light gray to charcoal but you’re exhausted nonetheless. The three of you make your way back down onto the freeway and take shelter in a gutted minivan. Taehyung sits in the driver’s seat with it reclined almost all the way back so he can still see out the windshield, while you and Jungkook lay the backseats down flat. You curl up into him, burying your face in his neck for warmth. Your hands are still sore though not nearly as bad as they have been. You wrapped them in Jungkook’s scarf since you didn’t need the protection in the woods and now you clutch them to your chest and breathe a heavy sigh. Jungkook tightens his arms around you and the sound of the hail hitting the roof lulls you to sleep.

A spray of rain against the windshield wakes you the next morning. It’s light and blows around more like a mist so you have to go back up into the woods to protect yourselves. The three of you travel just within the tree line, keeping the freeway in sight so you know you’re heading in the right direction. Tae is up ahead, as always, and you seem to be straggling a bit. Your legs are sore from the snow that seeped in through your clothes yesterday and the skin on your palms has turned white and has started to crack and you wish for the millionth time that you’d brought something to protect them. You have no idea what you’ll do if you’re attacked. There’s no way you’d be able to hold a knife with your hands like this.

As the daylight starts to fade at the end of the third day, Jungkook glimpses remnants of tall buildings in the distance. You recognize them immediately. You’ve reached Daejeon. Actually, you’re surprised at the number of buildings still standing, since it was one of the targets of the nuclear bombing.

The three of you don’t want to get any closer than a few miles away what-with the remaining radiation. Even from so far away, you can almost feel it. Like static on your skin and in your blood, weakening your joints and making you sick to your stomach. You’re just glad you weren’t there when the bomb hit. Then again, you don’t know what would be worse. Dying in the wars or living in the after.

Your hands hurt worse than they did yesterday. Every time you try to clench them, pain shoots up both arms along with a feeling of dread. You need to find something to heal them soon or they’re just going to get worse. There’s no way to keep them clean since all the water within a hundred miles is tainted with radiation. If infection sets in, you’re toast.

Taehyung and Jungkook build a makeshift lean-to that night. You don’t think either of them know how bad your hands really are but you can’t bring yourself to tell them so you just grit your teeth and blink away the tears as you saw at small tree branches with one of your knives.

You can’t sleep. Surprise. This time you actually want to, though. You would gladly take the nightmares if only to feel a little relief from the pain in your damaged hands. Words can’t really describe the feeling of sheer dread festering in your stomach as you look up through the gaps in the branched roof of your shelter. Any sound you hear brings images of those ravagers that attacked you the other day. You close your eyes and see the sharp tipped horns on the cow skulls. The wind blows and you swear you can hear the necklace of human teeth rattling around the man’s neck as he leans in and sniffs your hair. And you can smell his rancid breath as he whispers in your ear, “you’ll be very useful, little bird.”

Your eyes snap open and you sit up with a start. Your thoughts had warped themselves into a dream. A nightmare. It seems that’s all you have anymore.

The next day brings dark gray clouds and along with them, rain. It comes down in daggers, slicing through the thick canopy of trees and into your layers of clothes. Luckily, it doesn’t reach your skin. You can’t imagine being stuck out here without the right protection. Actually, you could imagine it. In fact, you’ve seen it first hand plenty of times.

The first few times the acid rain came down were the worst. No matter what you had covering you, if it wasn’t something absolutely waterproof, you were going to get burned. You still have the faint, pink, scarred patches to prove it. So many others weren’t lucky enough to get away with such little damage. Eyes glazed over, fingers so scarred they couldn’t bend, lungs rasping, shriveled and dying. It was awful. But Taehyung prepared you for the worst. He’s kept you alive thus far.

It’s another long, painful day of trekking through the woods. Nothing but the sounds of your boots crunching on the dirt fill your ears. Animals and birds don’t even make noise anymore. Silence is a matter of survival these days.

It’s getting dark and you’re about to mention something about it when Jungkook catches a glimpse of a cabin a little ways ahead. You haven’t seen any houses or other signs of life for a while and the freeway hasn’t been visible for hours so this seems to be your safest bet to get some rest.

The closer you get to the cabin, the easier it is to see just what kind of people lived in it. The slanted roof looks to be made out of stainless steel and sits atop concrete walls. It seems like whoever built it really knew what they were doing. And judging from the lack of cracks and crumbling, it was built within the last few years. Maybe just after the wars started. Probably because of the wars.

The three of you make your way to the door cautiously, all eyes on the two barred windows in case anyone is home. You follow behind Taehyung and Jungkook, your boots barely making a sound as you make your way up onto the covered, concrete porch.

Taehyung tries the handle but, unsurprisingly, it’s locked.

“Do you think someone’s here?” Jungkook asks and a shiver runs down your spine.

“There’s one way to find out,” Taehyung says then brings the butt of his handgun up and raps it hard on the metal door. The sound bounces off the trees surrounding you, throwing it back from a million different directions. Surely, someone heard that.

You wait for a long while in silence. You hold your breath and strain your ears, searching for any sign of life. Voices, footsteps, anything. Instead, only the quiet waits on the other side of the door. Taehyung hits his gun hard against the metal again and you about jump out of your skin. More waiting. More silence.

“Now what?” you ask. It’s getting colder and your breath paints the air with fog. You turn to Jungkook and see him biting his bottom lip in thought; his narrowed eyes study the door.

Finally, a grin breaks through his hard stare. “I have an idea,” he says and reaches into his jacket. After rustling around in one of the inner pockets for a second, he pulls out a couple shotgun shells. “I’m sure I’ve told you I used to be a bit of a pyro when I was younger,” he says kneeling on the floor.

“Actually, no,” you say surprised.

“Hopefully this will work. Can I have one of your knives?”

You stick your leg out toward him and he pulls one of the blades out of your thigh holster with a smirk. Taehyung rolls his eyes at your obvious flirting and lets out an exasperated sigh. It never bothered the old Tae.

Jungkook rips a dry piece of cloth from the edge of his shirt and lays it flat on the ground. Then he takes your knife and cuts the plastic casing on one of the shotgun shells in half. With a couple quick taps against the cloth, the gunpowder comes loose from the shell and pours out. He does the same with the other one, creating a little black pile on top of the material. Then he picks up the corners and twists them together, creating a little sack.

You and Taehyung step away from the door as Jungkook stands up. He takes your knife and pierces through the cloth, wedging the blade into the tiny crack between the door and the jam right next to the deadbolt. Then he turns around, confidence gleaming in his dark eyes.

“I need you to shoot that,” he says to Taehyung and points back at the little sack of powder. “If you can create a spark, it should ignite the gun powder and blast the lock.”

Taehyung nods impressed. “Let’s try it.”

The three of you hop back off the porch and stop when you’re at the edge of the clearing. You brush the back of your hand against Jungkook’s as Taehyung pulls the hammer back on his gun and raises his arms. You hope this works.

The world is silent for a long moment as Taehyung takes aim. Then a crack splits the air and the bullet hits the metal door with a loud ping, sending a spark jumping near the middle of the door. Almost. He curses under his breath and takes aim again. This time when he pulls the trigger, a much louder bang rattles your ears and a hole appears in the concrete beside the door.

Taehyung lets out a loud laugh and turns to give Jungkook a high five. Jungkook slaps it hard, a proud smile on his face. Then Taehyung turns to you next and you flex your fingers at your sides. They crack painfully. You just give Taehyung a wincing smile and a nod and he drops his hand, frowning back at you.

The three of you don’t waste anymore time and hurry back onto the porch with a bounce in your steps. Jungkook’s bomb blew a big chunk of concrete out, leaving a gaping, smoking hole. The edge of the door looks like it’s been punched by the Hulk and your knife is nowhere to be found. Surely, it was destroyed in the blast.

The door swings open easily now on its hinges and Taehyung steps inside cautiously. You don’t really see the point in sneaking in since anyone within a twenty mile radius would have heard the explosion.

Taehyung gives you the all-clear and you shuffle in behind Jungkook. The place is dark but the fading light behind you illuminates the small room enough that you can make out the walls and furniture. A couch is positioned in the middle of the room facing a cold, dead fireplace and a vase of sticks sits on a little table next to the couch. You’re guessing those sticks were flowers at one point but withered and died a long time ago.

“Why would someone want to lock a living room behind steel and concrete?” You ask bringing your hand up to touch a shriveled flower stem. It crumbles in your fingers.

“This can’t be it,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. Instead, he begins stomping around on the wood floor. The furniture shutters and the vase dances across the table. You nudge it with your hip before it can fall off the edge and watch as Jungkook stomps his foot repeatedly in one spot next to the couch.

“Is that necessary?” Taehyung asks loudly.

Without a word, Jungkook hefts his shotgun on his shoulder and shoves the couch toward the fireplace. It scrapes across the floor, riding along in grooves scratched into the wood and revealing a trap door with a metal handle.

“I figured,” he mutters to himself and wraps his fingers around the handle. With one strong pull, the door opens and Jungkook throws it back. You all peer down into the dark hole in the floor.

“What do you think is down there?” you ask quietly.

Jungkook shrugs. “Whatever it is, the people that built this place wanted to keep it safe.”

With a heavy sigh, Taehyung starts down the stairs into the dark. You go next then Jungkook follows behind you. You hear a click ahead of you as Taehyung palms his handgun and a few more from behind as Jungkook pulls his shotgun off his shoulder and holds it at the ready. Your hand hovers over your thigh holster where your four knives are nestled.

The stairs creak as you continue your descent into the dark. The air around you grows colder and damper and you’re just starting to wonder how far down into the earth these stairs go when your foot hits the ground instead of another concrete step.

Something smells awful.

Your one hand gropes the wall next to you while the other touches a handle of one of your knives. Another wave of dread trickles down your spine and you pray you don’t have to fight anyone down here. Your hands ache at the thought.

As you move through the darkness, you bump into Taehyung and then Jungkook presses into you blindly from behind. The three of you stand there in silence. There’s a faint humming sound almost like a truck driving in the distance.

“Do you hear that?” Jungkook asks next to your ear.

“Sounds like humming,” Taehyung replies.

A faint flicker catches your eye on the wall up ahead and you peer around him. Squinting in the darkness, you see another flicker. “What’s that?” you whisper. “Up ahead.”

Taehyung seems to see it just then too because he lifts his pistol again and starts creeping forward. You and Jungkook follow close behind. As your eyes adjust, the walls begin to appear around you and you realize you’re heading down a long hallway. Surely, this lower level spreads out much further than the structure above your heads. Who knows how far it goes?

As you continue down the hall, the humming grows fainter while the flickering light becomes more obvious up ahead, along with the terrible rotten smell. You bring your scarf back up to cover your face but it doesn’t seem to help much. It’s hard to keep from gagging as you reach the glowing doorway. Taehyung stops and peeks into the room. A muffled curse escapes from behind his gloved hand and he turns toward you, away from the room. The stench is unbearable.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, his own words muffled by his hand.

Taehyung’s eyes are barely visible in the glow. “What do you think?”

You make your way around him and step into the room, feeling the full blown stench hit you like a tidal wave. Only one thing can give off a smell like this. Rotting flesh.

There are three bodies, dark and bruised, all in different stages of decomposition. They lay on a bed, a man and woman on either side of another man in the middle. He looks younger than the others, and more recently dead. In fact, if not for the bullet hole in his temple, he’d almost look like he was sleeping.

The glow you saw from the hall comes from a row of candles set atop a dresser in the corner. How are they still burning? Who could have lit them? You turn back to the guy laying between the couple on the bed. Unless…

“I think he killed himself recently,” you say from behind your scarf. Jungkook and Taehyung are both standing in the doorway and looking around the room. “He must have lit the candles. It couldn’t have been long ago.”

Jungkook steps inside and walks up beside you, his hand still tightly covering his mouth and nose. “What’s that?” he asks pointing his gun to the man’s chest. Something around his neck glimmers in the candlelight. You make your way around the bed and lean in.

“A key,” you say. You lean in closer still so you can see better. The teeth are dulled and flecked with something white. Looks almost like paint. Your eyes shift and focus on the wall across from you. “Look,” you whisper and point to the words scratched into the plaster.

“This isn’t life,” Taehyung says, reading the words out loud.

Sadness pierces through your disgust and stabs at your heart as you look down again at the man. Judging by the smell and how they look, the other two have been dead for a while. How long was this man alone for before he finally just gave up? Even with your hand and a layer of material between you and the air, the stench is beginning to make you dizzy.

“I have to get out of here,” you wheeze, stepping away from the bed and hurrying past Jungkook and Taehyung before breaking into a run. You race blindly back down the hall and up the stairs into the living room, your hand still covering your mouth. When you finally make it back out the front door, you let out the breath you’ve been holding.

You’re in the middle of sucking as much clean air into your lungs as you can when Taehyung and Jungkook come stumbling out after you. The three of you spend a few agonizing minutes coughing and just trying to get the memory of that smell out of your heads.

“So what do we do?” Jungkook finally asks between heaving breaths.

Tae straightens up from his crouch. “Well,” he says. “If we can figure out a way to seal that room off down there, we’ll have a place to sleep. It looked like there were other doors in that hallway. Maybe it’ll be safe for the night.”

You cough and spit out the stomach acid that has made its way up your throat. “I don’t think I can go back down there,” you crack.

Something wet hits the back of your hand and begins to sizzle. You quickly wipe it away and look up. It’s starting to rain.

“We can’t stay out here,” Jungkook says and stands up. He flips his hood up to shield his neck and head. “I have an idea.”

“You’re just chock full of them today,” Taehyung says and you and him follow Jungkook back into the house.

You help him rip the cushions off the sofa and then Jungkook starts back downstairs. As you descend after him, the smell comes up to meet you and you clamp your mouth shut tight as your stomach lurches and fire starts up your throat.

“Just breathe through your mouth,” he says as you hurry toward the end of the hall.

You grab the neck of your coat with your free hand and press it against your face. “That’s almost worse,” you say swallowing hard.

Taehyung takes the cushion out from under your other arm and steps around you. “You go in there,” he says and nods toward a door a little bit behind you. “See if it’s livable.”

After giving him a delirious nod, you turn around, grateful you don’t have to go back into that room of death. The door is made of the same metal as the front door and the roof and seems just as impenetrable. Luckily, it’s unlocked. It takes a couple pushes but with a little effort, it finally budges, scraping across the cement floor. The gritty sound makes your teeth rattle but you keep pushing with your shoulder until there is a big enough space for you to slip through.

From down the hall, you can hear the boys cursing and coughing as they work but when you step into the room, their voices immediately cut out and you’re greeted by pitch dark silence. At least, it would be silent if not for that strange humming sound.

You sit there for a minute with your back resting against the door. You can’t feel it through your layers of clothes but your hands are still naked and the metal feels ice cold against the burns on your palms.

The stale air makes it kind of hard to breathe but at least the dead person smell isn’t as bad. You’re too afraid to step forward, especially without knowing how big the room is or what’s in it. For all you know, you could be standing in a broom closet.

Keeping your back to the wall, you slide to the right—at least this way maybe you can figure out how big it is. You only make it about a foot before something small and hard pokes into your back. You grope at the concrete wall until you find the aggressor. A light switch. Curiously, you flick it up and jump when another hum joins the first. Suddenly, the room springs into focus, a single fluorescent light washing the small room in a pale, greenish glow.

So the humming must be some sort of generator, maybe in one of the other rooms in the hallway. As you peer around the room, you feel your throat begin to close up. Not from the smell of death but from the beautiful sight in front of you.

Cans and boxes and tubs of food—wonderful, glorious, not peas and hotdogs, food—are stacked on top of each other on two big shelves in one corner and in another sits five big jugs of water.

You hear Taehyung and Jungkook come back into the hallway and push the door open further behind you. But you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the wonderful scene before you.

“Look at all this food,” you whisper.

Taehyung steps past you making his way to the shelf and picks up a can. “The guy could have easily lived for months in here if he hadn’t offed himself like that,” he says, his words tinged with disgust.

“Then what?” Jungkook asks. Finally, you turn around to look at him. The fluorescent light above reflects in both of his eyes like two fireflies. “He would just be prolonging the inevitable.”

You look back at Taehyung again to find him shaking his head. “It was weak of him.”

“You saw the writing on the wall yourself, Tae,” you say. “This isn’t life.” And you raise your hands in the air as if to present this place to him, nestled in this dead forest on this dead planet.

But again, you look at Jungkook. His golden skin shines even through the dirt and his smile warms your insides and though that dead guy was right, though this terrible thing you’re living isn’t something you can really call life, at least you’re sharing it with Jungkook. And at least you’re going to get to eat.

There’s more in the room than just food and water but you didn’t really notice at first. Two mattresses are pushed up against the walls adjacent to the one with the door and a big safe sits against the wall between the food and water.

“What do you think is in there?” you ask stepping curiously toward it.

Jungkook drops the can he was opening with a knife and gets closer to the safe to inspect it. “It looks like one of those heavy duty gun safes. There’s no combination lock though.”

“We can worry about cracking it later,” Taehyung says cutting him off. “I’m hungrier than a ravager right now.”

Just the mention of the ravagers has shivers going up your back but you try not to let the boys notice. It doesn’t matter. You’re safe—for now anyway—and there is a ton of food in front of you. The three of you will feast tonight.

Being underground, the place isn’t very warm so you push the two mattresses together and you sleep between the two boys. You remember a few late nights spent over at their dorm in college when you’d be chilling on Jungkook’s bed studying and Taehyung would come over and cuddle up to you, throwing his arms around you because he always had trouble falling asleep unless he was hugging something. Usually it was his own pillow or sometimes even Jungkook but once in a while, you ended up unintentionally becoming his cuddle buddy. Of course he hasn’t done that since before everything and now he sleeps with his back to you.

Laying awake, listening to their steady breathing has become a normal occurrence for you. You’re always the last to fall asleep. As far as you know, you’re the only one that doesn’t welcome it with open arms. You shift uncomfortably and put one of your hands on your stomach, feeling the weird, hill shape of your full belly. It’s strange, this feeling of being full. You’ve experienced it so few times over the course of the last few years and now it’s happened twice in just a couple days. Your body doesn’t seem to like it. You’re tired brain, however, loves it. Like it’s fuel for your dreams and now your mind can take off, if only you close your eyes and allow it to go.

But you’re not about to let that happen.

Careful not to wake the sleeping boys on either side of you, you scoot down until you’re at the edge of the mattress then get up quietly. You’d left the door propped open, which is a good thing since trying to open it yourself would probably be loud enough to wake the dead people down the hall. When you slip out into the dark passage, you smell the faint scent of death in the air but it isn’t nearly as strong as it was before Jungkook and Taehyung sealed the room with the couch cushions. You start in the opposite direction and make your way up the stairs, the only sound besides the hum of the generator being the sound of your boots on the steps.

The hatch creaks open when you press on it and you wince, waiting for any sounds of stirring below but nothing happens. You’re sure Jungkook has woken up plenty of times to find the spot next to him empty. He knows about your nightmares and he knows that they’re about the past but you’ve never actually told him that they’re about Taehyung. It would only make him sulk anyway.

You step up into the room above the ground and close the hatch carefully behind you. The wall surrounding the front door is completely destroyed. Cracks fissure out from the hole like veins and branch out, threatening to make the whole wall crumble. The night seeps in, tingeing everything with the acrid, acidic smell of the rain. It still comes down in sheets outside. You can hear it rather than see it. The couch, now stripped of its cushions is pushed up against the fireplace, which probably hasn’t had a fire made in it in a very long time.

There’s only a tiny bit of light from the dark gray tinted sky—it’s never fully black anymore—and your eyes are adjusted well enough that you can make out the shapes of things hanging on the wall behind you. You make your way over and squint through the dim light at the framed pictures hanging on the wall. Faded faces smile back at you.

The biggest picture is one of those classic family portraits you might have taken professionally at a department store. Looking at the man and woman standing behind the younger boy, you immediately think of the three bodies downstairs. Obviously this was taken a long time ago as even the freshly dead man looked like he was in his late twenties instead of a teenager like in the picture. There’s another photo next to the big one of just the boy and his father. A candid shot of them playing basketball in a driveway outside a big white house. Surely, they moved these photos here from where they lived before, you know, to make the place seem more like a home and less like a bomb shelter.

You turn around again to face the gaping hole and make your way out onto the porch. The rain on the metal awning sounds more like bullets than water and it drowns out your thoughts.

Good.

That’s exactly what you want it to do. You turn around again to look at the back wall with the collage of photographs and pull a knife out of the harness under your arm. Your burned fingers hurt so bad you can barely close them around the hilt.

You can barely hold it, let alone throw it. You’d be useless in a fight and you really don’t like that. You were useless when The Virus broke out, killing your friends and family. Useless when Taehyung was trapped in the lab, having God-knows what done to him. Useless when those ravagers attacked you the other morning. Useless under that dead man when the raiders took over the lab.

Not anymore.

You close your fist around the knife, hissing through your teeth and focusing all your attention on the wall across from you. You’re done being useless.

The throbbing ache eventually subsides enough that you feel you can try throwing the knife. You raise your arm, crossing it over your body. Searing pain spreads from your hand and starts making its way up and you begin to breathe hard through your nose. It takes you a minute to push past the dizzying pain and nausea.

Then with a quick flick, you let go of the knife and it lodges between two pictures in the tiny space you aimed for. A sense of pride blooms in your chest, dulling the pain for a brief moment. You take that second of relief to reach for two more knives, one from your thigh holster and another from under your arm. Then you turn so you’re facing the porch and close your eyes, pushing the stinging in your hands out of your mind.

With a quick pivot on your heels, you spin, hurling the knives toward the wall. Each one nestles into the plaster, buried to their hilts on either side of the big family portrait. Even with your hands feeling like they’re on fire, pride warms your insides and you can’t keep the grin off your face.

You still got it.

The rain continues to come down hard behind you and drowns out any other sound in a pleasant rhythm. You find yourself falling into almost a meditative state as you continue throwing your knives against the wall, always purposefully missing the pictures. Though your damaged hands aren’t bothering you so much anymore, you know they’re really going to hurt tomorrow. Maybe there’s some medical supplies somewhere down in the bunker. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow when the boys are awake.

After throwing your last knife, you go to retrieve them for the nth time. The rain is still coming down pretty hard and you’re starting to feel the fatigue. Maybe one more run through then you’ll call it a night and just deal with the nightmares. It’s not like you haven’t had them enough times already.

The rain drowns out your footsteps as you make your way toward the wall again. In the gray light, you can just barely make out the trees in the reflection of the glass in the picture frames. It’s hard trying to work the knives back out of the plastered wall but you manage to get two out and are working on the third one when movement in the picture catches your eye.

Your fingers flip the knives in each hand and you spin around, snapping your wrists in time to watch as they bury themselves into the neck of a masked person.

No please. Not here. Not now.

They go down and you watch in horror as several more figures, blurred by the rain, make their way out of the forest. Again, you swivel around and grip two more knives, tugging hard with all your strength. They don’t budge. You pull erratically, the burned skin on your palms tearing, making your hands slick. Running footsteps make their way toward you and you yank hard, finally getting the blades unstuck. Without missing a beat, you turn to meet the raider and dodge out of the way of his crowbar as it slices through the air at you. As you roll, you thrust one of the knives forward, aiming for the artery on the inside of his thigh. Immediately, bright red blood blooms under the material of his pants and his muffled scream cuts through the sound of the rain. Your eyes dart to the trap door only a few feet away. Still on the ground, you roll forward and pull the handle ignoring the pain in your freshly opened wounds. A gap just big enough for you to fit through appears and you slip in, shutting it behind you before stumbling down the stairs in the dark.

The ruckus from above is deafening and when you reach the room the boys are in, they’re already awake and making their way out the door. Taehyung runs right past you down the hall as the trap door flies open again and feet start pounding down the stairs.

“My knives are up there,” you say to Jungkook. He meets your eyes for a second then pulls you behind him and pumps his shotgun. Again, you find yourself rendered completely useless but for the two knives clenched in your damaged hands. You’re pissed.

Grunts and gunshots erupt from down the hall causing Jungkook to jump into action and charge after Taehyung into the darkness. There has to be something you can do.

From inside the storage room, the lights flicker and your eyes fall on the safe. You furrow your brow, studying the lock. It needs a key. The key! Without another thought, you run out of the room, crouching low and covering your head when a shotgun blast rings out as you sprint for the death room.

You choke back the bile rising in your throat as you throw yourself against the door. Taehyung and Jungkook did a pretty good job at sealing it off and it takes you a few more hits before the door finally opens, the stench of death pouring out into the hallway. You hold your breath and run into the darkened room. Since you can’t see anything, you head in the general direction of the bed and feel your way around. Your eyes burn and your lungs beg for air as you search. When your hand hits a shoe, you pat your way up the dead man’s leg, up his stomach and to his chest where the chain and key lay still nestled in his shirt. Without a second to think, you grasp it and yank hard, ripping it from around his neck. Another gunshot and a grunt has you running back out of there, leaving the door wide open.

When you get back to the storage room, your fingers—tacky with fluid from your oozing burns—tremble as you try to fit the key into the slot on the safe. Finally, it slips in and you turn it. The lock clicks and you throw the door open to reveal a small arsenal inside. There are three rifles and several handguns of various calibers on a rack on the back wall. Quickly, you grab the nearest rifle and rush back out into the hallway.

All you can do is pray the thing is already loaded.

“Boys, hit the floor!” you scream into the darkness as you unlock the bolt. You wait for only a second then pull the trigger. To your surprise, a long string of shots ring out, igniting the darkness in front of you and you almost drop it. In the sporadic light given off by the obviously modified gun, you watch as several bodies jerk and hit the floor. Finally, you stop and run forward hoping that 1. You hit all the raiders and 2. You didn’t hit Jungkook or Taehyung.

Even as you make your way toward the stairs, more raiders come down through the trap door. Where are they coming from and why are they all suddenly banding together?

The three of you need to get out of there. You let off another string of shots, taking out the ones on the stairs as you run. The air is filled with smoke and the smell of gun powder and blood and death. You hear Taehyung grunt somewhere near you and a shadow falls to the ground.

Jungkook calls your name. He sounds close. The blast of a shotgun rattles your ears. “We need to get upstairs!”

“I’ll clear a path!” you yell back and again pull the trigger on the rifle in your hands. More shots fire and more bodies fall away. You don’t know if or where the boys are behind you but you start up the stairs, taking out everything in your path and don’t stop shooting until you’re up on ground level.

Your eyes immediately go to your throwing knives stuck in the wall and you rush over to them, dodging out of the way of a hatchet. It barely misses you, biting into the wooden floor and sending splinters into the air. You let off a round in another man’s chest and then there’s nothing between you and your knives. The gun is light enough for you to hold with one hand while you use the other to work at getting your blades unstuck.

“Y/N!”

You quickly duck just as the hatchet sticks into the wall and you spin, jabbing the knife you hold into your attacker’s side. He falls away and you sheath your knife before turning around to retrieve the rest. You’re missing two.

Jungkook lets out a curse behind you and you turn again to see him struggling against two raiders. You can’t use the rifle, you might hit him. Where’s Taehyung? You search frantically and spot him out on the porch trying to get his gun away from another masked person.

No one seems to notice you now. You could use this to your advantage. Your eyes land on a raider lying dead on the ground with your last two throwing knives in his chest. You drop the rifle and lunge forward, grabbing the knives by their hilts. They come loose from the guy’s chest in an arc of blood as you spring into the air, aiming for the raider in front of Jungkook. The guy doesn’t even have a chance to react. Your legs clamp onto his sides, throwing him off balance and you stab the knives into the back of his neck. He goes down and you go with him, hitting your knees hard on the wooden floor. The sound of Jungkook’s shotgun connecting with bone resonates in your ears as you scurry back to your feet. You have all your knives again—minus the one Jungkook blew up earlier. Now you need to go.

As if you’re on the same wavelength, Jungkook puts his hand on your back and shoves you forward. You take down two more raiders on your way out onto the porch. Tae is already ahead of you, his figure blurred by the pouring rain. As soon as the raindrops hit your skin, you can feel them burn and you quickly throw your hood up.

The three of you keep running. Running away from the raiders. Running away from food and shelter and clean water. Away from the place that you thought would be your safe haven.

You run for a while through the dark, foggy forest. Wet strands of hair slap against your face and you shake them off as they start to burn. Your whole body tingles but you don’t know if it’s from the rain or the adrenaline coursing through you. By the time the rain finally subsides, the sky is getting lighter and you have no idea where you are.

While Taehyung curses at the sky and kicks at any plant unfortunate enough to be growing near him, you tangle your burning hands into your hair and try to keep from crying. You can feel the hot, angry tears coming anyway and throw your fist at a tree, clipping it and scraping the skin off your knuckles.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Jungkook says pulling you back so you don’t hurt yourself more.

Blood still flows freely from a cut at his hairline. “You’re hurt,” you gasp hysterically.

“I’m alright. It’s okay.”

The rage in you just burns hotter and the tears spill down your face and you whirl around and start yelling at him. “Don’t say that!” you screech and push him hard. “Tell me anything else!” You’re off the handle by this point and grasp his jacket in your clenched fists. “Just tell me we’re going to die. Tell me the world is ending and there’s nothing I can do about it because if I hear ‘it’s going to be okay’ one more time, I’ll explode!” Your breaths come out in thick puffs of fog and Taehyung has gone silent behind you.

Jungkook leans in close and furrows his eyebrows. “Well, one of us has to be the optimist here,” he snaps.

You let go of his jacket and step back. “Who thought it would be you?”

“Yeah, I guess I should be the one punching trees, right?”

You look back at Taehyung who’s standing there looking down at his gun, unclipping and re-clipping the magazine over and over.

“You’re different, you know,” you finally say looking back at Jungkook. “I mean, we all are.”

Again, Jungkook steps forward, this time leaning in close, touching his forehead to yours. “But I still love you the same as I did before all this. That will never change.”

You close your eyes, clinging to those words like they’re a life preserver and you’re lost at sea. You want to say that you love him back. You want to thank him for at least trying to make you feel better. But it seems the adrenaline is wearing off and, along with it, whatever was dulling the pain in your wrecked hands.

A cry escapes your throat and you keel forward onto your knees, pushing your palms against your rain-dampened pants. That’s probably the worst thing you can do. The acid just adds to the pain and you clench your teeth hard against the scream as it tears from your throat.

Jungkook puts his hands on you and tries to pull you up but you can’t unfold yourself. You can’t let him see your hands.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asks in a panic.

“My hands,” you finally gasp out.

“Let me see.”

“No!” At this point you’re more afraid of seeing how bad they look than you are of the inevitable infection.

Taehyung stomps over just then and grabs your wrists, yanking them up toward him so he can see the burns. Jungkook steps back swearing. “Y/N, what did you do?” he asks.

It’s worse than you thought. With the tears in your eyes, you can’t see the details but just the colors are enough to strike fear in you. An awful mixture of red, green, black and white stains your palms.

Taehyung drops your arms in disgust. “They’re infected.”

“Yeah, you think?” Jungkook barks angrily. “She needs medicine.”

“No kidding, genius. But where do you expect to get that?”

“Well we have to do something!”

You can’t tear your eyes away from your hands. You knew this would happen. You should have told them when it first occurred. You should have looked for medicine or anything back at the bunker. You should have done a lot of things but you didn’t.

Taehyung takes the pack he got from the roamer off his back and lets it fall on the ground. “What are you doing?” you ask weakly as he starts to dig.

“I filled up this puny little canteen with some water last night,” he says and shakes the bottle at you as he stands up and makes his way toward you. He uncaps it. “It won’t heal you but if I can clean your wounds a bit, it’ll buy us more time.” He wrenches your wrists out again so your palms are up and holds the canteen over them. His eyes lock on yours and for a second you think you see a flicker of sympathy.

“This is gonna hurt,” he says gravely then tips the canteen.

You watch as a crystal clear stream of water pours from the opening and splashes onto your hands. Clenching your eyes shut, you grit your teeth as the cold water fills your hands. Jungkook lets off another string of curses from behind you. After several agonizing seconds, you rip your hands out of Taehyung’s hold and cradle them against your chest.

“So you thought to fill the canteen but didn’t think to see if there was a medical kit anywhere?” Jungkook yells coming up behind you.

Taehyung screws the cap back on the half empty container. “I was going to look around more after we slept but then we were attacked because someone decided to set off a freaking bomb and let the whole world know where we were!”

“You’re the one that shot it!”

“You told me to!”

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. “ENOUGH!”

Jungkook and Taehyung stop. The sudden silence is pervasive enough that for a second, all you can hear is your own heart thundering against your ribs. Slowly, you open your eyes and lift your head to look at the boys. The excruciating pain rushed out of your body along with your scream and now your hands just throb. “I should probably bandage these so they don’t get worse,” you utter.

Jungkook comes over and helps you up, careful not to touch your hands as Taehyung starts digging through his pack again to see if there’s anything you can use. He pulls out some cloth that at first confuses you before you remember that the roamer had packed “a little something extra” for you. At least it’ll serve some purpose even if not the one it was originally intended for.

“This is probably the cleanest thing you’re going to get,” Taehyung says and steps toward you.

You shrink back reflexively but hold your palms out to him. It seems like he’s trying to be at least kind of gentle as he wraps the cloth around your hands. It’s not enough to cover all of the damage but at least the worst of it is now protected from the elements. As he pulls the knot tight, a wave of nausea hits and you groan through your teeth. Jungkook’s arms come up to hook under your own as your knees go weak.

“I think something’s wrong,” he says in a low voice and brings a hand up to touch your cheek. “She’s burning up.”

“Of course she is,” Taehyung spits. “That’s how infections work.”

As the last ounce of adrenaline leaves your body, your vision starts to blur and you slump back against Jungkook. You can tell he’s worried without having to look at him as he holds you against his chest. “Well we need to get help.”

Taehyung’s shadow darkens the space behind your eyelids. “You sure know how to state the obvious, don’t you, Kook?”

Without another word, Jungkook turns and then you’re moving. Your legs dangle over one of his arms and your shoulder rests against his other. You feel sleep trying to take you under and for the first time in a long time, you welcome it.

Your weakening body gives you plenty of time alone, shutting out the world and locking yourself in your own mind. Memories fill your head like fog, making your thoughts slow and blurry. Somewhere behind the fog, you can see images just barely clear enough that you recognize the faces of your parents. Like looking at clouds on a nice day, you watch as their faces morph into others. You see classmates and professors, friends and family.

You drift in and out of consciousness a lot and every time you do, the scenery has changed. Sometimes it’s your dreams that wake you up. Sometimes it’s Jungkook or Taehyung jostling you whenever they trade off carrying you. Sometimes it’s the sensation of cool water flowing over your dry lips and down your parched throat. All of it, though, is dulled by the haze of your fever. You feel like a bubble of hot air is surrounding you, yet you can’t seem to stop shivering.

“Y/N.”

You let out a groan and shift, rolling onto your side. The ground is hard below you and the wind feels cool on your hot skin. When you manage to pry your eyelids apart, light sears your retinas and they fall shut again.

“Sweetheart.” It’s Jungkook. “You have to wake up. You need to eat something.”

You let out another groan. It seems that’s all you can do now. You’re too weak to talk. Too weak to shake your head. You don’t want to eat. In fact, you’re the farthest a person could possibly get from being hungry.

“Come on, Y/N,” Jungkook urges and you lift an eyelid a crack. It takes too much effort to keep your eyes open so you let them fall shut again.

You seriously feel like this is it. You’re out in the middle of the forest, somewhere south-ish of Seoul—however south, you have no idea—and you’re halfway gone and slipping faster with every sick beat of your heart. It’s okay though. You’re perfectly content with falling asleep and never waking back up. What is there to keep you going? Besides Jungkook. But even he doesn’t seem like enough now. Not after everything. Not anymore.

“Come on, baby, you have to eat something.”

“She can’t,” Taehyung says from somewhere to your left. “She’s too weak.”

Just let me die, you want to say. Just keep going and find food and shelter and others like us and live a long life.

“She has to,” Jungkook fires back. You really wish they would stop fighting. The faint smell of cooked meat invades your fevered senses and you roll to try and get away from it. “Come on, Y/N.”

Again, you make an attempt at opening your burning eyelids a crack but whatever that bright light was the first time is still there. Jungkook lets out a sigh like he’s giving up. Just let me sleep. Just let me go. Then you feel his hand, like ice, on your cheek and he swears under his breath.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t burst into flames.” A rustling sound coming from the general direction of where Taehyung had been standing makes Jungkook’s fingers stiffen against your skin. “Tae?”

His hand leaves your cheek as he stands up. Then the sound of his boot crunching the ground right in front of your face has you picturing him stepping over you.

“Tae? Are you alright?” he asks, worry in his voice. “Tae?”

You pry your eyes open again and squint through the glare to see Jungkook’s crouching silhouette by a crumpled body on the ground. His shotgun sticks out like an extra appendage as he scans the area around you. Then something whistles through the air over your head sending him flat on his back with a jerk.

If you could, you would scream but you barely have enough energy to keep your eyes open. And with that blinding white light making it even more difficult, there’s no hope. You watch helplessly, blinking slowly, your eyelids getting heavier, the fog seeping out of your brain to blur the world around you. The last thing you see is a boot crunch the leaves in front of your face. But you just can’t hold your eyes open any longer and they fall shut, locking you out of the world. Maybe for good.

You’re drowning.

Black water surrounds you, warm and constricting, pushing against your chest like it’s trying to squeeze every last ounce of air from your lungs. You try to kick, try to push back with your arms, try to make your way to the surface but the darkness wraps itself around you, binding your limbs and making it impossible to move. You can see the surface above your head. The sun shines, shimmering off the water and casting a moving web of shadows down on you. Your lungs ache and your eyes burn as you look down into the darkness below. It seems that is where you’re heading. And there’s no use fighting it. So you give up your thrashing and let yourself sink farther into the black.

“Wake up. Come on. Wake up.”

Your eyelids creak open, resisting a little as you break through the gunk that glues them shut. Everything blurs together in a confusing swirl of colors and blobby shapes and your disoriented brain can’t tell what you’re looking at. Even as a pair of dark, feline eyes come into focus. You lick your cracked lips and taste salt. Along with that, the fact that you’re drenched immediately reminds you that you were just sinking into the depths of a dark sea.

The serious face of a light haired man materializes behind the dark eyes. “Do you know your name?” he asks steadily. His voice is deep.

You push air out of your lungs to speak but your voice won’t catch. It takes you a second to muster up the strength. “Y/N,” you finally wheeze. Your eyes wander past him to the corrugated metal ceiling.

“Do you know what day it is?”

You look back at him. “Does anyone anymore?”

One corner of his lips lift into an amused smirk. “I’m Yoongi,” he says.

You sit up slowly, pushing off the threadbare blanket that covers you. The floor of wherever you lay is the same metal as the low ceiling and close walls. A thin sleeping mat and a slat of plywood seems to be the only thing cushioning you from the cold, hard floor.

“Where am I?” you finally ask. But before Yoongi can answer, a terrifying memory surfaces in your mind. “Jungkook and Tae. Are they alright? Are they alive?”

“Whoa, calm down there,” he says putting his hands on your shoulders to keep you from jumping to your feet. “If you mean those two guys Jimin shot, we’re holding them in a different car.”

You feel like an ice block is dropped on your stomach. “Who’s Jimin? Wait, he did what? Why would he shoot them?”

Yoongi furrows his brow. “What were we supposed to do? The black haired one was—”

“Jungkook.”

“Okay, Jungkook was standing over you and you weren’t moving. What were we supposed to think?”

He has a point. “Well, are they okay?” you ask.

“Better off than you,” he says crossing his arms. “You almost didn’t make it, you know. We didn’t know if we were going to be able to save your hands.”

In a moment of panic you lift your arms to your face and sigh in relief at the sight of your hands, wrapped in clean, white bandages. When you flex your fingers and they wiggle, you feel like you’re about to cry. “How long have I been out?”

“A few days. Your fever finally broke about an hour ago.” So that’s why you’re so damp. Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh like he forgives you for your previous accusations then turns toward the wall and puts his hands against it. With a hard push, he slides the wall open, flooding the dim, metal room with light. Then he turns back around to face you. “You can take a hot shower if you’d like.”

You’re too startled by his words at first to speak. “I’m sorry. Did you just say a hot shower?” you finally crack

Again that amused smirk lifts the corner of his mouth and he hops, landing on the ground outside a few feet below the floor. “Yes, a shower. Ever heard of one?”

“I know what a shower is,” you snap. “I just don’t understand how a hot one is possible. And what about the acid in the water?”

“No acid in the water here,” Yoongi says with a shrug. “Hobi just heated up some more. Shower’s two cars down.” Then he disappears around the corner leaving you to stare baffled after him.

You spring to your feet, immediately swaying from weakness and you give your head a shake to clear it. Your three coats and boots lay on the floor next to the mat you were laying on but you don’t bother picking them up. All you can do is stare at the trees outside, green and dappled with sunlight.

Sunlight!

You can’t remember the last time you saw sunlight. This is too good to be true. You hop down and your socked feet land on gravel. Immediately, you spin slowly to take in your surroundings. Now you can see that the metal room was in fact the car of a train. Several cars extend to your left while even more stretch in the opposite direction and disappear around a bend in the tracks. Then you look up to the sky and suddenly you can’t breathe.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your life. It’s completely and utterly blue. Not a blemish, not even a wisp of fog or gray cloud in sight. And the sun, the glorious sun, shines down on everything, touching the trees and the ground and you with its light. You have on just your t-shirt—worn thin from years of harsh and inconsistent washing—and for the first time in three years, you feel the sunlight and the air on your bare arms. You close your eyes as they well with tears of relief—the kind you thought you’d never cry again—and relish in the feeling of the warmth on your face.

A metal door slides open several cars down from you but you don’t open your eyes. Not until you hear the hurried footsteps. You barely have enough time to catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s black hair before his arms are around you and you’re suddenly in the air. Your own arms wrap around him and you bury your face in his neck. It’s so weird hugging him with so little material between the two of you but at the same time, it’s such a glorious feeling and you feel your throat tighten further.

Jungkook sets you down but neither of you seem to want to let go. Instead you cling tighter to each other your nose pressed against his throat, feeling his skin, smelling his skin. Oh, how you missed his skin. You feel him shiver and you don’t know if it’s from a gust of cool wind or the overwhelming emotions. Either way, you grip each other tighter, letting your thundering hearts speak for you in the silence.

It’s several moments before either of you say anything, but finally Jungkook is the first one to break the silence with a string of incoherent mumblings. You have to pull away and ask him to repeat what he said.

“I thought for sure it was all over,” he says shaking his head in disbelief.

Even though his words are full of sadness, you can’t help but smile as you notice the way the sun bounces off his golden skin, making him glow. Correction. Now, you’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

He squeezes you around your waist and you meet his eyes again. His dark eyes that hold so much more life than they did the last time you looked into them. They sparkle like they haven’t in years. He studies you as if you might disappear if he looks away. “I thought I was going to lose you, Y/N.”

You bring one of your hands up and touch his jaw with your fingers. Where before there was always just barely a coat of stubble, there’s only smooth skin. He leans into your hand and you smile. “You shaved.”

The worry leaves Jungkook’s face and he brings his own hand up to cover yours. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “They have showers here.”

“I wondered why you smell so amazing,” you sigh then nuzzle your face back into the crook of his neck and breathe in deep. The captivating aroma of soap fills your head and you close your eyes, savoring the feel of his soft, clean skin against your mouth. Then you reluctantly pull away again. “How’s Tae?”

“Pretty pissed,” Jungkook says and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck.

“There’s a shocker.”

Jungkook lets out a snort and digs his hands into the pockets of the jeans he’s wearing. Apparently, they have extra clothes here too.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say and put a bandaged hand on his arm. “I suddenly feel unworthy of touching you.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything—hey!”

You smack him with the back of your hand before heading two cars down, your happiness made obvious by the bounce in your step. The train car is wide open so you climb in and look around. What looks like two bed sheets hang down on either side of you, blocking the two ends of the car off. The place is silent so you figure it’s safe to assume you’re alone and can pick either.

Let’s see what’s behind curtain number one. You push the sheet on your left to the side. The “shower” is a tube connected to some sort of foot pump on the ground and a bucket full of water. Another tube runs up the wall and ends above you at a shower head. You carefully step on the foot pump. The water in the bucket gurgles in response. Now full of curiosity, you quickly get undressed and put your clothes in a pile just outside the curtain so they won’t get wet.

The metal floor is ice cold on the bottoms of your feet and the little hairs all over your body stand straight up. Judging by the steam coming up out of the bucket, the water is really hot and you don’t want to give it even one more minute to cool down. With a few pumps of the foot pump, the water gurgles some more, this time sucking up into the tube and you watch as it climbs up the wall. A couple seconds later, it shoots out of the head, speckling you with glorious hot water.

Your breath catches in your throat for a second and you step back in surprise. The water cuts off as soon as you take your foot off the pump.

A few more pumps and the water starts back up, spraying you with warmth and cutting through the dirt and grime that has crusted on your skin. A white block of soap sits on the ground next to the bucket and you pick it up. Breathing in deep, you savor the clean, cottony smell. A smell you never thought you’d experience again. The bandages on your hands work as makeshift washcloths as you rub the soap between them until you get a good lather going. And then you scrub.

You scrub until your skin turns red and starts to burn. A few small holes drilled in the floor at your feet act as a drain and you watch delighted as the clouded, soapy water disappears, taking the physical evidence of the hell you’ve been through. Once your skin is clean, the scars left by the acid rain show bright on your arms and shoulders and you touch the rough patches with your fingertips. Of course, you’ll always have these as reminders but you can deal with them as long as you never have to set foot in Seoul again.

A plastic bottle stands upright on the ground on the other side of the bucket and you pick it up, pulling the cap off and inhaling. The smell of honey and vanilla fills your head and you again feel tears welling in your eyes. They slide down your freshly cleaned face along with the hot water as you work the shampoo into your matted hair. By the time you’re done and it’s all rinsed, you can pull your fingers through the strands. It’s weird to think that something like this could make a person get emotional but it does.

Once you’re done rinsing off, you step off the pump and stand there in silence, listening to the drops of water hit the metal floor. You close your eyes and rest your forehead against the wall in front of you. You’ll have to get new bandages and you really don’t want to put your old clothes back on. You don’t want anything to soil the wonderful, clean aroma that fills your little makeshift shower room.

A rap on the wall makes you jump back, startled.

“Hello?” it’s a male voice you don’t recognize.

Even though the curtain separates you, you cross your arms over your chest embarrassed and turn back toward the wall. “Yeah,” you croak. “Yeah, someone’s in here.”

“I know,” the voice says and you hear them step up into the car. You instinctively hug the wall. “Yoongi told me you were in here. Y/N, right?” he sounds kind.

You nod before realizing stupidly that he can’t see you. “Yeah.”

“My name’s Seokjin. I brought you a towel and some clean clothes to put on. I’ll just leave them out here and take your other ones if that’s alright.”

A long silence stretches between the two of you before you finally speak. “Okay,” you say. “Thanks.”

Seokjin takes a few steps toward the curtain and you hear him drop something on the ground then scoop up your other clothes.

“Once you’re done, I can change the bandages on your hands.” Then more footsteps as he goes back to the door and hops down the ground. “I’ll just be waiting for you on the other side of the tracks.”

“Okay,” you say again. “Thanks.” Are those the only words you know? “Seokjin…for the clothes,” you add quickly and wait.

You think for a second that he left already but then you hear a small laugh. “No problem.” The gravel crunches and you wait for his footsteps to fade.

You stand there for a while longer holding your breath until you start to shiver and then you cautiously peek out from behind the curtain. The towel and a pile of folded clothes lay on the floor right where the old ones were and you snatch up the towel, quickly wrapping it around your torso. It’s well worn if not a bit threadbare but it’s clean and soft.

Laughter breaks out somewhere outside of the train car and you hurriedly dry off and throw the clothes on. Your wet hair slaps against your back as you pull it out of the neck hole. The clothes are obviously meant for a guy with the way they hang loose on your frame. The pants are long and baggy but you don’t care because at least they’re clean. A pair of thick socks and your boots lay on the ground too and you quickly pull them on before jumping down out of the train car.

You have to go back the way you originally came, walking past the car you woke up in and to the end before you can cross over the tracks. After a few more yards of trees, you come to a small field. There are a couple of shelters constructed out of wood planks and tarps along with a makeshift table and a big bonfire in the middle of it all. Your eyes immediately seek out Jungkook who’s standing in front of the fire with his back to you. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets and he looks to be holding a casual conversation with a guy with tawny brown hair and a dimpled smile.

It’s weird seeing Jungkook in just a shirt and jeans after so many years of protective layers but even weirder to see him talk to another person so easily. Over the years, you haven’t had too many run-ins with people that didn’t want to harm or steal from you—besides Jungkook and Taehyung—so your own conversational skills are definitely lacking.

As you make your way over to the fire, Jungkook turns around. He was already smiling but now his smile widens so his cute bunny teeth show and you feel your heart skip a beat. If anything good has come from the past few years, it’s you and Jungkook. Though the world around you has grown weaker, your bond has grown stronger to form an unbreakable bond. Ever after everything, that beaming smile, those sparkling eyes that seem to hold galaxies within them, the way he sees past your scarred skin and dull hair like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world still gives you butterflies.

“Y/N, this is RM,” he says gesturing toward the guy. “RM, Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” he says, his voice is deep and smooth. He holds his hand out and you take it tentatively. “Looks like you’re feeling better,” he adds with a gentle smile.

“Yeah,” you say and pull your hand away again as heat rushes to your cheeks. “My hands don’t hurt anymore.”

“You’ll be kicking butt and taking names before you know it.”

Your eyes shift to Jungkook and he smiles. “I was just telling RM about your throwing skills.”

Now your whole face grows hot. “You were talking about me?” you whisper. You aren’t sure if you should feel pride at this point but only horror fills your chest and spreads down your arms. You don’t like people knowing things about you, especially people you just met. Though, Jungkook seems to trust this RM guy enough. Maybe you’ve had your guard up for too long.

Yoongi makes his way around the fire toward you. “Oh good,” he says. “Jin found some clothes for you. Do they fit okay?”

You look down at your clothes and crinkle the hem of your shirt. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

He gives you a sharp nod then gestures over your shoulder. “I see you met RM. He and I are kind of the heads of the group. Follow our rules and there won’t be a problem.”

“And, uh, what are the rules?” you ask nervously.

Yoongi shrugs. “Basically just do your part to help out around here and don’t be an a-hole. Follow the rules and you’ll be fine.”

The amused twinkle in his eyes tells you he’s not as stern as he’s trying to be and you find yourself smiling a bit. You give him a nod to say you understand.

“And here’s these,” he says bringing his hands up to you.

You didn’t even notice he had your knives but now you take them carefully, hugging the holsters to your chest and feeling the comforting weight of the knives sheathed inside of them.

“Thank you,” you say relieved. You feel ten times better just holding them again.

Yoongi’s gaze falls to your hands. “Jin can redress your bandages for you,” he says then tilts his head to the other side of the fire. “He’s over there with the other two.”

Other two?

You glance back at Jungkook who’s resumed his talk with RM and he meets your eyes, giving you an assuring smile. You smile back before making your way in the direction Yoongi told you. There’s a long, crudely made table a little ways away from the fire with a canopy over the top. A tall boy with dark hair stirs something in a pot on a camper stove while two other guys sit on the bench on either side of the table. They seem to be completely enraptured in a game of cards. As you near, the boy stirring looks up to meet your eyes.

“Hey Y/N,” he says and you recognize his voice immediately as the one that spoke to you in the shower car. So this is Seokjin. His dark eyes sparkle as he smiles, sending creases across his pale skin. “How are you feeling?”

You hug your knives to your abdomen. “Better now that I’m clean,” you say quietly.

His smile widens and he reaches around the stove to grab a white box off the table. “Come over here and I’ll rewrap your hands.”

“Aish, Hobi! You’re cheating!”

You jump at the sudden outburst, your eyes darting to the two playing cards.

The brunette jumps to his feet. “I’m not! I swear!”

Now the other, a boy with rust colored locks, gets up too. “Then how do you keep beating me?”

“Maybe you just suck at this game!”

“Would you two pipe down?” Seokjin snaps. “You’re going to give the poor girl a heart attack.”

The two finally look your way, their eyes widening a bit as if just now noticing you standing right beside them. The reddish haired one clears his throat.

“Hi,” he cracks then fumbles to put his cards down so he can offer his hand. But then he looks down at your own bandaged hands holding your knives and pulls his back again. “Oh, sorry. I’m Jimin. Are your hands okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you respond. Seokjin finishes grabbing what he needs out of the kit and motions for you to hold out your hand. You set your knives down on the table and offer your palms. He takes one gently and starts undoing the gauze.

“That’s Hobi,” Jimin continues though now his eyes have settled on your hand, as if wanting to sneak a peek at the wound underneath the bandage.

You give the dark haired boy a nod before looking down to watch Seokjin work. In all honesty, you’re curious to see what your hands look like too. Last time you saw them, they were painted a ghastly rainbow of sickening colors but now, they don’t even hurt. Your heart thumps hard in your chest and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting, dreading to see.

Carefully, Seokjin peels back the last of the gauze and you feel your lungs empty with a whoosh of air. Your palms are a shiny pink, the wound reduced to scar tissue. You can’t help yourself as you slowly make a fist, feeling the resistance of the thick, healing skin, but you can close your hand tightly and that’s what you were really worried about.

“Alright, let me just rewrap it and then I’ll do the other one,” Seokjin says and starts unraveling a new strip. “They’re healing really well.”

You look up at him and he smiles again. The boy is handsome to say the least—heck, they all are—and you feel heat tinge your ears as you look away again. Of course, when you do that, you meet the gazes of the other two, still watching curiously and now you feel your whole face turn beet red.

It hasn’t really struck you, yet, that you somehow managed to get here. Even though you’ve been awake for the past hour, even though you’ve felt the hot water and soap on your skin, smelled the fresh air, met these boys that don’t seem even the least bit dangerous, you still feel like it’s all a dream. This can’t be real. This oasis in the desert can’t be real. And yet, here you are.

The length of time it takes for Seokjin to finish the first hand and then the second is torturous and you can feel yourself getting antsy under everyone’s gaze but then Seokjin gives your second hand a pat and you drop them both to your sides.

“All set,” he says.

“Want to join our game?” Hobi asks, his eyes shining as a friendly, dimpled smile spreads across his face.

You glance back at Seokjin again for a second. The boy is busy putting things back into the medical kit. “Uh, what are you playing?” you finally ask.

“President,” Jimin says with a smile. “Though it should be called ‘Cheater’ since that’s all Hobi ever does.”

Hobi throws his cards down on the table and crosses his arm. “I do not!”

“Then why do you always win?”

“If you’d get better, maybe I wouldn’t!”

“Wah!” The three of you look back at Seokjin again who’s gone back to stirring the pot on the stove. He pulls the wooden spoon out and stabs it in their direction. “If you don’t stop acting like two year-olds, I’m gonna tell Yoongi to put you on looter watch tonight!”

Seeing the three of them act like this reminds you of how it used to be with you, Jungkook and Taehyung. Before…everything.

You feel a dull ache in your chest form at the memories of staying up late over at the boys’ dorm. Playing card games just like this on the floor of their room when you were supposed to be studying. You miss how goofy Taehyung used to be. How sweet he was. How his mouth would shape into an almost perfect rectangle and his eyes would disappear whenever he laughed. And how he laughed. His laughter would fill the room, carry down the hall. You haven’t heard him laugh like that in years. And of course, thinking about how it used to be brings your nightmares to the surface. How they’d start out as fond memories, but always end with you gasping awake in a cold sweat.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jimin asks, reaching up to put a hand on your arm.

You flinch back. “Uh, yeah,” you say weakly. The other two have the same worried looks on their faces. “Sorry, I just…I need to be by myself for a bit.”

You grab your knives and walk hurriedly across the field back toward the tracks. Behind you, Seokjin continues to scold the other two and laughter bursts from over by the fire. You just need to get away to clear your head.

You break into a jog, creating as much distance as you can and don’t stop until the only thing you hear is the sound of your boots crunching on the gravel and your breath shooting out of your lungs in sharp bursts.

You’d rounded a bend in the tracks so now you stand with the forest on either side of you, completely alone. As your heart starts to slow down to its normal pace, you close your eyes and lift your face to the sky. With the constant rain and snow up north, the seasons all blended together so you didn’t really know what time of year it was. Now, the sun shines down on you, warming your cheeks and eyelids. A breeze whispers across your skin, not sharp like winter air but cool like wind coming off the ocean. The strong smells of grass and dirt and smoke fill your head, bringing back memories of camping trips with your family.

Summer.

With a sharp inhale to clear your thoughts, you snap your eyes open again and focus on the trees across the tracks from you. You quickly strap your holsters onto your thigh and arm and then stand completely still. Your fingers brush the hilt of one of the knives in your thigh holster. Now is as good a time as any to work on throwing. With your feet planted firmly on two of the planks laddering the tracks, you zero in on the tree directly in front of you.

Slowly, you draw the knife from its sheath and run a finger along the smooth hilt. Then you grip it tighter until your palm starts to sting. The pain is nowhere near what you felt at the bunker house when your burns were infected. That already seems like it was years ago.

The memory of all those raiders rushing in like a flood fills your head. Attacking, spilling down through the trap door, you breaking back into the death room, the smell of rotting flesh and then finally the feel of the gun jumping in your hands as you peppered the darkness with bullets. All of it is tinged with absolute despair and hopelessness because you know with every fiber of your being that this is going to be your life forever. It doesn’t matter where you are now. It won’t last forever.

You shake your head until the memory extinguishes and you’re left with only an aching brain. That was the past. Now only this tree stands in front of you. You lift the knife up and back so your elbow points directly at the rough bark of your target. Then with a quick flick, you cut your arm downward and let go of the knife. It slices through the air, missing your target and embedding into the tree just barely behind it and to the left. A curse rides out on the breath you were holding as it leaves your lungs.

Another breeze rustles your hair and the acrid smell of cigarette smoke burns your eyes. You turn your head to see the sun glint off of Taehyung’s honey brown hair as he makes his way toward you down the tracks.

“Grown a bit rusty?” he asks bringing his cigarette back up to his lips.

Your eyes settle on the glowing end of it. “I didn’t know you smoked,” you say trying not to let the sting of his comment show on your face. “Where’d you get it?”

“Found it in one of the cars.” Then he takes a flask out of his back pocket. “And this,” he adds and shakes the container at you. You can hear the alcohol sloshing inside. Do the others know he’s snooping around the train cars?

He looks smaller without all the layers he normally wears. But even in just the thin, white t-shirt, he’s still much larger than you. Jungkook has always been the bigger of the two of them, looking healthy and strong while Taehyung is much slimmer and more wiry. Still he’s gotten bigger, his chest and shoulders broader. He looks more intimidating. More threatening.

He holds the flask out to you and smiles with the cigarette between his teeth. A smile completely unlike his old boxy grin that you miss so much. “Want some?” he asks.

You shake your head.

With a shrug, he unscrews the cap then removes the cigarette from between his teeth to take a quick swig. “You can’t really afford to get sloppy, Y/N,” he says after he swallows. “You never know when the next attack will be.” He makes his way toward you slowly, balancing on one of the rails.

You shrug in an attempt to seem nonchalant. “I don’t know,” you say. “This place seems safe enough. I don’t think any of these people want to hurt us.”

A knowing smirk plays on Taehyung’s lips. “You mean the people that shot both Kook and me with an arrow?”

“Yoongi said they thought you two were trying to hurt me.”

“Of course he said that.”

“I think we can trust them,” you say, trying to sound confident in your words.

“Trust is for the weak,” he snaps and circles around to your front. When he’s between you and your target, your hand twitches as if begging to throw a knife at him. Taehyung keeps going, sauntering slowly past you and then stopping just behind your right shoulder so you can’t see him anymore without turning your head. He takes another drag from his cigarette and leans in close. “Just be careful, Y/N,” he whispers. A stream of smoke snakes into the hair tucked behind your ear. “You never are truly safe.”

You want to turn around and slap him for being so creepy but before you can even react, he turns on his toe and continues down the tracks back toward the field. You watch him go, noting the way the sun makes his hair glow golden like he’s wearing a halo.

Oh the irony.

[upvc-sash-windows-blog]

Top 7 ways to increase the value of your home

1. Garage Makeover A large two-car garage door is a massive eyesore if it’s rusty, banged up, or if the paint is faded. Start by replacing the doors, but don’t stop there.! Do up the garage floors with epoxy paint, finish the walls with Sheetrock, and add insulation to the walls and garage door. Add storage units, work bench or tool chest and proper hardware for hanging bikes, tools, and lawn care items. Find out surprising new uses for all that junk in your garage.

Estimated Value increase: £6,000-10,000

2. Replace the roof The average lifespan of an asphalt roof is 20 years. Therefore if your roof is older, or approaching the end of it’s life it may be worth considering a replacement. Likewise, it’s also around the time metal and wooden roofs could be more susceptible to damage. Additional reasons it may be profitable to replace include if the roof is starting to leak, shingles are starting to curl or fall off, or if your energy bills are going up.

Estimated Value increase: £5,000-10,000

3. Go Green When you add green energy features to your home, the appeal and value is increased immediately. Make a clean sweep throughout the entire house. “Change all light bulbs to CFLs, purchase low-energy appliances, replace toilets and showers with low-flow features, swap old windows for energy-efficient uPVC Sash Windows, filter your spigot water so you can ditch the plastic bottles, and add a programmable thermostat so you can turn down the heat when you are gone during the day,” suggest Graboyes.

Estimated Value increase: £2,000-7,000

4. Paint or replace your front door Your front door symbolises the entire face of your property. Having a modern, stylish front door is the perfect first impression. White, red, yellow, or blue doors are currently the most popular. A study by ‘CBS Money Watch report’ found doors painted in navy blue, dark gray, or charcoal fetched over a £1000 boost to properly value. DIY uPVC Door offer great value uPVC front doors with a huge range of styles, delivered nationwide to the UK. It could also be worth upgrading your back doors, if they’re due an upgrade.

Estimated Value increase: £1,000-4,000

5. Motorised window blinds Ideal for modern looking homes, motorised windows blinds can add a real WOW factor to your property. They’re easy to adjust and can be suprisingly affordable, good for blocking out light and are child safe. A perfect match to go with some new upvc sash windows. Motorised window blinds can make an empty home on the market look much cozier and more inviting.

Estimated Value increase: £3,000-7,000

6. Converting an attic If your attic is wasted storing old unwanted junk, it may be worth finishing the space off as a bonus room for storage or even converting this space into a more livable square footage. If you’re lucky enough to have the space your attic could be worth converting into a office, additional bedroom or master suite. On the downside a complete conversion can be very time consuming if you’re looking to sell, so a quick clean up is usually the more practical option.

Estimated Value increase: £3,000-18,000

7. Replace Windows Double glazing is considered an essential by most buyers and can boost the value of a property considerably. The most popular cost effective solution for modern windows would be uPVC Sash Windows. Benefits include low price, energy efficiency, easy maintenance and for they also offer uPVC finishing options that replicate the look and feel of genuine wood. See the uPVC Woodgrain collection Estimated Value increase: £5,000-10,000

[amy-bbclexnc]

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[angelsroofingcomau]

Metal Roofing- Latest trends and technologies

Man learned the significance of roofing centuries ago. Since our forefathers, the early man, first emerged from caves, we have been building our quarters. From there, we never stopped discovering new roofing ideas and materials. With the advent of metal as a roofing material, the art of roofing underwent a dramatic transformation. You know that roofing is the first line of defence between your home and mother nature and metal has well served this purpose. Ancient roofs were a simple protector from the harsh sun and driving precipitation. Today, roofing is a crucial component of design. In actuality, a wide range of designs are offered for residential metal roofs. With each year that goes by, metal roofing technology gets better. These days, a computer uses a small control unit to monitor the creation of materials. Zinc, aluminium, copper, steel and stainless steel are used for the metal roof. Galvanized steel and aluminium are the most popular cost-effective metals among all metal roofing supplies on the Central Coast. Every new year brings with it fresh possibilities for improving the roofing's durability, affordability, and security.

The metal roofing business shares the preference for nature. Read on to know-how:

Lighter colors

Dark grey, black, or even dark brown are the available colours for traditional metal roofs. But most homeowners preferred brighter colors in the present time. Your home's outside appearance can be significantly altered by these hues. Lighter hues help lower your utility costs because they reflect heat.

Natural hues

Metal roofs can provide you with all of their benefits while appearing to be completely unmetal. The metal roof can now be found in a wide range of hues and designs, including imitations of slate, clay slate, asphalt, and wooden shakes. The most popular colors of metal roofs are Dark Bronze, Charcoal Gray, Colonial Red, etc. Additionally, owners favour hues of red, green, and blue. Most likely you will see these shades trending this year and also in the past. They give your building's appearance a softer, more understated appeal.

Warm tones

Warm tones are another popular trend between all metal roofing supplies in the Central Coast. With hues like taupe, sand, and golden, it goes beyond the current palette. They help to make the exterior of your house look nice. You can utilize warm reds like brick or rust, as well as green hues like olive and moss.

Light Weight

Metal roofs are lighter than other common roof materials. They are perfect as roofing material because they are light but sturdy.

Longevity

The lifetime of metal roofs is one of its most promising qualities. Metal roofs have a lifespan of up to or exceeding 100 years. When compared to other roofing metals, asphalt roof materials have a lifespan of 15 to 20 years. After then, asphalt roofs need to be restored and replaced. However, you shouldn't stress about replacing the metal roof. Depending on the metal's quality, it can easily endure up to 70 years.

"All metal roofing supplies in the Central Coast are available in virtually any color including both bright and vivid or earth tones. Metal roofs are increasingly being sold on their ability to be customized in terms of colour and appearance. The cherry on top are its sustainability and environmental friendliness. Both your wallet and your building will benefit greatly from metal roofing. However, installing metal roofing is a challenging task. Even the smallest installation error on a roof might result in expensive repairs. A typical roofing contractor is not reliable for this intricate job. You should choose a skilled roofing company.

Disclaimer: This is generic information and posts; content about the services can be changed from time to time as per your requirements and contract. To get the latest and updated information, contact us today or visit our website.

[anysiitfirm]

Metal Roof and Siding Color Combinations

Metal Roof and Siding Color Combinations

Metal Roof and Siding Color Combinations: There are several ways to match your metal roof and siding colors. You can go with cool gray colors like Charcoal or Dove, or you can go with a warm shade of grays like Ash or Slate. Both will work well in your home. Neutral grays are a good fit as well. Modern farmhouse style Modern farmhouse-style homes combine the classic charm of an old farm with…