#gave me bad anxiety of 'if you have a gun here (what I thought was the safest/holiest place as a kid)

[gxlden-angels]

I don't know how many of you watch/listen to Belief it or Not but I love his concern about a USAmerican pastor bringing a gun on stage for a message cause my old pastor openly bragged about being armed all the time

[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

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Other articles include:

An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

Writing inside a Toyota Service Center.

Writing mistresses.

[chvoswxtch]

like a wrecking ball

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: frank finished a job earlier than anticipated, and he's finally coming home to you.

warnings: cursing, frank being a bit of a softie (my heart needed this warning lmao), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this fic was inspired by the song like a wrecking ball by eric church. it came on one of my spotify mixes a while back and it instantly made me think of frankie and put this idea in my head. idk what it is about frankie, like he makes me such a whore but also so soft so...here's a combo of both. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

I, I been gone, I been gone too long

Singin' my songs on the road

Another town, one more show

And I'm comin' home

Frank hated being away from you. He hated the thought of you at home by yourself, sleeping alone every night, if you did sleep at all when your anxiety wasn’t gnawing at your stomach about his safety. He hated that he was constantly running off to protect other people when the only person he really gave a shit about protecting was you. Frank knew you weren’t defenseless by any means. He saw to that personally. You knew where every gun and knife was stashed, and he had taught you how to use them until he was satisfied with your skill. He taught you self defense, how and where to hit, quickest exit points in the house. There were plenty of cameras and silent alarms around the perimeter of the house so he could check on you from wherever he was, but it did nothing to dull his paranoia, and it would have him driving seventeen hours straight just to make it back home to you.

Frank hated sleeping without you. He detested the motel beds and their scratchy sheets, worn springs of the mattress digging into his tired body, the scent of stale cigarettes and residual dust. There was a time when he hardly noticed shit like that. A room was a room, and a bed was a bed. Hell, it was better than sleeping in the van. But that was before you. Now he missed the feeling of you curled up into his side or using his chest as a pillow, your hands grabbing onto him like a lifeline every night, your silk skin and green apple scented shampoo keeping his nightmares at bay. He hated that he was missing out on all the little moments he looked forward to, and wasn’t there to hear you talk about your day, or watch you dance around the kitchen as you cooked. God, he missed your cooking. He missed you. He made a promise to call once a day, but hearing your voice only on the other end of the phone wasn’t nearly enough to soothe the ache and guilt he felt in his chest.

Frank hated the look on your face everytime he had to leave. You never complained, or said anything about how you truly felt. You always told him you understood, that this is who he was, and you accepted it. The only thing you ever asked of him was to make it home to you. But he could see the truth in your eyes as you tried to hide the glimmer of longing building up on your waterline. He could feel the desperation as you clung to him a little tighter, kissed him that much deeper, and let your fingers linger in his palm until he finally reluctantly let go. But he also hated the look on your face when he did come home sometimes after particularly bad runs. Sometimes he would come home a day or two late, just to give his wounds some borrowed time to heal before he had to face you. He would intentionally come home when it was dark, keep the lights off, and take you from behind slowly so you couldn’t see him, but could feel him and that he was home. He couldn’t hide from you forever, he knew that. But he just needed a couple of hours before he had to see that broken look on your face at the aftermath of his choices.

But this time hadn’t been so bad. Frank had finished the job quicker than anticipated, and relatively uninjured, and he was coming home to you.

Don't give a damn what these keys are for

I'm gonna knock down that front door and,

I'm gonna find out what that house is made of

It's been too many nights since it's felt us make love

It had been Frank’s personal mission to christen every square inch of the house when you moved in. Not that you two hadn’t broken in certain rooms and spots before, but that was different. That was before you had turned Frank’s house into a real home, one that you now shared together. That was before when he would come home to silence that echoed against the barren walls and climb into bed only to be greeted by cold sheets. That was before when he hadn’t even bothered to buy a dining table because he only ever cooked for one. That was before when the house was just brick and sheetrock, because there wasn’t anything inside that made it more.

Until you.

Frank still remembers how goddamn nervous he was to ask you to move in. You hadn’t even been dating a year, and he was worried you’d freak out that he was moving too fast. He loved the nights you spent with him, always coaxing you for another. Always just one more night.

Just stay one more night, darlin’. Promise I’ll wake ya up in time to change before work.

You always stayed. You even started bringing an overnight bag with more than one extra change of clothes, just in case. Frank wouldn’t have minded spending just as many nights at your place, but you always told him that you enjoyed his house more given that it was far more spacious than your little one bedroom apartment, and you were “absolutely in love with his kitchen”.

That right? Feel free to use it anytime then, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna stop ya.

You had been complaining about running out of space in your apartment, specifically space for your bookshelves. You had two large ones already that were overflowing, and you were ranting to Frank about how your tiny apartment was causing you to be financially responsible in limiting how many more books you could buy. Frank listened with an amused grin on his lips. He thought you looked adorable with the little pout on your lips, brows furrowed and nose crinkled up, clearly distraught by your predicament. He loved how much you loved to read. He loved it even more when he was able to persuade you to read to him.

There was an empty room he wasn’t using that he decided right then would be yours. He went out and got some ash gray wood to match the color of your current bookshelves, dropped by your place with coffee and a guise of “I was in the neighborhood”, but really was trying to get a gauge on just how much work he had cut out for him. You had always told him you wanted your own library room when you finally moved into a house of your own, and Frank was determined to give you one. He spent an entire weekend building out a few large bookshelves, testing the shelves strength with different weights, making sure every edge was sanded and smoothed to perfection, and secured them all into the walls so they couldn’t topple over. He even got you a little step stool that he tucked beside one of the bookcases so that you could reach the top shelves if he wasn’t around.

Frank had invited you over for dinner the following Monday night, casually announcing he had something he wanted to show you afterwards. His heart pounded in his chest the entire walk down the hallway and his palms had begun to sweat as he twisted the knob and opened the door. The nerves he felt in that moment were immensely stronger than any he had ever felt before, almost as debilitating as the ones he felt from the ambush in Kandahar. He was perplexed by the puzzled look on your face when he flicked on the light, stepping aside to allow you to move past him. He watched you carefully as you traced your fingertips along one of the shelves before turning to face him with a playful smile.

I don’t think you have enough books for these, Frank.

No, but you do.

You…got these for me?

I built ‘em for you, sweetheart. Said you were runnin’ out of space and all that. Thought you could use some more. 

Your lips had been on his before he could get another word out, not that he minded. Frank had guided you back against one of the bookshelves, his hands tightly gripped onto your waist as you poured all of your gratitude into his mouth. His hands had slipped down slowly to grab the backs of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly to pin you between his hips and the bookshelf. You broke the kiss momentarily to giggle incredulously against his full lips.

I can’t believe you built me a library at your house. How am I ever supposed to wanna go home now?

Well, that’s just the thing darlin’. I was thinkin’ this could be your home now.

That was the first room in the house that Frank made love to you in after you agreed to move in with him, but that certainly wasn’t the only one that night.

I wanna rock some sheetrock

Knock some pictures off the wall

Love you baby like a wrecking ball

Frank was antsy the entire drive home, continuously glancing down at his phone as if that would make the distance shorter and the time pass faster. He missed you. He needed you. It had barely been a week since he’d had you, but something about this time felt different. His desire was a lot stronger than he could remember it being any other time he had been gone. Frank needed to touch you like he needed to breathe. He needed to feel your supple skin in his rough palms, your needy hands tugging at his grown out hair, his hips nestled between your own. He needed to feel that you were his and you were safe.

The only time Frank ever truly felt at ease was when he was with you. He wasn’t quite as hypervigilant, unless you were out in public and then he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t an omnipresent weight bearing down on his shoulders. That daunting thing inside him wasn’t clawing him apart begging to be let out. He felt lighter, definitely happier. He felt things he never thought he would feel again. Things he didn’t think he deserved to feel again. At first it terrified him. He didn’t want to get used to that tenderness, only to have it ripped away again. He didn’t know if he would be able to survive that a second time. But the harder he tried to fight it, the stronger his craving grew, and eventually he gave in and chased it like a nomad following the North Star. 

Frank loved being around you. But when he was inside of you? God, that felt like heaven. Probably the closest he thought a man like him would ever get, but fuck if he didn’t care as long as he got to visit every single day. Sometimes several times a day when he just couldn’t get enough. He was insatiable when it came to you. Burying himself to the hilt in the warmth of your walls was where he always found pure peace. Everything else melted away when his hips collided with yours, and he heard your breathy repetition of his name sweetly echoing in his ears. Frank could stay inside you for hours. Sometimes he would keep going, even when you were both far past your point of exhaustion and overstimulation, even when it almost hurt. 

Just one more, sweetheart. Just need one more, that’s it.

Frank needed you, and the stronger his desire grew, the harder his foot pressed against the gas.

You, look at you

Send me one more shot

Sittin’ on the bathroom sink

Damn you really turn me on

Paintin’ your toenails pink

Frank had gone from having not a single photo on his phone to his entire camera roll being full of pictures of you, and plenty of the two of you together. He had gotten in a habit of sneaking photos of you when you weren’t looking, or when you were doing simple things around the house or while the two of you were out. He loved to look at those when he was gone. It made him feel like you were there with him sometimes, especially the ones he had caught of you sleeping when he had woken up before you. That was the last thing he looked at every night when he was away before he fell asleep.

His favorite was one of you in Central Park in autumn. He had let you drag him along for a little romantic picnic at one of your favorite spots. Of course you didn't actually have to drag him. Frank would’ve followed you fucking anywhere you wanted to go without hesitation or complaint. The leaves had shifted from varying shades of emerald into deep hues of vermillion and gold. A breeze had blown through that had a few of them cascading down like timid raindrops around your head, and you had glanced up to watch them fall with the biggest smile on your face. Frank couldn’t pull his phone out fast enough to capture that moment. Every time he looked down at his phone, he saw that picture, and it made him smile just as big.

Frank loved that you sent him pictures while he was away. You always included him in whatever you were doing, even if he wasn’t physically present. Sometimes you sent him quick little videos when you wanted to ramble about something that was too much to type. He didn’t mind. It meant he got to see you, and hear your voice at the same time. Sometimes you’d send him a picture wearing two different earrings to ask him what looked better, or would paint two different shades of pink on your toes and ask which he preferred, as if he could tell the fucking difference. He’d always give you the same response.

Don’t matter, you make everythin’ look beautiful.

He could practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone at that, and it always made him laugh. But he loved it. He loved that you asked for his opinion on things, even if you didn’t need it. He loved that you thought about him just as much while he was away as he thought about you. 

He really loved when you sent him pictures of you in bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Frank absolutely loved when you wore his clothes, and how they smelled like you after. There wouldn’t even hardly be any skin showing in the picture, except your bare thighs, and it was always accompanied by an endearing sleepy smile on your lips, but God did it get him hard as a fucking rock. It always sent his mind into a frenzy with memories of the two of you in bed together. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the soft flesh of your hip in his hand. He could almost smell the dainty floral and citrus of your perfume running underneath his nose. He could almost hear the melodic whimpers and honeyed pleas that seemed to reverberate in his ears. Pictures like that had him eagerly pursuing your memory with his hand down his sweats, sending up silent prayers of your name to anyone that was listening that he could come home soon.

Easy baby before you say,

But if I can make it just one more day

That old house is gonna be shakin’

I hope those bricks and boards can take it

But I won’t be surprised if the whole damn place just falls

I’m gonna rock you baby like a wrecking ball

Two hours. Just two more hours, and Frank would be home. He could make it. He already had eight hours that had felt like an eternity behind him. Two hours was nothing. The closer he got home to you, the more all of his exhaustion from the past few days was quickly evolving into veritable energy. Frank was absolutely wide awake by the one hour mark. He hadn’t told you he was coming home early. He wanted to surprise you. He thought briefly about stopping to get you flowers or something, but that meant stopping and putting even more time between the two of you. He’d get flowers later.

All Frank could think about was you. Fuck, had he missed you. He was struggling to decide on whether he would have the patience to take his time with you, spend all night making up for every second that he was away. He liked to go slow with you. Frank liked to learn your body and memorize it constantly, like reading his favorite book all over again. He loved the way your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he set a languid pace, ensuring you felt everything. He loved to strum you delicately with his fingers, producing beautiful melodies from your lips as he played his favorite tune between your thighs over and over again. Frank especially loved when you embraced his head against your core as his tongue delved and sought out his favorite treasure. Frank wasn’t a religious man, but he felt reborn every single time your gratification coated his face, reveling in the way your taste washed away and absolved his past sins.

As much as he enjoyed leisurely extending your pleasure, sometimes he couldn’t wait. There were times Frank couldn’t even be bothered to fully rid either of you of your clothing, he just needed enough out of the way to get to where he needed to be. There was at least one occasion where you two hadn’t even made it past the front door. Frank had shamelessly fucked you right there, for any of your neighbors to see or hear, keys long forgotten in the lock, because he couldn’t wait. He hadn’t even bothered to keep quiet. Had anyone been on the other side of that door, they probably would’ve thought S.W.A.T. was in the process of fucking breaking it down. But who was gonna come out and say something to him? Who the fuck would dare get between Frank Castle and his girl?

Never had he been so fucking happy that he had installed a camera on your front door. The amount of times he had replayed that video while he was away was egregious, but Frank didn’t fucking care. Due to that incident, and a few others where you two barely made it past the entryway, all the photos you had hung on those walls were purposefully moved a foot inward. Curtis had inquired once about the weird gap of space between the front door and the half of the hallway that was decorated, but Frank’s mouth had curled upwards in a salacious grin before you had a chance to come up with an excuse.

Better you don’t ask, Curt.

Frank let out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he was holding when he pulled into the driveway and saw your car there. He could see a faint glow through the curtains in the living room, letting him know you were awake. He didn’t bother grabbing his bag out of the back or even locking his truck. All that mattered right now was you.

And that old house is gonna be shakin’

Rafter and rockin’ foundation quaking

Crash out through the front door

Back you up against a wall

You were waiting at the other end of the entryway as soon as Frank stepped through the front door. He nearly groaned at the sight of you in one of his flannels that just reached the middle of your thighs. There was surprise written evidently all over your face. He had told you he wouldn’t be home for another three days. But that initial shock seemed to wear off the second you took in the hungry look in his eyes, your lips curving upwards into a playful smirk.

“Hey, big guy.”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

In an instant, Frank had crossed the distance to you in two short strides, grabbing your face in his large hands to steal your lips in a kiss that had you collapsing into his chest. He wasted no time backing you up against the wall, his tongue swiping the bittersweet remnants of white wine off your lips as your frantic fingers pushed his jacket off his broad shoulders. Frank redirected your hands away from toying with the collar of his henley and guided them down to his belt, silently signaling how much he needed you right now. You moaned softly into the kiss at just how much he was straining against the rough denim.

As you pulled the worn leather from the buckle and worked on undoing his jeans, Frank’s fingers found the waistband of your panties underneath the flannel and shoved them carelessly down your legs. He gave you just a split second to step out of them before lifting you up into his arms and pressing you back roughly into the drywall, his other hand quickly working on freeing his coveted cock. He could feel your heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt on his lower abdomen. He should’ve felt guilty about not prepping you more first, but he was too far gone in clouded lust to hold back, especially with the way you were nibbling on his earlobe and begging diligently.

 “Please, Frankie.”

That was all he needed. A guttural groan tore through him when he finally sank the blunt head of his cock into your welcoming heat, continuing to drive further into you until he had nothing left to give. His fingertips dug bruisingly into your hips as he held you there, his eyes falling shut at the way your greedy pussy squeezed around him longingly. Your legs wrapped even tighter around his lower back as he pushed you further against the wall with his hips. Frank couldn’t form a single coherent thought at the moment other than how fucking good you felt. How much he had missed this. How much he had missed you.

The high pitched cry that sounded from your throat snapped him back into focus. He would get lost in you later, but right now he wanted to watch you fall apart. Frank dipped his head to press his forehead against yours, holding you as close to his body as he possibly could and securing his arm around your waist so that you were being knocked back into his embrace with every powerful thrust of his hips. He placed his other hand at the base of your throat, wrapping his fingers around it delicately like ivy and squeezing ever so gently to get you to look at him.

“There’s my pretty girl. Missed you so much, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much. Drove all goddamn day for this. Couldn’t wait to come home and be right here.”

Frank loved looking into your eyes when he fucked you. He could see it all. Every little thing you were feeling, all of the words his hips were knocking out of you, all of the pleas his lips stole from yours. He loved watching the way your pupils dilated when he called you his girl, praised you, or when you were about to come. He tried so hard to get you to keep them open when you finally did, swearing he could see the entire fucking universe in them.

Love you baby,

Take it right there baby

Rock you baby,

Like a wrecking ball

“Missed you so much, Frank…God…please…”

“That’s it baby, atta girl. Take it like I know you can. Promise we’ll take our time later, yeah? Just need to feel you right now. Been too long, sweetheart. Too goddamn long.”

Frank could barely hear the sound of the picture frames rattling against the wall as your conjoined bodies collided into it over and over and over again. All he could hear was your breathless pants and pleas of his name ringing in his ears. You grabbed onto the back of his neck, chasing his lips as he quickened his pace. Exchanges of i love you’s were murmured against each other's mouth, trying to fit all of your shared longing and greed into the growing bubble of pleasure that was about to erupt between the two of you.

This right here, this was home. You were it. Happiness. Heaven. Freedom. Peace. Home. Those were all the things Frank found within you. All of the things he would fight anyone, even the Devil or God himself, to hold onto. No one could help the sorry son of a bitch that ever tried to take away what was his again. Nothing would ever take you away from him. Nothing.

That thought echoing in his mind had Frank pounding you so hard into the wall with such a ferocity it shocked even him. But he couldn’t stop himself, not with you digging your nails into his shoulder blade and pleading for more.

“I love you. You hear me? I fuckin’ love you. Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna keep me from comin’ home to you, sweetheart. Not a goddamn thing.”

Frank didn’t need you to speak. He just needed you to listen. He needed you to know that you were home. He needed you to know that you were his. He needed you to know that he would protect you until he took his last breath, and even then he’d find a way to keep going. 

Frank immediately lost it when you finally let go, his hips convulsing against yours as your walls wrung every single drop of elation out of his spent cock. He let his head fall against your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment to catch his breath as he hugged you as tightly as he could to his chest. He had no idea how the fuck he was still standing, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he focused on the sound and feeling of your heart thudding just below his ear.

Your nails gingerly scratched at his scalp and he hummed, wrapped up in content like a blanket with your heart as a pillow. He could’ve passed out right there. Definitely fucking better than a motel bed. 

“Frankie?”

He grunted in response, which earned a canorous fit of giggles to vibrate against the side of his face. It only made him snuggle further into your chest, gently smacking his palm against your ass when you wiggled in his relentless grasp.

“Stop movin’.”

“Baby, we can’t stay like this.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because if you pass out, you’re gonna crush me.”

“You callin’ me heavy?”

“Frank, you’re a giant compared to me. Yes, you’re heavy. I’d rather you crush me in a sexy way, not in a permanent way. Now, I believe you promised me a few more rounds, Castle.”

Frank’s ears perked up at that, retracting his head from the crook of your neck just enough that he could see your face. He cocked his head to the side slightly, a sly smirk twisting at the edge of his mouth as he brought his palm back to your ass to give it a rough squeeze.

“Mm, I did, didn’t I? Better get on that then, yeah?”

“I don’t know, you think you can handle it? Looking awfully tired there, big guy.”

Frank’s eyes darkened when you quirked your brow in a challenge, a knowing smirk of your own spreading over your lips. The teasing tone laced in your words didn’t escape him. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t working. You always knew what buttons to press to get what you wanted, and Frank was always more than willing to comply. Hell, most of the time you didn’t even have to try to convince him. All you had to do was give him that smile, and he was a goner.

But if you were gonna play that game, so was he.

“Oh sweetheart, I know you don’t think I drove all day just to fuck you once and call it a night.”

[quin-ns]

We’ll Be Okay (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: steve is injured while half of the hawkins team is stuck in the upside down and finds comfort in you

Tags: ST4 spoilers!!, canon divergent, hurt!steve, slight angst, flirting, friends to lovers, kissing, love confessions, mutually required love, fluff and humor, robin jumpscare

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write for Steve since I first saw ST and finally decided to! He’s my current tv crush so I’ll probably be putting out more fics of him soon :)

cross-posted to ao3 • st masterlist • writing masterlist

You’d seen a lot of scary things over the past few years, but nothing had terrified you more than witnessing Steve being mauled by the demonic bats in the upside down. It took a lot of fighting from you and the others, but you managed to kill them. There was no chance to be relieved because Steve was hurt badly and there were more coming.

When the five of you fled into the creepy, dark woods, you noticed Steve wincing in pain with every step. It gave you anxiety, so you lingered back with him while Nancy led the way to her house with Robin by her side and Eddie close behind them. You could’ve easily caught up but there was no way you were gonna part from your best friend while he was injured.

“I’m okay, Y/N,” Steve tried to assure you as if he could sense your worrying thoughts. “It’s-it’s really not that bad.” He shot you a weak smile, but it wasn’t very convincing. Especially when he shuddered and his hand fell to his wounds briefly. Nancy had wrapped them in an attempt to stop the bleeding but that obviously did nothing to ease the pain.

“You’re not a very good liar,” you replied, a frown tugging at your lips. You were shorter than Steve and not as strong, but you still moved to tuck yourself at his side under his arm and let him lean on you. He was tired and stumbling—both mentally and physically exhausted—and you didn’t doubt he’d collapse any second.

“Y/N—” Steve said in a protesting tone, but you interrupted him.

“Shut up, Harrington. Just let me help, alright?” You looked up at him and he just sighed and allowed you to help him. You could tell he felt bad but he shouldn’t have. Steve was there for you all the time, it was the least you could do.

You knew Steve in highschool and he wasn’t exactly your friend then, but you never had any issues with him. That’s why after you graduated and got a job at StarCourt Mall (before it burned down), you recognized and were friendly with him. You worked in a shoe store that was opposite to Scoops Ahoy and after going for ice cream on your breaks a few times, it became a normal thing. You’d go get ice cream and chat with Steve—and Robin—until your break was over.

You quickly became friends and that’s what led to him revealing to you the secret message in Russian that he, Robin, and his kid friend Dustin were decoding. Then you learned everything else and the rest was history.

Over time you developed a bit of a crush on Steve, but he was now also your best friend. You, him, and Robin were a trio and you didn’t want to risk messing that up by telling him how you felt.

Robin calling Nancy’s name snapped you out of your head. With your support Steve stayed on his feet as you caught up to them. Sure enough, you saw the Wheeler house.

“Come on,” Nancy announced.

The five of you made your way inside and headed up the stairs into Nancy’s room to look for her guns. Except, they weren’t there. She noticed her room was off—not including the obvious greyish color and all the vines—and with the discovery of a diary, she started to piece together why her room was all wrong.

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

“Nancy? You’re freaking me out,” Robin added.

“I think the reason that my guns are here is because they don’t exist yet,” Nancy said in a way that sounded ominous as she stared at the diary in her hands.

“They don’t… exist?” Eddie sounded sceptical, which you couldn’t blame him for.

“This diary should be full of entries. It’s not,” she explained. “The last entry is November 6, 1983. The day Will went missing. The day the gate opened. We’re in the past.”

Your attention was drawn to Steve as he looked around the room, like he could hear something. Then he frantically began shouting out Dustin’s name as he exerted himself to run downstairs.

When focusing on trying to hear the boy, all of you were able to. Eddie used the lights to signal SOS and then Dustin came up with an idea. The kid was smart—probably a genius. He used a litebrite to allow you to communicate.

You all developed a plan to go to Eddie’s trailer where Chrissy had died and hope there was a gate there. You figured there would be since the gate in the water—or watergate as Dustin called it—had formed where Venca’s most recent victim was killed.

The biggest problem with getting to Eddie’s trailer was the distance, but Robin thought of a solution to that.

Robin’s idea to find bikes renewed the energy in the group. Robin was in the hall quickly with Eddie behind, waiting for Nancy to lead the way. They were eager to get back to the normal world and so were you. Just as you were about to follow, you heard a thud.

You turned your head and found Steve on the ground. He’d tried to stand but failed.

“Hey, you okay?” You asked as you kneeled down in front of him. “Sorry, dumb question,” you apologized quickly.

“Steve, can you stand?” Nancy questioned, obviously worried as well.

“Yeah,” he grunted out. “I just need a minute,” he admitted.

You looked over your shoulder at the others. “I’ll stay with him, go ahead and find the bikes. We’ll be down in a second.”

You could tell the other three were reluctant to leave you two behind, but you planned to keep your promise of making it down to them.

When they disappeared from view, Steve dropped the act. His face contorted in pain and he practically fell over. It was only because of your quick reaction time that you were able to maneuver yourself and guide his head to rest in your lap rather than hit the ground. You managed to lean your back against the bed and your legs were straight out in front of you. Steve laid on the floor, curling his body in himself and using your thighs as a pillow.

Your hand fell to absentmindedly run your fingers through his disheveled—although still soft and luscious—hair. He seemed to relax under the touch, his breath slowing to become more steady.

“We’re gonna get out of here and as soon as we do we’ll get you to a hospital. We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” you reassured not only Steve but yourself as well. You needed him to be okay. You didn’t know what you’d do if he wasn’t.

“I’m gonna be fine,” he promised. There was a slight shake in his voice, so small you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t paying such close attention. “Sorry for making you stay with me. I’m acting like such a wimp right now,” he said with a small scoff as he mocked himself.

You let out a laugh at that without even thinking. He was being ridiculous. “Dude! You are not a wimp, you got attacked by evil bats. You’re allowed to be in pain.”

“It’s okay, I’m just using it as an excuse so you’ll play with my hair anyway,” he joked. You could hear the smile in his voice and it made you relax. You two liked to tease each other and it was refreshing to hear his voice sound light and amused.

“Well, if that’s what you wanted all you had to do was ask,” you replied, going along with it.

“You’re too good to me,” he hummed in content. There was a moment of silence before he took a deep breath. It surprised you as he hauled himself up next to sit next to you. He turned his head and you faced him. “Can I ask you something?”

The switch from teasing to sincere stunned you a tad, but you still responded with, “of course.”

“Is it selfish of me to say I’m glad you’re here?” He asked softly, voice laced with slight guilt. “I mean, I’d rather us not be here at all, but since we are it’s better having you with me,” he further explained, rambling just a bit. You didn’t say anything about his quick words and instead smiled at him.

“I know the feeling,” you smiled sweetly, reaching for his hand. You panicked for a second, realizing what you’d said and how you’d said it. “I am pretty awesome,” you added on with fake cockiness in your tone. Just in case. You often used humor to cover up your slip ups of emotion.

Steve laughed a little to himself before saying, “yeah, you are.” The mood in the room stayed the same as before. The way he looked at you was soft yet full of emotion. You’d seen that gaze before but always explained it away. Steve squeezed your hand a little and pulled you back to reality.

“You ready to head down?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Just one more thing,” Steve replied. “And you have to promise not to punch me in the face.”

You let out a confused laugh at that, furrowing your brows a little. “What?” you questioned through a chuckle.

“I’m serious, c’mon,” he urged.

“Fine, I promise.”

He cleared his throat slightly, you could tell he was nervous.

Suddenly, everything felt in slow motion as his hand raised to rest on the back of your neck with his thumb grazing your cheek. You hardly had time to react as Steve leaned in, but when his lips brushed against yours you allowed your eyes to flutter shut as you accepted the kiss.

All too soon, Steve pulled back. Not very far though, your noses were almost touching.

“Was that… okay?” he asked nervously, searching your eyes.

Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was racing, but you managed to get words out. “More than okay.”

He smiled at that before leaning in and capturing your lips once more. The shyness in the first, gentle kiss had disappeared as your lips moved together. He pulled you impossibly close to him and allowed all the built up longing to be expressed through the connection. His lips were just as soft as you imagined and you loved every second.

If it had been up to you, you would’ve never allowed your lips to part, but the need for oxygen got in the way and the two of you reluctantly separated to catch your breath.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” you spoke first, making him blush a little.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I have too. But I guess that’s obvious,” Steve replied with a little chuckle, loving eyes locked with yours. “I’ve been too scared all this time. About ruining our friendship, y’know? I’d hate myself forever if I drove you away.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you promised softly. “What made you decide to risk it?” You wondered aloud. “I’m happy you did by the way, you’re a good kisser,” you commented with a cheeky grin.

Steve laughed before he shifted into a more serious tone. “I just… I needed to do that. In case anything happens,” he confessed.

Your heart sank a little with fear. “Nothings gonna happen to us, Steve.” You had to believe that.

“You’re right,” he responded, feigning as if he believed the words that even you didn’t believe. He used the hand that was still touching your face to run through your hair. His hand rested on the back of your head and he pulled you to him to press a kiss to your forehead. “When we’re back home, I’m gonna take you to dinner. Like a real date,” Steve said as he leaned back. “Only if you want,” he added.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and shoved his shoulder a little, causing him to chuckle as well. “Of course I want to, idiot. Did you not hear me before?”

“I guess it’s still hard to believe you like me back,” he shrugged, sounding a little embarrassed with himself for not being confident.

“Well, I don’t just like you,” you said, building up your own bravery before saying, “I love you, Steve,” you professed your feelings. You’d been hiding them for so long and now just felt like the moment to get everything out there, just as Steve had.

The cutest smile that you had ever seen crossed his face. “For real?”

“Well, duh,” you said mockingly, easing the tension for yourself. “That would be a mean joke to play, I’m not that cruel.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said in the same ‘isn’t it obvious?’ tone you used. “I mean… I love you too. And it’s really, really awesome to hear you feel the same.”

You didn’t get to say anything else before he was pulling you into another passionate kiss.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!” a familiar voice shouted, causing you and Steve to jump apart. You and Steve both looked to the doorway to find Robin standing there. “We are trying to get out of this place and you guys are up here making out!? I mean, I know Steve has been into you like forever Y/N—he made me promise not to tell you even though I really wanted to—and I’m really happy for you guys and we are definitely talking about this later, but we don’t have much time here!” Robin chattered on.

“Robin, chill,” Steve held out his hands, trying to calm her down.

You stood up first and then held out your hand to Steve. “Let’s go, Harrington,” you told him with a small smirk of amusement.

He looked up at you and grasped your hand. He returned your little smile despite the way he winced as you helped him up. “I’ll go wherever you want,” Steve teased. However, from the way he looked at you, you believed him.

You couldn't wait to get back to the real world.

[im-a-wonderling]

Liability ~ Loki Laufeyson

Okay, I don’t really love how this turned out, but the lovely @writing-on-the-wahl gave me so much wonderful feedback that I thought I’d post it anyway ❤️

Summary: Y/N gets the dreaded call and has to visit one of her least favorite places in the whole world.  

Warnings: none?

Words: 2k

Agent McCarter, the agent escorting me through the prison, didn’t make a sound as he walked, but every click of my beautiful green heels echoed through the dimly lit hallways. It felt as if all the high-powered individuals in this building had been so entirely subdued that Agent McCarter and I were the only people left alive. 

I hated this building. And I’d been naïve enough to believe I’d never have to be here again. 

I shivered, holding my purse tighter. Wearing a thin dress in this chilly place was bad enough—wearing green and black with gold jewelry in this building made it obvious who I was here to see. 

Right on cue, we reached a desk. Agent McCarter came to a stop, still holding the very large gun across his chest. “Leave your possessions here.” I blinked at the agent before slowly extending my arm to drop my purse on the desk. The agent didn’t move. “Jewelry too.”

My right hand went to my left wrist where the delicate Asgardian bracelet lay—a gift from my boyfriend for our last anniversary. Gently, I unclasped it, laying it and my necklace on the desk beside my purse. 

“Jacket next.”

Resigned, I slid my arms out of my black blazer, folding it up and setting it down neatly. 

“Now your hair clip.”

I sighed. I wish I could’ve said I’d never been through such thorough security scrutiny, but that would’ve been a lie. After a moment to mourn the bun that I’d redone multiple times to get the right ratio of cute and messy, I pulled the clip holding it together from my head, my hair tumbling down and my scalp prickling a little. Agent McCarter still didn’t move. “You’re not going to make me strip, are you?”

It would’ve been too much to hope for a smile, but Agent McCarter didn’t acknowledge that I’d even spoken. “Take off your glasses.”

“What?” I self-consciously touched them. “ I’ve never had to take them off before.”

Agent McCarter shifted his gun in what was most likely meant to be a threatening gesture, but that wasn’t enough for me to drop it. 

“I didn’t bring my contacts, and unless you want me to walk into a wall, I need my glasses.”

Again, Agent McCarter didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard me for a long moment. Then, he let out a heavy sigh, lifting his hand to his earpiece. “We’re gonna need the hand-held super scanner.” Normally, I might’ve laughed at the term ���super scanner’, but merriment was far from appropriate and I was far from capable of it. “Please remove your shoes for inspection.”

After getting frisked and being wanded by what looked to be a detector for more than just metal, I was deemed ready to move on. 

My glasses, however, proved to be more difficult. The agent that brought the scanner studied them, turning them every which way. The minutes ticked by. Being detained by this new, bureaucratic procedure was not helpful in taming my anxiety.

“We can’t let the glasses go through,” the super scanner agent finally told Agent McCarter. 

“Then–”

“We will provide glasses for you,” Agent McCarter interrupted. “What is your prescription?” 

My frustration grew. “Are you serious?” I asked them. “They’re glasses. They’re not even actual glass, you know that, right?”

Agent McCarter didn’t say anything, just waiting. I reluctantly gave him the information he was waiting for, and he made me wait for a good five minutes before handing me the approved glasses.

Of course, they fit much too large for my face and continually slipped down my nose as we passed many doors, all with labels on them I didn’t understand and didn’t want to.

Agent McCarter stopped in front of a door labeled “Detainment” and turned to face me once more. “Have you done this before?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Good, then I can be quick about this. Do not get within a foot of the prisoner, do not leave anything in the room or take anything from it, and if you say anything suspicious, we will pull you out of there. Do you understand?”

I nodded, throat suddenly tightening.

“Alright, you get ten minutes.” Agent McCarter lifted a hand to his earpiece. “She’s ready.” With a blaring buzz, the door swung open, revealing the figure lounging on one of the two steel prison chairs.

Loki’s head jerked up, and his whole body followed suit.

“Sit down!” Agent McCarter boomed, making me jump. Loki’s mouth formed a snarl as it always did when someone ordered him around. “Sit back in the chair, or you’ll lose your privileges.”

Visiting privileges. 

Loki’s eyes flicked towards me. Ever so slowly, his eyes boring into mine the whole time, he sat back down.

Satisfied, Agent McCarter ushered me inside, and the door closed behind me with a great clang and the softer yet far more foreboding click as the lock fell into place. There was a chair opposite Loki’s at the bare metal table, but unlike last time, I couldn’t bring myself to sit nor could I resent the rule to keep my distance. 

“You came.” Loki’s head tilted sideways, his snarl turning into his signature, charming grin. There was no uncertainty in his tone, as if we were having a completely normal, unmonitored conversation. “I would’ve thought you’d be at the restaurant already.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t at the restaurant?” I asked tiredly. 

“Did you at least get to order an appetizer?”

His question irritated me. “Stop it.” 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” He held up his bound hands for emphasis, but his manic smile didn’t budge. 

I rubbed my face, clinging to every shred of patience I had left. 

Loki let out a shrill wolf whistle, his eyes traveling up and down, taking in my appearance. “You’ve always looked stunning in green.”

The shreds slipped through my fingers. The attempt at flattery was as plain as the nose on his face. I glared at him, pushing the ill-fitting glasses up my nose. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to be at a restaurant, thinking that your boyfriend is stuck in traffic, only to get a call that he’s been arrested?” 

Again.

Loki chuckled, looking down at the floor wearing an expression of sheepishness like a masquerade costume. “Sometimes the opportunities just beg to be taken–”

“No, I don’t accept that,” I barked, making Loki look up, a hint of confusion joining his lunatic smile. “Why? Why are we here?” I gestured around the room. “You just like these four walls so much that you want to live here?”

How could anyone want to be here, chained and collared like an animal? 

“I can break myself out anytime I want,” he said.

“That’s not–” I ran my hands through my hair—a nervous tick I’d picked up from him. “That’s not what I meant, Loki.” How could he know me better than anyone and still not understand? 

“My love, these restraints,” he raised his wrists and gestured towards the collar, “cannot hold me for long.”

“That’s not the point!” I burst out, my voice echoing throughout the bare room. The echoes faded, and into the hollow silence I whispered: “Why is it never enough for you?”

Why am I never enough for you?

Loki smirked. “What can I say, darling? Once a villain, always a–”

“Don’t call me darling.”

The smirk slipped slightly. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re angry.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” It was a good thing I had nothing except my shoes, dress, and glasses, because if I had any possession to spare, I would’ve flung it in his face. 

Loki blinked languidly, surprisingly calm in the face of my anger. “I’m not going to miss date night, my love, it’ll just be a little later than we thought.”

“Oh my–” I buried my face in my hands, fighting the urge to scream. 

“Look at me.”

Shaking my head, I put my back to him. “I…I can’t.”

“Turn around, and look at me.” The evenness of his authoritative tone was infuriating, and I remained where I was, unwilling to give him what he wanted.

“SIT DOWN!” blared the intercom, making me jump. I whirled around in time to see Loki, on his feet, glaring at the dark glass to my right. How many agents were crowded behind the glass to see the infamous Loki Laufeyson and the girl foolish enough to love him? How many of them were laughing during this very private conversation? 

“Sit down, or we will escort Miss Y/L/N from the premises!” 

Loki shut his eyes, his grin looking strained before sinking back into the chair. “I am what I am, darling.” He spread his chained hands as much as he could. “I am the god of mischief. You knew that before we got together.” He leaned back in his chair, looking deceivingly relaxed. “Did you expect me to change?”

“There are laws, Loki!” I snapped. “There is right and wrong!”

 Loki’s beautiful face didn’t shift. “Oh, now you care about morality?”

“I’ve always cared about morality. I just kept making excuses for you because I cared about you.” A muscle in Loki’s jaw ticked. “Loki, you went too far this time.”

My words seemed to delight Loki. “Wasn’t it excellent?” 

I felt like shouting. Screaming. Tearing out my hair. Anything that could possibly make Loki understand how I felt. 

But I knew there was only one thing. 

“What’s our rule?” I asked softly. 

Loki’s face soured, the first time his smile fell. “This doesn’t count.”

“The rule is–”

“No one gets hurt, I know,” Loki finished. “I didn’t break the rule.”

“You murdered a woman!”

He held up a finger. “I did not kill her, she died. There’s a difference.”

“If you’d been getting ready for date night–” I stepped back, wrapping my arms around my torso. “If you’d just–” Sudden tears pricked at my eyes, and I lifted them to the ceiling, refusing to let them fall. 

“Y/N–”

“It hurts,” I whispered without looking at him. “Don’t you see it?” Loki didn’t answer, and I pulled off the glasses to swipe at my eyes. “My boyfriend is a criminal.”

As I put the glasses back on, Loki plastered a smile on his face. “What can I say? You’ve always loved bad boys.”

I let out a long breath. “Not anymore.”

A threatening shadow crossing Loki’s features. “What are you saying?” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep the emotions at bay. I’d come here to say one thing and one thing only. Yet, being here, standing in front of Loki and the dark glass, the conviction melted away and the words failed me.

All that remained was pure exhaustion.

“Y/N, talk to me,” Loki commanded. I didn’t answer. 

In one smooth motion, Loki pushed the table hard enough, it slid a couple feet off to the side, leaving nothing in between him and I. 

“CALM DOWN!” the intercom yelled, but Loki ignored it. 

“Talk. To. Me.” His voice was quiet, but I knew he was thundering inside. 

I held my arms tighter around myself. Loki had always been scary, but for the first time, I felt the undercurrent of fear that he trafficked in. It stole my words out from under me. 

Loki’s eyes flashed. “Say it,” he growled.

“You’re a liability.” I took a steeling breath. “I can’t love a liability.” 

Pain, biting and exact, crossed his face. “Wait,” he croaked, “Y/N, hold on.” He stretched out his arms towards me as far as he could reach without leaving the chair, but I was too far away. 

“I can’t,” I whispered, turning away from him.

“Come here,” he begged, but I simply looked up into the camera. 

“I’m done with my visit.”

“Y/N–”

The fateful buzz sounded, and the door swung open. I slipped through it without a glance. 

“Y/N!”

“SIT BACK IN YOUR CHAIR, INMATE!” came the yell. 

“Y/N!!” 

The telltale sound of glass shattering reached my ears just before the door slid shut. 

Pushing the glasses back up my nose and blinking back tears, I went back the way I’d come without looking back.

-

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[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Can you please do promot 10 and 12 with Sam wilson please?

.⋆｡The Cleansing Rain｡⋆.

Sam Wilson x plus size reader

The fight was bad, really bad but neither of you wanted to stop loving the other

Warnings: mentions of the snap, fighting, angst, implied ptsd

WC: 752

Minors DNI

3000 Follower Celebration

The fight had lasted for days and you both were exhausted. It had sparked over something insignificant that you couldn’t really give a shit about anymore and then blew up to the point where you and Sam were screaming in each other’s faces.

Sam felt you were pulling away from him, not as loving as you used to be. You returned back that he was dead for five years and you had to learn to live without him. 

You thought Sam was being entitled to your affections when he did nothing for you in return. He snapped that he had a job to do, he and Bucky had to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves.

But everything broke down when you wondered if the relationship was even worth saving. It was obvious that you had changed immensely since the blip while your partner was left behind to pick up the pieces of what used to be his life while still trying to be a hero.

“If you aren’t happy here then just fucking leave!” You screamed at him but really you were begging him not to go.

“You know what I think I will because I can’t stand this shit anymore.” But he was pleading to stay. 

“Go!” Tears burned behind your eyes but you refused to let them fall, refused to let him see how you were breaking all over again.

“Fine!” The front door slammed behind him, shaking the foundations of your home and your heart. You didn’t see the way his shoulders fell, he didn’t see how you crumbled.

He left without saying ‘I love you’. You let him go without saying ‘I love you’.

That was almost a week ago and you felt like you were dying. The house was too quiet, your bed too empty. Every time the old floorboards creaked, your head shot up, expecting to see Sam in the doorway, a bright smile on his face, his dark eyes sparkling. But he was never there. 

You kept the TV on constantly, too scared of the silence. So that’s how you heard about the storm. 

Sam hated storms, he always had. He’d always get scared when lightning struck and thunder rolled. The night he asked you to be his girlfriend was during a storm like the one about to hit Louisiana. He had burst into your home, eyes wide with fear and collapsed into your arms, his whole body trembling. You wrapped him up in the softest blanket you could find and distracted him with things from shitty puns to singing to him. And when the power finally gave out, he took you into his arms and asked you to be his.

As the skies darkened above the small ocean town, anxiety bubbled in your stomach. ‘Was Sam somewhere safe?’ ‘Who was looking out for him?’ ‘Did they know what to do if he had an attack?’

Before you could think, your shoes were on and you were out the door. There were only two places he would be- his sister’s or Bucky’s. The first drops of rain started to fall as you ran through the streets, gunning for Sarah’s house.

Your feet pounded against the pavement in time with the beating of your heart. The fog closed in around you as fat water droplets smacked you in the face, getting more intense by the second. 

Yet still you ran.

“Y/N!” The voice was distant, muffled but it was still the voice you needed to hear the most. 

“Sam!” His silhouette stood against the blur of the rain.

You collided together almost painfully but you didn’t care. His arms were around you again, you both were whole again. “Sam I’m sorry I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that you were being selfish.” He shook his head and squeezed your thick waist even tighter.

“I was being selfish. You were doing so much for me and I did nothing to help you.” You laughed sadly, your tears mixing with the rain. 

“Maybe we were both being dumb.” He laughed that laugh you loved so much and your chest warmed even though your clothes were now thoroughly soaked through with frigid water.

“Maybe we were.” Your arms wrapped around his neck and brought his lips closer to yours.

“Come home.” You whispered just above the din of the storm.

“I’m already home.” And as he kissed you in the freezing rain, all the pain was washed away, even if it was just for a little while.

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[anonymousewrites]

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 5) Chapter Twelve

Father Figure! Lucifer Morningstar x Teen! Reader

Demon! OC x Reader

Chapter Twelve: I’ve Never Been Anyone’s Blessing

Summary: Lucifer and (Y/N) finally have a talk about what (Y/N) found in his desk the day he left.

            (Y/N) screamed as Dan fired the gun. The bullet hit Lucifer, and he fell. Shadows ripped up from the ground and threw Dan back. Chloe let out a fearful cry as Lucifer hit the ground, and (Y/N) rushed to his side.

            “Dad?!” they said, tears collecting in their eyes. Their lungs constricted in fear, and they felt their anxiety going through the roof in a way it hadn’t in months. With Chloe around, he was vulnerable, he could be hurt, he could be hurt, he could be gone, (Y/N) couldn’t handle that, no, no, no—

            “(Y/N),” said Lucifer, sitting up. He grabbed their hands as they trembled. “(Y/N), (Y/N), breathe.”

            “I—You—” (Y/N) choked on their words as they struggled for air.

            “I’m alright. I’m alright,” said Lucifer, putting their hand on his chest to feel where the bullet had hit. No wound. No blood. “I’m here.”

            Chloe stared in shock. She had expected blood. She made him vulnerable. And then Chloe’s eyes went to how Lucifer held (Y/N)’s hand and took deep breaths. He was slowly calming them, getting them to breathe with him, loosening the pressure in their chest. Lucifer’s priority was his kid.

            And Chloe understood. Lucifer was vulnerable around her, but he wasn’t with (Y/N). He was invulnerable because he needed to be strong enough to protect his kid, and the parental instincts outweighed all others.

            If Chloe hadn’t been furious with Dan, she would have smiled at the pure, fatherly love Lucifer had for (Y/N). He truly loved them. Chloe didn’t care if her and his love didn’t make him vulnerable with (Y/N) present. She understood that your kid had to be your priority, and she was glad (Y/N) had someone who cared about them so deeply.

            “D-Dad,” sobbed (Y/N) as they took breaths with him, feeling his chest rise and fall with each one. “I thought—”

            “I know. I know,” said Lucifer. “I’m alright.” For once, he understood, too. He loved (Y/N) too much to be weak around them. He wanted to have the strength to protect them, and so, he did. “Breathe. In. Out. In out.” He held (Y/N) tightly as their shoulders slowly stopped shaking.

            Chloe whirled on Dan, who stared in shock and fear at Lucifer. “What the hell are you doing?!” She kicked the gun away from him as he stood from where the shadows had thrown him.

            “What am I doing?” said Dan. “What are you doing?! He’s the devil, and you’ve known about it all this time?!”

            So that’s what had triggered him shooting—finding out Lucifer was the devil. Once again, adults had the worst reactions to these facts.

            “I’ve never hidden my devil-ness from anyone,” said Lucifer, standing. He kept a firm hold on (Y/N), hugging them tight to ground them.

            “How’d you find out?” demanded Chloe.

            “I saw him that night!” said Dan. “With Amenadiel and Charlie. I came back, and I saw his—his freaking scary-ass red face.”

            “Well, I’m not particularly fond of your face, either, Daniel, but you don’t see me trying to kill you,” snapped Lucifer.

            “How am I the bad guy here, huh?!” cried Dan.

            (Y/N) faced him, an angry expression on their face as their anxiety and fear gave way to fury. “You tried to kill my dad!”

            “I’m trying to save the world!” shouted Dan. “I’m trying to save my daughter and everyone I care about from him!”

            Chloe took a deep breath. “Okay, Dan, I understand.” She really did. She had gone through the same realization and nearly participated in sending Lucifer to Hell permanently. “I get it, and, when I first learned about…who he is, I didn’t handle it well, either. But he’s not what the world makes him out to be. He’s a good person.”

            Dan spluttered.

            “He is,” said Chloe firmly. She gestured to Lucifer holding (Y/N). “And just like you, he’s a good father. And despite your differences, I think you know that. You know that.”

            Dan groaned, head spinning in confusion, and he stumbled back. “This is crazy!” He got to the elevator and stared at all of them in panic. “It’s crazy! You’re all-You’re all crazy!”

            “Dan, where are you going?!” said Chloe, worried about what he might do in this state—to others or himself.

            “I’m not going to shoot anybody else if that’s what you’re worried about, okay?” said Dan. “I just need to get the hell away from him!”

            Chloe swallowed. “Shit. He’s supposed to pick up Trixie from the sitter. I should get to her first and take her to my mom’s until he cools down.” She turned to look at Lucifer and (Y/N). “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”

            “Don’t apologize,” said Lucifer. “Go and get your kid.” He held his own. He knew he couldn’t lose them, and he know how much Chloe would be worried about Trixie, even if she knew Dan would never hurt her.

            “Thank you,” said Chloe, nodding to Lucifer and (Y/N). As soon as the elevator arrived again, she ran into it and left.

            Lucifer looked at (Y/N), who was stilling breathing slightly shakily. “Are you feeling a bit better? Do you something? Music, weighted blanket, your noise-canceling headphones?” He was running through all the stimulation tools he knew could ground (Y/N) after such an intense moment. “Should I get Emeranne instead of me?”

            “N-No, I’m alright,” said (Y/N), carefully breathing in and out. “I’m alright.” They swallowed. “I just-I couldn’t see you like that—I thought—” Their breath hitched again, and their eyes moved wildly.

            Lucifer felt them tremble again and instantly guided them towards the couch. He sat them down so that they wouldn’t fall if their legs gave out. “Breathe. I’m here. I’m here.” He refused to let them spiral again. “Listen to me: I’m here. Can you tell yourself that?”

            “You’re here,” repeated (Y/N).

            “I’m alive,” said Lucifer.

            “You’re alive,” whispered (Y/N).

            “You’re here,” said Lucifer.

            “I’m here.”

            “We’re both alright.”

            “We’re both alright.” (Y/N)’s head stopped spinning again, and their breaths felt deeper, less shallow.

            “We’re okay.”

            “We’re okay,” whispered (Y/N).

            “I’m not leaving you,” said Lucifer, holding their hand tightly.

            “You’re not leaving me,” said (Y/N). They relaxed and leaned into him.

            “I’m not,” said Lucifer, smiling and holding them to him. “I’m not. Because you’re my kid. And I’m your dad. And we’re family. We’re not leaving each other behind.”

            “…Promise?” whispered (Y/N).

            “I promise,” said Lucifer, and he didn’t lie.

            “Even after you had to go to Hell?” (Y/N) was afraid of the answer. Yes, he was back and said he was there to stay, but what if something else happened and he had to?

            “I’m never doing that again,” said Lucifer. “I’m staying with you.” He chuckled. “You’re stuck with me. Because you’re my kid and I love you, (Y/N).”

            (Y/N) smiled slightly. “I love you, too, Dad.” Their smile fell, and they held his arm tightly. “I…I’m sorry for saying I hated you when you left. I don’t—I can’t—I don’t hate you.”

            “I know,” said Lucifer. “You were just upset.” He would never hold that against them.

            “I really missed you,” whispered (Y/N).

            “I know. I missed you too,” said Lucifer, hugging them tightly. Being without them had hurt more than words could express. He was grateful to be back with them.

            “I…” (Y/N) swallowed, anxiety clenching their lungs again. But the words wanted to get out. “I found something in your room.”

            Lucifer looked at them.

            “After you left, I, uh, broke some stuff…” said (Y/N) guiltily. “And I found some papers…”

            Lucifer stared at them as he remembered precisely what he had put in his side table drawer. “The adoption papers,” he said quietly.

            (Y/N) nodded, and their heart felt like it was about to burst in fear and exhilaration. “I…Do you want me as a kid? Legally? Forever?”

            Lucifer smiled at them. “You are my kid. This would just make the world recognize it.”

            (Y/N)’s heart lit up. “You still want to…adopt me?”

            “Of course,” said Lucifer, smiling. “If you said yes, I’d adopt you in a heartbeat.”

            “I…I want you to adopt me,” said (Y/N). “You’re my dad. I want everyone to know it.”

            Lucifer smiled widely. “Then I’m going to adopt you. You’re my family.”

            “You’re mine,” said (Y/N), hugging him tightly.

            Lucifer hugged them back.

            Finally, finally, they’d be “officially” family—in the eyes of the law. Lucifer and (Y/N) were already father and kid. Nothing could change that. This would just make sure that they would never be separated. Everyone would know they were family. It just added another level to their familial relationship.

            “I love you, (Y/N),” said Lucifer to his kid.

            “I love you, Dad,” said (Y/N) to their father.

l

            (Y/N) stood anxiously in the meeting room as Lucifer finished getting the papers from their social worker. When the two entered the room again, (Y/N) was nearly exploding with nervous, excited energy.

            “So, you two are ready for this next step?” said (Y/N)’s case worker.

            (Y/N) and Lucifer nodded instantly, both ready to tear the papers from her hands and sign them.

            “Well, we’ve done the checks with both of you to make sure you’re making the best decision and not feeling pressured into it, and everything is as good as it can be.” The social worker smiled. “You two are clearly already family, and this just makes it legally acknowledged.”

            To anyone, even just a social worker, it was clear that (Y/N) and Lucifer were father and child. It was only biology that disagreed, and that didn’t matter to the heart.

            She set the papers down in front of (Y/N) and Lucifer and slid a pen towards them. Lucifer grabbed it quickly and signed. (Y/N) nearly tore the pen from his hands and signed their name.

            The social worker smiled, picked up the papers, and walked to the door. “Congratulations.” She left to file the papers and give the family a moment.

            (Y/N) and Lucifer looked at each other, and wide smiles appeared on their faces. (Y/N) stood and launched themself at Lucifer. He caught them and hugged them tightly.

            “I love you, Dad,” said (Y/N), feeling tears nearly spring to their eyes.

            “I love you, too,” whispered Lucifer. “So, so, so much. I’m so glad you’re my kid. I’m so lucky to have you.” He held them close to him and closed his eyes. “You’re my blessing.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened before tears finally began to run down their cheeks.

            They were his blessing. He never spoke about God or religion favorably, but they were his blessing.

            I’ve never been anyone’s blessing.

            Even their parents thought of them as nothing but a burden. But Lucifer loved them.

            He was blessed to have them.

            (Y/N) sobbed for joy, and Lucifer held them tightly, enveloping (Y/N) in all the love they deserved.

l

            (Father/N) sat in his cell, staring at the guards walk by. For years, it had been the exact same thing—eat his meals, go the yard, return to his cell. He was sullen and alone, his entire reputation and life ruined because that stupid brat didn’t keep their mouth shut to protect the family.

            (F/N) gritted his teeth as he thought about (Y/N). They were a disgrace to the (L/N) family. And they had gotten him, his wife, and his brother put into jail…If (F/N) got out—when, because his lawyers would get him out eventually on parole—(Y/N) would pay.

            The lights went out, but the fury remained as a flame in (F/N)’s chest.

            “You seem upset,” said a southern voice.

            (F/N) jumped. He whirled and let out a shout as he spotted a man with grey-black wings standing before him.

            “Lucifer!” hissed (F/N), half in fear and half in anger. “How—what—”

            “I am Michael.” He held up his hands. “And I am here to offer you a great calling.”

            “…What?” (F/N) was barely comprehending that this was an angel, and now Michael was asking for him to join a great calling. “I don’t—”

            “I can free you from this prison, and you can right all the wrongs in your life,” said Michael with a wide, benevolent smile.

            “I have never done anything wrong,” hissed (F/N).

            “Exactly,” said Michael. “This is righting what has gone wrong.”

            (F/N) swallowed. “Why would an angel want to help me?”

            “Because I need someone taken care of. And you want the same,” said Michael, smiling.

            “What?” said (F/N).

            “I want to destroy Lucifer’s life. He put you in jail, so I can assume you want the same,” said Michael. Then, he leaned in slightly. “And he is fostering your child, the one who betrayed you.”

            (F/N)’s gaze hardened with anger, and, all at once, his disbelief at the supernatural being real disappeared at the reminder of what (Y/N) had done. “I get revenge?”

            “Revenge? Oh, no, this is destroying Lucifer. This is righteous.” Michael grinned widely.

            “…I’m in,” said (F/N).

            “Perfect,” said Michael. His wings extended. “I will collect you when the time is right.”

            (F/N) opened his mouth, but Michael’s wings flapped, and he disappeared.

l

            Michael landed on a hill overlooking Los Angeles. He had spoken to (F/N) and then with (Mother/N). Both of the humans were on board with destroying Lucifer and (Y/N). They despised that (Y/N) had gotten them put into jail.

            Of course, they assumed they were just getting revenge and killing the pair in a righteous act—humans were so easily swayed that way—but Michael had even more planned. If (Y/N) were to become unstable and lose control of their abilities, it could kill them…it could kill so many things, and that would destroy Lucifer. That was what Michael desired.

            Michael smirked. It was time for the Antichrist to call forth the Apocalypse and die.

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

@grippleback-galaxy-galaxy

@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

@sammy-13

@zeros-rot

@ceridwyn3

@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

@slytherinroyalty16

@ilse235

@theurbannoodle

@lookitseddie

@amberforest08

[amirsirwrites]

Feelings for KAY/O ❤️

It's a little rushed at the end because I just wanted to finish it fast. Got a bit of a stomachache today. Enjoy reading :)

Not requested

KAY/O x GN!reader

------

“But can he even feel emotions?” you were mulling over every single possibility right now. You’ve developed feelings for a certain robot who joined the Valorant Protocol but you weren’t taking it too well, not because you hated those feelings but because you weren’t sure if KAY/O would reciprocate them.

Jett and Phoenix were there to help you with your mini breakdown.

Phoenix slapped you on the back, “C’mon, bruv. Sure he can! I think… Well I mean he’s always so sarcastic, that’s gotta count for somethin’.” He looked to Jett for some support.

She wrapped her arm around your shoulder, backing Phoenix up, “Yeah, dongsaeng! Keep your head up, I’m sure he does. You just gotta shoot your shot.”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your head with your hand. Confessing wasn’t something you even thought about until now. You decided that before anything else, you’d go to KAY/O to ask some questions.

~~~~~~

KAY/O spends most of his time in the training room perfecting his fighting style. He requested for Max Bot to be repaired, claiming that he was the best sparring partner he’s ever had. While that may be true, everyone likes to joke that KAY/O just wants to prove that he’s the better bot of the two.

You watched him from behind the bullet-proof windows as he maneuvered skilfully over and around all the obstacles while attacking Max Bot. He had a rather aggressive fighting style so to someone like you who was more passive, you couldn’t help but be impressed by his fearlessness on field.

When he was finished with his training, he looked up to see you waving at him from the waiting room. He gave you a little wave back and walked over, going through the automatic doors. You sat in one of the swivel chairs while KAY/O went over to the work table to clean his firearm.

“So, what brings you here, Y/n?” he asked, disassembling the gun part by part.

You smiled and replied back, “Good morning to you too, robo man.”

KAY/O doesn’t really have a face so you can’t tell what he’s feeling but you have a hunch that he has a slight grin as he corrects himself, “My bad. Good morning, Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?”

You trace your fingers along the arm of the chair, pondering for a moment before answering back, “Not really help, per se, I just got a few questions for you.”

He glanced up at you for a moment, “Shoot.” before turning his head back down to focus on oiling and polishing the different parts of his gun.

“Well, I’ve been wondering - are you.. like, I dunno, able to feel stuff?”

KAY/O responded, “Physically, emotionally and mentally, yes. I can feel,” he paused and shifted his attention fully onto you, “Why do you ask?”

You shifted in your seat, not entirely sure how to answer his question without seeming suspicious. "Just.. curious. I've been thinking about it for a while, that's all."

He kept his non-existent eyes locked on you, making you avert your gaze from him so that you don't start to fidget from anxiety.

"Uh-huh.. Okay. Any other questions for me?"

Thankfully, he looked back to the table at that point.

You gritted your teeth, asking hesitantly, "Yeah. Do- Do you feel love?"

KAY/O was definitely giving you a strange look after that one. He decided to just answer your question though since he knew that you would be uncomfortable if he insisted on you telling him the truth.

“I do. Believe it or not, I care about you and everyone else. You’re all my friends.”

You nodded slowly and got up. Your poor heart was beating so fast at that point and you were satisfied with his answers so you thanked him, gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

Dear KAY/O was left confused.

~~~~~~

You started to become more and more nervous around KAY/O over the next few days. It was hard to focus whenever he was around. Since you started acting weirdly around him, KAY/O was worried that he’d done something to upset you.

He didn’t confront you about your behaviour, fearing that it would worsen the situation. And you didn’t tell him the truth about how you felt because you were too scared to do so. Yikes.

And then Brimstone assigned both of you on a team mission to Ascent. Shit hit the fan pretty quickly from the moment you arrived. The enemy team had a tight hold on B site, meaning retake was going to be a pain in the ass. If that wasn’t bad enough, both you and KAY/O were uncoordinated and underperforming due to the tension between you two.

Brimstone had enough and pulled the two of you to the side, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two but you better sort it out now. We cannot afford conflicts within our own team, especially right now.” He walked back to the rest of the team to give you privacy.

KAY/O sighed, “So. What’s going on?”

You clicked your tongue and looked to the robot, “Erm...”

“Just tell me, Y/n. Did I say or do something or what?”

Turning to him, you shook your head, “No, of course not! It’s.. It’s just my dumb emotions.”

‘It’s now or never,’ you thought to yourself. You took a deep breath, “Alright! Listen, KAY/O.. The reason I’ve been acting so strange is because I. have. feelings. for. you.”

He stared at you blankly.

“That’s why? Ah.. you humans are so weird. You should have just told me! Come here, Y/n.” He gently pulled you closer to him with one hand around your waist and another cupping the side of your face. He leaned in and kissed you. It was more like you kissing him since he didn't have a mouth but it was essentially the same thing.

With that kiss, all your initial worries went away. Now you just felt kind of silly about being so uptight about the whole thing.

He pulled away and gently stroked your cheek. "After we're done kicking their asses, I'll take you out on a date. Dinner, movie, dancing, it's up to you. That sound good, Y/n?"

You whispered a soft 'yes' and gave him a peck on the cheek while blushing. You could sense his smile.

Even though you wanted to stay like that, the both of you had to rush back to complete the mission when you heard Brimstone shouting for you. You couldn't wait for that date. :)

------

'Dongsaeng' - Little sibling (Korean)

[lavenderbradshaw]

Swift September!

Hi! Okay, so I had a little fun thought. If you look at my profile, you'll notice my wicked love for Taylor Swift. 9/10, the things I write are inspired by her lyrics. SO! I thought I'd compile a list of lyrics that I'd love to write to and let y'all pick what you want to see.

I'll do these all throughout September, so please send in stuff! (No, seriously, I’m genuinely desperate)

If there's a lyric here you'd like to see, send it in an ask. If there's a character from Top Gun you'd like to see it with, add that, too! If there’s no character, I will pick, so be warned! If there's a lyric I haven't included (and it's Taylor Swift) please send it! Also, combos are so totally acceptable!

They'd just be pretty short blurbs, quick little scenes. But they all do have the possibility of becoming something someday ;)

-

SMUT

i feel the lavender haze creepin' up on me

you know i'm not a bad girl, but i'd do bad things with you

i said, 'no one has to know what we do', his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room

i could see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying 'meet me tonight'

the altar is my hips, even if it's a false god

lord, save me, my drug is my baby

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn't kill me makes me want you more

'cause all the boys and their expensive cars, the range rovers and their jaguars, never took me quite where you do

ANGST

you drew stars around my scars, but now i'm bleeding

losing him was blue like i'd never known

from sprinkler splashes to fire place ashes, i gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this

you're not gone, you can't be gone, no

she would've been such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in the head

maybe i was naive, got lost in your eyes and never really had a chance

crawling up the beaches now, 'sir, i think he's bleeding out', and some things you just can't speak about

tell me that you're still mine, tell me that we'll be just fine, even when i lose my mind

is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything, or do you just not want to?

last night i heard my own heart beating, sounded like footsteps on my stairs, six months gone and i'm still reaching, even though i know you're not there

i can go anywhere i want, anywhere i want just not home

i pulled your body into mine every god damn night

the idea you had of me, who was she? a never needy, ever lovely jewel, whose shine reflects on you

if our love died young, i can't bear witness

FLUFF

you are the best thing that's ever been mine

there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

i'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans, that's my man

if you were here, we'd laugh about their vacant stares but for now, my time is theirs

there's a chain 'round your throat, piece of paper where i wrote 'i'll wait for you'

i once believed love would be black and white, but it's golden

i'm so thankful for all of the girls you loved before, but i love you more

MISC

**anything from this category might need a little more vision from the requester**

i can feel the flames on my skin, crimson red paint on my lips, if a man talks shit then i owe him nothing

how's one to know, i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bone

all the liars are calling me one, nobody's heard from me for months

[enigmasandepiphanies]

Plath isn't questionable lol just because she said one bad thing don't matters, she lived in horrible times and even then she still cared for feminism and women.

okkiee anon here's the thing, you jumped the gun and totally didn't understand my definition of questionable and i really don't wanna explain it to you but I shall cause anon, two things. it will tell you that it's important to look at literary works critically and two, you are kinda gonna be really embarrassed that you jumped the gun cause I came from a totally different place because it's was about me nerding on about plath and her connection with sea, not feminism

I am not calling her questionable because her definition of feminism was not what it is today, neither the questionable thing came from racist connotations about her work. yes, her works are super problematic and they are racist and her feminist attitude is one of a white feminist, that's something we need to as readers look at critically, acknowledge but at the same time not dismiss the fact she has spoken and expressed lot of things that really made a torch bearer for those times. so, we have to look at her work pertaining to her historical context but we have to also acknowledge the criticism

also btw bell jar is one of my most fave books of all time. I acknowledge its blatant racism and it's embodiment of white feminism and also I can't not acknowledge it I read it as a queer person of colour (fucking annoying gotta announce my identity but positioning is important so you can be aware) but I don't hold it on a pedestal for it's literary prowess or shit, neither I believe in cancelling plath (cause cancel culture fucking sucks) and, she has good words in her (ariel, mirror, mad girl's love songs are poems which I actually appreciate)

in the post I called her questionable was because her definitions of serenity and peace have always paradoxical and covered in layers of meaning about her personal grief and anxiety, especially in her relationship with water cause crossing the water is a poem she wrote where water holds a different meaning so that was a fascinating contrast that she felt beach gave her serenity. moreover in her essay ocean 1212-w her relationship with the ocean is tumultuous. for instance, she talks about the other side of the sea, when the ocean, which has often considered her mother was not so: “The hurricane was nature without her maternal mask on and it revealed the other side of the sea, the womb as a grave” (12).

so please grow up a little and understand that she hasn't done one bad thing, has done many actually and we all in horrible times btw and yes you shouldn't dismiss her horrible times but looking at things critically doesnt equate to me cancelling your fave literary icon and it was not even about her racist white feminist portrayals but my thoughts on her water imagery, which I didn't wanna elaborate on cause my tags are a private inside joke to me only but oh well, since you so asked by taking great pains to write this anon

[nobodiesheartlessshitblog45]

Call Of Duty Fanfic: Welcome Home

John PriceXMaleOc Part 2: Trigger Warning Gun Violence, War, Blood, Anxiety Attacks and PTSD

Okay here is part 2.

I have been taking my time with his and I have say this had been helping me get back into writing a bit. And I can saftly say I am Call Of Duty Trash. John Price is my husband.

Right next, Aizawa, Gojo and Nanami. and Charles Smith and Arthur Morgan.

The pasta and meatballs with a beautiful bottle of red german wine like being at fancy food at 5 star restaurant.

John was sitting and eating listening to Luka talk about, well, anything.

It didn't matter what.

John just sat across from the small kitchen, a relaxed smile on his face listening to sound Luka's voice, hr took everything detail of his facial expression, and the tone of his tone as speak.

It was music too ears.

Being away from his beloved his husband for 2 long month was always hard on him, and wanted to make it up for all that happen.

John just sat there with soft smile on his face has Luka was going off about the paperwork that he had to get done.

"... I had spend 2 days getting some files updated. 2 days!" Luka snaps. "I swear to god if I have sign another piece of paper I am going lose my shit."

"Heh. That's a shame." said John. "I have loads of paperwork I have when I get back to base, I was hopping you do some of it for me."

He smiles when Luka gave him a glare.

"No."

"Well worth a shote, eh?"

Luka took one last sip of his wine. "Despite how soul sucking the updating the paperwork and failing was: it wasn't." He said. "Creed really saved the day for me. She help with all the rest of the paperwork. So I am basically on top of things.” He is finished his wine and was about to pick his plate and was about to get up John was already too his feet.

“No, no. Let me wash the dishes."

Luka looked up. "Oh, I can wash them. It’s big deal. I can--." He was then cut off when John walked around small table and places his hand onto Luka's.

"Dearest, let me do it."

Luka just blinks and gave him a sweet smile and said: "Alright."

John just smiles and leans in giving his sweet kiss and pick Luka's plate and wine glass and began walking over to the sink.

"What else happen?" he asked, reaching for the dish soap.

"Besides the paperwork… Really nothing. Just same old things."

"Heh. Come now, something must have happen when I was gone for the past 2 months, Pet. Tell me." said John, with a soft smile on his face.

"Um... Okay. I finally finished those two paintings there have been ignoring for weeks, and I through my clutter and clean up art studio."

"Oh. You have show me. What else?"

Luka thought for a moment, began talking about small things here and there, and John just listened taking every dental on what he was saying.

John finally felt more and more relax, and after facing all the horrors that he had face over the past few months, he wanted to feel somewhat human for a bit.

Washing the dishes was a good start and brought him a sense of ease.

However he did still awful about making Luka cry before. After last weeks mission which almost put in his men in bad spot and caused them their lives, making Luka worry too death.

He hated that put so much stress and pain on him. John wanted to make it up to him someone.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." said Luka, standing up. "Laswell and I did meet up about the New recruit from America. Bryce Green." said Luka.

"How is he so far?" asked John.

Luka made annoyed face. "He's an asshole."

John places the last plate onto the rack and turns to look him. "How so?"

"Ahhhh, just some young punk who thinks he's hot shit. I have been helping out training some of the newer recruits, and he's been trying to tell how to do my job. He was recently promoted to Lieutenant before he came to U.K. And he thinks he can call the shots. Pfff ! Jerk…”

John just looked at him, and asked: "Has he been rude to you?"

"Well. yeah. But really he's not the first person to be rube too me. Not a big deal."

John now ever serious said: “If someone is being rube too you, Love, it is a very big deal."

"John, sweetheart, it's really not." said Luka standing up, and walking over to him. "And you really think I'm going to let some idiot get the best me."

"Heheh. No, never." John amused.

"Good." Luka grins and leaning giving him a sweet kiss. John wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer.

After a few moments, they pulled away and Luka said:

"Alright. Now that we are both happy and red, why don't you grab a shower and we both can get ready for bed."

"And if I do so, would you be joining me~?" asked John, with a bit of smirk on his face.

"I-I, um..." Luka stemmed, his a bit red. "I-I... could. I-If you want me too."

"Oh, I do, Dearest.~." John whispers. "And it's an order~."

Before Luka knew it he was swept up off his feet and was hoisted over John's shoulder.

"J-John!?" Luka snapped his face beat red.

"Right then. Let's a have a shower." John said, brightly patting Luka's backside.

"H-Hey! C'mon, you idiot! Put me down! J-John!"

John just humming to himself as he was carrying Luka, who gave up, and the began making their way up the stairs.

After a whole a John came walking of the bathroom, a towel warped around his middle. He walked across the master bedroom, to his dresser.

As he opens it and was pulling a pair of sweat past and night shirt, Luka came walking out fully clothed and drying his hair with a towel.

"I'll head to shop in the morning." said John.

"I can do it." said Luka.

"Hahah. I insist, Luka." John amused putting on plain white shirt. "Plus I need to pick my cigars. I ran out my favorite brand a few days ago. So it's no problem." He turns to him. "After I'll take you out to dinner too that nice restaurant you fancy so much."

Luka was about say something, then stopped and looked at John. He realize the dark circles under his eyes. Luka didn't notice how exhausted John looked.

Luka starred at him. John watched with for a few moments.

"Something wrong, Pet?"

"... You... just tied." said Luka, walking over and placing his on the side of his face. "I mean really tied."

John felt his chest cliched. "... Is that advice?"

"Yeah..." said Luka. "Look, John... I want you take easy."

"Haha. I am." John said, with a smile on his face. "I've been taking it easy since I got home. I'm fine."

Sighing Luka said: "John, look at me." He places both his hands over his face. "... It's just me. Sweetheart, okay? It's only me."

John's eyes widen as his blue eyes looked into those handsome brown eyes.

"You know you don't have it from me... You know that."

John felt his lips quivering when he heard Luka say that. Without saying a word, he pulled him into arms. Luka wraps his arms wrap John, rubbing the back his head.

The two said nothing for a while.

John rested his forehead against Luka's letting a shallow breath, he was breathing heavily.

"... I would go absolutely mad if I didn't have you."

Luka just smiles, and gave him a kiss.

"C'mon. Let's get some sleep."

John just gives a sweet smile and nods. "Roger that."

"Honey, no soldier talk when you're home."

"Roger that, dear."

Luka just gives John an annoyed expression, who just him a soft amused expression, then two began getting for bed.

As soon as John's body hit the mattress it suddenly hit him all at once. His body felt more heavier than he remember. It was everything that happen over the past 2 months had finally weighted down on to him. He could not remember the last he felt this.

He lets out low groans has he felt himself skinning into the bed.

Luka laid down right next to John, and pulled the blankets over him. John lets out long huge yawn rubs his eyes.

"Bloody hell... I-I didn't realize how tied I really am..." He lets another yawn and reached his arms out too Luka. "Come here."

Luka smiles, and cuddles up next to John resting his head on his chest. As he did that John wraps his arm around him, taking his left hand into his and gently kissing his knuckles.

"I have truly missed this." John said, softly.

"Me too."

"And... Luka, darling, about earlier... I-I'm sorry if I made you cry."

"... N-no, John, sweetheart... You didn't anything." said Luka. "Let's forget about it and sleep, okay?"

John just hums.

"I love you, John."

John felt his eyes welling up with tears, when Luka said.

How can one person be good too someone like him?

"I-I... love you too, Luka. I love you so much."

John just held him closer, at and the two stayed like that until they both feel asleep.

The sounds of gun shots and people shouting could be heard in his skull. It could see that he standing behind all, as bullets were wizzing past.

He could sound of his men yelling over the radios, and sound of explosions and the walls and building caving all around, the sound yells and shouts of his men began too fading in the background.

John eyes snapped open.

His version was blurry at first and his was breathing heavily as felt his heart his beating against his chest. John eyes wonder and fell onto Luka's peacefully sleeping form, and he felt himself calm down.

John's lets out a sigh of relief. As he took a few moments trying to calm himself a bit. He lifted up right hand and looked at his watch.

It read 1:45 am

"Shit..." John thought, letting right arm slowly fall onto face cover. "... Another fucking nightmare."

He didn't move for after a moment, and tried to go back too sleep but after sometime he couldn't.

Letting out a defeat sigh, John thought about getting some paperwork before he had to go into the base

He slowly and gently as possible got up from bed. As soon he moved Luka lets out a groan and slowly sat up a bit.

"Huh...? What...'s happening...?"

"Shhhhhh. It's just me, Pet. Just going to use the toilet." said John, sweetly.

Luka just nodded and lays back down. "... 'kay, hon. ..." He lays down. "J-Just wash your hands after you're done..."

"Hahahah. I will." said John, with a chuckle.

He sat there, looking down at Luka's peacefully face. John reached out and brushed the bits of hair and just looked at him.

He could not understand. He never understood how a bloke like him ended up with man like Luka.

Too John he was a man among men.

Brave, Selfless, Kind.

A man who can stand his sound ground and can fight back when he needs to.

A true gentleman.

John smiles slowly at down a Luka, and slowly leans down and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Be right back, Love."

He slowly stood from the bed and walked out the bed.

The next morning, Luka was began waking up. He didn't open his eyes at first, but slowly shifted under the covers has he was reaching out for John.

"Morning, honey." He tried feeling for him, but John wasn't lying next him. Now slowly sitting up and rubbing the sleep out his eyes and Luka looked down at the empty spot that right next him.

"... Hmmm... Guses went the store..."

Luka not thinking too much about it, Luka lets out a big sleepy yawn, and pulled the covers off of him.

The bedroom was slightly dark, and wanting to get some sunlight began making his over way too the large square bedroom window that on his side and began pulling back the curtains.

The window looked out to the backyard that had large old stone fence, where small garden bed where there flower bed. Luka looked out, and saw that it didn't snow that much, thankfully, and after few moments he began walking too the bathroom to get ready for the day.

He brushed his teeth and wanted to shave the bit of stubble from his face after cleaning himself a bit, he began walking the dresser where he had left his too charge for the night, and check too see the time.

It was about 8:48 am, and he did see that John had left a text.

*Headed to shop.*

*Won't belong long.

*John*

He was read the text while walking down the walking down the stairs. He began reaching the bottom and walked down the the way that at the end where the kitchen was.

He could someone talking, and can sleep fresh bacon in. Thinking that John had just come home from the store, Luka lets out another yawn and said:

"Morning, babe. Hope you sleep well."

"Well, yes, I did, Sweetumts." said male voice.

This caught Luka off guard, and looked there Kyle Garrick, was standing in front the stove making stable eggs and bacon, he loved over at Luka and gave him grin.

"Oh... Kyle. I didn't expect to see you here." said Luka, then looks at the kitchen table and there sitting was Ghost. He had his mask but was lifted showing his chin and mouth.

He picked up a hot cup of tea and took a sip.

"And Ghost, too. Hey." said Luka, with smile small smile.

Ghost just looks up and nods.

Just then someone came right up behind Luka and said: "Ah! 'here he is. Mornin', Lu."

"AAGH! S-Soap, hello. Good morning." said Luka, turning Johnny MacTavish. "Good too see you."

"Aw, c'mere," said Johnny, and pulled the older man into a hug. "Grea' to see yae, old man."

"Haha. You too, you dumpass." Luka amused, and hugged him back.

As the two broke away Kyle turns his head to Ghost. "Oy, Ghost, mind takin’ over cookin’ for me?"

"Sure." said Ghost, who stood up and walking over to the stove, has Kyle rushed over to Luka. Johnny stepped a side has Kyle hugged Luka.

"I'm glad you too see all of you." said Luka said, hugging Kyle tightly. "Are... you guys doing, okay? After... You know?"

"We're good, mate." said Kyle, pulling away. When he did Luka saw the Kyle had pretty large bandage on the right side of his.

"Woah, Kyle, what happen?" asked Luka, a bit worried, pointing at the bandage.

"Oh, this?" said Kyle, placing a hand over head. "It's just a few stitches from that last mission we head last week. But don't worry, it's healin’.”

"How... How many stitches did you get?"

"5."

“Hm… That… hat's not so bad. Still I think you should Dr. Jones at some point"

Kyle smiles and: "Yes sir."

Luka clears his throat and looks around the room. "Well, since you guys are here, I should at least put on something a little more put together..." He looks down at his PJ's witch was black t-shirt and sweats.

"At least you're not just tighty-whities," said Ghost, the looks at Johhny.

Johnny scoffed. "What are yea implyin', L.T.?

"Ghost is implyin’ too put on a fuckin’ pants, Soap." said Kyle, turning his whole. "No one wants too see you walkin’ around your nothin’ but your underwear."

"What's this 'bout?! A man need to let himself breath down there. Ya lads should understand better anyone!.

"... Y-Yeah, you do have point, Soap, but still I would be caught dead in just my underwear and nothing else." said Luka.

"Oh, Lu, c'mon, lad. No need to feel shame." said Johnny.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!" Snapped Luka, and place over face. "My god... It's too early for this. I'm … going to get dress…”

And he walks over the kitchen.

After a few a bit Luka came walking back downstairs, with dark blue shirt and jeans. As he reach the finally he saw Ghost standing at the bottom.

“Something you need, Ghost?”

“Y-Yeah, been meanin’ to ask.” Ghost said, looking at the kitchen making sure no one was listening. "How has Ellie been when I’ve been away?”

Luka paused at first: "She's fine. She was... emotioanl wreck last when you guess went missing. Hell we both were."

Ghost didn’t say anything just looked at him,

Ghost was looking at him, and lowers his head. "Fuck…” he places his over face.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, Ghost.,” Luka reached and places a hand over shoulder. “It’s okay. She's okay, mostly you and rest of the guys are okay.” He gives Ghost a smile. “That all that matter.”

"R-Righ'." said Ghost, sighing softly. "Sorry. Jus’ needed to ask…”

"Hey, hey. Don't be. I understand." Luka smiles.

"Heh. Thanks, Lu."

"Anytime."

"Oy, breakfast is ready!" called from the kitchen.

"I could 'ave 'elp cook, ya know." said Soap.

"No way in bloody hell I would let you near a stove again."

"Oh, god. Not this again, Gaz."

"Mate, almost bunrt the base kitchen. Twice."

“Be right there!” Luka called and looked at Ghost. “You wanna join us?" asked Luka.

"No thanks. Goin' for a walk." said Ghost.

"Alright." Luka smiles at him, know he was going to see Ellie. He then walk Ghost to door, and open for him. John was walking up the the path way with a few bags in a hand.

He looked up and saw Ghost walking down the pathway.

"You're leaving already?"

"Need to check on somethin'." said Ghost.

John just shrugged. "Enjoy your day off." And he took the grocery bags into the house.

[captainderyn]

Comforting Calls [Fic]

Title: Comforting Calls

Summary: Young, freshly christened Captain Emeldir Deryn doesn't know what to do after his ship is stolen out from under him. Stuck on Ord Mantell, realizing he's in for far more than he bargained for on his first big job alone, panic starts to set in. He does the only thing he can do: calling his mentor and best friend Rielay Taqq.

Cross posted to AO3, but tumblr is stupid and doesn’t like links.

CW: Depiction of anxiety/panic attack

--

The last thing Emeldir wanted to do was make this call. 

Being shot into the void of space, throwing himself in the path of a rampaging Bantha, sitting through a Coruscanti Senate meeting all sounded preferable to pressing the Call button on his holo. 

He pressed his back further into the wall of the alcove he ducked into. Pedestrians passing by gave him odd looks, but ultimately paid him no attention. They were mainly Republic military, scurrying for transports to Fort Garnik. 

Where he was supposed to head, ASAP as Corso had told him. To meet with some man named Viidu. Except he couldn’t breath and he was pretty sure that if he tried to order a taxi there he would pass out. And if he tried to walk there he would most definitely get shot. 

Fuck. This situation was bad. B-A-D in all capital letters. Shit. 

His head made a soft thunk as he pressed his head back against the wall, drawing in a thick breath of the blaster smoke filled air. If only there were some place quiet, like his ship. 

He pressed Call. 

Rielay answered on the first ring. 

Regret immediately sank Emeldir’s stomach to his toes and if the wall swallowed him whole now, he wouldn’t say no. 

Her familiar, ratty black hoodie was on and a Corellian beer was in one hand. That meant one thing: it was one of her days off. And here he was, calling her. Like this. 

“Emeldir? Is everything okay?” 

Whether or not it was a good thing that she didn’t sound too intoxicated yet battled in Emeldir’s mind. Part of him hoped she was too drunk to leave whatever spaceport she was docked at. 

Less than a day. He’d been here less than a day. 

He tried to put on a bright smile, “Yes! Everything’s fine. I just wanted to ah…say hi.” 

It was weak, even to his own ears. Rielay raised her eyebrows, setting down her beer. 

Oh no.

“Are you sure?” 

He squeezed his eyes closed, shoulders slumping. Like it or not, he’d called her for a reason. Because she would know what to do. She always knew what to do. 

But he didn’t want her to fix this. He shouldn’t have made this mistake in the first place. 

Emeldir groaned, giving a shake of his head. 

“Yes…well…no.” 

    Glass hit the floor with a clatter as Rielay leaned forward and she barked a muffled curse, but kept her attention focused on Emeldir, “What happened?” 

    As much excitement came with breaking off on his own as a captain, with his own ship, nothing could undo the four years of comfort that Rielay’s friendship and mentorship brought him immediately. Even though she was liable to kill him when he told her what happened, already his heart rate was slowing. His breath still came in rapid bursts, his voice hitched up at the end, but he wasn’t convinced he was having a heart attack anymore. 

    “There was an anti-aircraft gun here,” He began, and realized his mistake when her eyes widened, body going rigid, “No, not like that, I landed fine--” 

    If what he did could be considered landing. The Phoenix had given one too many protesting groans to count as a smooth landing. 

    What was it Rielay said? A flight you walked away from was a success, a flight your ship came out of was a bonus? That didn’t feel like it still applied because his ship hadn’t come out of it. Not with him, at least. 

    Focus. Emeldir tried to reign the intruding thoughts in. 

    “I disabled the gun and my contact told me that the hangar was being attacked, but instead of coming off the ship after I took out the Sepratists he instead stole my ship and now he’s flown it off planet going stars-knows-where.” 

    It all whoosed out in one breath, as if that would keep Rielay from acknowledging it all. He sucked in a breath. 

    With deadly calm, she asked, “Are you okay?” 

    He flushed, skin prickling like lava instead of skin. His jacket was too hot, too much pressure on his arms. Constricting him. She didn’t look angry, her face wasn’t getting that dangerously red blood-rushing look it usually did. 

    But was that a flicker in her eyes?

    “I’m sorry!” he said quickly, words rushing out. “I fucked up big time, I thought I could trust my contact and…I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry. I’m going to get my ship back, I promise, I know you helped me get that ship and it’s worth a lot of credits and--” 

    And she’d helped him work jobs for the last year and a half to save up for it, helped him find a dealer selling quality used starships and walked him through all the options before settling on this one. She’d helped him paint the stripes on the side to mirror her own ship that he’d worked on for the years before that and--

    “This isn’t about the damn ship, Emeldir.” Rielay’s voice was firm and Emeldir snapped back to reality, focusing on the way she was looking at him over the holo. She had to be on Coruscant or another Core World if the quality was this consistent. 

    “But I--” 

    She cut him off, “Deep breath. Now answer me: Are. You. Okay?” 

    Struggling, he took a very deep breath. Then another. 

    “I’m fine,” he said. For all intents and purposes, he was. Outside of a few scuffs from diving into cover, he had come out of the firefight unscathed. 

    The tension left Rielay and she sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face, “Thank the stars, kid. You almost gave me a fucking heart attack.” 

    He’d lost the ship she helped him get, wasn’t that still cause for a heart attack? 

    It hadn’t even been a year out on his own yet and he’d already fucked up everything beyond belief. 

    His chest was starting to tighten again. 

    “Who stole your ship?” 

Rielay’s question interrupted his impending spiral, “Skaavak. I don’t know his last name.” 

She scowled, reaching out of frame to grab her datapad, “The name rings some kind of bell--do you need me to come to Ord Mantell?” 

Yes. No. Rielay was far more equipped to handle this than he was. But he was Captain Emeldir Deryn now for a reason. He’d signed up for this…mostly. 

“No,” Emeldir scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I want to handle this on my own. I’m supposed to meet with this Viidu guy and Corso--one of the first people I met here--and learn something about a man named Rogun the Butcher…” 

He trailed off as Rielay tensed, giving him a very long look, “Emeldir,” 

She rarely used his name with such intensity. He gulped. 

“Rogun the Butcher is a very dangerous man,” she continued, enunciating each word, “That is one of the most infamous crime bosses out there right now.” 

A potentially deadly drive was settling itself into Emeldir’s bones, “I can handle it.” 

She closed her eyes for a beat. It was the expression that usually preceded her telling Emeldir he was in over his head, “I don’t want to doubt you, kid, but this is a very different world of smuggling you’re getting into. Different than anything else we’ve done together.” 

Hearing that from her, one of the most put together, professionally skilled smugglers he knew, sent his heart skittering again. But the shame that followed considering calling her in to handle it for him overrode it. 

If Rielay could handle it, and she had taught him, then he could handle it too…Right? 

“I didn’t mean to worry you.” he said instead, “I shouldn’t have called you.” 

Called her and interrupted her night by making her realize that the kid she’d taken in and set free in his own ship was a fucking idiot. 

“You can call me anytime, I didn’t just throw you off the ship never to talk to you again.” Rielay said firmly, “That’s not how this works, okay? And for all this…there’s shitty people out there, Em, you just found your first one.” 

She did always tell him he was too idealistic for his own good. 

“I’m going to handle this.” He promised more to himself than her. 

“Okay…” Rielay’s brows were still knit, but she wasn’t poised like she was going to jump off the couch and into the cockpit of her ship anymore. “Be careful out there.” 

Despite the fact that he was only just now getting clarity back into his head instead of rapid spinning fuzziness, he couldn’t help but shoot back, “Yes, mom.” 

“I’m being serious,” Rielay snapped, “You’re getting into some real deep shit. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

Like on Hoth, where he’d been caught out in what should’ve been a deadly storm and separated from her. The scars on his face were still there as a reminder, and he’d bet that’s what she was staring at so distantly now with her lips pressed together. 

“I know.” He softened his voice, “I’ll be careful, and I’ll call you if I need anything.” 

She loosed a breath, “Good. Go whoop their asses and get your fucking ship back.” 

[the-laridian]

for that last oc question meme, the first 4 (im super interested in metamorphosis) for rowan, but also the last question, too! wild card! what even is that?!

True Name: Rowan Dane (no middle name). Given that "rowan" is a mountain-ash notable for its red berries, and that "Rowan" the name has some Irish ancestry, and his surname Dane basically coming from the Viking invasions of the UK, you'd think Rowan would be of Irish stock. He doesn't actually know. How I came up with it: It sounded neat. ;) I had an SF character with red hair named Dane years ago, and played around with a few variants of the first name (Roman, Ronan) before settling on Rowan. I didn't realize I had two characters named for trees (Rowan and Willow) until someone pointed it out to me.

Portal. What is a crossover you've done/thought about for this character? Lordy, what haven't I done? Off the top of my head, Rowan's been in Mob AU, Hippie AU, 1960s AU (different from Hippie, 1960s was the granddaddy of the AUs), etc and all of these have involved @the-lastcall's character Will as Rowan's kid sister. We are actually cowriting the "Crossover" project which started all this, when Will ended up in Rowan's Halcyon.

Softly. Describe one of their dreams, good or bad (with proper warnings). Bad Trip features a few of these, and generally, Rowan remembers the bad dreams more because they're more common. Anxiety and depression play a big part in that. His dreams tend to be surreal as well as unpleasant. If he gets the right medication/treatment, that will help a lot.

Metamorphosis. Has this character evolved/changed since you first conceptualized them? Rowan's character was built heavily off of game stuff at the start; I chose his origin/backstory (janitorial) based on the effects it gave, and his time-skipping/dissociation comes from me being really, really bad at TTD. (I keep trying to use it like VATS.) But as I wrote him, I realized he was remarkably articulate for his original background (poor, lonely and unpleasant upbringing, etc) so I came up with the idea that he took refuge in the library as a kid, and loved reading, and did strive to better himself over time. Then, of course, he watched a lot of movies and TV all through his life, and paid attention to those and the stories in them, and sometimes attempted to write his own stories. All of this helped him out when he had to start pretending/acting (which is how I get around that holographic shroud game mechanic). In the story, he uses the tossball stick as a weapon, when he does have to use one; in game he's lucky to know which end you hold, and has a specialty in long guns.

Wild card: honestly I don't like "wild card/free space" type questions because dude, the point of these lists is for specific asks, but here's a free fact about him: his favorite dessert is carrot cake. Sometimes he'd go to the store and treat himself, like on birthdays, to a slice of carrot cake in those clamshell plastic containers.

[wonderinc-sonic]

Aha geddit. Venting. (This one is really really spoiled)

Ok this is not serious but I'm feeling. Paralysed. Because everyone in my life is trying to be so lovely but they're making me feel not listened to at all.

I've always set a bit of my paycheck aside to travel/ spend time with my partner, plus some just for fun money. I often used it for buying commissions, and I was saving for possibly quite an expensive one.

But with world events, I changed my tack. Still putting aside the money to see my partner - which is the main thing I really want to do - but donating the fun money. And that's fine, I guess I missed the fun money I'd been saving for a bigger present for myself, but it's not that bad. I'm literally going on holiday for a week after my birthday. Like, my life is jammy.

That birthday is rolling around and I literally want nothing. If I really stretch, I need a new pair of cheap sunglasses, but it could honestly wait. I have some long-term-goal savings, but they are beyond birthday and I want to buy them for myself so that my family don't have control over them. Right now, I actively want less stuff. So I asked for charity donations, so I can really put some money to stuff I care about - my family are all richer than I am by a long shot, they spend double what I do on their birthdays for mine.

But everyone is taking issue with this. I thought it would just be my partner, but my sisters and my parents all trying to buy me some kind of tat:

Can I get you a candle? No! I don't burn them because I'm forgetful! And don't get me soap and shower stuff, I'm allergic to all but the bar ones, and have no dry place to stock them up.

Can I get you new clothes? I just chucked out 1.5 wardrobes of handmedowns. The fact that I still have plenty of clothes tells you all you need to know about my clothes hoarding!

Can I pay for a meal for you? Fam I am in a bad way with eating as well you know. I can't normally eat in public, especially when there's pressure and lots of people around. You're giving me an anxiety attack for my birthday.

So now I'm thinking I'm just gonna ask for money for the holiday I've already bought myself and donate it myself, then lie and say I spent it on a day out. Because nobody is listening. They're very sweet, really, but I don't even like gifts on my birthday, it's too much. I actively want them to make charitable donations. I don't know why this is so hard. I don't need a lecture from everyone about allowing myself things - if I wanted things I would get things! I'm so damn privileged for my age! I am sick of being lectured and pressured into wanting crap, when it's all crap!

I already gave up the shit I really wanted - which is always nice sonic art and commissions, now - and there's no way any of them would buy those for me anyway. So just get me nothing, if you think charity is a waste, but don't tell me I should want things I literally don't need! I have baskets full of wool. Buckets of colour pencils and crayons and crafts and nice paper. I have shelves of books and hours of games that I don't play. I cannot stress enough how spoiled I am. I don't want another day of treating myself. My whole life is a treat! Meanwhile, 2000 miles away people are dying of starvation if missiles don't get them quicker. Why am I being treated like the one with a problem for wanting less of that happening for my birthday?

Anyway I brought up my paycheck when I started this post because when I mentioned that while trying to convince my boyfriend he got genuinely cross with me. He says it's ridiculous self-sacrifice and I'm trying to be a martyr and I just- what? Sorry, the martyrs of this world; 25yos who can't buy a digital picture of Omega in a tutu with a bubble gun. God, I have the hardest life! I stopped buying coffees that make me shit myself at work. I'm the real victim here!

It's the same argument as when I said I don't wanna take planes for the environmental impact. He - and everyone - acts like I'm cutting out a huge part of my life, my right to holidays? Come the fuck on. We sound disgusting.

I do get that individual contributions to all these things pale in comparison to the big corporations' impact. I know that lobbying and boycotting could be more effective tools for change than my personal contributions. But I'm not going to marches because I don't handle the crowds, and I'm not a debater so I don't think I'm changing anybody's mind. I just wish I could explain that doing these things is how I feel like myself, like my morals matter, and like I can feel proud that I stand up for what I believe in. And those are way more important to me being happy than a new pair of cool boots and sunglasses.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Have you ever seen a leech in person? Gah, nooo.

What's the last rebellious thing you done? Uhhh, I don't know. I'm not the most rebellious type of person.

What's the most important lesson you've learned in the past year? You would think it would be not to ignore or neglect things and take better care of myself before shit gets really bad, which yes, I have been making some changes, but for some things it's a lesson learned a little too late and has caused major setbacks. There's also things I should/could be doing but aren't because I just can't seem to get my shit together. It's a real struggle right now to say the least. I can't seem to do enough. It's scary.

Do you own any tiny versions of larger things? Yeah. I love that kind of stuff, it's so cute.

What are 2 things you'd tell your child self that you wish you would've known then? Just take care of yourself. A lot of things could have easily been done to prevent some of what led up to this. I was just negligent and stubborn and lazy. I thought I could ignore some things and they'd just go away or that they weren't that important and I'd be fine.

Did you used to play hopscotch? No.

Have you ever seen a musician live? Yeah, I've been to a few concerts.

What's the first letter of your best friends name? Y.

Do you have anything monogrammed? Yes.

Did you sleep well last night? I never do. That would be nice, though.

Do you ever remember your dreams? Very rarely.

When is the last time you checked your mail? I'm not the one who gets the mail, one of my parents or my brother takes care of that. Anyway, the last time I received something in the mail was a couple days ago.

Do you have strong opinions about religion? Yes.

Are there any popular dance moves you are good at? Ha, no. I can't dance.

Have you ever seen a flash mob in person? No, but that is something I'd like to see some time.

Do you ever attend protests? No.

Have you ever struggled with acne? Yeah, during high school and a bit during my first few years of college. It kinda just sizzled out, thankfully, and now I get like a couple here and there once in awhile.

Did you enjoy High School Musical when it was a thing? Yes.

What's the last thing you threw away? Food wrappers.

Do you enjoy staying in hotels? I love it.

Have you ever ran down a hotel hallway? Yes. That was back when I had energy and strength to do that.

Have you ever shot a gun? Once. I went to a shooting range with some friends several years ago and gave it a try.

Are you from the south region of your country? I'm on the west coast.

What color is the shirt you wear most often? In general, majority of my clothes are black.

Do you enjoy going on walks? No.

Do you know anyone who has a crush on you? Haaaa. No.

When was the last time you rode a carnival ride or roller coaster? During our Disneyland trip back in February 2020. It was just a couple weeks before the world shutdown and everything changed.

What's your favorite shade of green? I like various shades of green.

Do you have any outdoor allergies? I do.

What did you last break? I don't recall.

Have you ever joined a moshpit? Nooo. Nothing about a mosh pit sounds like a good idea for me.

Do you consider yourself to be old-fashioned? In some ways, yes.

What cover do you think is better than the original song? Hmm.

Would you ever like to learn belly dancing? No.

How is your day going? It's only 3:35AM, but today is doctor appointment day and right now with how things are going these days just brings added stress, depression, and anxiety. Why do I need to go again? I already know what will be said, which is the same thing as the past few weeks. I need to muster up the energy for that? Nah, I'd like to just stay home. Sigh.

Are there words you struggle pronouncing? Yeah.

What's one of your favorite memories related to an animal? Memories with my doggos growing up and currently. My little Leia has been extra sweet during this time. She's been spending more time in my room with me. It's also a bit worrisome because dogs sense things, so my anxiety-ridden self can't help but think like, "are you just being loving and comforting or do you know something I don't? …."

How many people have you been around today? So far, I've just been around my mom. Later on I'll be around her, my dad, my brother, my doctor, my nurse, likely a couple people in the waiting room, and people at the store if I feel up to going.

Do you suffer from any mental illnesses? Yes.

Have you ever had to have a tooth cut out? I've had teeth pulled, yes.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.12)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You might not have made the best first impression on alpha Jung Hoseok, but your love story starts with a jean jacket, a train ticket, and a shitty cup of coffee.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, discussions of trauma, discussions of anorexia, problematic mindsets, manipulative behavior, mentions of guns and gun violence, anxiety, non-verbal characters becoming verbal, brief blood, mentioned sexual assault, coercive rape, and emotional abuse. 

W/c: 10.2k

A/n: sorry i’ve been a little absent recently! i didn’t have as much time to edit this chapter as i would have liked because of events in my personal life. so if it seems a little less polished than usual thats why!

Previous part — Masterlist

You should have expected it would be one of them. Should have, because if you think about it too hard you can feel the panic already tugging down your mating mark. The sudden and urgent anxiety that tells you Yoongi is awake, and that he knows that you’re gone.

But really, Hoseok snuck up on you. You’re twitchy on a good day and neither of you can be held responsible for what happens.

You whip around when his hand touches your shoulder, The racing panic makes your hands shake when you pull the gun out of your pocket in one fluid movement and back up, foot treacherously balancing on the edge of the platform. If you were any less aware of your center of gravity you'd fall down the 6 feet and to the tracks below.

“Holy shit!” Hoseok has quick reflexes, ducks out of the way of the gun the second he registers it's being thrust in his face. It takes you a second to realize what (or more importantly who) you’re looking at.

At least the gun doesn't actually go off. You just stand there pointing it at him for a second. Hand sweaty on the metal. Heart thundering in your ears louder than an oncoming train. faintly rumbling down the tracks. 

It takes another second for you to summon your words, too sluggish. A moment where Hoseok looks up at you with wide and terrified eyes, like you're the monster here. “What the actual fuck are you thinking!?”  

“Hoseok?” you say in disbelief. A look of surprise etched on your face underneath the hood of what can only be Yoongi's sweatshirt.

Hoseok’s heart is pounding in his ears, in time with yours. “Yes! Now would you put that away!? How the fuck do you even have a gun?!”

“Its Jimin’s” you lie easily as you tuck it back into the waistband of your pants. “He gave it to me to feel safer.” Hoseok remains sprawled on the concrete, looking up at you with wide fear-ridden eyes, you offer him a hand to pull him back up but he eyes it warily. Pulling himself back up onto his feet, Pajama pants pooling on the concrete, Converse scuffing.  

“What are you doing here?” he says slowly, whispering into the night air softly, not stepping closer.

Right now there is only Hoseok and those streetlights, the only stars that city kids know. His face looks stretched by the shadows, thin in a way that you understand better than anyone else. Maybe it's that feeling that makes you able to speak now.

You’re on your own, you don’t have Yoongi to be your voice and your hands to and you won’t ever have him again to rely on. Even Hoseok can see the way you hold yourself like you're inherently fragile, shoulders hunched. 

Maybe tomorrow will be better, maybe tomorrow you won’t have to speak but Hoseok- Hoseok could call them. Could keep you here, and you don’t know if you hate the idea of that or if you’d run headfirst into their arms in relief at this point.

Somehow you still hear Geumjae's voice in your head: You're such a baby, needing them so bad, such a bother. Small things that eventually escalated into harsher sentiments; you're useless, you're worthless.

Your brain mimics the hurt you felt before- rushing to wound where you're already bleeding; they're glad that you're going, you should already be gone. You should already be dead, who were you to survive, did you even really make it? Your brain is a mess of the endless aching fear that maybe you’ll never be able to run from.

Hoseok's concerned face cuts through your spiral, makes you feel more human and less like a ghost.

“Come on Hoseok, you’re not dumb. You know this had to end one of two ways.” you gasp, because that's the truth that no one was willing to say; that either he accepted you and you stayed, or you’d continue to cause a rift between all of them until it tore them apart, and they became two packs instead of one.

You don’t know if he thinks of love the same way that you do, but you love Yoongi enough that you won’t let that happen. You won’t let him lose the pack because of you.

As much as you hate to admit it, Hoseok doesn't look like your enemy standing near you on the platform, eyes wide and lips parted as he stares at you in disbelief. Though for all intents and purposes, he might as well be, certainly not an enemy, but friendly fire. "What!?"

“Don’t blame me for creating a better option for Yoongi. Of course I have to leave, what the fuck did you think was going to happen?” He looks like you’ve just slapped him, and he watches, horror swallowing him as the train starts to pull into the tracks, and you have to step closer to him by default.

The closeness only lasts a second. You keep a healthy distance between the two of you. And Hoseok watches your shoulders press up almost to your ears like you’re preparing yourself for the possibility of him yelling at you.

The wind buffers the two of you; the train’s breaks screeching loud and high pitched; shrill like a scream. It’s not like the usual trains that blow through this station; this one is an Amtrak- here to take you not just one town over but cities and lifetimes away.

A whole new life is at your fingertips, in your train ticket tucked into the pocket of Yoongi’s sweatshirt. And you don’t want it- you’d never want it but it’s your only option now.

To be honest, you’d think about killing yourself otherwise. But unfortunately or fortunately (depending on your perspective) your mating mark keeps you tethered to this life. You would never doom Yoongi to the heaviness you feel, lungs aching. You can’t remember the last time you breathed easy. You are already a ghost and Yoongi is a house you can haunt no longer.

“What the fuck are you thinking? You can’t leave!” He's half angry and half scared. You don’t respond, the doors of the train open with a huff of compressed air, you turn away and walk towards them. Done with the conversation.

You try to get on, and Hoseok grabs your wrist gently. Hoseok feels his phone buzz in his pocket and doesn't reach to check it, this is too important. You don’t wrestle your wrist out of his grasp, the twin picture of what you were earlier this evening but with your positions reversed. Hoseok’s skin on yours doesn’t burn; you don’t feel anything at all when he touches you. "You can't- you can't do this to them. You can't do this to me."

Your head whips around, lower lip quivering before you gets out the words. “You’re in no position to say that to me Hoseok.”

“The pack always helps each other work through things, you’d have to learn now- if you ever learn.” Namjoon's words do little to sway you, probably because Hoseok can only parrot them and their sentiments.

"Then all the better, This is for their own good."

He’s scrambling looking for something, anything to keep you from getting on the train. If you go he’s not sure that he’ll ever see you again. Yoongi will be devastated by this. He’ll be wrecked, inconsolable. If Hoseok cares about you- it's only because Yoongi does.

If he needs to be the villain to keep you here, if he needs to act like every bit the pig alpha you think he is then he will. Because if there's one thing Hoseok has learned about you it's that appealing to your own self-worth won’t work. He doesn't care if it makes him look selfish.

"If you go, who do you think they'll blame? Certainly not Yoongi," because that's the harsh truth isn't it. If you go, it would only lead to more resentment between the two of them. The fight will be easily forgiven, but pushing you so far that you go right out the door won’t be. This is his fault and Yoongi will blame him for it.

It has the opposite effect that Hoseok hoped it would. At that you turn, rolling your eyes at him and spitting your vitriol.

"No they wouldn't- they love you Hoseok, they don't love me. Don't you dare stop me from doing the one decent thing I've done since I came here."

The lights in the train flicker, a businessman pulling a suitcase pushes past the two of you, eyes lighting when he hears your conversation. The smell of angry alpha and an omega fighting interesting but he’s Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Hoseok doesn't bother to leash his growl, Properly chastised, the stranger ducks away- minding his own business.

Hoseok waits until he’s trotted down the platform. His voice a low hush, the train breathes behind you, adjusting to its spot on the tracks, a few minutes of refueling before it pulls away.

"Why speak to me now? You’re not a coward so why are you running away now?" Hoseok will say anything to keep you talking, the longer you're here on the tracks the greater the probability he stops you from going altogether. Lower lip quivering, smelling like a rainstorm with No hint of your sweetness.

You look like Hoseok had looked, that day by the coffee shop that Yoongi had offered him a place in his home and unknowingly a place in his heart. He can’t offer the same to you right now- not without it feeling inauthentic.

Your leaving will hurt the others. That's the only future that Hoseok is trying to avoid. But he’s also curious, Today is the most he’s ever heard you speak and it feels like a switch has been flipped. You’re talking, arguing even which is a massive change. He repeats his question, anything to keep you here for just a few more minutes. “Why are you suddenly talking? After weeks of muteness, why now?” 

He can only see half of your face in the light of the train, you look gaunt, like you’re about to melt into the shadows and become one, nothing more than a Specter and a ghost in their lives. Even if you leave tonight- Hoseok knows you won’t really be gone. Your shadow will follow him in perpetuity if you get on this train.

"Because I'm only afraid of one alpha in the entire world, and you're not him Hoseok."

He's scrambling at straws, your foot is already inside the train, he won't grab you back but he can't let you get on it. For Yoongi’s sake, for the pack’s sake. 

"We're both in pain, we're both grieving and we don't understand each other not yet. And we won't ever understand each other if you get on this train. Don’t you want to get better?”

Over the loudspeaker, they announce that the northbound Amtrak will depart in 3 minutes. Hoseok Doesn’t give you time to answer, badgering you with questions.

"If you leave now- you won't ever be able to heal, and you’ve got to want that, or else you’d already be gone." You and Hoseok are the only two people left on the platform.  

That he’s right about, and in truth- you’ve only stayed for Yoongi. He’s going to be devastated that in the end, he couldn’t save you. Not in a way that mattered. A life alone is not the life that your mate wants for you, that much you know.

"And you think you're the model of a healed victim?" you don't infuse your words with scorn like you could- they're just honestly curious. Does he? What does Hoseok see when he looks in the mirror? (Nothing, other than someone trying desperately to be worth loving)

"No I don't, but I think one day we both could be."

Maybe the words are half a truth and half a lie. Because really- Hobi doesn't know for sure. The conductor chooses that moment to come around. Both of you straighten up, and subconsciously or consciously you shuffle closer to him, subtly putting Hoseok in-between yourself and the newcomer.

"Are you getting on miss?"

As a last-ditch effort, Hoseok changes his tune. “If you still want to get on, in an hour, I'll let you go.” Hoseok makes the promise. And he hopes he’s not wrong to take this bet. "Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can't- then I'll let you go, and  I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took."

Because that is something he’d do, he’d Implore hoseok to tell him, beg, scream and shout.  Yoongi would do anything to find you again. To track you down just to talk to you- just to see you and make sure you were safe.

Hoseok watches, and there is a small moment before your shoulders relax and he knows he’s won. You shake your head, stepping back onto the platform. Putting Hoseok firmly in between yourself and the conductor. You might be comfortable talking to him now, but strangers still scare you.

"She'll get the next one" Hoseok tells him. It's too late at night for the conductor to want to put up a fight and he nods and continues on. The train departs the station before you’ve gotten to the stairs, yellow lights of the cabins dimming to a low blush over the dark tracks as it pulls away into the night.

The 24-hour coffee shop is one that Hoseok knows well. Knows from years coming here before Yoongi left. It’s the same one that Jin and Yoongi used to work for back when they first met. It's remained a date spot despite them quitting because the owner gives the whole pack free drinks regularly. He's not in tonight; it's just a leggy youth who turns the loud rap music down when the doorbell clangs.

The coffee shop has a cozy and warm atmosphere with several glass cases of finely made pastries at the front, glittering pastel treats that are probably reheated in the back. Hoseok asks if you want one and you crinkle your nose in response.

You’re the only two people in the coffee shop but you curl into the booth at the perfect vantage point to see everyone that might come in, your black backpack sits on the inside seat. Hoseok eyes it warily. He’d seen you tuck the gun into the front pocket. He wonders if you’d ever been trained to use guns or if it's just another thing that you’ve managed to piece together on your own, maybe a remnant of whatever life you’d had before Yoongi and his brother.

Jimin took him to the gun range once or twice before they started courting. The other alpha trying to impress the newcomer- a show of posturing mostly (flirting though, when Jimin had put his body around Hoseok’s and showed him how to hold it correctly, breath hot on the nape of his neck). Hoseok knows the weight and feel of a gun in his hand when the trigger gets pulled even if he’s never had to use one.

Hobi can’t say he likes them or approves of you carrying one. At least he can justify that Jimin is trained to handle one and needs it for his job. But the idea that you have a gun and that you might need it makes him unnerved. People don't get shot randomly at train stations, so why did think you would be?

You order your coffee with 2 extra shots of espresso, and though he knows that amount of caffeine this late at night can’t be healthy. He lets you have it, sliding it across the countertop. 

Hoseok has so many questions now that he’s got you talking, he wonders how many words you have for him tonight, are they like a bank? A set number? Will you run out or will he get to the end of them? He should probably choose carefully what he says just incase.

Hoseok is so lost in wondering what he should ask you that you're the one who speaks first. “Yoongi told me about your last pack earlier, When did you know?” you take a sip of your coffee. Mouth curling around the taste.

Do you taste Namjoon when you sip at your coffee, the same way that Hoseok has come to taste him first thing every morning with every cup? Or is it just coffee to you?

Yoongi telling you doesn’t surprise him especially because he wasn't sure if you already knew. Hoseok is a little glad he did- he doesn’t exactly consider what happened with his last pack a secret. Even the pack tends to talk about it in a cavalier manner because they know it helps Hoseok feel accepted, even if they fall short of real understanding at times. It’s so much harder and more unpleasant to just not talk about it- to try and ignore it and box up his trauma into something thats edible for the rest of the pack.  

“When did I know that I was being abused?” Hoseok tilts his cheek, weighing the words. “I think I always knew I just ignored it because it felt like I was paying for the love I got maybe- I'm not sure. It didn’t hit me for a few months until after I started talking about it with the others and I saw their reactions to the shit I thought was normal.”

In the sallow light of the cafe, you can almost imagine what his face might have looked like when bruises spread across his face- if they ever did- if his abuse was ever the same as yours. But it's not only the physical stuff that leaves its mark. You know that better than most.

Emotional abuse takes and takes and takes. The hole carving its way through your stomach; a hunger for something you can't ever eat is evidence of the damage that it can do. For what is a body other than a vessel for being loved; some would say food is a barrier for that- if you eat too much, less love will end up filling you and while you don't believe that anymore, but it's still hard to change your patterns. Everyone has a different soft spot. 

Maybe that's what his words were earlier- the mark of Hoseok’s abuse. Push people away before they get too close, or use his anger at others to hurt himself and deny himself that care. It’s not morally excusable, but you can't say you don't understand why he said what he did. You know what it’s like to want to be hurt. 

“They'd talk without me and they’d have these secret conversations, they’d go out on dates and leave me home only to dismiss my feelings of being left out, small stuff that just added up. And at the end of it- I was happy if they bothered to kiss my cheek after they were done using me.” he lets out a hollow laugh, “and I even had to beg for that by the end.”

“Using you? What do you mean?”

“They only thought alphas were good for one thing, you know? A stiff knot at the end of the day. I was the only alpha in that pack.” Hoseok doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to relive it in any meaningful way. Words like coercive rape and sexual abuse ring in his ears. He’s not ready to use those words to describe what they did to him, might not ever be. You won't ask, he knows you won't.  

You take a sip of your coffee, what he’s saying doesn't surprise you. Maybe you should feel more sympathy or less to Hoseok. “They should have got a dildo if they wanted a toy, for what it’s worth- I'm sorry that you were treated that way.” Words haunt your ears, your own abuser saying something similar ‘Omegas are only good for one thing.’

You wait a second swallowing your coffee, letting the ache in your throat ease a little. You can feel a little bit of a clawing feeling. Whether that's Yoongi's despair or just your mark acting up you're not sure. It doesn't change where you are right now, or Hoseok sitting across from you.

"Only people like us understand the difference between "I'm sorry that happened to you" and "I'm sorry for you" thanks for saying the first one."

"No problem" your conversation lapses into silence, but the words burst out of you unbidden. “My alpha told me the same thing.” You spit. Hoseok makes a noise in his throat, both understanding and commiserating. Both of you are the same; demons in your closet left from past lovers the same kind of monster. The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop flicker overhead.

“Yoongi’s brother?” Hoseok needs to clarify. You nod, and then tilt your head; letting your anger at Geumjae slide away. Because you can’t Hoseok go on believing what he wants about Yoongi. Yoongi matters more than any vitriol you might spit about your dead abuser.

“You should know that I never asked him to stay- quite the opposite. I tried to get him to go back to you time and time again and he just didn’t fucking listen.”

"Yoongi said the same thing earlier."

thoughts of Yoongi have the ability to make you smile at all hours of the day, even now. “He’s got issues with feeling responsible for mistakes he didn’t make.”

and Hoseok can’t help but grin, that sounds like Yoongi- stubborn when it comes to the people he loves. “Maybe that's something the three of us share.”

You look away, unable to meet his penetrating stare. “I don’t hate you, you know, in case you ever wonder.”

“I don’t hate you either.” The words lift a weight off of Hoseok's chest that he hadn’t realized had settled. His fingers tap on the linoleum tabletop, and behind the counter, the one youth starts some sort of machine that vibrates the whole shop and punctuates the air with a loud hiss, making both of you flinch.

“How did you- how did you get out? Yoongi told me that he offered you a place to stay and that's how you found them but how did you make the choice to leave?”

Hoseok thinks about it for a second. For all his griping and musing on his trauma, the act of leaving isn’t really something he thinks about often. “Did yours ever do that thing where like- they’d do something so obviously manipulative and eventually you got to the point where you couldn’t believe they even tried? Like if you want to use me just treat me as a thing because having thoughts about it is exhausting- I was exhausted; that's why I left.”

 Your eyes light, bright with understanding “All the time! He’d say this shit that just- so obviously showed he didn’t view me as a person and-”

“Do you still feel like a thing? Like you’re somehow less human than everyone else?”

Fear has made animals out of both of you, You and Hoseok share a long angst look, eyes brighter than streetlights pointing home. He sits back, giving another wince, and you look for the source of it. “What's wrong?” Why are you hurting? He shifts again, trying to find a comfortable position. His cheeks light up with the memory of Namjoon’s harsh touches. His cheeks go red.

“Nothing,” he says. When you put your cup down it thuds hollowly already empty.

“How did we end up on the wrong foot?”

“Because I was being a jealous dick, I’m sorry.”

You shrug and Hoseok wonders if it actually doesn't matter or if you’re just dismissing your own hurt. “What is it that they say? No one blames themselves like the victims?”

Hoseok doesn’t have anything else to say to that so he offers, “Do you want another cup?” you sigh and stare at your cup, deciding something in your head that Hoseok can’t parse through just by looking at you.

“Sure.” Hoseok doesn’t say anything and gets up to get you another drink, though this one is notably a hot chocolate and not a coffee, no more caffeine for you tonight. He already doesn’t like the way that you seem to be trembling, shaking slightly, though the jitteriness might just be your ptsd. Hoseok's protective alpha instincts make their show without his permission.

At the first sip, you level him with a perplexed look but after a challenging raise to his eyebrows you relax into the booth.

Together, you watch the street outside, streetlights and cars humming, the smooth concrete reflecting the light in places, everything smudges of acrid red and butter yellow. Spilling into the coffee shop like your emotions did minutes ago, though they’re stilling now- Hoseok’s warmth is tepid.

For the first time, Hoseok is offered the option to look at you unstudied; the tilt of your jaw is delicate, the kind of curve that a childlike hoseok (intent on a useless art degree) would have tried to replicate.

Your cheeks look a little less sallow, maybe a little warmer from the hot chocolate. When you turn your cheek a little farther, a thin line catches the light. A scar between your ear and your cheek that he’d noticed a few times before. he wonders if there are others.

Hoseok doesn’t often feel jealous, but sometimes he wishes he had marks like that- just to remember that what had happened to him had hurt- to have something to show for the years that had robbed him. The sorry truth about abuse is that it kills you- even if you’re left alive afterwords. Whoever he’d been before the abuse had died between the day it started and the day it ended.

Hoseok’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out, having forgotten it was even in there- that it went off at all when you were at the train station.

His home screen is littered with notifications; calls and texts from their group chat and Namjoon in particular- oh fuck- his first thought is Dom drop, concern for the pack alpha that bleeds into his fingers. Until he thumbs through the messages, skimming them. He stills when he reads the lines and lines, panicked texts from Seokjin and Namjoon, the whole pack. Yoongi too, so many from Yoongi, over 50 messages.  

The last message is one from Jin; “we can’t find her, Jimin and Tae are searching by car. Namjoon and I are over at their house keeping Yoongi calm. We let Koo sleep but Hobi- if you get this come help, Yoongi’s going crazy.”

Hobi’s fingers hover over the ‘compose message’ section of his screen. His eyes flicker up to you. Instincts are a fickle thing to Hobi, not like Namjoon and Jimin- who more often than not bend to the will of their instincts.  Hoseok doesn't feel them often- but when he does, he listens to them. Jin's words ring in his ears "As long as you’re sincere she won’t mind, she’ll believe you. She just likes honesty."

Hoseok has had enough of lying to himself and to you.

He slides it across the table to you, open to the string of text messages. You turn your body in the booth, pulling your knees up to your chest, and lean against the table, fingers thumbing through the texts. The farther up you scroll, the wider your eyes get.

“They’re looking for me?” You sound so surprised, almost quiet like you don't dare to hope that they are. What? Did you honestly think that they wouldn’t that they’d let you go? That they hadn’t accepted you into their ranks so easily?

“Of course they are.” Hoseok looks at the phone and smiles. Though it feels a little awkward on your mouth, lower lip twitching. “They want you safe.”

Your voice is so quiet, that Hoseok doesn't know if you even mean him to hear what you say. “I don’t know if I can feel that again.”

“I thought so too before them. But with them- you don’t have to trade your feelings of safety for being loved.”

You pull your knees closer to your chest, a clear presentation of nesting instinct. You shouldn't do that here- you should do it home. Where you can really curl up and nest with your pillows and other blankets, .

“I can’t promise that if you stay, I'm going to be perfect, or that I’ll never slip up again, but I don’t believe what I told you. What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Just like what happened to me wasn’t mine."

“It’s so easy to place the blame on yourself, and tell yourself you should have done better, should have acted differently isn’t it?”

“Yeah” Hoseok scratches his chin, “I’ll be honest, and sometimes the pack doesn't get it.” His peach fuzz is starting to grow in. And it makes a noise a little against his fingernails.

“Everyone but-“

“Jin,” you say at the same time, only to laugh because yeah, Jin does tend to know everything related to trauma and recovery as well as personally invested in the wellbeing of the whole pack. Even you’ve gathered that in your short time with them.

Hoseok lets out his first genuine laugh of the night, your shoulders twitch and your lips lift, and Hoseok feels a little bit like he’s seuceding in this. “They’re not perfect- but they do try.”

You turn over his words, silence greeting you. Hoseok finishes his cup and doesn’t buy himself another one. Still watching you and Letting the phone buzz on the counter between you. Messages from Jimin and Tae- talking about a fruitless search in the city streets and which roads they’ve driven down and which ones they haven’t.

You wait a few more seconds, the light on the streets seems somehow brighter and the clouds overhead clear for a moment. If it weren’t for the light pollution you might be able to see the stars.

In the end, it's your decision, not Hobi’s, not anything he presses you to do, and he can see the decision work your way through you.

They’re looking for me, they want me to stay; and simple truth, that the alpha sitting across from you in the sticky linoleum booth wants you to stay too. Maybe that's all you needed to know in the first place.  

Your hands shake as you slide the phone back to him. Your hand loostening where it’s hovered for most of your conversation fisted tight on the strap of your backpack.

“Are you ready to go home?” you ask tentatively. Your words are receding, swallowed in the wake of your decision. Your voice cracks but Hoseok has never felt more valiant.

“Yeah, let's go.”

He doesn't text them, doesn't betray you yet. Maybe you only needed a little encouragement to stay and now that you’ve gotten it it will all be okay. Hoseok makes a mental note to tell the others that you might need a little more positive reinforcement going forward.

You hover closer as you both sink into the shadows. Hopping from puddle of light to puddle of light, streetlight to streetlight. Tossing your cups into a nearby bin as you go.

The streets are empty of cars this late at night but not empty of people. A bar must have just let out, because alphas stinking of booze and omegas sweet with inviting pheromones are leaking onto the streets. You and Hoseok bounce from the sidewalk and back to the street to keep your distance. Hoseok almost wants to put himself between you and anyone else.But he thinks better of it when he sees your shoulders hunch; you can handle yourself.

After all, you're the one with the gun.

Hoseok doesn't know how he forgot. He’s not really pissed that you pulled it on him (not entirely convinced that he didn’t deserve it to be honest) but maybe one day he’ll ask for an explanation of why you had it. Not tonight- no- for the rest of tonight Hoseok will let you rest.

Your body gives a shiver at a sudden breeze; it’s so visceral in the way that Hoseok sees it shake through you that he can't not ask. “Are you cold?” he can almost tell that you’re going to say you’re not. But then you bite your lip.

“It’s not a cold thing it's more a PTSD thing.” your adrenaline is going down, you can tell it in the way that the haze is stopping. You wouldn't say you've dissociated the last 4 or 5 hours, but it's not- not a dissociation. You can't tell if you lack the words to describe what you're feeling or if there just isn't a good way to verbalize it.

Hoseok sees you start to tremble violently one second and then watches you go unnervingly still the next. Hoseok waits, sensing another sentence tacked onto it. “During triggers or times of flight or fight your body will reallocate blood flow to your major organs as a way of making sure they function properly.”

“So that’s what that was” Hoseok puts his hand up against a streetlight, silhouetted. “Did you learn that from therapy?”  You scoff, and he grins, unable to keep it off his face because- yeah- therapy really isn’t a thing that either of you has pursued.

“Nah it was the internet- also makes you-“ Hoseok watches, a second too far away with his poor reaction time as your foot catches the side of the concrete lip and sidewalk. 

You catch yourself but only just barely before your face fully collides with the ground, Broken glass glitters on the sidewalk like little stars, especially under your hands, “oh shit- y/n-“

“-Numb” you finish, word muffled, your chin got a little scrape on it but as Hoseok helps you up it’s your hand that you stare down at. You’re bleeding, a shallow gash across your palm. Your blood stings acrid in Hoseok’s nose, he leads you over underneath a streetlight.

“Let me see” Hoseok very carefully picks a piece of glass out of the shallow graze; very neatly across your palm it’s almost like-

Your grin is brittle; maybe it would be warm if it weren’t so cold, uncommonly cold for a night in mid- June. You realize it the same second he does. “We’ve got cuts in the same spot” he sets his palm next to yours and truthfully- it probably looks the same- the continuation of a similar wound- he’d be able to tell if his hand wasn’t still bound by Namjoon’s bandages.

 He watches you bleed, and the the blood drip onto the concrete. Feeling something in his head spinning. He’s not usually faint at the sight of blood, but that’s probably because it’s yours. You wipe the blood off on yoongi’s sweatshirt. Luckily its black, Hoseok makes a noise in the back of his throat. 

“I’ve had worse, it’s fine.” Somehow that doesn’t make Hoseok feel any better.

Hoseok takes his jacket off and plops it onto your shoulders. The jacket is rough and warn in at the hem. It smells like Hoseok- like a mix of caramel and maybe a little cinnamon- though that spiciness is probably just Tae. The jacket smells a bit like every member in the pack. The same way dens do. He must not wear it often if it smells like their apartment.

You hold it tight around your shoulders. “I could get blood on it.”  

“It’s fine.”

“You’ve got to be cold.”

Hoseok is cold, but if anything it only makes him walk quicker. “Let’s go home then so I can stop being cold.” He doesn’t turn back, but somehow he knows you’re smiling. It's small and shy but it’s still a smile. Hoseok can feel the weather changing on his tongue. To him- it tastes a lot like hope.

He’s so struck with the idea that he doesn’t notice when his own foot misses the ledge and he goes down seconds later.

Your laugh skitters and sputters, like that scene in howls moving castle- the one that’s Taehyung’s favorite- when the stars skip and die in the surface of the lake where the castle is parked. Hoseok doesn’t fall as bad as you, he only has to flick his hands to clear them of dirt and debris. Though the skin still aches with the memory of falling. you hold out a hand and he takes it, letting you pull him up.

“You’re an asshole for laughing at me for that,”

“Well you victim blamed me earlier so I think I’m allowed.”

Hoseok can’t not return your laugh, god- this feels better from where you where, now your insults are all playful and leashed, a smile trailing behind them. he makes his voice sound purposefully silly when he says “You’re such a fucking omega.”

“That’s rough to hear from a bitch ass alpha” Hoseok’s laugh joins yours. chest hurting, aching with it. 

The walk has gone so quickly while you talked, you’re almost home. Your street is barely lit as you pad down it. You hover closer to each other but not quite as close as you might walk to Seokjin or Jimin. Close enough to Hoseok that he could reach out and hold your hand, and would if you were one of the others. 

Every house on the block has dark windows accept for yours; every single light is on in your house. There is even a light on in the unfinished attic, the space gleaming behind the tarps.  

You pause out front, looking into the house, a figure you can see silhouetted behind the curtains. Namjoon’s car is in the driveway, and you think you can hear tense and raised voices.

Now, you’ll get to see the house in its finished state, it won’t stay the hunk of rotting wood and old-fashioned fixtures like it is now. You’ll get to put in your opinion on what it should look like and be able to put a fresh coat of paint here and there and now- now you’ll get to wait and watch it become home. 

Maybe you'll even get to see them move in one day. It doesn’t escape you that even Hoseok referred to it as home earlier.

Your footsteps slow on the sidewalk, until you’ve stopped all together, Hoseok looks back, stopping a step after you do. “Can you do something for me?” you ask, voice thick, eye sparkling with tears because- you can't believe you gave up on this.

Hoseok nods, he looks tired, but also alive when he looks at you a smile constantly playing at the edge of his mouth. And you think- not for the first time tonight, that Hoseok is probably the most alike you in terms of everyone in the pack. Maybe all you really needed to stay was that, a little bit of deeper understanding. 

He said he craved it with them earlier- that they fell short. Maybe, just maybe, you could give him that.

But love can be a fickle thing, know too much about a person and you might not love them at all- and know too little and you might delude yourself into thinking that fondness and infatuation is love.

You slide the train ticket out of your pocket and hand it to him. Hoseok flicks the edge with his long fingers. You don’t know how you never noticed it before but he’s got thin bird-like bones, delicate and pretty though you guess he’s always been sort of pretty for an alpha- hell even Jungkook looks like more of an alpha than him. But you’re beginning to think that almost everyone in the pack breaks the original stereotypes that you had for them.

“This is valid for another year you know?” and it is, the ending date exactly a year from tonight is printed on the back.

“Hold on to it for me? If I need it I’ll-”

Hoseok nods, sliding it into his wallet; “you can get it from me.” Hoseok doesn't mention if he'll let you go then, or if he'll try to talk you out of it. You’ll cross that bridge when you come to it.

(You don’t know that that strip of paper will come to mean so much to the two of you, a representation of the commitment you not only share with each other but to staying- to trying and continuing to try even when it feels hard.)

Maybe you’re too similar to ever fall in love, but you’ve got a feeling that maybe, in the future you’ll be able to try.

Yoongi’s eyes are tear-filled and bloodshot when he hurls the door open at the first sound of footsteps on the porch. His hair is splayed like he’s been running his hands through them, cheeks tearstained and tacky with dried salt.

He hurtles into you, Namjoon and Jin staring sheepishly behind as Yoongi sweeps you into a bruising hug, as firm as he can make it without actually hurting you. Pulling back after a second to cup your cheeks, forehead pressed to yours. 

The cross set of his jaw ticks as he stares, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. He’s never been angrier with you than he is right now, and he has every right to be. 

“You freaking dick. You asshole,” he says, the last word strangled by a sob, but he's also just simply thankful that you're here. That you'd come back.

Yoongi has only truly panicked three times in his life. The first time was when Jungkook had a seizure in front of him, that dinner and first meeting so long ago. And second; the night that Geumjae took you. Tonight is the only other event that vies for a top spot.

“You’re an idiot.” Hoseok watches Yoongi’s hands smooth up and down your back, sees the confusion, and then the realization that you're also wearing Hoseok's jacket over it. 

You laugh, a little wetly, tears pressed into his scent gland because oh, you’d missed him. You’d only been gone for a little while and yet- you missed him so fucking much. You don't know how you would have ever managed to stay away. If you would have been able to stay separated from him for very long at all.

Hoseok sighs out his frustration and his fear, letting it go fully now because yeah- he did manage to get you here- to get you back- he’s done the job of a good alpha. He feels relieved and fulfilled that he's started to make it up to Yoongi. Any lingering awkwardness from this morning is forgiven after this. Yoongi is holding you so close that you might as well be one person, makes eye contact with Hobi over his shoulder  “Thank you Hobi, thank you for bringing her back.”

Hoseok can’t do more than grin sheepishly. “I was just- correcting my mistake.” he doesn't catch Namjoon's raise of his eyebrows in his direction. "Now come on, let me in, it's getting cold."

An awkward silence hovers, you and Hobi go to take off your shoes only to realize that everyone else is still wearing them.

The three of you are dimly aware of Namjoon jumping on the phone at the first sight of you. "She’s back, Hoseok's got her." then a pause, "Minnie just go home- go to sleep you don't need to" Namjoon's tone builds into something terser, probably from the hours of panic. "Minnie- if you need to think of it as an order then sure. Go home with Tae. okay, love you- I'll tell her."

But you're barely aware of it- staring at Yoongi as he stares at you. He goes from concerned mate to bristly cat in about 5 seconds once the relief dissipates and the anger returns.

He’s broken when he speaks it, the words reached clean from his chest like an act of violence. Spitting the guts and viscera of his feelings, his heart- his everything onto the floor of your house. “Why the fuck did you leave? Why the fuck did you drop this fucking note and just- walk out of our lives like that? I don’t give a fuck that you were gone for an hour!" your first words fall silent, Yoongi really does know you well if he could guess them as easy as that.

You’d think after today Yoongi still wouldn’t have any tears left, but these come from a hallowed place inside of him. Maybe reading your letter had broken a part of Yoongi that didn’t need to get broken.

"It was just a bad day, I'm sorry I made a rash decision but-"

"Bullshit!" his curse words are percussive, and for the first time you're awarded the ability to look around, the lamp lies broken on the floor, all of the jackets that usually hang on the hooks thrust to the side. The couch cushions are ripped out of place, dining room chairs are upended.

There isn't a lot of real damage done, but as you all firmly make your way into the house the wreckage really greets you.

You won’t really realize it until later, but the only place Yoongi left truly un touched is your nest. Yoongi wouldn't touch that- wouldn't dream of it. But the rest of the house hasn't been so lucky.

Namjoon is wearing his shoes in your house- something he rarely ever does. And that's because of the cookware- plates and bowls shattered onto the ground and crunching underfoot. What is it with the last 24 hours and broken glass?

"I know you- this had to have a deeper meaning to it don't just call it a rash decision" Yoongi knows that you don't make decisions like this without thinking about it, for hours probably. He’s seen you make a pros and cons list about what to bake for the day, no way you just acted without thinking about it.  

Your intake of breath is so shallow that Hoseok almost feels it himself, words soft like you're begging Yoongi for some understanding.

"You cannot honestly tell me you wouldn’t have run back to them as quickly as you could had the circumstance been any different. If you didn’t decide to feel guilty for me; we wouldn’t have ended up together, and I wouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi shakes his head, but he’s still holding you. He won’t let the two of you be parted even an inch after the panic of almost losing you. “You’re still fucking convinced that guilt is the only reason I could fucking want you, and I get that it's not your fault, but it doesn't give you the right to continually throw my love for you back at my feet.”

“I’m not- I just-”

“Well you could have fooled me." the pack hasn't ever seen the two of you fight- from the way you're both crying as you spit these words- meant to hurt each other. It’s a little concerning but also a little funny Maybe because you still haven't let go of each other- yelling at each other a few inches away.

Namjoon and Jin send Hobi a look as if to say, "What did you do to her?" to them- this seems like a real switch of character. Especially once you start hurling insults.

“Oh, you fucking asshole.”

“You know the thing about assholes is it takes one to know one."

Hoseok steps forward at that “oh just quit it already! Both of you need to stop having this fucking competition of who is the most unlovable.” Hoseok’s cheeks are pink, the two of you whipping around. Like you’ve honestly forgotten that there is anyone else here.

Beside him, Jin blinks, like he’s remembering too. The pack omega looks absolutely exhausted, but he still takes control of things “You’re both here now” you nod sheepishly, “are you going to leave again?”

Your cheeks turn down into a pout, “No.”

“Then it’s time to go to bed and table this conversation for another time.” You both sigh, looking at each other- like you’re waiting for the other one to take the bait. It is nearing 3 am. Work is going to be hell tomorrow for Namjoon but the pack alpha won’t leave you alone right now.

You reach up and cup Yoongi’s cheek, wiping the tears off with your thumb. He steps closer to you, his boots crunching over the broken pieces of china. The product of his anger and his despair. “Did you really have to trash the kitchen?”

“No- but in the moment I was too scared to breathe.”

“You don’t have to be scared again” it feels silly, to parrot the words back to Yoongi that he’s said to you countless times- the same sentence that you have never for a second believed when it came out of his mouth. It feels stupid to expect him to believe you now.

Yoongi swallows. Pulling you in for another hug, gentler this time swaying slightly. Your bodies fitting together like bits of a puzzle piece. Namjoon steps forward like he wants to hug you too. But Jin keeps him back with a hand on his chest. “Leave them be- you’ll get your snuggles in a second.” Namjoon shakes his head; he gets a little clumsier this late, his puppy alpha brain slowing. Seokjin gives the orders right now.

Namjoon cleans up the second bedroom for the three of them while Seokjin and Hoseok start to sweep up the kitchen. Yoongi hovers- your present shadow, he can’t stop touching you, can’t physically remove his fingers from you when he’s feeling clingy like this. He almost lost you tonight- really lost you. And a wordless anxiety- the same fear he’d felt when he’d woken and found the bed cold still won’t leave him. It gets worse when his skin isn’t touching yours. 

You’re touching him but it doesn't make him feel any less touch starved. 

Yoongi physically can’t let you go, but he still feels guilty that everyone is cleaning up his wreckage- all that he tore up in his rapid search to find anything- any fragment that might indicate where you’d gone. He shouts protests to anyone who might listen- “come on guys” he says, “just give me a second, and then I'll do that.” But he's steamrolled by Jin’s disapproving glare.

You don't know what he might have seen when you were gone, what kind of panic attack Jin and Namjoon must have talked him through. All you know is that just about anything and everything on the ground floor is rummaged through or broken. And that there is a faint trembling in your mates arms when he holds you.

When it's done- and the shards are cleaned up to the point where no one risks hurting themselves. The rest of Yoongi’s wreckage is left for this morning.  You don’t have any plates left, and you sit on the counter. Still wearing Hoseok’s jacket and Yoongi’s sweatshirt- something that hasn’t been missed by the oldest omega that sends Hoseok several pregnant looks.

Hoseok really doesn’t care, you can keep it as long as you want, fold it into your nest if it makes you feel safer- if it makes you want to stay at all. 

The drawers got emptied onto the kitchen floor, so every fork and knife sits in the sink. He stoops to pick them up, tossing them in with a clang. Hoseok is honestly a little impressed that Yoongi’s anger and destruction was so complete, his melt down must have been of legendary proportions.

Hoseok ignores them in favor of watching you down a few pastries in a cleared section of the kitchen. They’re Your own- from the fridge, Cold little balls of oatmeal and chocolate. Not exactly the healthiest thing, But even Yoongi is surprised that you eat more than one or two.

“Did you really not want anything at the coffee shop because you had better ones at home?”

Your words are muffled through the bread in your mouth, “yepf.”

Hoseok is punchy and sleep drunk, “you’re incredible.”  

You roll your eyes but smile all the while. None of this is missed by the rest of the pack, who watch, almost concerned like they're worried they're going to have to step in. But whatever happened between the two of you tonight has fixed something, or at least realigned it. It’s strange, Namjoon is almost half jealous that he'd gotten you to talk so easily.

You all drag, tired enough that you decide to leave the rest of the cleanup for tomorrow. But before you go Namjoon pauses in the hallway outside your bedroom. You step away from Yoongi and he makes a noise, a displeased grumble, lingering behind you, gripping the edge of the sweatshirt. If he can’t touch you- it’s the next best thing. 

Namjoon gently grips your shoulders, you’re so much smaller than the pack alpha, it should be comical but somehow, it's sweet, how easily you lean into his hands. His palms cover almost all of your back.

Namjoon looks exhausted, but just as relived as Hoseok feels, “You don’t do that again okay? If you have a problem or if you need time you tell us and we’ll give it to you. You can ask for things you know, including distance. It doesn't have to be all or nothing with us.”

You hold his wrist, pressing your palm against his skin tentatively.

You nod, your words apparently all gone and used up finally too tired to speak. You don’t know what tomorrow will look like, but it will probably be a slow day, probably a hard one. Hoseok isn't the only one who makes a mental note of that. your scent is starting to get mucky.

Yoongi pulls you into the other room once everything’s been put back together, the three of them move to get ready for bed there is a box of spare toothbrushes under the sink in the spare bathroom. And Hoseok lingers, brushing his teeth in the hallway.

Yoongi does leave the doors open between your two rooms. And Hoseok thinks that he hears you talking. He can smell the two of you too- close enough to scent the air and note the moment that your scents shift and mellow out from angry rain and ocean to sweet chocolate bread or cake.

That’s also why he hears what Yoongi says to you. Yoongi knows he's there, it's not like he's eavesdropping.  

"I need you to promise me you're never going to do this again, Y/n- please just- just tell me that at least. Even if you don't mean it, even if it's a lie- please-" maybe this is too much for Yoongi to handle in one day, the fight, talking through the past, and now this. Maybe he's a little unhinged. He’s grasping at you while he sits on the edge of your nest, undisturbed, but your clothes heaped on the floor. his large hands dig into your hips like he's trying to use you to make himself whole.

You comb your fingers through his hair. The ache in your chest burns as Yoongi nuzzles close, putting his ear to your chest to listen to your heartbeat.

You make eye contact with Hoseok in the doorway, He’s about to say something, but you give him a small shake of your head. Maybe this is your and Hoseok's secret, a shared little moment of two of you.

The train ticket in his pocket burns. 

"I promise Yoongi." he exhales, can't stop touching you, can't stop dragging his hands up and down your back, each touch reaffirming to him that you’re there, tangible and in the flesh. Hoseok leaves, shutting off the lights in the hallway.

Yoongi doesn't fall asleep that night, even though he desperately needs it. He stays awake holding you. Watching the sun color the sky outside, a light blue that melts away to pretty yellow.

Hobi curls up with Namjoon and Jin, a protective little egg in the center of their arms. Bare chested and bare legged and in nothing but his boxers (Jin took a disapproving look at the stained and trampled hem of his pyjama pants before he got into the makeshift nest), Namjoon rubs his chin slowly on top of Hobi’s head, scent marking him with a low happy grumble.

Hoseok is tired enough that his eyes close the second they hit the pillow and he listens to Seokjin and Namjoon outline the next day; something they do as pack alpha and pack omega. Making sure all their little ducks are in a row so that their perfect pack will run smoothly.

Jin will be the first one to go home the following morning, Hoseok lets the information wash over him. “I’ve got to leave early in the morning to get back to the office in the morning before 7, special meeting. I probably won’t be here when you wake up but I'll ask the pups to come over and help Yoongi clean up.”

“okay, i’ll make sure they’re here before we leave, love you”

“love you” Hoseok mumbles, pink cheeked and buried in their scents, nosing through the covers happily. 

“love you too pup.” Hoseok eases into sleep; he can't say he hates sleeping in the house. He’s used to the noises of an old house settling, the noises of other people in a too-small space. It almost smells like the house he grew up in. Not old enough to smell clean, but certainly not too old. the mattress is comfortable too- free of the usual divots and curved mounds from years of sleeping in the same general configuration. 

It’s kind of funny how quickly it all changes in the morning.

The pack alpha is so firm underneath Hoseok's cheek, his chest moving faintly with soft sleep warm breathes. Rocking Hoseok's body like a boat at sea, asleep still but it's only a matter of time. They both have work and can only remain safely in the remnants of Jin's nest for so long.

Both of them woke up when Seokjin left though Hoseok remembers nothing about what he might have done or said other than the press of Jin’s lips to his forehead. But neither of them expected to be woken up so soon after feeling Jin leave- barely 30 minutes.

It’s not him that wakes them, or the muffled footsteps and sounds in the house say someone is awake. Yoongi’s finally given up on sleep, has set out to make coffee for the three of his loves that are still asleep. Odds are Yoongi is just Hoping he can prolong the inevitable of them leaving and have as many of his pack mates under the same roof for as long as possible.

Hoseok’s phone is still dead sitting on the bedside table, dead and basically a brick. But Namjoon’s buzzes fervently. It's not an alarm but a phone call. That’s unusual, Namjoon isn't on call this week so whatever medical emergency it is, isn't his responsibility.  

Namjoon’s voice is still sleepy when he picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Don’t you hello me you motherfucker!”

The shock of those words has Namjoon blinking awake. Registering the sound of voices on the other end of the line, Jin, and an unrecognizable deep voice. Namjoon gets out of the bed, feet sliding onto the floor before his brain has caught up with his body.

“Jin, what's wrong!?”

“Wrong! You dare to ask what's wrong, oh- Kim Namjoon when I get my hands on you- I’ll-” something in the background crashes. Then comes Jimin’s panicked voice muffled through a cellphone. Indiscernible.

“Jin?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide, mouth parted; every instinct that speaks to protect his pack alive and alight at the sound of his people panicked “what's going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Can you think of anything you might have forgotten to do in the last month or so? Do you care to tell me-” Jin’s voice is barely leashed, his anger ancient and endless. Building to a shrill scream the more he talks. “Why I came home to find our landlord outside our door? A new tenant is moving into our apartment today."

Namjoon's eyes widen, his heart pumping with adrenaline in a way that only Jin's voice can do, "Baby hold on a second I-"

"You don't get to call me baby- You piece of shit of a pack alpha- I swear to god when I get my hands on you-“

In a moment of pure panic, Namjoon calls for Yoongi.

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