#i'm a nice bean i swear

[beanghostprincess]

Sorry but since is shuggy popular? Have you even been to Japan? Or talked to anyone from there?

I answered this before but!! Okay, first things first, I actually believe Shuggy to be very popular, but the hate towards it is sometimes so loud and people have so many different views of the dynamic that it seems like it's unpopular. But in comparison to other ships? Shuggy is popular. However, I believe it to be more popular on the Japanese side of the fandom because despite not having talked to anyone from there, I do have internet, and most of the content I see is from Japanese creators. I have talked about this with other people and they agree on Buggy and Shuggy being more popular there too, but I don't have like, any sources to explain this. It's just the vibes the fandom gives me, tbh.

[lubdubology]

Soft Edges

SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)

WC: 2K

WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3

You wake with a jolt to the sound of Logan’s alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Logan’s low, “Ah, fuck,” before silence reclaims the room. 

It’s early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans. 

“I thought you were off today,” you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders. 

He looks back at you with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, continuing to dress. “Picked up an extra shift at the yard.”

Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful. 

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and it’s these soft moments about him you love the most. “Do you even know how to relax?” you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets. 

“I relax,” he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes from you. “Name one thing you to do relax,” you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots. 

Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. “You.”

He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. “Relaxing really ain’t my style, sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it though,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesn’t respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be. 

+++

You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. You’re just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Logan’s keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak. 

“In here, babe!” you call from the kitchen. 

“I could smell this all the way downstairs,” he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s this for?”

Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek. 

You savor these moments with him. When you’d first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like this—where he’s soft and affectionate—have become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

“I thought you could use a nice dinner,” you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. “Long day?”

Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “One of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. 

You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. “Well, you’re home now and I’ve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“You try and help me, and I’ll beat you with this spoon,” you tease. 

Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. “Promise?”

You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. “Alright, alright,” he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just go wash up.” 

As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans. 

“Come eat, Lo.”

He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. “This smells incredible.”

You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. “Fuck, this is good.”

A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. “I experimented with the cast iron skillet,” you comment as you watch him. “Looks like it was a solid impulse purchase.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, his voice low and warm. 

“I wanted to,” you reply simply. “And, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.”

There’s a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know he’s not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice is gruff but there’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache. 

“A good something?”

He smiles. “The best somethin’.”

You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. “Care to indulge me once more?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

+++

Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a bath, Logan.”

He eyes the tub as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t do baths,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. “Yeah, and you don’t relax either. Just humor me.”

Logan gives you a look—half amused, half reluctant—as he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but only if you join me.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “Tough bargain, but I accept.”

You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Logan’s posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like he’s not entirely sure what comes next. 

Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. “Okay, now strip.”

Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so this is what you really wanted.”

“You’re not that hard to get naked, Logan,” you say with a laugh. 

He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you can’t help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare. 

You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him.  Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles. 

“See?” you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. “Isn’t this nice?”

Logan peeks up at you and smirks. “The naked woman helps.”

You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. “You’re basically a wet noodle in my arms.”

He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles. 

You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Logan’s chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. “You do, Logan. Despite your past, you’re a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.” Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or least help you relax every once in a while.”

You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. He’s already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesn’t even let you grab your own before pulling you close. 

A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss. 

You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go. 

“So,” he starts slowly, “Now that you’ve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?”

A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesn’t give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, “My turn.”

[5sospenguinqueen]

Princess Party | Lando Norris x Best Friend! Reader

Summary: Lando enjoys participating in all night life has to offer, particularly with his best friend. When Y/N falls pregnant after one drunken night, he panics. After all, why should he trade a club party for a princess party?

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever. Loss of friendship. Pregnancy. Lando is not great in this.

Blonde female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

Main Masterlist

next.

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YourUserName just posted

liked by mclaren, lnfour and others

YourUserName a podium for my favourite boy 🍾🧡#AustralianGP tagged: landonorris

5,778 comments

YourUserName and another huge well done to my other papaya pookie @ oscarpiastri for p4 🥳

→ oscarpiastri i thought we agreed you’d stop calling me that

→ YourUserName WE agreed to nothing

→ landonorris um i should be your only papaya pookie

→ oscarpiastri disrespected in my home town

georgerussell63 excuse me, why don’t you make posts like this about me

→ YourUserName when was the last time you were on a podium

→ alex_albon hahaha

→ georgerussell63 @ alex_albon hey, i’m closer than you are

→ YourUserName now, now, children, behave

User1 is this his girlfriend?

→ User2 no, just his childhood friend. she comes to most races to support him as she’s been there since his karting days

→ User3 and she’s really close with the the grid, but particularly the 2019 rookies

danielricciardo well done, mate. well deserved

carlossainz55 always nice to share a podium with you

User4 i'm sorry but i can’t believe her and lando are just friends when she takes the most boyfriend-coded pictures of him

mclaren petition to hire y/n as lando’s full time photographer

→ alex_albon no, because i need her to be mine considering she actually managed to make lando look good

liked by YourUserName

→ landonorris oi!

YourUserName posted a new story

landonorris posted a new story

maxverstappen1 posted a new story

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User5 i KNEW they were more than friends

User6 oh so now she realises her ‘feelings’, now that he’s winning trophies

→ User7 bitch she’s been by his side since baby karting days

User8 you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me (the asylum being tricked into thinking y/n and lando were nothing more than friends)

User9 not max deleting his story after waking up and realising the consequences of his drunken actions

User10 y/nlando shippers rise! we’ve been waiting YEARS for this day to come

User11 what a gross invasion of privacy from that staff member. i hope they find out who it was and fire them

alex_albon @ LandoNorris awfully cryptic of you

danielricciardo @ LandoNorris how are you still alive

→ LandoNorris ‘cause I’m not old like you

User12 @ LandoNorris mr norris, tell us what you did

→ georgerussell63 more like who

(this comment has been deleted)

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A month later

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User1 looks like she removed everyone she didn’t personally know and made her insta private

User2 lando no longer follows her either

User3 what is going on in the house of commons

User4 maybe they truly weren’t dating but sleeping together screwed up their friendship

User5 looks like the rest of the grid still follow her tho?

→ User6 guys guys. GR63 isn’t following lando anymore either?!

→ User7 at least we know which side he picked in the divorce

→ User8 i'm worried this means lando did something wrong because whilst i love him, i can’t look past him screwing up their friendship just because he was thinking with his dick

User9 good, she wasn’t good enough for him anyway

→ User10 relax, he’s not going to shag you

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YourUserName just posted

liked by zbrownceo, flonorris and others

YourUserName me and you against the world. little bean coming soon tagged: yoursister

1,200 comments

YourUserName i think aunty @ yoursister might be more excited to meet you

francisca.cgomes can’t wait to meet little y/l/n

georgerussell63 me and carmen are so excited. She’s buying baby clothes already

lilymhe i call godmother

→ francisca.cgomes nuh uh

→ alex_albon get in line

→ yoursister we all know i win this battle

→ georgerussell63 whoa whoa whoa, back off, you already get aunt

charles_leclerc so excited for you, y/n/n

carlossainz55 congratulations

danielricciardo heck yeah! i can’t wait to meet the bean

maxverstappen1 do i see a red bull onesie in the baby’s future?

→ charles_leclerc try a ferrari one

→ alex_albon we all know it’ll be williams

→ oscarpiastri racing baby!

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Baby Fever Angst Series

Daniel’s Version | Max's Version | Lance’s Version

Charles’ Version | Oscar’s Version

Part 2 will be a redemption

Tag list

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @elijahslover @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish @reguluscrystals

[togament]

“𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝: ‘𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐬?’”

written in their P.O.V.

pt. 1. (sakura, ume, suo.)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : spicy spicy boyfriends, suo is a FREAK (but we love it), sakura is a precious bean, ume is *incomprehensible sounds emanating from my face hole*, ume’s is longer than the others (hah) i got carried away, swearing ofc i can’t express emotions without them i so sorry i do try, fem!reader, nipple talk.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

"WHAT-????" I scream into the microphone and it screeches. shit my face feels like it's on fire. I turn my head slightly to catch my reflection in the window beside me--SHIT I'm blushing again. "w-why would you ask me that?!", I try my best to tone it down a little but UGH-I can't help it. She asks the question again, pushing the microphone towards my lips. I angle away as best I can but she's persistent. "n-n-not answering that!" my eyes focus on anything BUT her. darting everywhere, on the chair, the stack of papers on her table, but she's too hard to resist. i turn my head slightly to look at her direction. fucking hell, she's got her chest out slightly, tits practically begging me to look at 'em. god. that shirt looks so fucking good on her. that the new one she just bought? shit, she's coming closer. I can see the outline of her bra--FUCK-WAS I STARING?????

...so boobs?" she asks so smugly. damn it.

"...yeah tits." HER tits, if you want me to be specific.

𝐔𝐌𝐄.

another afternoon, another quick little date with the love of my life — and my girlfriend. kidding, kidding! I was tending to my veggies as I often do after school with my girlfriend helping. noticing her absence (and silence, shocker!) I call out for her, “baby? where’d you run off to?” then I hear a little giggle to my left, a pitter patter of her shoes against the wooden board and a slight ringing. “boobs or butts?” she asks and I turn to face her only to have a mouthful of the plastic microphone. “PWEH-! baby-“ I say as I chuckle, wiping my mouth. “boobs or butt? is this an interview? any cameras around?” looking around playfully, I crane my neck around her. for a sec there I genuinely thought I was on camera. but then I look at her and she’s waiting for an answer. Hmm. Toughie. “This!” taking one of my gloves off, I pinch her cheek with my clean hand but she shakes her head. “Not in the choices, babe. Try again.” she says. gosh she looks so cute when she’s trying to be serious. “Wrong answer, huh? Let’s see…”

I try my damndest to be serious too, pursing my lips in deep thought, giving her a once twice thrice over just to be extra sure. I know she’s squatting there waiting for me to answer but how can I? she’s perfect in every way! shoot. think, ume, think! I drag my gaze from her face, to… her chest, heh. nice. to her tummy, to her… oh. damn. right.

“…yer thighs.” I say almost quietly. Who WAS that? “say that again, babe?” she asks, pushing the microphone closer. she wants me to say it again? maaaan. I chuckle, shaking my head gently at her.

“can I just show you? point at it, baby?”

“nope.”

HECK.

“…yer thighs. I like napping on them after I’m done gardening…” I unintentionally trail off. I clearly got more things on my mind now. My mind’s miles away from innocence. God- I love leaving my mark on them, sucking hickies on them when I’m going down on her. I fucking love it when she tightens them around my head when she’s about to cum. She worries she’d suffocate me but it only makes me want her more. I swallow dryly. damn it-my boner’s tenting in my jeans and I know she can tell.

“and?” she prods and I let out a shaky breath. she’s biting her lower lip, shifting her weight while she’s squatting. she’s worked up too huh?

“—obsessed. when you hold me closer to your cunt when-“ is it getting hotter here? she’s putting her microphone down. I take my other glove off while keeping my eyes on her.

“…when what?”

“can I please show you? pretty please?” can’t help it. I take her free hand to palm me and I let out a soft whimper, eyebrows knitted together.

“yes. yes please.”

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

"oh? someone's curious," leaning close to her, I ghost my fingers along the inside of her wrist just to fluster her. oho, her breathing is staggered now, chest rising and falling ever so slightly. I do have an answer but I just want to toy with my love. Just a little bit wouldn't hurt. "what's gotten you worked up so quickly, dove?" I purr, making sure to whisper it good in her ear. she lets out a shudder, almost melting. goodness, do I adore how she reacts. like clockwork, that earns me a gentle slap on my hand. ah. I suppose I deserved that.

"boobs or butt, huh?" I pretend to ponder, looking up and pinching my chin for maximum effect, knowing full well I have an answer set and ready. turning to meet her eyes, holding her hand that's steadily holding the plastic microphone. and with the most serious voice I could muster, I speak into it, "your nipples."

hm. that must have shocked her. she's silent. taking the initiative, I continue, "I love how.. sensitive they are." cooing, I trace a finger along her jaw and down the line of her neck, featherlike. "I love how I can coax the most delicious moans from you that way--" oh, she's lowering her microphone now. continuing, I push some hair behind her ear, fingers now teasing the shell of it, "--you seem to like it especially when I suck on one while I roll the other between my fingers. fuck, you sound so beautiful when you beg for more." mhm. her breathing's shallow now. she's leaning her head away. "someone's eager." I lean in to press a gentle kiss to her neck, lingering my lips on her pulse. “do you need more details from me? I could always elaborate-“ she’s pushing me back now. I like where this is going.

"screw the interview. just fuck me already, hayato suo."

"as you wish, my dove."

a/n: SCCCCCRRREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! first time writing things in the guys’ POV I hope I did each of their individual personalities justice. Sakura’s was the hardest but I was flying off with Ume as you could tell. Also!!!! I forgot who it was but someone reblogged one of my HCs with a tag saying Hayato means hawk and that doves are their natural prey and 😳😳😳😳😳😳 that was purely unintentional but the connection they made was so perfect. I’m making it a permanent fixture for whenever I write for suo. Thank you, user. I would tag you but djjfkdkfkd i hope you see this!!!! Also thank YOU so much for reading all the way to the end btw!!!!!! Ily babycakes. part 2 coming soon! I WANNA WRITE FOR KIRYU I HAVE IDEAS AND I AMDJFJJDJD HE. Ok.

@interstellar-inn ⭐️

[woso-dreamzzz]

Playing Favourites V

Leah Williamson x Child!Reeader

Summary: The Euros

The day before the final, you're in tears.

It's all Leah's fault and she sobs too.

They'd had some morning training before Sarina had sent them all off to spend time with their family before the match tomorrow. Leah had slipped out of the hotel as soon as she could, passing Alessia and her little sister on the way and then bumped into Mary taking her own little sister to a café.

It seems that everyone had the same idea to hang out with their little siblings because Leah had that idea too, collecting you from Mum and immediately taking you to the park.

You're still tiny and your little legs get very tired so Leah carries you most of the way until she can sit you on her lap on the swings.

You really like the swings, giggling every time Leah pumps her legs and goes a bit higher.

She doesn't see you too much but it's safe to say that you're still in that stage where you absolutely adore her. You're still at that point where everything Leah does is hysterically funny and cool and you want to do exactly what she's doing, no matter how small you actually are.

Which is probably why you don't tell her that she's pushing you too fast on the roundabout. It's going very quickly and it makes your head all dizzy.

Leah keeps pushing it faster and faster and faster though and your tight little grip on the bars loosens and you shoot off it like a rocket.

The roundabout is still spinning as Leah stares in horror at your little crumpled body. You sit up, bottom lip wobbling and promptly burst into tears.

She swears and leaps into action, brushing the dirt off your clothes before checking your head.

You've got a cut on your forehead. It's not bad or anything, it's barely bleeding but you whine and sob every time she touches it.

"I'm sorry, bean," She coos to you as you try to bat her hand away," Just a second. Just a little more. You're being so big and strong."

Leah's digging in the little backpack she packed for you and pulls out that most outrageously big plaster she can find before sticking it firmly to your head.

You sniffle. "Kiss better," You order.

"You want me to kiss it better?"

"Magic healing kisses," You say," Like Mummy's."

"Okay, bean," Leah says, pursing her lips," Are you ready? Here comes Leah's magic healing kisses." She presses multiple all over the plaster and then several more over your cheeks until you are no longer crying.

"Play more?" You ask, pointing over at the slide and Leah winces at the idea of you falling off it.

She shakes her head. "Let's go meet up with Mum. We're having lunch with her, remember?"

You huff but allow yourself to be led away by Leah before you're hefted up into her arms when another bolt of guilt jolts down her spine at the plaster on your head.

"Oh, what happened, little bean?" Your mummy asks when you both join her at the restaurant.

"Fell," You say with a little shrug, completely over it now as you draw all over your puzzle page," On spiny thing. Splat on the ground."

"I spun it too fast," Leah says sadly when your attention is fully on your drawing again," And she got flung off it. She was bleeding, Mum. It was terrible. She was crying."

"She's little," Her Mum says," She cries when she's a particularly cute puppy. It was probably shock, Leah. She's fine now and that's what matters."

"It was my fault. I'm such a bad sister."

"Leah, you're a good sister. You had today off and what did you do? You decided to take Bean to the park. You're a good sister. She adores you."

Leah isn't really convinced but she settles as you blindly reach out for another crayon.

"Bean, did you have fun at the park with Leah?"

You didn't look up at your mummy's question but you do nod your head. "Played on swings," You say as you scrawl the yellow on the Leah stick figure you've drawn," And fed ducks. Got ouchy but Leah did magic kisses so all better."

"That's nice," Your mummy says," Now, do you know what you want for lunch yet?"

You're on Leah's mind all throughout the match the next day, all the way until the final whistle and all throughout the medal ceremony.

"Look, bean!" Leah says as she pulls you over the barrier.

"Medal!"

"It is!" Leah laughs. She wraps an England flag around your shoulders, tying the corners together so it's like a cape. "Here, put it on."

She slips it over your head and you poke at it, the sudden weight around your neck feels a little weird but Leah is beaming so you smile too.

You don't leave her arms for the entirety of the pitch side celebrations, even when you completely crash out against her. Further up the pitch, Leah can spy Mary swinging her own little sister around while Alessia's little sister is kicking a ball around with her and Ella.

You're exhausted though, knocked out cold in Leah's arms with her medal still around your neck and the plaster from yesterday still stuck firmly across your forehead.

"Hey, man," Leah says as one of the photographers walks past," Do you mind?"

She beams at the camera, adjusting her grip on you so your sleeping face can be seen properly.

It takes a few hours for her to get sent the photo to her phone but it immediately becomes her Instagram profile picture and her lock screen.

It gets hung up in her locker too, so everyone can see you and her together.

[daddy-dotcom]

Scents and Sensibility

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: You see an ad for those “pheromone perfumes” and decide to test its effect on your boyfriend at work. Requested by the lovely @swaggysagiewagie

Words: 1,164

Warnings: Implied smut and maybe like 1 swear word

——————————————————

I'm normally not one to make impulse purchases, but I just couldn't resist. I always thought those pheromone perfumes were a gimmick, but as a woman of science, I decided to test one and see if it actually worked. More specifically, I wanted to see if it worked on Spencer. Normally, we keep things very tame while we're on the clock. The team knows we're a couple, but we make sure to keep the PDA to a minimum. I don't mind his lack of affection at work, especially given the fact that he's not very expressive in public either, but it wouldn't hurt to get more than a peck on the cheek every now and then while were on the job. To test the effects of my newest purchase, I applied just a bit of the perfume before walking out the door to work.

Immediately as I walked through the lobby, I began turning heads. I typically went unnoticed when I entered the lobby, but the security guards said hello to me this morning as did the men in the elevator. I made my way up to our unit and I made my way to my desk, as usual. As I passed Morgan's desk, I could instantly tell that something was out of the ordinary.

"Good morning, babygirl," he said, eyeing me up and down more than usual. He's called me beautiful, gorgeous, or even pretty several times, but babygirl was exclusively reserved for Garcia.

"....good morning?" I replied, somewhat confused, but mostly smug because I had a feeling that my new perfume was working.

JJ Prentiss were talking amongst themselves when I came over to greet them. We exchanged our typical weekend updates before Emily asked me if I was wearing a new perfume.

"It smells amazing. Is it vanilla?" JJ asked.

"I think so? To tell you the truth, I'm not actually sure. I actually bought it on a whim because it's a pheromone perfume."

"Oh come on, (Y/N), you know those are all fake right" said Emily.

"You wanted to see if it worked on Spence didn't you?" JJ asked with a grin creeping up on her face.

Just then, an angry Garcia walked up to us demanding to know why Morgan had started referring to me as "babygirl."

I proceeded to spill the beans about how I wanted to mess with Spencer and see if he would be able to keep his hands off me at work now that I've used the perfume. They agreed not to reveal my secret weapon to Spencer, but we also wanted to see if it had an effect on any of our other team members.

Almost on cue, Spencer made his way over to greet us.

"Morning everyone!" he said in his usual upbeat tone. I saw him pause for a moment when he got close to me and I could practically see his brain short-circuiting. Then, in a much softer tone with his voice dropped a few octaves, he turned to me and said "good morning my love." He leaned in to give what I assumed would be our usual daily quick peck on the lips, but he gently placed one hand on my hip and let his lips linger much longer than usual. I pulled away after a few seconds, my face beet red from the realization that Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ were still watching us.

"I'll see you in the meeting," he said, walking away with a smirk.

I could feel the other agents' eyes on me as I stood there like a lovesick teenage girl.

"Well I would say that definitely worked on him" JJ said.

"You're making it way too easy for him, (Y/N)," Prentiss added.

And she was right. I was giving in to Spencer's advances way too easily. If I wanted the full effect of the perfume, I was going to have to make him beg for it. We dispersed and made our way to the meeting room to be briefed on our case. On our way in, I brushed past Rossi, who also seemed to take notice of my new scent.

"You're looking nice today, (Y/N), got a hot date?" he joked, glancing over at Spencer. I let out a laugh before replying, "I hope so."

I took the spot between Hotch and Spencer, acting somewhat indifferent to my boyfriend’s presence to see if he would notice. As I settled into my seat, I saw Hotch do a double take out of the corner of my eye. He may not have said anything, but I could tell he wasn’t immune to the effects of my new perfume either. Garcia began her usual presentation about our new case, but I could hardly focus on anything she was saying because I could feel a hand slowly creeping up my thigh, and it definitely wasn’t Hotch’s. Still, I pretended not to notice his slender fingers toying with the hem of my skirt, even though I was consumed with thoughts of where I'd rather have them.

After what seemed like ages, Hotch finally dismissed us to prepare to board the jet. Since I was pretty much always prepared, I was the first one to board, and I noticed Spencer followed me shortly after, looking like a lost puppy dog. I was reaching up high to put my luggage up in the overhead bin, which was a task I usually asked Spencer to do for me. However, Spencer would be boarding the jet any moment now, so I decided to do it myself, an action which not-so-accidentally caused my skirt to ride up in the back. I heard familiar, converse-wearing footsteps behind me, but once again I pretended not to notice.

"(Y/N) you know you can't reach up there yourself, let me help," he said, firmly pressing his body against my backside as he stretched his arms up to assist me. I felt his hips flush against my ass and his arms moved to firmly plant themselves at my waist.

"I don't remember giving you permission to touch me, Spence," I said, not bothering to hide the grin on my face due to our position.

"Please, love, I can't help it. You smell so delicious today I don't know what's gotten into me."

He began leaving a trail of kisses from my lips down to my neck and I couldn’t help but finally give in to his requests.

“You better make it quick before the others board the jet,” I said, trying to stifle a moan.

“All I need is 5 minutes. Two if you keep those heels on.”

“Deal. But you’re not coming until I say so.”

“Anything you want, love. I just need you.”

I quickly pulled him into the bathroom of the jet, where he definitely proved that he really did need only two minutes.

“By the way, are we part of the mile high club if the plane didn’t technically leave the ground?”

[ofloveandstardust]

A/N: I saw that Cain and Abel aren't like present in the show and I know they're technically Adam and Eve's kids, but let me have this please— I just wanna gush about this since it's been invading my mind.

cw: fem!reader (no pronouns, but reader is called wife/mama/mommy/mother)

Imagine: Being Adam's wife and having two sons with him.

I can definitely see him being excited over having sons. Like, hell yeah! But but but also— I have this feeling in my gut that he'd be okay with being a girl dad, sooo after having your sons he's just like "Wifey, Sugartits, Babycakes—" Any nickname under the sun until you finally ask him what he wants and he just says he wants a daughter.

You can't tell me he didn't name Abel— and 💀 It's even funnier since Abel does have a little more resemblance of his father than Cain does. Cain was named by you and looks more like you. However, you can say his attitude is similar to Adam's. I can see them both having Adam's eyes when thinking up of how they'd look, but I'm leaving things up in the air. Just for this, because I think it'd be neat, the boys are twins. Cain is the older twin while Abel is the younger one.

Cain is kind of a menace...but still a good kid. He always pulls that "Because I'm the oldest" card with Abel and if he ever whacked his brother and he started crying, Cain immediately does that thing where the sibling just panics and stops them from crying or else he's getting in trouble with mama and papa. He teases his younger brother, but will get upset if anyone tries to bully Abel. Oh, but the biggest menace he is towards? Adam. Cain doesn't hate his dad at all. No, he just prefers you more and lowkey is a mama's boy. Adam can have Mr. Perfect (Abel), but he at least has mama.

Then Adam just straight up has beef with his own son 💀 Because Cain takes up your time and he swears the little shit is taunting him when you're not looking. Cain comes up when you and Adam are kissing or anything like that, holding his hands up like, "I want Mama's kisses too... 🥺" You can't resist because that's your baby and he's so adorable. There's this stare down between Adam and Cain...meanwhile Abel, being the good bean that he is, waddles towards you all and goes, "Mama! Papa! Look what I drew! :D" and it's just a sweet little drawing of him, his brother, you and Adam.

Speaking of Abel, he's a good boi. Cain calls him Mr. Perfect sometimes because Abel has some natural talent. He's especially good with music, much to Adam's delight. Still, he looks up to his brother and despite Cain's jealousy, they do get along nicely. They have this little game where they're building their own city and decide over several elements of it. Abel somehow always brings sheep into the mix, but his brother isn't complaining.

Abel doesn't play favorites and says he loves you and Adam equally. He always wants to make sure the two of you are present at the same time when showing his accomplishments or what he's found. Speaking of which, he has special interests that last for a while until he moves on to another one or some just last a very long time. An example would be sheep, as mentioned before. He even has a lamb plushie (I can see him watching Lamb Chop's Play Along and loving the show). Cain knows how precious this little lamb is to Abel and will raise chaos if it ever gets lost or stolen (he calls the plush "The Chosen").

Here's a funny little thing: the boys not recognizing Adam in the mask he wears. From the day they were born, they always saw their father without his mask and have grown used to seeing his actual face. One day, they ask you where he was and you tell them it's work related but he'll be back to teach them some new songs. Just imagine Adam coming back, calling out that he's home, which cause the boys to rush up to him. Then they just stop because... "Mama, who's this stranger in our house!?" Abel literally starts crying— saying this isn't papa. Meanwhile Cain's mind immediately says violence is the answer (thanks, Adam). You have to calm both boys down and explain to them about the mask.

Flight lessons are stressful. It all started when Cain began jumping off of the furniture and escalated to him jumping off the bunk bed (because it'd be adorable for them to have bunk beds). So, it seems like it was time to show the boys how to use their wings. It's harder than it looks. Abel isn't okay with jumping off from anywhere unless Cain is going to jump with him. Fine with his brother because he enjoys doing this. Eventually, they're able to fly and it's a joy! They can fly around Heaven with you and Adam and it's absolutely adorable.

Cain and Abel have different ways to refer to you and Adam. Cain calls Adam 'dad' or 'papa' but does call him 'father' when he's upset or serious. Meanwhile, he calls you 'mama', 'mommy', or 'mom' (mom is more frequent when around others or strangers) and it's rare when he calls you mother. Abel just calls you two mama and papa. He'll only use mother and father if he's around people he doesn't know or meeting for the first time.

I have more thoughts about these little beans such as how they are around Lute (#1 and only Babysitter), Emily (Abel affectionately calls her Auntie Em), Sera and possibly Lucifer and Charlie (because you can't tell me Adam would not brag about having kids 💀). Like, I can see Cain being brutally honest when he first sees Lucifer because he's that type of kid. Will 100% make a comment about the man's height. There's also the fact that both boys are into music like their father. Abel once asked, "So if that's Queen, then who's the King?" when Adam tells them about Queen. Also, I can very much see Cain getting into gardening. If you want more of these then let me know!

[thegnomelord]

Ahh I love the food thing that you got asked <3 food can have such a special place in our lives it's so precious

Ya think Hound develop concerning eating habits due to Makarov? Due to the whole stressful situation

I just want someone in the 141 to cook him a meal, filled with love and care, maybe Hound is in the kitchen watching them cook it for his own security.

I just want him to have a nice meal 😔

-🐙

I do feel like Hound would have some food hoarding habits or just distrust about eating something he didn't make himself. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten drugged through food...

But the 141 making food communally would be a fun idea lol so here's a quick brain fart :D :

You feel out of place. Well, you're always out of place, but you feel especially out of place sitting at the table while Soap and and Gaz busy themselves by the stove, Price humming to himself to the side as he gets the mugs to make tea. Ghost sits next to you grumbling under his breath, both of you in 'time-out' — you hadn't done anything (save for not being trusted around anything sharp), it's Ghost that had gone and microwaved beans in the can. Now Johnny swears up and down the microwave is possessed.

Your eyes flicker between Soap and Gaz, watching them cook you don't even know what. The only British 'cuisine' you know of is the cremated steaks Price would sometimes make you before. . . that. But nothing the two are making smells nearly as bad as the charred hockey pucks Price would feed you and Simon.

"Hey!" Your brought out of your thoughts in time to see Kyle swat away Price's hand with his spatula. "Don't you dare cap! I'm not about to get rained on because of your bad cooking." You hadn't considered Gaz could take charge, too soft in your eyes, but you're surprised by how tight of a ship he runs when he's by the stove.

"Alright, alright." Price huffs while Ghost lets out an amused huff. He's not quite laughing, but you can see the subtle tremor of his shoulders in silent laughter.

That gets Soap to point a spoon in Ghost's direction. "Oh yer one te fockin' giggle. Mr. 'ah cursed the damn microwave with me beans'."

"Sod off." Simon grunts, but there's no edge to his words. Soap tuts, but soon enough starts off rambling about something you're not quite able to follow along to when your eyes once again focus on where their arms are, how they move, paying especially close attention any time they rest them by their sides (even though realistically you doubt they'd try to drug the same food they'd eat).

You still tense when you feel Price's hand on your back, only now noticing that you'd started hunching your back, your shoulders raised closer to your ears. "You're alright, straighten your spine, sweetheart." His voice is calm, his hand warm as he applies gentle pressure on your back until you straighten back out. "There you go, good man." He rumbles, hand going up to ruffle your hair before he pulls away before his touch can turn into stinging pain to your skin.

You blink as a plate full of food is placed in front of you. The food smells good and doesn't look like it had been cremated, made with care you don't deserve. "I. . ." You don't know why but your throat feels clogged, like someone had poured hot tar into your mouth and forced you to swallow, the collar around your throat constricting your breathing even more.

Simon's shoulder bumps into yours, "If you don't eat that I will." The childish threat makes you breathe out a small laugh.

"Aye, the bastard's like Henry the hoover, he'll eat anything." Soap supplies as he sits down opposite of you with his own plate. Though you get the impression he's talking about himself when he stabs a sausage with a fork and almost inhales the entire thing.

"Mhm," You grunt, taking the fork. "I don't doubt it." You stab a piece of black pudding. It tastes earthy, but the small coppery tang of blood sizzles down your nerves, but fuck it tastes good.

"Look at that, is it good?" Kyle chuckles as he watches your facial features shift as you swallow the food, his own face that of pride like he already knows your answer, but you nod your head all the same.

[headlessdino]

fanon vs canon batfam

the way that the batfam fandom can change the characters so much makes me go INSANE because like... did we read the same comics orrrrrr................ I GET THAT NOT EVERYONE LIKES READING but they can watch shows or just interact content rather than making content in which the characters are heavily mischaracterized. that brings me to what this post is actually about.

fanon dick: best brother ever, has a good ass, nice to everyone, happy-go-lucky, peacemaker, happy robin, his ass, sensitive, hugs a lot, kind of dumb, but he has an ass so it's okay, did i mention his ass?

canon dick: more serious than in fanon, can be manipulative, driven, angry as robin, pretty sociable, can be an asshole, very trusted and respected hero, empathetic, puts others before himself

fanon jason: swears excessively, angry robin, hyper masculine, kills a lot, reckless, loner, undying hatred toward bruce, almost always aggressive, calls tim replacement and holds an insane grudge against him

canon jason: "robin gives me magic c: ", willing to kill when the situation calls for it, strong moral code, not angry at the fact that bruce "let" him die, not super close to the batfam tbh

fanon tim: coffee addict, outcast, sad all the time, gets no bitches, has no social skills, complete and utter nerd, has no spine and lets himself get bullied, kind of irrelevant, built like a twig, shy uwu boi bean (sorry) (i shed a few tears typing that out), only smart person in the batfam ever, "pure", kind of kid to get bullied and have his lunch money stolen from him, has abusive parents and has never felt an ounce of love from anyone ever

canon tim: more of an energy drink guy, pretty chill, has dated around and doesn't really struggle socially, skateboards, a VIGILANTE who has a decent amount of muscle (woah who would've guessed), kind of insane but also pretty normal compared to what they say he's like in fanon

i could keep going and talk about damian being characterized as violent but also like he's a baby or bruce being treated like a perfect parent OR an abusive one but i'm tired so i'm gonna leave it at that

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark's daughter and dating Pietro Maximoff...

Your relationship stays secret for the first few months. Well actually, it's only really a secret to your dad. You know that your dad - the infamous Tony Stark - will react badly to the news that you're dating Pietro so you swear everyone else to secrecy.

Secret glances across the room as Tony and Steve lead a meeting.

Sneaking off during the meetings to make out in the hall way... You've almost been caught a bunch of times through doing this but the sneaking around is fun.

Pietro makes you happier than you ever thought you could be. Even just a few months in and you're planning your future together.

He's sweet, he's so incredibly sweet to you.

He loves you, loves everything about you. He thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world and he feels so lucky to have you.

The rest of the group have a bet on when Tony finds out and how he finds out.

Nat thinks that Bruce will spill the beans.

Clint thinks he'll walk in on you and Pietro making out.

Wanda thinks that Pietro himself will give the game away by accident.

In fact, it's Peter Parker that gives the game away.

"How long has your daughter been dating Quicksilver? That must be pretty cool, huh? Always got your eye on them sorta thing."

You could've killed Parker.

Tony hunts you both down and he's angry, god he's so pissed off but he's probably more angry that you didn't tell him.

"Dad, you threatened to kill my fourth grade boyfriend! We were kids! Why would I tell you about my serious boyfriend now?"

Pietro tries his best to reason with Tony but he's shit scared of him and runs every time Tony tries to corner him for a chat.

Eventually, Tony manages to pin him down and interrogates him.

"What do you want with my daughter?"

"I care about her, sir. I don't want to hurt her-"

"If you hurt her, I will rip you apart limb from limb-"

"I love her, Tony. I'm not going to hurt her."

When Tony realises the seriousness of your relationship, he seems to reconsider. He comes to you, asking all sorts of questions about whether you love him, about whether he's good to you or not, if he takes good care of you, if he makes you happy... He's satisfied with your answers and leaves you be but he's not okay with it all yet.

Tony bans the two of you from being alone together which means that sneaking around gets even harder.

He probably tries to break you up or at least complains every chance he gets. He's oh so dramatic.

If he sees the two of you smiling at each other, he pretends to puke. Pepper has to have a few stern conversations with him to get him off of your backs.

During a fight, you're put in danger and Tony can't get to you in time but it's okay because Pietro does everything he can, including getting himself hurt, to keep you safe and to protect you.

After that, Pietro has Tony's respect. He understands the seriousness of your feelings for the other and he knows it's not just a fling. He leaves your relationship alone.

Pietro helps him in the lab to build something and after that, the pair of them start to bond and grow closer.

It's nice to know that you don't have to hide your relationship from him anymore and that the three of you can hang out without any ill feelings.

He calls Pietro 'son'.

It takes a while but Tony soon becomes your relationship's biggest supporter. He'll be the one who helps Pietro propose, he'll be the one who pays for your wedding and honeymoon, jets you both off somewhere warm and sunny. He grows to love Pietro and grows to love your relationship almost as much as he loves you.

[albatris]

hewwo

I deleted the opening of rentalcar from tumblr months ago when all the ai nonsense happened but now it's back again because I'm me. it's fresh and edited! and shorter

here's the new chapter one for your viewing pleasure. enjoy! or don't. don't let me tell you how to live your life I'm not your mum

hi taglist hello - some of you have already read this! I hope you're having a nice day though 😎

@transmasc-wizard @saturn-iidae @polyaubergine @tracle0 @goosemixtapes @valence-positive @the-one-who-makes-negative-noise @ambiguousfiction @afoolandathief @silverwarewolf @mecharose @vellichor-virgo @plasticseaslug @jetstargenderfuckery @multi-lefaiye @writeouswriter @junoshusband @writing-is-a-martial-art @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @sleepycaprine @cream-and-tea @gailynovelry @lefttigerobservation @indecentpause @writingsfromspace @carnivalls @violetfoxsketches @approximately20eggs @mohluskiepedard @desastreus @kk7-rbs @cee-grice @northwyrm @xylophonicsynapse @careful-pyromancer @recapitulation @incandescent-creativity @whole-buncha-snakess @mysticalalleycat @thatonecrowguy @va-nila-bean @televisionjester @excessive-vampires @walkman-cat @davycoquette @xenascribbles

tw for paranoia, anxiety, hallucinations, swearing, general feelings of unease

Nat Finch blinked awake.

He was slumped forward in the driver’s seat of his rental car, his forehead pressed to the steering wheel, his body aching like he hadn’t moved in centuries. His feet were bare. His throat burned. His head throbbed. Curled over his shoulders was the familiar softness of the blanket from his back seat, the one he’d been meaning to give to the Larsons for two weeks now. A deep night breeze leaked through the slightly-open window to his right, the cold gnawing at the dampness that clung to his clothes, to his face and hair. He felt filthy, filmy, disgusting—more so than usual.

A muddle of memories and flickers and voices fought for space in his brain, bumping up against each other and overlapping, threads escaping every time he thought he’d grasped one. He was overcome, for a single surreal moment, by the sense he had just awoken from an exceedingly peculiar dream.

Nat Finch sat up, groaning.

Disturbed by the motion, plastic crinkled in his lap. A collection of granola bars was scattered over him, a few of them having tumbled down onto the seat next to him and the floor below. Like someone had dumped them unceremoniously over his head and just… left him like that.

He recognised the brand, vaguely—something hoity-toity and ridiculous he’d seen at the supermarket, fifteen dollars a goddamn box—but they weren’t something that had any business being anywhere near him. His bank balance barely scraped double digits at the moment.

“Who the fuck…” Nat paused, not sure what question he was even supposed to be asking. “Why the fuck…”

His attention edged upwards, to a scrap of cardboard folded neatly in two and perched atop his dashboard.

DO YOUR BEST! it read in a childlike handwritten scrawl.

Nat squinted harder. “What the fuck.”

He tried to think. His brain, sluggish and laden with fog and aching, refused to provide any context for the mystery shower of nutrition. Or the note.

Or… anything else, for that matter. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he didn’t remember stopping his car. He remembered leaving work, but it had barely been dusk when he’d left work and the trip from Stop ‘N’ Go to his apartment was fifteen minutes, tops.

It was not dusk anymore. The black outside was the pure solitude of the witching hour and the world beyond his window was silent, save for the buzz and pop of a single faulty streetlight a few metres ahead and the chittering gossip of crickets. No people. No cars. No movement.

Nat’s dread climbed. He craned his neck and strained to decipher his whereabouts. The lonely light offered only flimsy, spluttering illumination—some of it splashing into his car, some of it into dry grass and mesh fence lining the side of the road, most of it merely into the rumble of gravel directly beneath it. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was where he was.

The disco ball hanging from his rear-view mirror glittered at him, blinking urgently.

He shoved the granola bars off himself, suddenly feeling contaminated. A strident, pulsating pain forked through every inch of his body at the movement—he gritted his teeth, letting out a hiss and a wince. The blanket went next, ripped from his shoulders and hurled at the opposing window in a multicoloured flurry. It crumpled to the passenger seat and Nat stared at it, prickling all over with the suspicion someone else had placed it on him. Someone else had been here. Watching. Leaning. Looming. Touching. His hand flew to the window winder and wound it, sealing the opening. Sealing himself in and the outside out.

And then he sat still, mind reeling, chest tight. Panic twisting in his stomach. He waited for his brain to kick over, for his memory to rush back, for the moment he shook free the dregs of post-sleep disorientation and went, Oh, that’s right! That’s why I’m here! That’s what’s going on! How could I have forgotten?

A minute passed.

And another.

Frozen.

Rigid.

Nat swallowed, hard. Nothing clicked into place. Nothing clicked and nothing clicked and nothing clicked. Why not? He’d left work and turned left down Rake Street like he always did. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

The night outside was alive. With every flicker-out of the streetlight, the dark whined at his window, still trying to reach him. A tapping, a whistling, a whispering in its own made-up language. Nat. Nat. Nat. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. The dark that should not have been there. The dark that should have been dusk.

He'd lost hours. Hours. What the hell had happened to him? The note on his dashboard sat there, smirking. It knew things he didn’t.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

Five things he could see were that gaudy leopard-print steering wheel cover, the smeared windscreen from too-old wipers, the radio, the hazard switch, his own hands, crusted in cracked, dried mud.

Four things he could feel were the press of the seat under him, the press of his work uniform over him, the sting of the cold on his feet, pain, pain, pain.

Three things he could hear were crickets and streetlights and dark.

Two things he could smell were the dull citrus hum of the vent-clip air freshener and the fact it was doing nothing to hide the fact he hadn’t showered in a while.

One thing he could taste was—

Okay, okay, alright. Okay. That would do it. Nat breathed in. Nat breathed out. Calm. Calm. Calm.

He reached gingerly for the ignition, exhaling in relief when he grasped the key still inside. He had that, at least. He hesitated, perched on an agonising threshold between hopeful anticipation and whatever reality was about to find him.

He turned the key.

Nothing.

He turned again.

Nothing. The car stuttered and clicked uselessly, refusing to start. Relief left him as quickly as it had arrived. Flat battery.

Nat breathed, “Ah, fuck.”

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

He twisted towards the back seat, feeling along the faux leather for his work backpack. He hauled it to himself and rammed an arm inside to seek his phone, shoving through a jumble of familiar shapes—notebook, hoodie, empty soft drink can for recycling, empty soft drink can for recycling, gum, nametag—ah, there it was.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Nat whined, his finger colliding with the power button. “Please, please, please—”

Nothing. Flat battery.

Nat breathed in.

Nat plonked his forehead back down on the steering wheel and released a long, agonised wail.

Simmering anxiety climbed into roiling terror. Terror branched sideways into paranoia. Paranoia bloomed up through his chest and into his throat, where it squeezed tight and threatened to choke him. He’d lost hours. Anything could have happened to him. Anything could have been done to him.

The dark outside mocked and laughed. The disco ball blinked its rhythmic little warnings. He could feel it all, even when he wasn’t looking.

Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel.

“No shit,” he muttered back.

What next?

He lifted his head and flipped the sun visor down to look at himself in the mirror. With no phone screen and no overhead light to guide him, it was hard to get a full picture. He tilted his head, twisted his neck, attempted to catch himself on some jittering streetlight. He snagged a few glimpses—a dribble of blood from a presumably cracked lip here, a smudge of dirt on a cheekbone there. The collar of his shirt looked bloody, too. His hair wasn’t sitting right, tangled black all caked together and hanging in thick clumps. Two trembling hands lifted, the quiver partially from weakness and partially from fear, and Nat gripped at his face. Tugging along those familiar edges and curves and juts, finding them not so familiar. Finding them wrong. Hollow. Caved in. His fingertips wandered down towards his jaw—

—and along the thick, uneven mumbling of stubble that hadn’t been there when he’d left the apartment that morning.

Nat’s heartbeat tripped up. He hadn’t lost hours.

He’d lost days.

Nat breathed in. And in. And in. Not enough. Too fast. His chest heaved. His lungs refused to fill.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t have lost days. He couldn’t have lost days. Jesus Christ, Nat had never been the shining poster child of mental health, but he’d never lost days. He’d been God knew where for God knew how long. He’d been—his feet were bare, his hands and face were streaked with mud, someone had clearly been messing around in his car—he’d been taken. Drugged. Kidnapped. That scribbled note? Do your best? He was being toyed with, probably by some deranged serial killer. And what was with the granola bars? Some kind of clue? A message?

He had to go. Run. Get help. Something close to a whimper climbed up his throat and fell from his lips. His hand crept to the door handle and stopped.

He’d seen horror movies. Not many, but enough. The chase, the hunt, the twisted mind games before the inevitable kill… these were part of the fun. There was probably someone watching him right now, folded into the shadows and out of sight, waiting for him to panic. Waiting for him to make his first mistake and step outside.

Waiting for him to start the game.

He couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t stay.

Could he stay? Could he just wait it out? Someone would find him. Someone would look for him. Someone would look for him, right?

No, no one would look for him. No one would care enough that he was gone.

No, there was no way they’d let him wait this out, whoever they were. They would find some way to lure him out, drive him out, force him into the waiting hands of the night air. Unprotected. Alone. All at once Nat felt a million eyes boring into him, leering from beyond the black, drinking in his every move. He shoved himself lower in his seat, clutching his dead phone to his chest.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

He tried a final time to reason with himself.

When he’d worked twelve hour shifts four days straight, he’d started being dogged by the idea that someone had snuck a microscopic tracking device into his takeaway pizza, which he had subsequently consumed. When he’d been behind on rent for the third fortnight in a row, he’d become fixated on the idea that other customers in the supermarket were reading his thoughts and laughing at him. Look at this fucking loser. Grimy hair and track pants. Can’t even afford instant ramen.

Panic and stress tended to climb on top of him bit by bit. Panic and stress tended to twist all kinds of everyday events into all kinds of unnatural, terrifying shapes. It was normal. Even the tiny, audible hints of speech pushing through the dark, giving voice to his anxiety, those were normal under the right circumstances. It was all… no, not normal. It was a pattern. Tomorrow, he’d be fine. Tomorrow, he’d understand he’d never been in any danger.

So even though he was here now, helpless and stranded in the empty night, barefoot and filthy, abandoned by his memories and surrounded by leering scrawled words and fucking rich-people granola bars—he had to take this moment of clarity and hold it tight.

Tomorrow, this would all make sense.

DO YOUR BEST! the dark around him sang.

“Go to hell,” Nat spat.

And with that, he wrenched the door open.

[beanghostprincess]

If someone spots a typo in a fanfic you post on ao3 would you be okay with them commenting pointing it out? Big fan of your stuff and just wanna help if thats something youre looking for

This is really sweet and I'm happy that you wanna help but I'm very, very, very sensitive with the stuff I write and if you point out something that's wrong I might not feel good about it-- English isn't my first language and I'm aware it's not the best and I don't have any beta readers either so there are a lot of mistakes in my fics I don't wanna know about 😭 But it's nice that you asked 💖💖

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us (1) | jjk

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

🔥 pairing: shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader

🔥 rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | dystopian | supernatural | friends to lovers | angst | smut | fluff

🔥 part of a spring offering collab

🔥 wc/date: 9.7k | june 2023

🔥 warnings: major character death (doesn't occur until part 2 but i'm being nice by warning you now; not jk or reader), minor character death, referenced past murder, smut (doesn't occur until part 2), unrequited love (not between reader & jk), reference to human experimentation (nothing is described in detail), persecution of supernatural people, mentions past war, blood, injuries/violence, they all definitely have ptsd, jungkook is a precious baby boy but he'll also kick your ass, JESSI !!!!!! JESSI STANS RISE UP !! JESSI IS THE COMEDIC RELIEF !!! (at least, i find her funny)

🔥 notes: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. there is heavy angst, particularly in part 2. i hope that you enjoy this story, even with its cuts and bruises. think of it as stranger things meets avatar the last airbender 😂

🔥 more notes: i was supposed to finish this fic in may lmfao but y'all should know by now that there's no point in trusting me to do what i'm supposed to do. i'm sorry but i will probably never change 😭 ANYWAY. this fic is gonna be over 20k, so i decided to upload it in two parts in an attempt to maintain my sanity cuz this website is trash about handling long posts. i'm almost done with part 2, so it should be uploaded within a week (i swear to GOD i mean it). also, if you follow me on AO3 you'll see that i'm posting this fic in multiple chapters. that's cuz i like the formatting of AO3 chapters better than tumblr. the formatting fits the story better, too.

🔥 main masterlist / part two

🔥 what was jai listening to? cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

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

“I don’t know.” 

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

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

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

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

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

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

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

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

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

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

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

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

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

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

“Sparring.” 

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

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

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

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

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

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

“You did not.” 

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

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

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

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

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

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

“Impossible?” 

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

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

“I…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go again.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You probably would have done the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not working?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

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

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

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

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

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

“How?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What would you like me to do?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

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

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

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

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

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

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

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

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

“He’s okay.” 

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

“He’s bleeding.” 

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

“He’s lying to us.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“But you didn’t?” 

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

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

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

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

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

“You never showed me before.” 

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

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

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

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

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

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

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

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

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

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

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

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

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

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

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

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

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

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

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

PART ONE - PART TWO

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do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[hazbinwrittenby]

Forgotten feelings

Pairing: Huskerdust

Request: "Huskerdust first kiss" Warnings: nope, just fluffy Sorry it took longer than expected, hope you like it;;

(pic not mine, credit linked)

"I lost the ability to love years ago" Husk confessed, at the table with Angel.

The topic of today's activity was love, and Charlie thought about a sort of speed dating to get to know each other better, given that there were new guests at the hotel. And now, it was Angel and Husk's turn.

Angel felt a rush of sadness mixed with curiosity:"There must be something you love, like... drinking! Don't you love drinking?"

"I meant love other beings, it's a different feeling, at least I guess." Husk explained "And I drink because I don't want to feel anything."

"Oh-" Angel looked down at his other pair of hands, trying to think of a new conversation topic to escape the embarrassment, when Husk did the job for him: "What about you?"

"Well I... I love crack." he laughed, and that made Husk chuckle.

Angel got overwhelmed, it was a rare sound, that laugh.

"Okay! Time's up!" Charlie spoke through her microphone, and with that, they both got up and moved to the bar.

"I'm curious though, only drugs you love?" Husk continued,

"Let's just say I got so used to my job that I kinda forgot how it feels like..."

"Shit that must be hard."

At this point, usually, Angel would've said something cheesy like "yes, always hard~", but he just stayed silent, thinking about when was actually the last time he loved something, or someone...he was in hell, after all, and maybe this was his punishment.

Husk noticed his lack of words, and took away his glass.

"Hey-" Angel begun to complain but Husk placed a hand on the back of his now empty hand. "I'm sorry about that."

They locked eyes for a few seconds, a blush forming on Angel's cheeks, "I'm fine" he scoffed, trying to be convincing.

"Fake” Husk judged.

“Again with this shit?” Angel stood up too quickly and felt so dizzy he had to sit back on the bar stool.

Husk nodded no, while laughing, "I was joking, kiddo".

His laugh causing Angel to blush again, for a moment he really thought all the things they went through together were going to disappear.

It wasn't his usual flirting mode, Angel reeeally wanted to make him feel something, there must be a way...

Hoping Husk wasn't going to make scorched earth around him, Angel grabbed his paw, and placed it on his fluffy chest because he was on a mission now.

"What'cha doing?" Husk was confused, but the alcohol in him had his reflexes slowed down, so he couldn't (or simply didn't want to) escape his grasp.

"Can you feel it?"

"You don't answer a question with another question, kid." Husk scoffed,

"I know but I don't care, trust me on this and answer me first."

"Um yea? I can feel the fluff and it's... nice" Angel felt a rush of blood reaching his chest, for the compliment and because he was now playing with it, letting out a few purrs...

"I meant the thing inside." He carefully pressed his paw to feel his heartbeat, Angel's hand never leaving his.

"Thought you were dead..." Husk was even more confused but it didn't matter... he wanted to snuggle it, didn't know if it was his cat instincts kicking in or...something else.

"Me too!" Angel smiled, "but turns out I just had to pay attention".

Husk's body was struck by a mix of symptoms, that he could swear he forgot... he was feeling again. Even if a bit numb, he felt his fur becoming softer, his paw beans touching something so warm, and his heart pounding again.

Angel was overwhelmed by seeing his grumpy overlord friend getting confused by this new mix of emotions and feelings, he just wanted to make him discover more, so he asked him to follow him.

Husker put up a sign saying "BRB, serve yourselves or don't, IDC" and quickly reached Angel who was waiting for him in his room.

They sat on the edge of the bed, next to each other and following his instinct, Husk began to play again with Angel's chest. He was mesmerized by Husk's expression on his face, he was just a kitten, who craved touch so much and it showed.

Angel's second pair of hands cupped his face, making him feel warmth and safe, then they locked eyes, and without saying a word, moved closer until their lips were just inches apart. The first touch of Angel’s lips was soft as a feather’s caress, and Husk felt a rush of warmth spread from his chest (another forgotten sensation) igniting every nerve. The kiss deepened, and it was sweet, careful, it tasted like alcohol and comfort. When they pulled away, both were breathless, Husk wasn't used to it anymore, and Angel had the stamina yes, but his usual kisses were just for show, no feelings involved. Their hearts were pounding in perfect sync, Angel knowing this just because it was now his hand pressed on Husk's chest. "Told you," Angel smiled, "you just had to pay attention"

[iinsertblognamee]

social media au

y/n face claim; gracie abrams

yn

liked by taylorswift, samanthakerr20 and 214,984 others yn cheeky 🍒's

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ynlover hottie

iloveyn when are you releasing new music??

ynfan3 you're so gorgeous!

billieeilish 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

ynfan8 ^ why is that us ??

ynfan12 drooling

mackenziearnold 👀 samanthakerr20 ⤷ samanthakerr20 shutup ⤷ yn hello ladies 👋👋

ynbiggestfan wot is this ^??

vanityfair

liked by yn, samanthakerr20 and 52,095 others vanityfair check out our new video featuring our favourite aussie y/n as she talks music, relationships and gives us an insight into what it was like growing up down under.

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ynlover why is she so cute??!

user14 no, but like i knew she was australian but that accent threw me off a little not gonna lie.

yn thank you so much for having me !!

user27 been a fan since her first single. so happy that she's finally getting the recognition she deserves

iloveyn okay but the sly smile she gave as they asked if she had any sort of romance going on. i think our girl isn't as single as she claims to be

samanthakerr20 😨 i think i found my missing medal ⤷ yn you gave it to me you ass

user31 i love how as a kid she wanted to be a famous soccer player, girl really switched teams on that one.

ynlover

liked by 1,812 ynlover anyone know what this is about? and why have i been stalking samanthakerr20 for the past two hours since seeing these comments.

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user12 why is it kinda cute?

ynfan13 they grew up together!! i think she mentioned it in one of her early interviews years back.

samkerr20fan they're friends. She's been at a couple of Sam's games over the years.

user82 they're both single 👀👀

user61 yn is 💅 ?? since when

samfan72 i swear sam was in a relationship a few months back??

ynfan57 i've been investigating both their pages and they've been pretty vocal on both sides - except for a period in 2020 where neither of them commented or liked anything of the other.

ynlover i feel like we need weekly catch-ups to discuss everything everyone has found in this new predicament.

yn

liked by samanthakerr20, calumhood and 310,287 others yn recording album number 3, keen as a bean 🫛

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yn poll; should we name the album cool beans?

ynfan12 holy hell!!! cannot wait

5sos 👀

user28 what is 5sos doing here??

iloveyn i love you

user98 ohmygosh yes yes yes

samanthakerr20 did you write any songs about me? ⤷ yn no xoxo

user11 ✍️ someone put this in the receipts ^

calumhood vote yes for cool beans

samkerrfanupdates

liked by 2,082 others samkerrfanupdates sam with fans at last night's game.

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samfan28 so jealous!!

user73 great game last night girls! can't wait for many more to come.

user25 that's me and my sister in that photo!! we asked her what he favourite album was right now and she said cool beans ?? we tried searching it up but i low key think she made it up. she was really nice tho!

samkerr20fan um... ynlover you're seeing what i'm seeing right? ⤷ ynlover 😨😨😨 why are they such girlfriends.

(can't do better by kim petras)

samanthakerr20

liked by yn, matildas and 401,286 others samanthakerr20 i wonder how many songs this face has inspired?

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user23 so cheeky!

user80 hi sam!!

yn ohmy.

samfan39 im coming to your next game! can't wait to see you.

samkerr20fan so she's just not even denying it anymore?

user15 y'all really gonna forget that fans saw yn and samanthakerr20 kissing when chelsea won the FA women's cup a few months back against man city?? samkerr20fan im sorry??? wot ⤷ user15 yeah, they seemed cosy enough. yn was sitting with the partners of the other Chelsea teammates during the game so...

ynlover i've been summoned

yn

liked by samanthakerr20, matildas and 519,028 others yn last night

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user91 hiiiii

ynfan18 i was there last night you were amazing !!!!

ynfan66 so in love with you

iloveyn why is the matildas here ?? 🤨🤨

samanthakerr20 so proud of you! ⤷ yn mwahhh 😚

user8 i love you so much yn

yn

liked by samanthakerr20, matildas and 610,384 others yn and to think I've been writing songs about you for years. happy two year anniversary my love 💗

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samanthakerr20 i love you

matildas our favourite love story

mackenziearnold 👏👏 for putting up for her for years ⤷ samanthakerr20 excuse you ⤷ yn thank you

hayleyraso look at little sammy!

elliecarpenterr yes yes yes!

charli_grant my mums 💗

samanthakerr20

liked by yn, matildas and 510,428 others samanthakerr20 she wrote many songs about me 💗

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yn baby, i wrote every album for you

[keeksandgigz]

roll for initiative (part two of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: You venture into your new position at Eddie's cafe, but you seem to be having a hard time. Eddie gives you hell for refusing to be trained. The confrontation comes to a head after you say something you shouldn't have. A heated game of DnD leaves you wondering about the purpose of this place. Things heat up after you and Eddie close the store alone.

cw: 6.8k words, swearing, modern setting, Eddie and reader being mean to each other, shitty description of a DnD game, teeny bit of angst (sorry), horny sexual tension, smut, spanking, choking, not quite piv yet, fingering, denial this is 18+ minors dni!!

a/n: Surprise! One day early because I'm an impatient little shit. i dunno how to play DnD i'm going off whatever my boyfriend tells me. also kill em all IS the best metallica album, argue with the wall. Debated on making it a two- parter but i wanted to get to the smut <3 pls like and reblog! feedback always appreciated and my ask box is always open if u wanna talk!!!

baby taglist: @corrodedcoffincumslut, @sleepy-bunnie,, @crybabyddl (let me know if you want to be added!)

Eddie's right.

You're indeed crashing and burning as you make those stupidly named lattes, but the rest of the crew is nice enough to help you along the way. Virginia really is coming into her own, quickly mastering every drink that is thrown her way.

Yet you can't shake off the feeling of Eddie stalking towards you, his hot breath on your face. How it didn’t scare you, rather, it excited you. You enjoy picking fights with him, ripping him apart and him doing the same to you. It's not healthy, but it helps with your anger.

“Those were three pumps of elderflower. I believe you need four for a large, sweetheart. Crashing and burning so soon?” he comes up behind you, startling you. 

“Get the fuck off of me before I throw this scalding hot drink at you” not when you're working. You cannot take his taunts while working. 

“Just checking up on you” he shrugs “maybe you might have changed your mind about me training you. I know these are not the dumb little detox drinks you do at your cafe. Which is really what makes the store much more interesting and attractive, doesn’t it?” 

“Eddie I swear to God” it becomes more than taunts. He seriously wants to fuck with your brain. 

“Jeff” he snaps his fingers towards the guy “I’m gonna go take my lunch, you’re in charge ‘til I’m back” his attention diverts away from you for a second, then back to you. “Could you be a dear and make me an extra hot flat white with almond milk? Add a couple pumps of Irish cream syrup in there. I’m expecting a white dot, after all if you’re so perfect you don’t need training that’s gonna be a walk in the park for ya, huh?” he leans against the counter and he’s so condescending it makes your knees tremble. 

“Yeah, duh. I’ll spit in it for ya too. Sounds good?” you panic a bit. Flat whites are not your forte. 

“I knew you’ve been spitting in my drinks, sweetheart. Kinda hot, to be honest. But that’s a violation, wouldn’t wanna get Jim involved, do we?” he raises his eyebrows at you, looking down at you, making you feel like a coffee bean on the ground. Kinda hot. 

“I was just joking, dickhead” 

“Hm. Better be. Another filthy word from you and I’m sending you home.” he whispers. “Alright, going on my lunch. Virginia, you’re off you can go home, Chrissy, take your last break in thirty minutes” and with that, he disappears to one of the tables, watching you make his drink.

That should be a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Just him staring at you, making sure you get his drink right. Pull two ristretto shots.

You aren't buzzing anymore, rather, your brain begins shutting off, drained by all the tension that has been building between you and Eddie. Two pumps of Irish cream. Maybe you actually aren't good enough to be here. Froth the almond milk. Maybe he's right, maybe you are meant to work in a mediocre cafe, making shitty drinks. Espresso first, then milk. You aren't good enough for this level of mastery. 

Fuck. No white dot. 

You tremble as you walk towards Eddie, sitting at his table, watching you bring him a cup of mediocre coffee. 

“No white dot” he says, looking at you with displeasure. 

“I’m sorry, I-”he interrupts you.

“You wanna get trained or are you gonna be a little know-it-all and then deliver me this?” he sips on his flat white. 

“Ok, fine. Train me, whatever.”Embarrassment overtakes you, wanting a hole to form under your feet and engulf you. 

He's right, he has been right all along. Tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“You okay there? Y’know I was joking, right? It doesn’t matter I just-” a spark of guilt lights itself in his throat, you look like you're about to cry. 

“Can I take a second?” you say, the knot in your throat threatening to snap any second. 

“Yeah, um go- go take your break” he breathes. Fuck, he's made you cry. 

You run off towards the back, wanting to disappear. Everything that has happened within those past two days begin to wash over you.

Your cafe is gone, the project you had worked on with your dad before he got sick, gone for the next year. And he’d likely not see it reopen.

Eddie being an asshole, holding a grudge on you because you took his customers, making your life a living hell. 

You sit in the back as you wipe some tears that fell from your eyes. Across the room, there's a door that you have not seen before, and it's ajar.

Curiosity gets the best of you, as you walk into a small, secluded room. It's full of beakers and jars of ingredients, really selling the whole alchemist thing. You look through the ingredients elderflower, rose, peppermint, honey, basil. Basil syrup sounds disgusting. 

You turn towards the work bench, noticing a bottle full of clear liquid labeled lavender syrup. You open it and immediately smell the astringent flavor coming from the bottle. You pour some on your finger and take a taste. Ew.

He needs a better lavender syrup recipe.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Eddie’s voice makes you drop the bottle to the floor, shattering and spilling the astringent liquid on the floor. 

“Oh- shit sorry! I was just- i just got curious” 

“You can’t just come in here and act like you own the place. Curious my ass, you were trying to steal” he accuses, and that hurts you.

“You know I won’t fucking do that, I take my work seriously. Also your lavender syrup tastes like ass, and basil syrup? That sounds foul” you wince, stepping over the broken glass, to make your way back to the front.

He grabs your arm and stops you. “Aren’t you gonna clean that up? Broom’s in the closet” he says, offering you a smug smile. 

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole” you reply, jerking away from his grip. 

“Alright that’s it” is all he says before he slams you against the wall.

He's close. He's so fucking close. 

Your back slams against the brick, hitting a random canvas panel. You can feel his breath on your face, the smell of coffee and cologne inundating your senses. 

“You have been a fucking pain in my ass since you opened your dumb little cafe. You’ve been rude, unruly, untidy and down right mean towards me, and I’m fucking over it” he seethes, he has you caged in between his tattooed arms and all you can think of is tracing every line of his tattoos with the tips of your fingers.

“It’s been four fucking hours, y’hear me? Four hours and I’m sick of you. Y’think you’re cute? You’re a fucking brat, sweetheart, and I don’t like dealing with brats like you.” Your stomach feels funny, like you're taking on a challenge rather than a scolding.

“Clean your shit up and go home, I don’t wanna see your fucking face today. Come back when you have gained some common sense in that empty fucking head” he lowers his arms, but you aren't done. 

“Or what? You think you’re so scary, Eddie, with your stupid tattoos, your fucking stupid hair and your stupid satanic shirts. I don’t give a shit who you are, I’m employed to work here and you can’t fucking send me home because you don’t like me. I’ll fucking report you, freak” 

Freak. His breath hitches at that, years of high school bullying getting under his skin again, making him swallow hard at the unwelcome memory of being slammed against a locker on Monday mornings before class. He stiffens up.

“Alright” he swallows “clean this up and get back to work, I don’t wanna see you right now” you notice that his demeanor has changed, you visibly hit a nerve. Guilt pools at your chest.

“But what about- about the training?” you ask, voice hitching.

“I’ll get Gareth to train you, Virginia should have gone home already. That way we’re both happy. Take tomorrow off, I’ll see you Tuesday” and with that he leaves.

He keeps himself buried in his office until the end of your shift. He can't bear to stand the sight of you, not after you had called him a freak. That stung more than whatever stupid insult you could have flung his way. 

When you turn up on Tuesday, Eddie is nowhere to be found. 

“He took the day off,” Steve says. And you feel real fucking bad. You're scheduled for a mid- shift from three to seven.

“Hey” Jeff says “we’re closing early today ‘cause we’re doing a DnD campaign after. Since Eddie’s not here, would you mind taking over for me so I can start setting up? We close at six-thirty, so after that you can, like, sweep, do dishes and then you can go home” 

You aren't in the mood for a snide remark or a witty comment, so you just agree. “Is Eddie gonna be here tonight?” you ask. You’ve been trying to hound him to apologize for whatever happened the day before, it's clear he's avoiding you. 

He was supposed to be on the schedule. 

“Yeah uh” he replies “he’s our DM, so we kinda need him” he shrugs. 

“DM?” you froth a cup of oatmilk, turning towards him while he's making his drinks.

“Yeah. Dungeon Master?” he gives you a Isn’t that obvious? expression and goes back to his iced hazelnut macchiato. 

“Kinky” you retort, he laughs a bit. 

At six-thirty you lock up the store and you confine yourself to the back for dishes. Keeping an ear out for Eddie’s voice, hoping he’d show up before 7. 

Colette left with Steve to work on the Halloween menu and “I don’t fuck with that nerd stuff” said Steve, fixing his glasses after putting his coat on. 

“…no Henderson you don’t get it “Kill ‘Em All” is definitely Metallica’s best album, are you shitting me? …No don’t come at me with that “Enter Sandman” bullshit you’re so basic for that, you fucking poser” your ears perk up at that. It's definitely Eddie. 

You peek your head out of the back door to see him set up a big table, followed by a bunch of what look like  high school students as they sit down, with their spiral notebooks and pens.

A bunch of small figurines scattered on the cardboard mat as Eddie sits at the head of the table, pulling out a leather bound folder covered in stickers and a cardboard screen. 

They're serious about this.

You're too busy staring at the crowded table to notice Eddie running towards you.

"Daddy didn't teach you it's rude to stare?"

You press yourself against the green tile wall to let him pass, words caught in your throat as you follow him into his office.

"Apparently daddy didn't teach you that stalking is bad either. What is it? Need somethin'?" he spits out and you can feel the venom in his words.

"Yeah, I just" you clear your throat. Talking was hard. He cocks an eyebrow at you as he begins rummaging through his desk drawers.

"Well?"

"I just wanted to apologize for-"

"For being a bitch the other day? Took you long enough" he scoffs as he retrieves a small tin box containing what you assume are dice.

"Um- yeah. I guess that" you shrug and turn your feet to leave the door.

"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. It's not a real apology otherwise, is it?" he has this ability to make you feel so incredibly small with only the power of his words. Like he's talking to a toddler.

"I don't think that's necessary, Eddie, I mean um- I have to get back to work" you protest.

"You can go back to work when you give me a full apology" he's ticking you off, gloating in his victory of you admitting defeat. The white banner you're waving slowly turning red.

"You're being a cunt, take the apology and go play your stupid nerd game" you snap, and you can see his lips curling in a wicked grin. Challenge accepted.

"All this talk of me kicking you to the curb for your filthy mouth really isn't sticking huh? Sorry sweetheart, can't accept an apology you don't mean" he shrugs, heading out of his office, you follow him suit.

"Eddie what the fuck?! Are you actually mental?" you want to strangle him, shove those dice so far down his throat he chokes and dies.

"I'd recommend you scrub those dishes really hard, I can still see the grime on the blenders. If you'll excuse me, I gotta lead my party through the rivers of Bagodan" he winks and then he walks over to his table, leaving you mortified.

You do a once- over with the dishes, while hearing Eddie's shrill voice screech and laugh every time one of his players miss. What's so fucking funny about a couple kids rolling dice?

"Looks like you've made it to the last river" he narrates in a solemn voice, deeper, hotter "Oh, but what is that? You hear shrieking from a distance. It's a sphynx. To cross the river you have to behead the sphynx and bring it to the king of Bagodan. Only then he will grant you access to the wings of Saurion the Elder, and you... will be... free" he says in a whispered tone.

"What do you do, my brave adventurers?"

"Shit" you hear one of the kids swear, he's tall with black hair. "We don't have enough hit points to kill the sphynx AND get through the king's palace guards"

"You’re astute dipshit, congrats!" says another, a girl, looking much younger than the rest.

"We would have had enough points if Dustin here, hadn't fucking sold his to the market for a stupid cloak" says Gareth, shoving the kid who you assume is Dustin

"it was aN INVISIBILITY CLOAK" Dustin yells. The room booms in laughter at the kid's tantrum.

It makes you think. About how you've never had a group of friends like that. Someone to share a common interest with. Sure, you have Colette, but you've moved to town just fairly recently, and you have lived and breathed work for the first two years. No friends to make when you're cooped up home buried in projects among projects. No friends to make when your dad is sick and you have to take him to the hospital on Saturdays for his treatment. You sigh a bit at that. Maybe your cafe exploding is the catalyst that is gonna bring you a new life, a new perspective.

Coming to a store that has unity as a top value really makes you reflect on how lonely your life has been so far.

"Alright children, let's take a break and you can talk strategy. Anyone want a drink?" He stands up from his chair and walks towards the bar. Startled, you go back to the sink and begin scrubbing.

"Y'know you can join us, right?" he leans against the green tile wall, looking at you.

"Join in on that nerd shit? No, thanks. My shift is over" you say putting the last blender on the drying rack and heading to the back.

He follows you "Okay, whatever. I just wanted to tell you it's gonna be me and you tomorrow. Chrissy said she can't make it. Something about midterms" and you roll your eyes.

"Fucking perfect. Tell me in what world does this shit always happen to me" you say exasperated, taking off your apron, which allows your shirt to rise just enough that it gives Eddie a peek of your tummy. Enough to make him gulp a little. Enough to distract him for ten seconds.

He shakes his head. "Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but let's keep it civil, okay? I do my thing, you do yours, we're outta here by 9 pm" he offers, leaning over the metal lockers.

You're not sure if it was the Dungeon Master demeanor he keeps on for the sake of his game or what, but he feels so tall. The thought of it makes you shiver. You put on your jacket.

"How you gettin' home?" he asks.

"Driving" you lie, your car broke down the day before, but you don't want him offering you a ride.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow for closing, then" he says, giving you a tight smile.

"Yeah, bye" you respond hastily, heading out towards the bus stop. Eddie keeps an eye on you through the store window the whole time.

Wednesday night at the "Mad Alchemist" is busier than you expected. Steve left for the evening, leaving you and Eddie to man the fort by yourselves.

Meaning you have to watch him flirt with every fucking customer. Young, old, boy, girl. His self assured demeanor is like a magnet to those coffee- hungry teens, the older women just blush and deliver him a meek "aw, stop it, Eddie" swatting the air and giggling.

Because you both have been so busy, it has not given you time to run your mouth and deliver him some snarky comment.

By 8pm, the store is closed. You have an hour to sweep, clean the counters, mop and do the dishes while Eddie counts the money at the register.

There is a tense quietness in the cafe. Almost as if you know that if one opened their mouths the world would explode. Or you’d start fucking, whichever one comes first. There is no noise aside from the register opening, the broom dragging across the floor and Eddie whistling.

After a day of talking, listening, screaming, shouting, the last thing you want to do is hear Eddie whistle. You let him do it, one minute, two minutes, five minutes in hopes he would get tired.

“Eddie, please” you whine.

“Helps me count money better,” he shrugs, beginning his atrocious whistling again.

You wait one, two, five minutes again. The noise of the sweep and the whistling and the money become too much for you, so in an exasperated rage, you kick the chair in front of you.

“Eddie shUT THE FUCK UP!”

The noise of the chair is the only sound in the building. Eddie stops counting, and stops whistling.

He's just staring at you. At the fallen chair. At the broom next to your feet. You find the floor to be really interesting.

“Pick it up.” Eddie’s voice is distant. A few seconds go by, and your eyes are still on the floor.

The sound of paper being put down and the stomping of heavy boots follow, until his boots arrive in your line of sight. You can't help but raise your head.

“What part of ‘pick it up’ does not register in that head? Hm? Do you kick chairs at home?”

Defeated, you shake your head.

“Do you call your daddy names?”

Another head shake.

“Do you spit in your daddy’s coffee in the morning?” his voice becomes a whisper, so, so close to your face. So close to your lips.

“I didn’t-” he cuts you off.

“I don’t appreciate liars, sweetheart. Did you spit in my drink?” he's cornering you, making you feel small.

You nod. “Only once, though” you defend yourself.

“Only once” he mocks, chuckling to himself “sixteen.” he mutters.

“Sixteen is the number of times, from the first time i stepped foot in your goddamn cafe, I’ve seen you spit in my fuckin’ drink” he seethes, no, growls.

“Now you’re fucking lying” you interject, finding a small crumb of courage within you.

“Don’t act cute, I’ve seen you. Pick the chair up” he says, his chin tilting towards the chair on the floor.

“I can’t pick it up if your stupid arm’s in the way, can I?” he grunts and moves his arm. You bend over and picked the chair up, breathing through your teeth. You're furious.

“Watch your attitude, here we don’t-”

You snap your neck around “You’re a fucking control freak, that’s what you are” you mutter. There's that word again. Freak.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that word again” he's furious.

You turn around to face him. It's your turn to be close “Or what? You gonna spank me?” it's barely a whisper, looking at him through your lashes. A challenge.

He exhales, crossing his arms “You know what? That’s the best idea you’ve had since you’ve stepped foot in this place. Bend over the table” He whispers, and you freeze.

If there is a definition to fuck around and find out, you're it.

“Seems you might be a bit hard of hearing, sweetheart. I said bend over.” he says, more gently, yet keeping that domineering aura to him. He nudges your arm.

You quietly follow through.

“Now you’re following orders. Before I start I need to know you’re okay with this” he whispers, caressing your back in an almost soothing manner.

You nod.

He tuts “None of that shit. I’m not doing anything until I have your green light. With words”

“I-” words suddenly become hard. You swallow and breathe through your nose “I’m- I’m okay with this”

There is no denying you're extremely turned on, in addition to being revved up by your previous fight. It feels like wildfire spreading itself from every tip of your body, finding a home right between your legs.

“Alright, good. If you want me to stop we can stop at any time, just say ‘chainmail’” he says, looking around to check if the blinds had been lowered. He has a safeword. He knows what he's doing.

“O-okay” you say with all the power you can muster.

“You wanna act like a toddler, sweetheart? I’ll treat ya like a fuckin’ toddler” he says, before delivering the first smack right on the meat of your left butt cheek.

You’ve tried spanking before, with previous partners, but this is different. The smacks are calculated, like he knows where to hit. A yelp escapes you.

“Need ya to count” he says, caressing the area he just hit.

“‘Kay, fuck. One” you exhale, still feeling his handprint on your ass. The red hot sting from the impact leaving tiny pinpricks through the fabric of your jeans. 

Smack. Two.

“How ‘bout this?” he stops, speaking to no one, really. “How ‘bout I give you one spank for every time you’ve spit in my coffee, hm?”

That makes you tremble a bit. Sixteen slaps. 

“I dunno if I can, I mean I-” 

“Then you know what to say if it gets too much, right? Say ‘Yes, Eddie, I do’” his voice makes your knees give out as his other hand, the one that isn't squeezing and groping your ass, makes its way into your hair and pulls. 

“Ow- Fuck, Jesus Christ Eddie!” you yell, but the pull at your scalp makes you wish he’d drop the antics, pull your pants down and fuck you immediately. 

“Not what I wanna hear, sweetheart. Try that again” He smacks your ass again, pulling his hand out of your hair to hold your back down from the waist. 

“Three, fuck. Yes, Eddie, I-I do” you exhale and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Good girl,” he says. Good girl. He could easily smack you in the face and that is would shock you less. Where the fuck did he learn all this shit?

By the time you’ve reached spank number ten you think you're ready to tap out. Tears welling in your eyes, making your vision go blurry. You're turned on, but Eddie’s heavy hand is becoming too painful.

He notices you trying to squirm away from him with every hit of his hand, all he says is “You know what to say, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

But you let him keep going. Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen.

The last slap feels like the roughest, leaving in its wake the phantom of a heavy hand. His hand rubbing circles on your ass, almost like he doesn't feel ready to stop touching you.

You turn your head around, so you're able to see his face.

“Mmmm, so what now?” you ask, still hazy “Gonna take me home, Eddie? Finish the job?”it's like your brain has forgotten who you are talking to.

“C’mere” he says, sitting you down on the table, your ass rough and sore under the fabric of your pants.

You can feel the slick feeling between your legs through the seam of your black jeans, hoping he’d move you to keep going, take you home, his office, his van, anywhere. 

His body settles between your legs as his hands run through the expanse of your stomach, your back. Your hands make their way to the buckle of his belt, trying to quickly undo his jeans. Eddie inhales as if to convince himself to stop you as he grabs your wrists and pushes them to your chest, his belt left unbuckled “Not tonight,” he murmurs.

You pout in protest.

“Aww, you’re pouting” he mocks, a dry laugh escapes his lips. It brings a twang of embarrassment "pouting 'cause I'm not letting you take my dick in your mouth, sweetheart?" he taunts. 

“I‘m not pouting” you mutter, looking at the floor. His hands grab your chin, lifting your eyes to make you look up at him. He looks so tall standing over you like that, eyes still glossed over, pupils blown from the spanking he’s just given you. 

“You look at me when I speak to you, yeah?” Oh fuck. You know better this time. 

“Yeah” you croak out, nodding your head in case he doesn't get the message. 

“Yeah? You liked getting spanked? Being put in your place?” his demeanor never fails in making you feel impossibly small.

The hand that holds your chin travels down your neck and you lean into his touch, in the way his hand wraps itself around your throat, warm and rough. Who are you to say he isn't gonna strangle you and kill you? 

But the feeling of his hand around the column of your neck, covering its whole surface area feels too intoxicating, like you want him to make you stop thinking. Your breath hitches. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t have my rings on. With the way you’ve been running your mouth you would’ve more than deserved it” his grip on your neck going from resting to actually applying pressure to the sides of your throat. You gasp. 

He just watches you, eyes glossy and desperate while you try to press your thighs together to relieve some pressure. Poor thing. He almost feels bad for you. The way he sees you keen into his touch, labored breath, watching your chest rise and fall slowly. 

“We can’t do this here, Eddie. The health violations” you say,  barely a whisper, mustering whatever breath and thought you can. Your brain feels foggy and fuzzy with the slight pressure of air being constricted. He chuckles. 

“Didn’t you go to UCLA or something? Aren’t you supposed to be really smart?” his tone is mocking, you swallow at the embarrassment, hand letting up on your throat to grab your hand. He isn't here to be soft with you. He is here to make a point.

“Me choking you got you actin’ all dumb already?’M impressed. C’mon get off the table, we can’t be here” he says, making you stand up. 

“Where- where are we going?” you feel winded, and you haven't even done anything. He leads you through the cafe, the bar, the back of house, where the drying dishes sit abandoned on the rack. Right at the threshold to his back office, the cold green tile arch pressing against your back.

“I don’t know, but I really wanna kiss you right now.” and you feel like your breath has just gotten knocked out of you. He wants to kiss you?

"You wanna- huh?" he slams you against the wall, just t prove a point "Shut the fuck up" he says as he puts his lips on yours. Famished, animalistic.

There is no room for gentleness. No room for sweet caresses and soft praises. His hands groping and feeling your hips, grinding into him. The friction against his tattered jeans make a whine escape you. Too much and not enough.

His teeth clash with yours as you both open your mouths, the way he tastes made you dizzy. His mint gum and cigarettes inundate your senses as you pull at the hair tie that is keeping Eddie's unruly hair in place.

Reaching under the mane of hair, you pull at his nape, where his curls are smaller, more defined. He groans.

His nose skims your jaw and licks at the hinge between the bone and your neck, making you yelp. A small oh escapes you when his hands work to untuck your shirt out of your jeans, his cold hands sneaking past the barrier of clothing to touch at the skin of your stomach, the sides of your breasts.

His mouth is warm against your neck, tracing every ridge, every line, every mole, 'til he reaches the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and he bites.

"Eddie, you fucking freak don't bite me" you hiss, head thrown back as he lifts your shirt up, leaving it completely abandoned on the floor.

He moves you off the wall and into his office, mouth not stopping his assault on your neck, stumbling towards his cluttered desk. With one move, a space big enough for you to sit is created. His shirt comes off in the process. His pale chest, skinny, but toned and littered with tattoos, is the only thing you are able to pay attention to.

"I hear that fucking word come outta your mouth again I'll-" he begins.

"You what? More spanking? Consider me terrified" you interrupt, all an evil plan to egg him on. Blinking your eyes up at him. He is seething.

"God, do you ever shut up?" he asks, a groan leaving his lips continuing to kiss you, teeth and tongue and spit, his hands coming out from under your shirt to grab your chin.

You look up at him, hair wild and unruly, eyes blown out, a wicked glint in his eye, almost like he's plotting something.

“Open your mouth” he says, and you looked at him, a puzzled look on your face. He squeezes your cheeks in response, forcing your mouth open. “You fucking brat” he mutters.

You keep your mouth open, expecting his finger, something. Instead, a glob of spit makes its way onto your tongue. He spit in your mouth. You throb.

“Eddie what the fuck-” you begin, but he interrupts you.

“You didn’t seem to mind spitting in my coffee, did you? Consider this a payback. Swallow it.” he smirks against your lips, lightly tapping his fingers on your cheek, not quite a slap. You obey immediately for the first time that night.

His hand travels down to the seam of your jeans, your breath becoming more labored with all the building tension from the night.

“Eddie…please” you whine, arching into his hand, not wanting to pull back anymore. You want release, brain hazy with the feeling of being under him, the way his rough hands are touching you, exploring you, grabbing and groping at the curves of your body as you arch into him.

His hand begins moving back and forth, the heel of his palm making direct contact with the seam of your pants, forcing a strangled whine out of you.

You grind your hips in sync with his hand, as the other sits on your cheek, cupping it, moaning in his mouth at the small amount of friction he's giving you. “Can I take your pants off?” he asks, soft against your mouth. You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He quickly makes work of taking your shoes and jeans off, pooled at his feet while his hands caress and grope their way up your thighs.

“You’re cute when you’re not being a cunt, you know that?” he whispers against your mouth, hand ghosting over your panties, practically feeling the heat radiating off of you.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” you say through gritted teeth, motioning to hit him in the chest. He stops you, grabbing your wrists with his hands.

“I suggest keeping that filthy mouth at bay if you really want me to do something about that big, wet patch on your panties, hm?” he whispers, licking your bottom lip, his hand still keeping an iron grip on your wrists.

“How ‘bout you stop being a cunt and fuck me?” you’ve had enough of his teasing and taunting.

“Who said anything about fucking?” he chuckles, his hand moving down to grope at your ass. “No, see, that would be improper, don’t you think? Fucking your boss in his office. You kinky bitch” he delivers a sharp smack down to your ass, reviving the dull sting from the spanking earlier.

“You’re not my fucking boss, Eddie. Stop talking and- ohmygod”

His other hand begins massaging over the crotch of your panties, making direct contact with your clit over the fabric. “Made you this wet from spanking you? Think you might have actually been the freak this whole time, sweetheart.” He hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties “Lift.” He taps your thigh, you immediately lift your hips to let him take your panties off.

He laughs when he sees the mess that he’s made of your pussy.

“Fuck stop- stop laughing” you whisper out while his hands begin to spread your legs further.

“I think you secretly love me laughing at you. You think you’re so tough, bein’ all mean, callin’ me a freak like it doesn’t turn you on just imagining how much of a fucking freak I really am, huh sweetheart?” he skims your jaw with his nose, his words making you shiver as you clench around nothing.

His free hand sneaking its way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeak.

Your hips lift off the desk, looking to find some kind of stimulation aside from Eddie’s cruel teasing touches.

He looks at you through his dark lashes “What is it, baby?” baby. baby. baby. The nickname makes your head spin.

“Eddie, I- fuck- please! I need-” your hips arch off the wooden surface as you feel his fingers prod your entrance.

“You need my fingers? Can you ask me nicely?” you want to kill him. He's reveling in the torture that he's putting you through.

“I f-ucking ah hate you” but you aren't really sure if you believe that yourself.

“You hate me sweetheart? I’m hurt. You won’t mind then if I just leave you here, do you?” he caresses over your inner thigh, the tips of his fingers coated in slick, clear arousal.

“No!” your hips lift once again “your fingers…please” His smile is pleased as one of his fingers enter you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” He's making your head spin, a choked noise leaves your lips as he pumps his finger in and out, finally getting the stimulation you need.

“More” you whisper, his other hand still on your throat.

“So greedy. Y’gonna thank me? Say ‘thank you, Eddie’”

At that point you can't even think about acting up. “F-fuck. Thank- thank you Eddie” and with that, he adds another finger.

God, you already feel so full and teetering the edge.

“Good girl. Now that I think about it, I believe you owe me an apology” he begins, his fingers working mercilessly inside you, while a string of breathy ah ah ahs are all the sounds you could muster.

“You were so mean to me the other day, I didn’t appreciate your tone while you were trying to apologize” he taunts, his fingers prodding deeper inside you. A small yelp escapes you.

“You were- you were ah” his fingers curl on your g-spot and your vision goes white.

“What was that? I was what, baby?” he begins to thumb at your clit, smiling like a maniac at the state he's reducing you in.

“Oh yes there” no idea how you're gonna finish your sentence.

“Feels good huh? Needa finish what you were saying, sweetheart, can’t have you going stupid on me just yet” his hand on your throat moves up to your cheek, delivering a couple light smacks to your face. You clench.

“Fuck, uh, you we-were being a oh god cunt” you say, mustering all the mental strength you can.

“Is that right? Funny how my fingers are in yours right now and you don’t seem to complain.” He laughs to himself, his thumb speeding up its assault on your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I just need you to say ‘Sorry Eddie, I won’t be a bitch to you again.’ Can you say that or is your brain too fucking far gone to understand a single word i’m saying?” he teases, which briefly brings you back from the ecstasy of Eddie’s fingers working wonders on you.

“Fuck you, Eddie” you hiss through your teeth, immediately regretting it at the feeling of the coil in your belly beginning to tighten.

“Oh. It’s like that then. Alright” he simply says as he picks up his pace. Head thrown back as you revel in the feeling of nearing the edge of your release.

“Oh shit, get-getting close” you breathe.

“Apologize and I’ll let you cum” he smiles, a wicked show of bared teeth that only makes you both want to punch him and fuck him.

“Fuck n- Oh God- ‘m not apologizing for- for shit” you arch your back, trying to make yourself cum before he changes his mind.

“Fucking apologize” he insists.

“Fuck you” you say, followed by the unwelcome feeling of emptiness as he takes his fingers out. You really thought he was bluffing.

An empty ache grows in your stomach, feeling unfulfilled and disappointed. You sit there in disbelief, as he cleans his fingers off with a tissue.

“Pity” he shrugs “Get dressed, I’m taking you home” he turns around, heading towards the front.

You throw the box of kleenex at his head. You miss.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you jump off his desk, ignoring the dull throb between your legs as you put your panties and jeans back on, following the trail of your clothes he left in his wake.

“Could’ve said sorry” he just says, closing up the register, while you put on your shirt and shoes “C’mon my van is around the back” he offers, grabbing his keys.

“I’m not fucking getting in your car. I can drive” you protest.

“Yeah, uh huh, you and what car, you fucking liar? Saw you at the bus stop the other day, and your car isn’t in the parking lot. You either let me drive or you can sleep in here tonight.”

You let him drive you home. The sound of Judas Priest blaring through the speaker only makes the stubborn silence between you two louder.

The ten minute drive to your house feels like an hour, as you itch to get off the dingy van and take care of what he left unfinished.

He finally parks up in front of your house, you quickly book it towards your door as he shouts “You’re welcome sweetheart” before you fumble with the keys and enter inside. He stays there until you do.

Your dad was asleep already, so you crack his bedroom door to check up on him. You sigh. Everything seems to be alright.

Once all the lights are off, you run towards your room. Still in disbelief of what happened with Eddie, you strip off your coffee- smelling clothes, wincing at the thought of Eddie’s hands sneaking under your shirt, his fingers hooking on the sides of your panties.

The feeling of hatred and arousal battling each other off while you recall his stupid smiling face as he removed his fingers from inside you. The dull empty ache as you came down from the euphoria of his touch and words.

That night, you kick yourself for not saying sorry to him.