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magicalrocketships · 7 months

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Here's a little Max/Daniel + a fucked up bond ficlet (1130 words)

Max dreams of his bond.

He's dreamed of it his entire life, nights bombarded with somebody else's feelings and emotions and someone else's voice, dreams weighed down with how it feels to share some of what he's feeling with another person. The weight of it, night after night after night. A bond that haunts his dreams.

And then he wakes up and it's not there, and Max feels isolated, cut-off, alone. An orange, its juice squeezed out. He's just the peel. He is what's left behind.

You are not supposed to dream of bonds like this. He tries to explain it as he grows up, but everyone tells him he's imagining it. Fantasising about a future.

In the middle of the night, Max feels like he could stretch his hand out and touch the person sharing his bond, and have them touch back. Sometimes he reaches his hand out, holds it up over him, fingertips outstretched. Sometimes, desperately, it feels like someone is touching back.

Bonds are not like this, he is told, over and over again. He tells himself he's got it wrong. He learns to dread his dreams as much as he dreads waking up from them. He is 14, 15, 16, 17.

18. 19. 20.

One day he wakes up from his dream in a hotel room with his hand stretched out.

Daniel's hand is touching his, reaching out over the gap between their beds. His fingertips press to Max's wrist.

For the first time in his life, Max's chest loosens. His breathing eases. Max touches Daniel's pulse point with the pad of his thumb.

Daniel's eyes fly open. His eyes are wide, bright. Immediately empty. He jerks his hand back.

He is gone from the room when Max comes out of the bathroom.

Max feels like his feet are being dragged down into the earth. Like his steps grow heavier. The only time he's ever free from it is when he's behind a wheel. Everywhere else it is relentless.

Daniel is leaving Red Bull. They don't talk. The dreams continue. They're worse, this time around. When Max reaches out, desperate, haunted— no one reaches back.

Bonds are not like this, he is told.

"I know this," he says. He is tired, furious, aggressive on the track. He can't get it up for his girlfriend. Daniel will not look at him.

Maybe this is not a bond. Maybe this is just him. Maybe there is just something wrong with him.

His dad takes him to a doctor. It is not one on any approved list. Make his dreams stop, his dad says, and essentially hands over a blank cheque, Max's name on the account.

Max takes pills. A little blue one, two white ones, one circular, two oblong. He can't get it up for anyone. There is no girlfriend anymore. He sleeps like the dead. Daniel doesn't look at him.

He comes alive in his car. There is nowhere else to feel anything. Daniel is mid-field at Renault. Max is leading at Red Bull. The pills keep coming, the dreams are gone, and he leads the field. He is empty, he is hollow, he is nothing but silence and fury and rage.

"Born to race," his dad says. Pride alive. "Bred to race. My genes."

His mum raced too, but it is never her genes.

"Look at me," he says to Daniel, one time when they see each other. "Look at me."

Daniel does, but his gaze is tired. "What do you want me to see?"

"Me looking at you," Max says, and Daniel looks away.

That night, Max punches a wall so hard he feels it all the way up his arm and into his shoulder and down into his chest. His knuckles bleed.

"You're extremely lucky not to have broken anything," the team medic tells him.

Max doesn't care anymore.

He gets in his car and he drives through the pain. Bonds are not like this. He crashes off at turn seven, eight laps in, goes straight into the wall. When they ask him over the radio if he is okay, he doesn't say anything. Sleeping like the dead at night has bled into the day.

Max. Are you okay?

"No," he says finally, and the red flag flies.

The doctor at the hospital takes his pills off him. There are hurried conversations outside of his room. He presses his face into the pillow. I have heard of bonds like this, one person says. But only in scientific papers. Never in real life.

Max doesn't want to hear it. Not anymore.

He wakes in the middle of the night to Daniel sitting in the chair by the bed. These are the dreams Max pays not to have. His dad will find another doctor. There will be other pills. The bond he is not supposed to have will melt away into a grave of silence, night after night, day after day. He rolls over.

"Max," Daniel says. "Max. I crashed too, you know."

A nightmare, Max thinks. He is empty and hollow and cold. He turns his face into the pillow, breathes.

"You went into that wall and I blacked out. Did you know that?"

Max remembers all those endless nights of reaching out, of wanting so desperately for someone to reach back. For Daniel to reach back. That single moment of touch, of ease, of quiet, before Daniel left him, left Red Bull, left this.

"I've seen your onboards," Daniel goes on. "I've seen you crash. And then I close my eyes and I see what you saw and I feel what you felt. And I can't make it stop."

"Bonds aren't supposed to be like this," Max says. "That's what they say."

Daniel reaches out and takes Max's hand in his. They both breathe. "Look at me."

Max unburies his face from the pillow. "What do you see?"

"You," Daniel says, in the dark of the night. The ache in Max's soul is gently unclenching. "You, looking back at me."

Daniel presses his palm to the pale inside of Max's wrist. They are caught in a soft slash of moonlight through the blinds. A pulse beats gentle across his skin, like the first birds of sunrise. It crescendoes. It is like he can hear again. He has never cared about music but he cares about this. His body sings.

"Maybe our bond is supposed to be like this," Max says, softly, desperately hopeful. He looks. Daniel looks back.

Daniel lifts Max's hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of his hand, to Max's palm, the base of his thumb, his wrist. Max's whole body thrums.

"How do you feel?" Daniel asks.

"Alive," Max says, and neither of them let go.

Thank you to my lovely @flawlessassholes for reading this over for me :) This song accompanies the closing paragraphs.

#my fic #fic that i wrote #a little bit of fucked up daniel/max and a fucked up bond

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an-abyss-of-stars · 1 year

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It's Visceral And It's Cruel: Possible Moment

Summary: Rhaena kissed Aemond earlier in the day, and this horny boy just can't stop thinking about it. Laying in bed replaying the moment, wishing he'd done more...a LOT more.

Warnings: Smut, just smutty smut for the point of smut!

P.S: This scene was just an idea i had floating around in my head for the actual fic I'm currently writing, which shares the same name "It's Visceral And It's Cruel". So consider this is a possible canon moment that MAY happen in that fic eventually!

Aemond had been lying awake in bed for nearly two hours now. His mind drowning in a whirlwind of emotions. Rhaena Targaryen plaguing him like no other ever had. It was torture, pure unadulterated torture. For, now, he knew exactly what he'd been missing.

It was infuriating in a way, all those waking hours spent fantasizing about how her lips would feel. And now that he'd experienced the real thing.

To be fair had kissed her before, two brief but heated moments nonetheless. She’d made them chaste affairs as if she felt guilty about her burgeoning feelings for him. But this most recent encounter. He was unwilling to let her escape him so easily, he had kept her locked against his hard body. He'd tasted her warm pliable mouth, his tongue lapping with hers in possessive heat. It hadn't lasted nearly long enough

And even after she’d left him panting and wanting for her, he still couldn’t help but realize his imagination had severely underestimated her. With just how incredibly plush her lips were, the way her soft body had slotted against his perfectly. That intoxicating lavender scent that followed her everywhere had become imprinted in his memory…and his clothes. Oh, how he still ached at the thought of her.

But now after the fact here he was mentally kicking himself for not doing more. For not groping her while he'd had the chance.

In all honesty, he'd squandered the perfect opportunity.

Gripping his sheets with a violent fury, wishing he had lifted her up against him and felt every inch of her. He should've carried her over to the chaise where he could undo the confines of her dress and reveal more of her silky smooth tawny skin. For he was so desperate to see her bared to him, to feel her writhe against him.

Groaning through his gritted teeth, he could see it so clearly. Tearing off her skirts so he could delve between thighs, draw her to the edge of insanity. Force her perfect court persona to fracture and tear as she screamed in pleasure for him and only him. He wanted to hear his name on her tongue as she moaned wantonly for him in the throws of passion.

He’d do more than simply fuck her, he could show her passion. Fucking was an art and he was certain he'd never felt more passionate then when he thought about fucking her.

He wanted to possess her, claim her, take her for his own. It was beyond unbearable now.

With gritted teeth, Aemond didn't need to glance down to know he felt impossibly hard. His cock tenting the black silk sheets that surrounded him. He might've tried to will his brain to stop thinking of her, eliminate the images and rest for once.

But somewhere over time, over the several moons she and her family had stayed here at the Keep…this had grown to become an impossible feat. His mind would never silence with it’s insistent thoughts of her.

A groan escaped him as he leaned his head back against the warmth of his pillow, his body was burning, sweat beading on his forehead. He hadn’t lifted a finger but he was on fire.

Aemond no longer wished to relieve himself in another poor excuse for a substitute, having dragged himself, annoyingly so, to the Street Of Silk on one too many occasions. Only to spill himself upon the back of some whore, someone he could imagine was the woman he craved. To then leave the experience disheartened and only half quenched and still wholly unsatisfied. And he was certainly tired of relieving himself with his own hand. For it no longer seemed to quiet his want or need for her.

Another groan ripped through his throat.

She should be the one to relieve him.

She was the obvious balm to his burning desires.

Rhaena Targaryen.

Just at the thought of her name, all he could picture was her beautiful face. Her lovely warm mouth lowering over his thick needy cock, taking him in full. An image that shifted to her sitting above him, her heavenly curvy body bare to him as she sunk herself down, her dripping wanting cunt taking in the large throbbing length of him. Slowly but surely she'd take him, all of him, he'd make sure of it.

Oh, how he'd shivered with want just at the thought.

Aemond wanted all of her, every inch of her, his to claim and take. He wanted to spill his seed within her and see her swollen with his child inside of her. He no longer cared who approved of their coupling, he just wanted Rhaena all to himself. He wanted to be able to refer to her as his, he wanted her to be his woman, his wife, his...all his. He never wanted to have to share her again.

Oh the Seven were cruel, how he could feel her so vividly in his mind, see her, hear her...only to face the reality that she was not here with him.

His groaning had paved way to an annoyed growl. His cock was weeping the more he thought of her and with that he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

Aemond was a man of action. He was a dragon. And if his uncle's words were to be believed, dragons take what they want.

He wanted Rhaena, so he would have her.

Smut is not my forte but i hope to get better at it. If anyone liked this, I have more! This is only the first quarter of the VERY LONG scene I wrote. I might post some more of it in between my actual updates to my main fic!

#rhaena x aemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #rhaemond #aemond smut

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kaita0 · 2 years

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headfull of Mafia Zhongli

There is this one tik tok audio of Zhongli that has been all over my fyp and it has me addicted to the idea of Mafia Zhongli.

Tik Tok Audio: "And you can shut the fuck up and mind your own business. You son of a bitch. Just hold on- You're fucking dead! Uh, Jesus Christ."

Pairing: Mafia Zhongli x Female Reader (mention of Venti) Warnings: Voyeurism, Marking, Biting, Oral (Male Receiving)

I can't help but imagine Zhongli's thick arms being flexed as he has a tight grip on Venti, his eyes narrowed in fury and his upper lip lifting up into a snarl as he stares Venti down. "You thought you could just get away with what you did? I have eyes and ears everywhere, Barbatos. You forget that one fact," Zhongli's tone was nothing more than sharp and dangerous. A wary smile was on Venti's lips as he stared up at Zhongli, his hands in the air to showcase his surrender. "Come on, It was nothing more than a joke. I didn't mean to offend you in any way. I didn't even know she was yours." He exclaims quickly, Venti's voice high pitch as he squirmers in Zhongli's hold.

Zhongli's eyebrow twitches in this realization as he harshly drops Venti to the ground. "You didn't know?" Zhongli's fierce amber eyes turn to you. You had been anxiously sitting there awaiting Zhongli's order. You would be lying if you said that Zhongli didn't look hot when he was in killer mode. Your thighs rubbing against one another as you patiently wait for Zhongli's words. "Come here, right now." He states firmly, his eyes following you as you make your way towards him.

Once you got into his reaching point, his arms wrapped around your waist. His head moved towards your neck where he placed small kisses. "He didn't know, Darling. That you were owned by me. He had no clue that every inch of your body and your mind is mine. That I own you and nobody can ever touch you. Because I don't share my trophy. I put them on display to show that nobody can have something of this high quality." His amber eyes glowing in both anger and lust, his sights never leaving Venti's withering form. "You think we should teach him a lesson, Darling?" Zhongli softly whispers into your ear. His heated breath created a shiver down your spine. "Yes," Your voice was barely heard as you whispered it out. You were afraid that a moan would slip out if you spoke too loudly.

"Get on your knees for me, Love." The quickness was surreal as you sit before Zhongli. Your eyes staring up into his own. "What are you doing? Begin." He states firmly. You didn't have to be told twice as you begin to unbuckle his belt. Your tongue glides over your lips while you unzip Zhongli's zipper. You are quick to reach for his cock and admire it. You watched as the tip leaked out precum, you drooled at the sight. Quickly you get to work. A small groan escapes Zhongli's lips. His hands move to the back of your head. You clutch onto Zhongli's dress pants, your throat constricting around his cock.

"You look so beautiful with your mouth full. Don't you think so too, Barbatos?" Zhongli's eyes fall upon Venti who is staring in awe. Venti would be lying If he said no. He watched every drop of spit slip down your chin and onto the floor. The slurping noise emitting from you were addicting. "I didn't hear youo, Barbatos." Zhongli lets out an angered growl. "If you answer, I might let you play with her." A chill ran down Venti's spine at the thought. He is quick to whisper a yeah. A grin appeared on Zhongli's lips. Zhongli lets out a chocked groan as he floods your mouth in cum. "Oh fuck," You lap up his essence with ease and happiness. "Such a good girl, aren't you?" You preen at his praise. "Did you get every single drop? Hm?" You nod joyfully, Zhongli has always been good to you.

At first you wanted to leave Zhongli, leave the violence and the posessiveness. But when you did try to leave for one you missed Zhongli dearly and two he dragged you back. He found you and took you back home. Ever since then he has been treating you like a princess. Something your daddy issues loved and craved for. Zhongli's big hands caress your cheeks, squeezing it to reveal your empty mouth. He turns to Venti. "Don't ever touch her again. If I find out you even took the same whiff of air as her. You'll be more than dead. You'll wish that I killed you. I'll keep you chained up and watch me take her from behind, from the front, from everywhere. You'll have no other choice but to watch because that is all you're good for." Zhongli spat harshly. He is quick to pick you up into his arms. Before he leaves through the door, he turns his head to Venti. "Stay out of our sights, mk? It would be a shame to put one of your playthings in a barn."

#mafia zhongli #headfull of mafia zhongli #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin Zhongli #yandere zhongli #venti x reader #zhongli x reader x venti #yandere #yandere x reader

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irishseeeker · 3 years

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row, row, row your boat with ferocious jealously

Kate Sharma is taking a boat ride with a man that isn’t him. Anthony Bridgerton decides he doesn’t quite like that.

---

Anthony Bridgerton was livid.

“Anthony.”

“Anthony?”

“What?” Anthony snapped, his tone harsher than intended as he snapped his head away from the source of his rage and back to look at his pestering brothers.

Benedict, frowning at his brother’s harsh tone, raised an eyebrow. “What on earth are you glaring at?”

Colin was smirking triumphantly over the glass in his hand, which made Anthony want to throttle him more. “I wonder what our dear brother could be glaring at. Or should I say-who.”

The widest lopsided grin spread out on Ben’s face.

Benedict, the traitor, quickly caught on as he followed Anthony and Colin’s eyeline to where Kate Sharma herself, dressed in a dark purple dress that made her brown skin glow and his legs weak, was talking to him. No-she was laughing with him. He couldn’t possibly be that funny.

Was it a pity laugh? Surely it was a pity laugh.

Anthony had never hated a man so much in his life as he hated William Trent. He was the second son of an Earl and Anthony had spoken to him a few times at Whites. Anthony didn’t know him well at all, he had been in Benedict’s year at Eton and Oxford and they had only met a handful of times.

Anthony still despised him.

Since when had he been courting Kate? Anthony couldn’t have possibly missed news that significant. He came from a family of gossips who would have said something, he attended most of the same balls as Kate did-he didn’t recall them dancing, much less speaking.

Kate’s ring of laughter rang through the air and it was like a knife to the chest, puncturing every bit of sense he had left in him. Anthony didn’t care much for sense at that moment.

All he knew was he wanted to be the one to make her laugh.

That fact itself rather terrified him.

“What do you think of Trent, Ben?” Colin’s teasing tone wasn’t lost on Anthony and he was this close to getting thrown into the river that was a few metres away from them.

“I rather like him. We went to Eton and Oxford together. Decent. Funny,” Benedict drawled, his lopsided grin close to falling off his face as it was stretched so widely. “Very popular with ladies, I believe.”

Anthony was clenching his jaw so hard, it began to ache. His grip was so tight on his wine glass, it was close to smashing in his hands. “I hope you two are enjoying yourselves.”

“Oh brother,” Colin said, patting his eldest brother on the shoulder with the same, teasing grin. “We truly are.”

This was ridiculous. He didn’t want to come today. The last place he wanted to be was at a full of young ladies on the marriage mart, their families and potential suitors. He had to come, as he is meant to be courting and finding a wife. He was also the head of his household. He was meant to be courting Edwina.

Edwina.

Anthony hadn’t thought about her since they had briefly greeted each other when they arrived. All he could think about, from the moment he saw Kate and her head full of bouncy, dark curls , was her. How much he wanted to wrap one of those curls around his fingers and pull her away, behind a tree and-

No.

He had to stop this. This endless torture of imagining things that would never be. He had already chosen a wife. Kate had dragged her sister off just as Anthony and his brothers greeted the Sharma women.

Kate had barely looked at him as she said those two words, “My lord,” that made the hairs on his arms stick up and an uncomfortable warm feeling spread through his stomach.

Those feelings only ever happened when she spoke to him.

He wanted her to whisper them in his ear while he had his way with her. He wanted her to whisper them in his ear in their bed. He wanted her to whisper them in his ear while she was sat on his lap, dancing in his arms, for the rest of their bloody lives-

“It looks like Miss Sharma is going for a boat ride down the river.”

Colin’s voice snapped Anthony out of his dangerous thoughts and the fury quickly spread through Anthony’s entire body as he watched Kate take that bastard’s hand and walk towards the boats that were lined up along the bank of the river.

Not on his bloody watch.

“What an excellent idea,” Anthony said, shoving his glass into his brother’s chest as he clapped his hands, looking around for Edwina. “I’ll go find Miss Sharma.”

“I believe Miss Edwina Sharma has already been escorted into a boat.” Benedict chimed in, gesturing towards a boat that was being rowed by a man Anthony couldn’t recognize.

Shit.

Anthony had to act fast. He had to ask a young lady quickly to take a boat ride with him so he could catch up with Kate. He would row the bloody English channel just to find out what they were speaking out and what was so bloody funny about Trent.

He scanned the crowd around them, most of the young ladies beaming at him but he struggled to put a name to most of their faces. He needed someone he could tolerate, that didn’t talk too much and someone that wouldn’t make him want to drown himself more than he already wanted to at the thought of Kate and that imbecile rowing along the river together.

He left his brothers, making his way through the crowds and spotting a few familiar faces. He nodded his head in greeting as people spoke to him, hastily turning around as he spotted Cressida Cowper and her mother making a beeline for him.

Colin had once compared them to the Queen’s yapping little dogs that never seemed to shut up and follow you everywhere and Anthony struggled to not laugh every time he had the displeasure of making their acquaintance.

There were many things Anthony would do to get closer to Kate Sharma and that man but trapping himself in a boat with Cressida Cowper would not be one of them.

He didn’t like bullies.

There, standing in a shockingly blinding bright yellow dress with embroidered sequins, was his saving grace.

Penelope Fetherington.

“Miss Fetherington,” Anthony said, slightly out of his breath as he approached her, bowing his head. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a boat ride along the river?”

He felt slightly guilty, noticing she was alone and looking uncomfortable. Eloise was sick at home in bed, she had made her first season quite the strain on their family with her habit of complaining about everything and unwillingness to participate in anything.

“My Lord,” Penelope squealed, her round cheeks darkening as she bowed her head. “Oh! That is very kind of you. But-well, you don’t have to. I’m really okay. If your mother-”

“I want to,” Anthony said quickly, the guilt growing inside of him as she spoke. No one should have to feel as if they’ve only been asked because someone’s mother forced them to. Even if his intentions weren’t honourable, he’d try harder to make sure she didn’t feel like that. “Do I seem to you like a man who does what he doesn’t want to do?”

Penelope’s anxious expression faded slowly into a relaxed one, a small smile appearing on her face. “I would love to, my lord.”

“I will admit, Miss Fetherington,” Anthony spoke quietly to her, offering her his arm as they made their way to the river bank. Anthony pushed people out of the way until they were right behind Kate and William. “I do enjoy boat rides. However, I needed to escape the preying mothers and their daughters on the bank. My mother would have pushed me onto a boat if I didn’t pick a suitable young lady and I couldn’t have picked better company.

Penelope’s giggle, which was louder than expected, caught the attention of Kate, Trent, Cressida Cowper, another gentlemen Anthony hadn’t met and of course-Colin.

Colin, who had wormed his way into a conversation with Kate and Trent and grinning mischievously at his brother as he did so. Benedict had been wise enough to stay away.

“Viscount Bridgerton.” Trent said quickly, smiling and bowing his head as he addressed him. Anthony’s bow was stiff in return.

“Good afternoon,” Anthony said stiffly, feigning slight confusion and real distaste as he stared at him. He wasn’t very impressive up close. His jacket looked cheap and his hat was slightly wonky. Anthony surely didn't have anything to worry about. This man didn’t look funny. “Have we met?”

It was rude, but Anthony couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He chose to ignore Colin’s loud snort from beside him as well.

“William Trent, my Lord.” He said, blushing slightly as he shook Anthony’s hand while he pushed his shoulders back and stood up straighter. He looked scared. Anthony knew instantly he wasn’t a good fit for Kate. She would walk all over him. Anthony relished in how intimidating he could be sometimes. “May I introduce-“

Anthony could feel his blood boiling. How dare he. The hand that was free from Penelope’s arm curled into a fist, he knew the expression on his face was thunderous. No one had to introduce Kate to him. No one. If anything, he should be the one introducing Kate to people. That should be his job. Except it wasn’t and it could never be. “There is no introduction necessary. Good Afternoon, Miss Sharma.”

“Lord Bridgerton.” She said plainly, frowning slightly at him. Her voice and frown, and those two words once again, having an exhilarating effect on him like nothing else has before.

Anthony’s manners quickly made themselves known as he turned to Penelope. “May I introduce Penelope Fetherington?”

“Sir,” Penelope said kindly, bowing her head. “Kate.” Her smile was much wider as she greeted her. Kate’s smile and something inside of his stomach twisted.

“Lord Bridgerton,” A voice from beside them piped up, belonging to, unfortunately, Cressida Cowper. “I would be happy to accompany you on the river. Sir Byrne will take Penelope off your hands-”

“I don’t believe I asked you, Miss Cowper,” Anthony said sharply, turning to glare at the intruder who had wiped the smile Anthony had been staring at right off Kate’s face. “I believe I asked Miss Fetherington.”

That shut her right up. Anthony didn’t like to think too badly of ladies of the ton but Cressida Cowper was truly unpleasant. That was the nicest word he could think of that wasn’t severely inappropriate.

“But, Miss Cowper,” Anthony said, his revenge so sweet he couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face. “My brother Colin would be happy to accompany you.”

The colour drained right out of Colin’s face.

Anthony couldn’t help but glance at Kate, who caught his eye before looking down at the ground, desperately fighting off a smile.

Anthony clapped his brother’s shoulder as they moved towards the bank of the river where footmen had set up the boats for the passengers. He moved quickly to make sure they got the boat right beside and behind Kate and Trent. Kate and Trent were saying something quietly but Anthony could see the smile on her face and it infuriated him more.

It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Kate to have suitors. How could she not? She may be different to some ladies of the ton but everything different about her made her stand out from the rest. Not to mention, she was absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t stand in a room with her lately without glancing at her every ten seconds.

Any man would be a fool not to want her. Of course she was going to be courted.

He just wished she wasn’t.

He had no right to, he shouldn’t, but he did anyway.

Trent, the incompetent idiot, was caught in a conversation with a man on the bank. Kate, of course, took it upon herself to get herself into the boat.

“Be careful.” Anthony said, jumping at the opportunity to offer her his hand after he helped Penelope into their boat. Kate stared at his hand for a moment, before, begrudgingly, accepting it and stepping into the boat.

“Thank you.” She said stiffly, avoiding eye-contact as she settled into the boat. The moment their hands touched, her touch erupted a sensation that traveled from the top of his fingers, all the way up his arm and into his chest. This was seriously getting out of hand. Anthony needed to get himself together.

“Enjoy your boat ride,” He said quietly, noticing out of the corner of his eye Trent was finishing up his conversation. “Kate.” Anthony made his way back to his boat, smiling briefly at Penelope as they waited for Trent to begin rowing so Anthony could quickly follow.

Once they started moving, Anthony had a small swearing fit under his breath but the chances of Penelope hearing his language was quite high. Another boat had pulled out in front of them and separated them from Kate and Trent. Anthony was manically rowing to try to catch up with them up the river and his arms were beginning to ache.

Penelope spoke up. “I was sorry to hear about Eloise. I hope she is feeling better soon.”

Anthony didn’t miss the sly smile on Penelope’s face, which momentarily distracted him from glaring over at Kate and Trent’s boat. “I would be willing to bet the deed to Bridgerton House that Eloise has made a miraculous recovery by this evening.”

Penelope laughed. Anthony couldn’t help but join in.

“I apologize,” Anthony said, both of them sharing a smile that his apology wasn’t sincere at all. They both knew Eloise quite well. “Betting is not an appropriate topic to discuss with a young lady.”

“Please do not apologize, my lord.” Penelope said, smoothing out the bright yellow skirt of her dress and fidgeting with a few beads.

“We have known each other for a long time, Penelope. Please, call me Anthony.”

“Okay, Anthony,” Penelope said slowly, testing out the name before smiling shyly. “I will not say anything. What happens on this boat, stays on this boat.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow at her before returning back to glaring at Kate’s boat. He couldn’t help that his attention drifted there. He didn’t mean to be rude but he was just dying to know what they were talking about. He could see Trent rowing, and Kate laughing, and he couldn’t help the ache in his chest that he wished it was him.

“I do hope Miss Sharma is okay.”

Anthony looked back at Penelope, his arms slowing down slightly as they were really beginning to ache. He didn’t want to seem too obvious in his endeavours to get closer to Kate but he would be willing to capsize the boat between them to get closer to her. “I believe I saw Miss Sharma get on a boat earlier, with a gentleman I didn’t see. Is there a reason she wouldn’t be alright?”

Surely Kate wouldn’t have got on a boat if Edwina was ill or in some sort of trouble. Kate was always by her sister’s side, looking out for her. It was one of her traits Anthony admired the most.

“I didn’t mean Edwina.”

They briefly stared at each other in silence, an awful sinking feeling in Anthony’s stomach settling in as if he had been caught in the middle of an act. Subtly had never been his greatest form. If Penelope knew what Anthony was thinking, who was he thinking about, what he was trying to do-well, he was screwed.

“I was speaking with Kate earlier and well, she is not too fond of boats,” Penelope said, glancing upwards as they rowed under an oak tree. “I’ve always enjoyed the water. Kate, however, doesn’t. The movement makes her feel quite sick. I believe she tried to avoid a boat trip but Mr. Trent was quite persistent.”

It was as if the clouds had cleared and the storm inside of him had faded away, making way for the sun to shine brightly through.

Anthony tried very hard to smile. He focused on pulling each oar back and forth to hide his smile but he wasn’t having much luck. Kate was with him out of pity. Kate hated boat rides and she was probably miserable a few metres ahead of them, desperately wishing to be anywhere but on a boat with Trent.

A man who had to beg a lady to do something she didn’t want to do wasn’t the right man for her.

He wasn’t the right man for Kate.

“I hope the experience isn’t too unpleasant for her.” He said idly, desperate to keep up some sort of calm, cool and collected façade that he wasn’t thrilled to hear the news. The boat ride was actually quite pleasant, they chatted away while Anthony picked up the pace to make sure they were behind Kate and Trent as they pulled back into the bank of the river.

Anthony stood up and helped Penelope out of the boat herself, waving off the footman and smiling as she bowed. “Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, my lord.”

“Anthony.”

“Anthony.” Penelope blushed slightly, her eyes catching something behind him. Anthony turned around to see a rather flustered Colin, desperately rowing and splashing to make his way to the back with a very displeased Cressida Cowper. Penelope bowed her head again before turning around and walking back towards her family’s tent, to her very pleased looking mother who was pretending she hadn’t been watching them the entire time.

“That was nice of you. To ask Penelope.” The voice next to him, one he could recognize in a crowd full of people, caught him by surprise as he turned around to see Kate Sharma beside him. She wasn’t glaring at him like she usually was, which was an excellent start.

“I like Penelope. I know this may come as a shock to you, Miss Sharma,” He said teasingly, the smirk on his lips the most genuine and amused all day. “On the rare occasion, I can be nice.”

To Anthony’s surprise, Kate laughed. The low, joyful laugh was like Christmas to him, flooding his veins with dopamine like no other. He never wanted to stop hearing it.

Anthony made her laugh.

It was the best feeling in the world.

He was secretly thrilled she approved of him inviting Penelope. He didn’t know why, but he had found himself lately needing her approval. He was desperate for it.

Kate’s eyes darted around them before landing back on him, quickly bowing her head. “Well, I will see you at your ball tomorrow evening.”

He bowed back, a small smile playing on his lips. “You will, Kate.”

“Well,” She said, gulping slightly as she fidgeted. She appeared flustered, her neck and cheeks reddening slightly. Anthony desperately wanting to kiss it away. “Good day Lord Bridgerton.”

“Anthony.” He quickly corrected her.

Kate wasn’t buying it. “My Lord.”

“Good day, Kate.”

He watched her nod her head before turning around, making her way back up the slight hill of the bank. He watched her fierce, bouncing girls fly in the wind until she disappeared into the crowd.

It was a good day, indeed.

#did I see those pap pics and write a fic based on them? yes #yes I did #bridgerton #kate x anthony #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #canon #one shot #fanfiction #kate sheffield

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heliads · 3 years

Text

The Gala

Based on this request: “a Buck imagine where Nat drags you to Tony’s Party cause she knows you have a crush on him. Then you see him talking to some woman and you decide to get drunk. Later at night Buck is with you, helping you and trying to take care of you (he also has a crush on you). Then he carries you to his Apartment & you blurt out your Feelings for him. In the morning he tells you he feels the same :)”

masterlist

You fold your arms across your chest, staring at your best friend. She’s got many talents, that Natasha Romanoff; master spy, agent, killer, and most recently, a confidant dragging you to a party so you can embarrass yourself in front of the man you like.

Natasha looks cajolingly at you. “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun, and Bucky will be there. You have to go.” “That’s exactly why I shouldn’t go. I’ll just end up making a fool of myself,” you argue, “There’s literally no good reason why I should be there at all.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “That’s nonsense, and you know that. I mean, how long have we been friends- five years? Six? And you’ve been working at S.H.I.E.L.D. for even longer. Y/N, you couldn’t embarrass yourself in public if you tried, you’re too well trained. No matter what you do, Bucky will end up smitten.”

You eye her hesitantly. So what if you’ve been trained in de-escalation and maintaining a cool face no matter what? That was in matters of pressing government business, not when you’re face to face with the man you’ve had a crush on for what feels like forever, the two of you packed close together by a room crowded with people, the slight flush of a drink on your cheeks and the sway of your hips as you dance. There’s no way you’re going to Stark’s latest gala, especially if Bucky is there. You have to maintain your proper agent decorum, no matter what it costs.

Natasha looks at you expectantly. “You’ll have me, and you’ll have your position as an agent guarding the place. You show up wearing a gorgeous outfit, look amazing as always, and he’ll be head over heels for you in a matter of seconds, if he wasn’t already. And I’m fairly sure he already is, he asks about you all the time. There’s no way this could go south.”

You sigh, feeling some part of yourself start to give in. “Even if I wanted to go, I still wouldn’t be able to. I’m not an Avenger or some important government official that Tony wants to wine and dine, I don’t have an invite.” Natasha grins at you, pulling out a creamy white envelope from behind her back. “About that… Well, Tony insisted that I give this to you myself. You’re one of the only agents he trusts as well as being someone he considers a friend. He insisted that you show up.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, reaching out to take the invitation from your friend. Sure enough, your name is printed in swirling black letters right in the center. You groan quietly. “Fine, I’ll go. Know that you owe me for forever if this doesn’t work out.” Natasha cheers. “Consider it done. We’re going to have such a good time!”

It’s nine o’clock, the shadows of night disappearing where they’re combated by the lights shining out from Avengers Tower. You arrive with Natasha, and the two of you are enveloped by the flashing lights of cameras as you walk up to the building. Once inside, you can’t help but smile. Tony certainly spares no expense when it comes to his parties, and this gala is no exception. There are chandeliers strung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow onto the throngs of people all dressed in the most expensive and dramatic of fashions. Waiters bustle around, offering beverages and appetizers that look like they cost about half of your rent.

Natasha flashes you a grin, yelling to be heard over the din of the chatter and music. “Glad you came?” You smile back. “Absolutely!” Natasha is soon pulled away to discuss Avengers matters with Fury and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups, and you greet Tony before finally allowing yourself to circulate into the crowd of partygoers. You dance for a while, looking around in vain to see the metal-armed man you’d been hoping to meet. You see him in snatches and glimpses, just leaving the room or across that crowd of people. He makes eye contact with you a few times, looking like he’s just about to come talk to you when he gets dragged away by some important figure, glancing back at you with an apologetic smile every time.

Finally, you see him alone, walking out of the main room and down one of the hallways. You can hardly blame him- the noise of the party has reached a fever pitch and it’s hard to concentrate. You slip out of the multitude of gatherers, heading down that same hallway in the hopes of finally talking to Bucky. You’re not afraid of how this looks, you joining up with him with no one around- the two of you are actually quite good friends and work together frequently on missions for S.H.I.E.L.D.

You walk down the hallway for a while, peering into rooms but unable to spot him. You’re about to give up and turn around when you see a flicker of movement in one of the rooms at the very end of the hall. Assuming that must be him, you gather up your skirts and follow the sight. You are about to walk headlong into the room when you see something you weren’t expecting, and freeze in place.

Yes, Bucky is in the room. Yes, he was waiting for someone. No, that someone is not you. Bucky is wrapped around some woman, his hands on her hips and his lips on hers. He’s smiling into the kiss, leaning in further and eliciting a gasp from the woman. You find you have to stand there for a second, unable to move, then your senses finally return and you quickly turn around and leave. You’re grateful to your S.H.I.E.L.D. abilities in this moment, grateful that you can make a fast getaway and never be seen by any of the occupants of that room. Your heels don’t make a sound as you walk back down the hallway, the rustles of your skirts are quiet enough that they will go unnoticed, and the sound of your breaking hurt is muffled enough by your forever calm exterior that no one will ever notice that you’ve been damaged beyond repair.

When you find yourself back in the main room, you almost feel dizzy at the sudden onslaught of noise. Nothing’s changed here, even though everything has changed for you. Why did you ever think you had a chance with Bucky? Why would you ever be good enough for him?

You slowly blend in with the other partygoers, watching the scenes around you with something that borders on apathy. Every man seems like he has the same shoulder length dark hair and charming smile, every woman that bloodred smirk of lipstick that was never quite your shade. Every pair just looks like them, a sick and twisted version that whispers in your ear, finding glee in saying that you will never be enough. They are here, everywhere. It’s all in your head, but that doesn’t make it any worse to bear.

You manage to make your way over to the bar, quietly asking for a drink. Once that one’s gone, you request another. Then another. This isn’t right, this isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, but does it matter? Nobody’s looking for you. Nobody’s searching or pretending that you were ever their first choice. One more than slightly intoxicated woman in a sea of drunken revelers will always go unnoticed. You will go unnoticed. That is how it will always be.

Your drinks catch up with you about half an hour later, and you feel yourself stumble slightly when you walk. You grimace to yourself, deciding it’s time to head out. You’ve got a pretty good head when it comes to handling your liquor, and can put on a show so real it can seem like you never had a drop in the first place.

So, you walk over to Natasha, smiling at her and telling her that you’re tired, that you’re just going to head out and no, there’s nothing wrong, no need to worry. She smiles at you, and despite all of her spy training she can’t read you this one time and assumes everything is fine, even if it most certainly is not. You wave a goodbye to Tony, then turn and walk out of Avengers Tower, leaving behind the party and the dancers and the hopes you had that now lie crushed on the floor of that hallway near the back.

Once you’re out of sight from the cameras and the onlookers, you finally let your guard down, just a little. You stumble once, twice, then grab onto the rusted metal of a sign to stop your fall. The metal is sharp, and cuts into your hand. You wince, watching as scarlet drops bead up in a thin line on your palm and then fall silently to the ground. You stand there for a long time, staring, so long that you almost think you’re imagining the voice shouting your name behind you until it finally manifests into someone a few feet away.

“Y/N! There you are!” You turn around, ready to tell Nat that you’re honestly fine and that she doesn’t need to leave, but your words die on your tongue when you realize the identity of the man behind you. “Bucky.” The name feels thick in your throat, barely making it past your lips before hanging there in the silence of the night.

Bucky nods. “I never got a chance to talk to you. You look amazing, by the way. I just kept getting stuck in never-ending conversations. I looked for you everywhere, then Nat told me you left.” He frowns at your hand. “Are you bleeding?” You glance back at your hand, dimly remembering the cut. You quickly close your hand, casually moving it to rest behind your back and out of sight. “No, no. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

But Bucky refuses to believe you. “No, that was definitely blood.” He steps closer, taking your hand and forcing you to open it and reveal the cut slicing open your palm. He grabs a clean white cloth from his pocket, gently wrapping it around the wound. A small dot of blood starts to flower through the thin makeshift bandage, but other than that, it appears that the bleeding has stopped.

You mumble a thank you, and he just shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Are you coming back to the party, or-” You cut him off. “I had too much to drink, and it’s catching up with me now. I figured it would be better to recover in my own apartment rather than in front of everyone and all their cameras.” Bucky grins. “I can understand that. Here, I’ll walk you back.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to do that. They’re probably still expecting you back at the gala. I don’t want to waste your time.” Bucky just tilts his head at you, starting to walk in the same direction you had. “Trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is go back to that party. I felt like I was going to suffocate in there from all the false charity. And besides, any moment with you is never a waste of time.”

You feel a blush start to rise in your cheeks at his words, but you manage to suppress it when you remember the sight of him entangled with that woman earlier that night. He’s just being a friend. That’s all there is to it, and all there will ever be. Don’t make more out of this just because he’s being cordial to a coworker.

By the time you make it back to your apartment, you’re fully, unadulteratedly drunk. Your words have started to slur, and your footsteps don’t seem nearly as even as the perfectly unaffected Bucky next to you. You reach the door of your apartment, fishing around for your key, and turn to him. “This is where it ends, I guess. Thanks for walking me. Sorry about all this.” You say, gesturing languidly at yourself.

Bucky frowns. “You mean getting drunk? Trust me, if I could I’d be even worse than you. Tony hates Steve and me because we try to get drunk at every one of his parties to stomach the politicians and end up drinking half his supply of alcohol.” You laugh, glancing away to turn the key in the lock. “I was talking about myself. You didn’t have to walk me home or go out of your way to help some coworker.” You open the door, ready to put the night behind you, but Bucky follows you in.

“What are you talking about? Y/N, you’re one of the kindest, funniest, and most clever women I’ve ever met. Spending time with you is nothing to apologize for, never has and never will be.” You let out a small laugh at that, quiet as it is acidic in its bittersweet edge. “I was never your first choice. Not for friendship, not for time spent on late nights when you could be at parties, not for-”

You cut yourself off, clapping a hand to your mouth like a child caught saying more than they should have. You shake your head tiredly. “I think I need to go to bed.” You grin, starting to walk away again. Bucky just stretches an arm out to block your path. “Y/N, where is this coming from?” He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing up what had previously been a perfectly gelled style. You like it better like that, you think, not quite perfect. Just like you.

Your words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. “Why do you think I got this drunk, Bucky? Because I felt like it? Because I was bored? No, I saw you talking to-” Bucky holds up his hands. “Wait, what? I was talking to someone and that’s why you started on this cycle of self-destruction?”

You laugh bitterly. “You’re always the reason, the motivator for why I show up or why I don’t. I just didn’t think you would ever know that because I would never let you know.” Bucky’s staring at you, and you feel a tidal wave of words starting to rush out of you. Not now, not here. Not in front of him. But it’s too late, and it’s already crossed your lips. “I love you, Bucky. I know you would never feel the same, and that’s why this whole thing hurts so much.”

Bucky’s silent, silent for far too long. You’ve done it now, really and truly messed things up. Then Bucky leans over, and kisses you softly. You gasp quietly, and he pulls away. “I love you too. You’ve always been the most important person to me. Now and forever.” He lets out a little laugh. “That’s why Steve convinced me to go to Stark’s stupid gala in the first place. God knows I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to see you.” You feel frozen in place. “Then why did you- why did you kiss that woman?”

Bucky’s head flies up. “You saw that?” You nod silently. “That’s why I got myself this drunk. I couldn’t take the sight of you with her, not when you looked so happy with her. I knew in that moment that there would never be a chance of you loving me back.” Bucky raises a hand to his head. “I didn’t feel a thing for her. I left the room because it was insufferably loud and I couldn’t stand it. She followed me out and into that room. I thought she was you, and I let her kiss me. After about a second, I realized my mistake and I left as soon as I could.”

You look at him with hopeful eyes. “So you actually love me?” Bucky grins. “Have loved you for a while now, but I’m glad you feel the same way.” You breath out quietly, feeling a smile break out across your face. This is what you’d always hoped for, this moment that’s finally happening. Bucky glances at the clock across the room, and curses softly.

“It’s getting late. I think we both need to head to bed, and you especially.” You groan, turning to walk towards your room. “My head’s going to kill me tomorrow, isn’t it?” Bucky walks with you to your room, pausing at the door. You turn back to face him, pulling softly at his hand. “Stay. Please. Just this one night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates for a moment, then lets a slow smile cross his lips. “Anything for you, love.” You fall asleep that night in his arms, head tucked just so under his. When you wake up that next morning, your first sight is of his eyes, and the way he smiles when he tells you he loves you one more time.

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moonlit-jeno · 3 years

Text

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

genre/warnings: ghost au, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, mentions of death, some graphic violence/ gore, character death, brief mention of heights, i swear it’s not as bad as it sounds

word count: 7.8k

summary:

evanescence (n.): the quality of being fleeting or vanishing quickly; impermanence; i.e the evanescence of dreams

song to listen to: me & your ghost- blackbear, faded in my last song- nct, trampoline- SHAED, lonely heart- 5 seconds of summer, dreaming with a broken heart- john mayer

notes: evanescence i.e not the band who wrote my immortal <3 part of the almost collab!

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

Of course the doll in the corner of your room won’t suddenly come alive and kill you. Of course the spider on your ceiling is actually harmless. Of course nightmares won’t come true and haunt you in your daily life, won’t do more than bother you for a few minutes when you’re asleep. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary. Doesn’t stop the shivers from crawling up your spine, doesn’t ease your breathing when you curl into yourself in an attempt to hide.

Some people find comfort in crawling under their blankets, hiding themselves from the rest of the world as if the thick cloth will protect them. You don’t have that luxury. Because the thing you fear isn’t some axe murderer breaking into your house, or some mutant spider wrapping you up in a web. It’s not ghosts or ghouls or demons.

It’s sleep itself.

You used to love sleeping. Naps were considered a favorite hobby of yours, a way to escape from your obligations temporarily or lift your spirits during a bad day. But the line between like and dislike is thin, and the peaceful dreams you were accustomed to transformed into terrors that torture your nights and leave you shaking and sleep deprived when you wake.

Coffee becomes your best friend, the drink becoming a crutch that you use desperately to avoid reliving the nightmare that haunts you every time your eyes fall shut. It’s always the same scene: a basement, a young man being tortured by a masked figure. Punched, strangled, stabbed. It’s always in that order, with the exact same amount of punches and stabbings each time- six. It’s worse than any movie you’ve ever seen, worse than anything that you can imagine. And yet it doesn’t get any less horrifying as time goes on, as you relive the same thing over and over again.

The only thing that changes is the point of view. Sometimes you can see it from his perspective, begging for mercy from an expressionless figure whose ears fall deaf to the boy’s pleas. That’s the worst, you think, because you can feel everything. It leaves you frantically checking yourself for wounds and marks and bruises, the vividness of your dream leaving you shocked when you find your skin unmarred. Sometimes you watch from the corner of the room, able to see everything yet unable to help, your voice stuck in your throat when you attempt to cry for help. And sometimes, you’re the killer, repeatedly delivering blow after blow in a body you can’t control.

Tonight’s different. Instead of the boy strapped to the chair, it’s you.

You shake and cry out, trying desperately to free yourself of the restraints. They aren’t strong, and yet your limbs feel like jelly and you can’t break free of them. A shadow looms over you and you look up, expecting to see the killer, but you don’t. Instead, the boy stands over you.

His features are softer like this, not scrunched in pain or splattered with blood and bruises. He smiles gently at you.

“Hello,” He says, kneeling down in front of you. One hand lands on yours and the restraints fall away, your limbs now free. “I’m Jungwoo.” You just blink at him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Jungwoo’s smile falters a bit, and he huffs a humorless laugh. “That… yeah. That’s less of a dream and more of a…” He trails off, shrugs. “Memory.”

It takes a moment for it to process fully. Memory? If that’s his memory, then that means that he had to go through all of that. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Who put you through that?” He shrugs. “Dunno. But I wouldn’t pity me too much.” There’s a tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m the one that’s made you go through it, too.”

You blink once, twice, and feel the sympathy in your bones turn to fury. “Why?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. “I didn’t do anything to you! And you still tortured me, every night. Do you know how terrified I was? I am?”

“I’m sorry.” Jungwoo says, eyes downcast. “I didn’t even know I was projecting onto you at first. I would just get so consumed with what happened that night, and I guess you would relive the scene with me.” He takes a slow step towards you and raises his head. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” You nod, because what can you say? Jungwoo doesn’t seem to know either and he stands there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at you. “So.” You start, head tilting to the side curiously. “How does this work?” “How does what work?” Jungwoo seems surprised, but whether it’s by your question or by the fact that you’re able to string a coherent sentence together is lost on you.

“I dunno. This. Like are you a ghost? Do you just like, live inside my head now.” “Yeah, I mean I’m dead so I must be a ghost. Haven’t had much time to talk to people and ask.” It’s not meant to be funny, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You clear your throat to cover it, trying to focus your energy on your next words. He doesn’t look too hurt at your amusement, though. His eyes are twinkling.

“Hmm let’s test it. If you live in my head, you should be able to hear my thoughts right?” Jungwoo stares at you, bringing one hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he snaps his fingers. “Got it! You want pizza.” “Nope! I want you out of my head.” Your smile is sickeningly sweet. Jungwoo rolls his eyes, tongue sticking into his cheek briefly before laughing.

“Well, I want to be alive but here we are. Guess we’re at a standstill.”

Guilt fills you and you open your mouth to apologize, but Jungwoo disappears right before your eyes. You try to call out after him but it’s too late, the dream’s over. The annoying beep of your alarm replaces his soft laughter and you groan, fumbling with your phone to turn the sound off.

Classes pass quickly for once, although you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t register any of the material. You’re done for the day before you know it, finding yourself at a cafe with Johnny. “You’re in a good mood.” He comments, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you get replaced by aliens?” You roll your eyes. “I can be in a good mood, Johnny.” It’s rarely true because you’re normally running off of approximately six minutes of sleep, but hey, it still counts.

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Y/n, you’re never in a good mood. Not even when your best friend is here.”

“My best friend is here? Where?” Johnny gives you a deadpan expression and you laugh, popping a grape into your mouth. “Kidding, you know I love you. But guess what: I actually slept last night!” He gasps so obnoxiously loud that he inhales the chip he was holding and chokes around it, slamming his hand down on the table and hacking his lungs out. You put your head in your hands until he finally recovers. “You slept? You actually slept? Holy fuck, you did get replaced by aliens!”

“No aliens, John. No nightmares either.” Johnny, though he’s your best friend, doesn’t know the details of your dreams. He knows that they’re bad enough to make you cry and curl up in his arms from time to time, knows that you chug energy drinks to avoid sleeping, but that’s about it. No gruesome murders in sight for him.

“Holy shit, that’s great! We should celebrate.” Johnny reaches across the table to high five you, grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come over and crack open a few cold ones?” He bites his lip and you know that it’s taking all of his effort not to finish that sentence.

You appreciate it, but you shake your head. “I’ve got a lab report to finish plus like two papers due. I really don’t have time.” That’s only slightly true. Yes, you do have homework, but you normally wouldn’t let that stop you. The itch to see Jungwoo again, however crazy it may sound, is driving you crazy and for once in your life, you can’t wait to fall asleep. Seeing Johnny’s expression drop makes you feel a little bad for bailing on him with a ghost. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Johnny grins again. “Hopefully you get to sleep tonight.”

The nightmares seem to go away permanently after that. Your dreams always take place in that one room, but Jungwoo’s always there to greet you. A month passes and you learn a lot about him, almost to the point where you see him as a friend. Almost. Because you can’t really be friends with someone who isn’t alive, right? But he feels real. His spirit is still alive, to the point where you forget he’s a ghost who you can only talk to in your dreams, and that’s what matters. Except tonight when you fall asleep, you open your eyes to sand and salt water, gentle waves calmly lapping at the shore. Strange. Jungwoo sits with his back facing you, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t look up when you sit down next to him, but he does speak when you say his name softly.

“I think I figured out why I came back.” Jungwoo says, eyes concentrated on the water. “My brother’s in danger.” His head drops to rest on his knees and you pat his back, not knowing what to say.

You don’t learn what Jungwoo meant until the next night, the man so distraught that he isn’t able to form words before your time’s up. The scene is different again this time, a playground replacing the beach from the night before. Jungwoo sits on a red plastic swing, his feet dragging on the ground sadly.

“Hey Jungwoo.” You call out the greeting gently, taking a seat next to him. “Are you okay?” He nods, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry for freaking out last night. It’s just. It’s a lot.” “Sounds like it is. You wanna talk about it?” You pat his knee comfortingly and he stares at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own.

He tells you about his brother first, about how much he misses Mark, about how bad he feels for leaving him on his own. Mark’s younger than him, but only by a year, and he was nowhere near as good as him at FIFA. He tells you that he doesn’t remember who killed him, but that as soon as he was transported to the beach, he knew his brother was in danger. There’s no explanation on how the beach told him that, but you have no place questioning the afterlife. You listen patiently throughout the whole story, and it seems to help Jungwoo, his shoulders sagging with relief when he’s done.

“So whoever killed me,” Jungwoo squeezes your hand, stares at the woodchips dragging around. “They’re going to kill my brother next.”

“So we find your killer. Easy.” You squeeze his hand back. “Mark’s going to be okay, Woo. I promise.”

Tonight’s dream takes place on a rooftop. There are lights strung up that lead you straight to Jungwoo, the man facing you with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His arms are outstretched and you walk into them, sighing softly when he wraps you in his embrace. Lips press to your forehead and you swear you’ve reached heaven. “Dance with me.” He whispers it as if you have a choice to disagree with him when he looks this good. You nod and bury your face in his chest, swaying with him under the stars. There’s music playing now, music that you didn’t hear before, and he hums softly to it as you dance. A squeal leaves you when he spins you, dipping you down before pulling you close, your back to his chest. His lips graze your ear and he laughs before spinning you back around and pulling you into a kiss.

It feels so good and you find yourself getting lost in his touch. The warmth of him against you, the solidness of his chest under your palms. It’s so nice, so comforting, so… real. But it can’t be real. Because this is a dream, because Jungwoo is dead. The thought is enough to jolt you out of your haze and you try to pull back, need to pull back, but the hand on the back of your head holds you still and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to pull out of his embrace. “Jungwoo,” you mumble his name against his lips, not wanting to pull away from the kiss but needing to know the answer to your question. “Jungwoo, are you real?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jungwoo chuckles, pulling you back for more. “Don’t I feel real?”

A gasp leaves you when his hand slips lower to your ass, squeezing before slipping between your thighs. He finds little resistance, easily reaching under your dress and past the thin panties you’re wearing to swipe through your folds and enter you, stretching you out deliciously well. You cling to him as if he’s your life line and not the other way around, letting him take you apart with his fingers. His name leaves your lips in a sob and you press your face against his neck, clutch at his shoulders. “Please, Jungwoo, please.”

Both of his hands slide to your ass and he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you over to the ledge of the roof, setting you down on the cool stone. He barely gives you time to take in what’s happening before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark and so intense that you can’t look away from his gaze as he attaches his lips to your thighs. You slide one hand into his hair and he moans into your skin, the vibrations traveling through you as he kisses his way up your thighs and to your core. A sigh leaves you and you put your other hand behind you for balance, your heart dropping to your stomach when your fingertips wrap around the edge of the balcony. “Jungwoo!” You yelp immediately trying to stand up when you look behind you and see the darkness below you, decorated with lights from buildings so far down that they’re almost as tiny as the stars above you. “Jungwoo, I’m gonna fall. Ohmygod I’m gonna fall, Woo-”

“Shh,” Jungwoo hushes you, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together, taking a moment to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Look at me, y/n. You’re not going to fall, okay? I’ll always be here to catch you if you do.” Something in his eyes looks so honest, so sincere, and you find yourself nodding slowly.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, too scared to raise it any louder and break the moment between you. “I trust you.” Jungwoo smiles up at you one more time before lowering himself down to your core. His free hand lifts the edge of your dress up and he takes his time rubbing slow circles into your clit, sighing out praises about how good you are when you shake from the unbearably intense sensation. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, even as he lowers his mouth to your pussy and eats you out like a man starved. It feels so good that you can barely process it, squirming against him and letting your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, Jungwoo,” You whimper, feeling your orgasm build up in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, c’mere.” You use the hand buried in his hair to tug him up, pressing his lips to yours for a sloppy kiss that feels way too good for the moment. He rubs messy circles into your clit that have you clutching him tight to your chest, crying out his name so loud that you’re sure the entire city can hear you. “You like that?” Jungwoo asks, although his voice is so cocky that you’re almost entirely sure he knows the answer. “Fucking love it,” You pant out, orgasm so close you can taste. “Love you, ohmygod.” The end of your sentence cuts off with a whine as you come so hard you nearly black out, holding onto him so tightly you’re sure you would’ve broken at least one of his bones if this were real.

If this were real, if he were real. If this wasn’t a dream with a ghost. The realization washes over you like cold water and the dream disappears before you in a flash, leaving you trembling and empty in more ways than one. Your hand is tingling and when you look at it, you realize that Jungwoo didn’t let go the entire time.

You’re not in your bed when you wake up. It takes you a moment to realize it, the weight of your dream still heavy on your mind, but then you open your eyes and process your surroundings and realize that even though you’re awake, you’re back in your nightmares.

A scream leaves you and you jolt out of the chair, falling flat on your ass. You scramble backwards a good few feet before relaxing, realizing that your mind was just playing tricks on you. This is no nightmare place, it’s just your basement. Except…

That chair is definitely the chair from your nightmares- or well, Jungwoo’s murder. You’ve never seen it down here before, but then again, you never go into the basement. It’s been years since you’ve been down here, the room always giving you the creeps. And you’ve never sleepwalked- you can’t fathom why you’d be down here.

“Jungwoo?” You whisper, not even flinching at the gust of cold air as he materializes next to you. “Why am I down here?” “This is where I was murdered.” Jungwoo murmurs, his gaze distant, cloudy. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Here? Are you sure?” He nods strongly, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. You get to your feet and watch him pace around, tentatively poking at objects. A violent shudder runs through him when he touches the chair. “Jungwoo, this is my house.” He freezes. “This is your house? Then you must know who murdered me.”

There’s a long second where you just stare at him, not knowing what to say. Thoughts abandon you and your mind goes blank, leaving you to shake your head and stutter out objections. “W- No, Jungwoo, I can’t-” A deep breath, a heavy exhale. “No one ever comes down here, and I can’t remember the last time I even had people here.”

“Well someone had to come down here!” Jungwoo presses, motioning at himself. “Y/n, I’m dead. You could help me find who killed me.”

You spend hours thinking through every person you know, mulling over all of your friends and anyone else who has ever been to your house. Parents are ruled out immediately- they live across the country, first off, and your mom nearly cries whenever she so much as swats a fly. Jungwoo tries to help, but he doesn’t know anyone the way that you do, and he’s a tad bit negative.

“Okay, but how do you know they’re not killers.” He asks, tone flat. “I mean, do you have hard evidence? Because somehow none of them are killers, and yet…” He smiles humorlessly and holds his arms out, doing a twirl for you. “I’m dead.” “I’m trying.” You say tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s just hard. Literally no one ever comes over, and I can’t picture my friends as killers. Plus, no one has access to my house except for me.” You purse your lips, staring at your sad little notepaper list with dozens of names scratched out. “Is it possible this happened before I lived here?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t look convinced.

You purse your lips, groaning in defeat when your mind stays blank. “I’m sorry, Woo. We’ll figure it out eventually, I promise. I just can’t think right now.” “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for helping and not like, I don’t know, calling an exorcist.” Jungwoo presses himself to your side, poking your cheek when you laugh, and his presence is so comforting that it’s easy to forget that he’s not really there. You swat at him good naturedly, your laugh cutting off early when you realize that he’s disappeared. You call for him a few times, panic racing through your mind, until he manifests again a few feet away from you.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! Did that hurt you? I didn’t know that would happen!” You jump to your feet, reaching out to him on impulse before thinking better of it.

Jungwoo laughs softly, but his form flickers. “It’s okay. I guess you can only touch me in dreams.” He smiles, but it’s with his mouth closed tight. The chair becomes visible through his form as he flickers again.

The mention of touch jolts your memories and you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Wait, Woo, I meant to ask.” He looks at you expectantly, humming for you to go on. “Last night, in the dream. Was that like, was that really you?” “Hm? Are you asking if it was real or not?” Jungwoo asks. You nod, unable to look away from his gaze. “It was me, y/n. I’m real.”

You nod, lips pursed as you think it over. Jungwoo smiles though it’s hollow, hard to see the usual light in him when he’s nearly translucent again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before vanishing, leaving you alone in the cold basement.

“Yeah.” You whisper softly, a dark cloud hanging over your head.

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks you, nodding towards your bookbag. It’s normally empty, save for a notebook or wallet, but today it’s stuffed full of newspaper clippings and binders.

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just some old articles.”

Johnny thumbs through a stack of the papers before looking up at you, his forehead creased. “On murders?”

“Yeah. They’re interesting. Figured I should know the history of the town I live in, right?” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping you don’t look as insane as you feel. It’d taken you hours of searching to find those articles, digging through the library archives and reading murder after murder to find ones that seemed similar to Jungwoo’s case. They were unsettling, to say the least, and the fact that someone had taken a life under your own roof left you jittery. “I mean, I guess?” Johnny shakes his head and thumbs through a few more, hesitating at one of the clippings before shoving them back in your bag. “Kind of an appetite killer.” He says, pausing after a second and laughing. “Hah, get it? Killer…” The cold stare you give him has him sobering up quickly. He clears his throat. “Anyways. What else have you been up to? You’ve been kinda distant lately.” Have you been? Probably. “Sorry.” You shrug. “Caught up in my work, you know how it is.” Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “Seeing a new man?” You shoot him a withering look. He throws his hands up innocently. “Woman? Person?”

The word ‘ghost’ is on the tip of your tongue, but that sounds insane even to you. You can’t be seeing someone whose body fades out of existence when you so much as blow air on him too strongly. “No, Johnny. I’d tell you if I was dating someone.” “Promise?” He asks. You hold your pinky out to him, interlocking the digits and offering him a smile. He grins back. “Good. You wanna come over tonight? Play some video games, order some pizza?”

It sounds good, and you really don’t want to be alone at your house after discovering it was the site of a murder, but you don’t want to leave Jungwoo. He’s kind of counting on you for something big, plus you have all those articles to show him…

At your hesitation, Johnny pouts. “Come on, I feel like I’ve barely seen you for like, a month. Please? It’ll be just like old times.” The promise of old times has your resolve fading, and you give into his whining. He cheers and knocks your coffees together, dramatically complaining when the liquid splashes onto his sleeve.

Taking a nap had seemed like a great idea when you had gotten home from lunch, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamt without Jungwoo in your dreams, and all of the nightmares were so genuinely disturbing that you wake up sobbing. Every room seems so foreboding that you can’t bring yourself to sit in the house any longer and you run out the door without any further thought. The rain soaks through your thin sleep clothes and you find that you have three missed calls from Johnny, but you don’t bother to call him back. You’ll be at his place soon enough, and the rain is starting to blue the screen too much for you to see. Or maybe it’s your tears, you can’t be sure, and you really don’t care.

You knock on Johnny’s door, stepping back and impatiently shifting from foot to foot before stepping forward and knocking again. Exhaling harshly, you raise your fist to knock again. The door opens.

A very disgruntled Johnny stands before you, one hand wiping at his face. His hair is disheveled and you have the conscious thought that he must have just woken up, but your brain is flying a million miles a second and you don’t have time to spend worrying about if you’ve interrupted his beauty sleep. “Y/n?” Johnny yawns out, opening the door wider. “You were supposed to come over like 3 hours ago.” His sentence goes unfinished as you push past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the living room. With your hands on his shoulders, you push him down to sit on the couch. He looks less tired and more confused now, which makes sense considering he’s never seen you act like this- you’re not even sure that you’ve ever acted like this- but he keeps silent, trusting you enough to tell him what the fuck is going on. He patiently puts his hands on his knees, watching you pace around the area.

It takes you a while to formulate exactly what to say to him. How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’ve been helping a ghost solve his own murder without him attempting to send you to a psych ward? After a few moments of pacing, in which you accidentally leave a trail of muddy footprints on Johnny’s carpet, you pause.

“This is going to sound insane.” You start, facing Johnny. He nods encouragingly, motioning for you to go on. “I need you to believe me. Promise me that you’ll hear me out until the very end.” Johnny nods. “No, I need you to promise me.” Maybe it’s how frantic your voice sounds, or the fact that you’re soaking wet and still breathing heavily from your run, but Johnny promises without hesitation. His voice is soft and his eyes are wide and you thank God for giving you such a good best friend. You search his eyes with your own, and finding nothing but encouragement and trust, you begin.

“Okay, so. You know those nightmares I’ve been having?” A nod. “Okay, so apparently there’s a ghost living in my house that’s been like, projecting their memories onto me.” Johnny blinks, not even trying to hide the skeptical look on his face. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds crazy. But ghosts are real. Jungwoo- Jungwoo’s real.” Johnny inhales sharply. “His name is Jungwoo?”

“Yeah. He was murdered 4 years ago in my basement. My basement, Johnny.” You take a deep breath, shuddering. “Whoever did it is still out there, and Jungwoo thinks that his brother might be in danger.” You shift anxiously from foot to foot, hands wringing together in front of you until Johnny takes them into his own, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands to calm you. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help me find him? I just need to make sure that he’s okay, and I know it’s silly that I promised a ghost but-” “I’ll help.” There’s a reassuring smile on Johnny’s face when he interrupts you, and you breath out in relief. “It’s okay, y/n. I believe you.”

You launch yourself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t deserve you.” Johnny laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.” He pulls back from the hug long enough to look you in the eyes. “For right now, let's go to bed, yeah? You really look like you need some rest.”

“Okay, so here’s his address. I mean, I think it’s his address.” Johnny looks over your shoulder at the satellite image of Mark’s house, nodding. “We can get there in about two hours.” Johnny hums, stepping away from the computer. “I can get us there faster than that, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s have some coffee and then we can go.” He makes sure you eat something that actually has nutritional value before you go, even going as far as to pack a bag before you hit the road. Johnny does his best to reassure you throughout the drive, but you’re a nervous mess. You compulsively take sips from the water bottle Johnny had forced you to take with and it’s empty in no time, leaving you to drum your fingers along your thighs and squirm with a full bladder.

The house looks so much bigger, so much more foreboding in person. Johnny gives you a reassuring look and after a deep breath, you knock on the door. It takes a few seconds before it creaks open to reveal a man around your age peering at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit crookedly on his face. “Hello?” “Hi, Mark?” he nods, looking you up and down. “Do you have a moment to talk? I just have a few questions, it w-” He’s already moving to close the door before the sentence is even out of your mouth. “Wait, Mark!” You manage to wedge your foot in the door before it closes and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to buy anything, so if you could just please-” He tries again. “It’s about your brother!” You exclaim, finally succeeding in getting Mark to listen. He freezes and stares down at you dumbly. His eyes stay on you for a little too long before lifting to look behind you.

“Johnny?” Mark asks, eyes widening. “Is that you?” You look over to find Johnny standing behind you, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. How you doin, kid?”

Mark lets you into the house after tackling Johnny into a hug, offering you tea and a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know you knew Jungwoo,” You whisper to Johnny, watching Mark grab cups from the kitchen.

Johnny shrugs. “Never had a reason to bring him up.” He definitely could’ve brought him up earlier, like when you mentioned you were seeing his ghost, but you brush it off as nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.

Mark returns, offering you each a cup of tea before taking a seat on the couch opposite you. “Wow, it’s been so long.” Mark laughs, clutching his tea for dear life. “It’s so good to see friends of Jungwoo’s again. It’s like, it’s not the same as seeing him but. It’s nice.”

“Good to see you too, Mark.” Johnny smiles. “I looked all over for you after Jungwoo’s death, but I couldn’t find you. When did you move?” Mark sniffs. “Um, I think like a month after it happened. They arrested the guy that killed him and I dipped. It was too painful to see all those little reminders of him everywhere.” Mark sniffs again, and wipes harshly at his eye. It makes you tear up a little too, thinking about how fondly Jungwoo talked about his brother, how unfair it is that they got ripped apart so soon. One phrase sticks out to you and you manage to reel yourself back in before you start crying too hard.

“Wait, they caught the guy? Do you know who killed him?” You side eye Johnny because he must have known that the killer was caught already, and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t tell you considering that was the sole reason for this trip.

“Um, well. Jungwoo uh, he had a sort of accident.” His hands are shaking, you notice. Some tea spills onto his leg. “He used to go out to all these parties and he swore he’d be safe but I guess he slipped up this one time.” Mark takes a deep breath and his voice cracks. “He was driving home from a party and he probably thought he was fine but he was way too drunk and he hit a pedestrian. He drove away but her boyfriend saw the whole thing and followed him.” Mark drops his head down and sobs a little.

Johnny moves to comfort him and Mark calms down after a few moments, skillfully changing the topic away from his dead brother. All the water that you drank in the car finally catches up to you and you excuse yourself for a second. Mark’s laughter rings clearly from the living room and you can’t help but to laugh too, smiling at Johnny’s ability to make everyone happy. You fix your hair in the mirror, a little spring in your step at the thought of being able to fulfill your promise to Jungwoo.

You wish he was with you right now as you walk down the hallway back to the living room. There are so many pictures on the walls, Mark’s accomplishments framed proudly. It sends an ache through your heart that you’re here to see all of this by yourself. It’s only then, when you’re picturing Jungwoo exploring the house with you, that you realize how quiet it’s gotten.

Frowning, you call out Johnny’s name. You get no response and call out again, finally catching movement out of the corner of your eye. “Johnny, why’d you sneak up on me?” A laugh leaves you when you turn to fully face him, cutting off only at the flash of color that slowly fades to black.

Your head is throbbing when you come to, vision taking a few seconds to clear up. A groan leaves you and you shake your head softly, coming face to face with Mark. A Mark whose mouth is covered with duct tape. You freeze, eyes widening, then look down to find that the rest of him is bound, too. “What-”

Panic surges through you when you realize that your hands and ankles are bound too, and you jerk your head to the side, frantically searching to make sure that Johnny’s okay. You don’t find him. It’s only you and Mark in the room. “Johnny? Hey, whoever the fuck has us down here better leave Johnny the fuck alone!” You might currently be tied up, but the fact that your best friend is missing and potentially hurt overtakes any concern you may have for yourself. Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically. You furrow your eyebrows and go to ask what he means, but you don’t get the chance.

“Oh, don’t worry. Johnny’s just fine.” The sentence comes from the man himself, standing right in front of the door. Relief fills you, turning to dread the second he closes the door and flips the lock. “You however…” “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow.

He tips his head to the side, looking at you with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” The glint in his eyes matches the knife he picks up, the dim light catching on the shine of the blade. “For someone who apparently experienced Jungwoo’s death dozens of times, you should be able to figure it out.”

You blink once, twice, and then your eyes bug so far out of your head you worry they might fall out. A soft wheeze leaves you as your chest constricts, panic blooming in your gut. Johnny wheezes too, but his is a wheeze of laughter. He’s amused.

His eyes slide down to Mark, whose eyes are glimmering with fresh tears. “Did you know it was me Mark? Did you know it was me who killed your brother?” The boy shakes his head frantically, tears free-falling down his cheeks now. There’s some muffled cries that you think sound like no, but the tape traps them and makes him incomprehensible. “Really?” Johnny asks, stepping forward until he reaches Mark and then squatting down in front of him.

“Liar.” Johnny whispers, dragging the syllables out. The point of the knife presses into the boys throat, and while the noise Mark makes is barely audible, you can feel his suffering. There’s a tense moment as Johnny increases the pressure, Mark leaning backwards as far as he can to get away, before Johnny pulls it away. Mark exhales strongly, relaxing a little bit. He’s still crying. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

Tears would probably be rolling down your cheeks if you could process what was happening. But shock has taken ahold of you, and you can only watch helplessly as Johnny turns to glance back at you. “Thanks to y/n, now you’ll never get the chance to tell anyone.”

Johnny whips back around in record speed and slices the knife right through Mark’s throat.

A scream leaves you and you fall forward, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the line in Mark’s neck wells with blood, the poor boy convulsing in horror. A wretched gurgling noise leaves him as he chokes and frantically gasps for air, made even worse by the duct tape over his mouth. Johnny sets the knife down delicately and uses that hand to pinch his fingers over Mark’s nose, effectively shutting off his air-flow. The fight drains out of Mark’s body along with his life, and it’s just a few more seconds before he stills completely.

You can’t think of anything to say, can just gape at Mark’s body as Johnny lets go of him and the boy hits the floor. Johnny turns to you next, picking the knife back up.

“It’s a shame you’re always so curious, y/n.” Johnny sighs, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, I’m going to miss you.”

There’s the faintest breeze against your cheek bone, your hair blowing to tickle the back of your neck. You try your best not to shiver when it starts blowing against your wrists. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not a draft from an open window, but it’s Jungwoo. He’s not visible, probably because he’s focusing his energy on freeing you. If Johnny notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say anything. Your wrists aren’t free yet, but you can feel the rope loosening. If you can buy yourself some more time…

“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Jungwoo in the first place?” Your question obviously catches Johnny off guard and he stops walking, glancing off to the side and sighing softly. He seems to have an internal debate but then he shrugs, settling down on the floor across from you. It calms you a little to have him seated instead of looming over you, and you try your best to stay absolutely still.

When Johnny speaks, there’s a hint of regret in his voice. It’s hard to tell if it’s manufactured or not. “Jungwoo and I were best friends. We always had each others backs, always told each other everything. Ride or dies.” His eyes lower to his knife and he smears the blood around the blade with his thumb. “I was the one who hit the girl. I was drunk and it was stupid, but when I called Jungwoo to help me get rid of the body, he refused. He wanted to call the police, y/n. The police.” His eyes are brimming with tears now, and he looks up at you with an urgency that tells you to believe him. You don’t of course, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you of his innocence, or himself. “My own best friend wanted to turn me in, y/n. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“How did you even get into my basement?”

“You were at a training retreat in the mountains for that job you ended up hating that weekend. I knew that your house was empty and where the spare key was, plus I knew that no one ever went into your basement.” Johnny shrugs. “His body’s in the backyard, in case you were wondering. Buried him under the dahlias.” The red dahlias, your mothers favorite plant. How many times had she gone out to water and tend to the flowers, unknowing of the poor boy who lay beneath? Your breath catches in your throat and you finally can feel tears pricking the back of your eyelids.

“You’re sick.” The sentence is barely above a whisper, but it carries enough weight with it. Johnny’s entire demeanor changes, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one that was going to betray my best friend by letting him rot in jail! How fucking dare you.” The ropes fall off of your wrists and you grab onto them to prevent them from hitting the ground and alerting Johnny. All that’s left is the rope on your ankle, and then you can make your move. “Yeah? Aren’t you betraying your best friend right now? Just like you did last time?” “I should’ve used the duct tape on you.” He murmurs, tightening his hold on the knife.

There’s enough give in the ropes that you can wiggle your ankles. You just need a few more seconds. “Why didn’t you?” “Ran out.” Johnny breathes, lunging at you. You squeak and roll to the side, groaning when your legs refuse to function. Sitting on them for so long made them feel like jelly and they tingle as the blood rushes back to your limbs. “What the- you little bitch.”

Johnny attacks again and you dodge yet again, doing nothing but rolling around and avoiding him. You definitely can’t beat him in a physical fight, but you can probably beat him in other ways.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “J-Jungwoo?” He stops moving, obviously trying to process how someone who is clearly dead can stand in front of him. Unfortunately, his body doesn’t quite get the memo, and he trips over Mark’s form. A sickly thud resonates through the room as he falls, followed by a deafening silence.

When Johnny doesn’t move for a few seconds, you step closer to examine him. The first thing you notice is that there’s a little stain under his chest that’s steadily getting bigger, contrasting starkly against the wooden floor. The second thing you notice is the acrid stench of blood, too strong for the small room you’re in. Third is the tip of the blade sticking out of his back. After checking his pulse and finding nothing, you roll him over. You find the hilt of his knife sticking out of his chest and your breath catches in your throat. He must’ve landed on it when he tripped. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath, staring at Johnny’s limp body and waiting for him to lunge at you.

He never does. You look up to say thank you to Jungwoo, but you don’t get a chance. He looks right at his brother’s limp body and disappears, leaving you alone in the room.

You sleep as much as you can, hoping that Jungwoo will pop up in your dreams again. You cry when you sleep and you cry when you wake, until you get to the point where your eyes burn and your face swells and you can’t physically cry anymore. You cry until you’re exhausted and yet you can’t sleep, can only frustratingly toss and turn and scream silently through your raw throat, praying to a god that you don’t believe in to let you see Jungwoo, just one more time. That’s all you need. Just one more time to say goodbye.

Promises are mumbled into your pillow and chanted in your mind but there’s only so much you can do to keep them. You swear to never forget Jungwoo but the words are meaningless and do nothing to stop his face from fading. Slowly, his features become less clear in your mind, his laugh blending with countless others until you can’t differentiate them. You get him a proper grave in a cemetery, and you go from visiting his grave every day to going every few days, until weeks pass before you remember you wanted to leave flowers for him. The flowers last even less than your promises, wilting and rotting on the stone, becoming a sadly unrecognizable mess. You do your best to clean it, and you cry so hard the first time you see the mess that you almost black out, but it’s now a sight that doesn’t even phase you.

Time doesn’t stop to wait for you. It’s not long before you finish grad school and get a job offer in a city 1500 miles away, much different from this one. Your sister drives down to help you pack, easily helping you throw things that you need into a suitcase and counteracting your hoarding tendencies. Something catches your eye just as you’re leaving and you pick it up, frowning at the little resin flower.

“What’s that?” your sister asks, leaning in over your shoulder. “Is that a dahlia?”

“I don’t know.” you furrow your eyebrows, trying to place why it seems so familiar, before shrugging. It makes a hollow sound when you toss it into the trash that seems to echo much too loud for such a tiny object.

She heaves your suitcase into your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

#jungwoo fic #nct fic #jungwoo smut #nct smut #nct angst #kim jungwoo angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 smut #jungwoo angst #nct 127 fic #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop angst #nct: almost

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princesssarcastia · 3 years

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2021 Harry Potter Fanfic Primer

im here to point fingers at the incredible authors that have enabled my new interest in HP content. im still conflicted and upset about it, tbh, but for now we’re leaning into the curve. we’re getting out our shovel and finding out just how deep we can make the hole we’re in. hand in unlovable hand my beloved <3. anyway, these fics are wonderful, their authors are wonderful, and you should go read their stuff. if there’s a star next to it that means im losing my mind over it and always will be.

Creatively Maladjusted, by elumish on AO3, 101k (they also have a wonderful writing advice blog on tumblr, @elumish, which I recommend following if you are a writer)

A very excellent re-telling of harry’s first year at hogwarts if he were sorted into Slytherin, plus some more not!fic or piecemeal re-tellings of his second and part of his third year. Harry, in this, has a slightly different trauma response to growing up with the Dursley’s. He’s a bit quieter, and the signs are a bit more obvious to the people around him, and I enjoyed that immensely.

Honestly, if you’re going to get sucked into something you have absolutely no business getting sucked into, elumish is the way to go, their fic is incredible. their teen wolf fic is also immaculate, if you’re so inclined.

Dissonance, by ImpishTubist on AO3, 2.5k (@impishtubist on tumblr)

Set during fifth year. Oblivious!Harry has always been a delightful trope when well executed, and this is well executed. Plus, some angst between Remus and Harry over what Umbridge has been doing to him.

I would certainly recommend a lot of ImpishTubist’s other hp work on AO3, like Lacuna.

blow us all away, by rexcorvidae on AO3, 23k (@rexcorvidae on tumblr)

In progress (like, updated last week in progress). Currently in the beginning of Harry’s first year. Fem!Harry, Indian!Harry. Hagrid puts Harry in touch with Remus when she has questions about her parents, and they become reluctant, traumatized, angst-ridden pen pals who keep missing each other’s true intentions like ships in the night. hot DAMN do I love this fic. there’s hints of the way the dursley’s treat Harry peaking through in her letters, and I appreciated the attention to “hmm, her experience as a girl of indian descent in britain under the thumb of a bunch of white people who like being Normal may not have been gucci”

Definitely comb through the rest of their HP fic, too, I may or may not have gone feral over it.

Where the Heart is, by silver_fish on AO3, 15k (@kohakhearts on tumblr)

Woof. This one said, “hey, harry was probably SUPER depressed in the summer after fifth year. like, clinically. maybe someone should do something about that.” Fuck yeah. Then this one said, “that someone was Snape.” You all know my opinions on Snape; generally, Bad. But damn if this fic didn’t wholly convince me by the end of it. I thought it was a very realistic way for Snape to start seeing Harry as a person all on his own, and not a proxy for Snape’s angst over James and Lily, respectively. The angst is wonderful, the ending is even more so.

*bernie sanders voice* I am once again asking you to read through the rest of the author’s HP fic. a lot of them have similar themes; there’s actually a great one with Molly that i’m not reccing here, Wonder.

☆Bindings, Bindings, by Quietlemonhush on AO3, 60k (@quietlemonhush on tumblr)

WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS TO YOU HOW MUCH I ENJOYED/AM ENJOYING THIS. If I had to pick a single fic and say “you, it’s your fault I’m stuck here,” it would be this one. Anyway Lily in the afterlife is So Very Angry about how Petunia is treating Harry, and how Sirius is rotting in Azkaban, and how Remus is alone, that she literally brings herself back to life and drags James and Regulus with her. All three of them are there to chew bubblegum and fix everything that went wrong after they died—and would you look at that, they’re all out of bubblegum! There’s only Fury left. That inciting premise is very crack, but every moment after that is very much not crack. Lily and James love harry more than anything, the way a child should be loved; James and Sirius have the epic friendship of a lifetime; Sirius and Remus have staggering amounts of resolved sexual tension and take turns keeping each other in check; Regulus, though he realized that Voldemort and his family were shit before he died, is still unlearning all his racist bullshit and, also, years of trauma. Actually, they’re all traumatized, but hey: now they have one another again and not a damn one of them seems inclined to let go anytime soon. Quietlemonhush went, “hey, HP has a lot of Awful people in it, and a lot of Righteous people in it, and many of them are Very, Very Powerful; also, love is the most powerful force in the universe” and i said “hell yes tell me more right now.” And then they did!

Quietlemonhush writes Sirius/Remus in a way that makes it sooo much fun to devour, so the rest of their HP fic is most certainly worth a look, if that’s your thing.

Rebuilding, by Colubrina on AO3, 113k (@colubrina on tumblr)

Hermione/Draco (*shrug emojis into the abyss* yeah, yeah, like none of us have ever been there before). Takes place during Hogwarts 8th year, and while the beginning is, IMO, a little unfair to Ron, it gets much better. Tells the story of Hermione and Draco clearing the air, learning to like each other, having some hormones over each other, and then falling in love. Also tells the story of Hermione and Theo Nott becoming friends; the story of how every single 7th and 8th year student is fucked to hell by the war and the Carrows; the story of how they start an emotional support group about it and all become friends; and the story of, what the hell do you do with yourself after that kind of trauma?

I’ve been dipping in and out of Colubrina’s HP since before I was even on tumblr; I actually found them in those dark yesteryears when the only fandom interactions I had were on fanfiction.net. Of such fame as Green Girl, which is an HP fic staple, and has also written a lot of wackier, crackier, and darker things than that. If you don’t take yourself too seriously, I highly recommend many of their big HP works, though I imagine it’ll press some people’s buttons. Colubrina’s work really does take up a corner of my mind whenever I’m in an HP mood, and will take up yours if you let it.

☆ all waiting is long, by shuofthewind on AO3, 149k ( @shu-of-the-wind on tumblr)

This is so well written that I can’t stop thinking about it. It is occupying my mind when I lie awake at night, you know? It’s one of those. Hermione messes with something she probably shouldn’t have in Grimmauld Place, so when Sirius is sent through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, she gets thrust into an alternate universe...in 1975. Instead of handwaving it away, shuofthewind actually gets into the mechanics of it in a way that makes sense, to emphasize that hermione is never going home. ever. The world she finds herself is shifted slightly to the left, quite a bit darker, but in a “the author is treating the idea of a society-wide conflict over blood purity much more seriously than JKR ever did” way, not a sensationalist way. Now, Hermione has to grapple with all her grief at losing everyone she’s ever loved or known, the moral/ethical/magical implications of sharing what she knows about her future in an alternate world, and, you know, a goddamn war with people who want to murder her for being who she is. This Hermione is smart, and she’s kind, and she’s powerful, and she’s making real friends. If you hate JKR’s guts I’d go read this right now, because it delivers in all the ways she failed us. It’s plotty, its got great world-building, and it pulls back the white curtain on the wizarding world to show you that, like real life, it’s multicultural and full of queer people...and the discrimination that comes with both.

shuofthewind write epics, mainly for the MCU, and I’ve read some of them a looooong time ago, so this fic kinda seemed out of left field for me but im SOOOO GLAD it exists. If you want MCU fic you can sink your teeth into, go for it, but alas, they do not have any more HP fic (.......yet?)

Speak Now [+] Listen Now, by mrsfrizzle on AO3, 33k altogether

Harry reaches out to Remus for support because Umbridge is getting to him with her literal torture. Remus, being a former professor, former mandatory reporter, person who loves Harry and has since he was born, and all around good man, tells Harry he has to tell someone, or Remus will. It’s everything any adult looking back on that time in HP canon ever wanted, which is for an actual adult to say “what the fuck, those are literal chidlren” and then do something about it. Then, a far more dangerous task: Harry trusts Remus enough to go to him about the Dursleys. Harry and Remus’ relationship develops SO WELL, and there’s a bit of exploration about how Sirius may not exactly be guardian material, because he did in fact spend 12 years of his life getting tortured instead of growing up. I think I’m actually going to go reread this right now, because it speaks to my id.

they do have some other HP fic which did not appeal to my hyperspecific wants, but may appeal to some of yours. I think they’re also a published author, there should be a link on their profile page.

chase the stars, by Duskglass on AO3, 101k (@felix-duskglass on tumblr)

When Harry is five years old, a picture of him ends up in the Daily Prophet, and Sirius Black, Terror of Ministry Officials Touring Azkaban everywhere, gets a hold of that issue. He then, in order: breaks out of Azkaban; crosses the countryside to Surrey; Finds Harry: Kidnaps Harry; Breaks Into Remus’ Apartment; starts processing (or maybe just acknowledging) his trauma from Azkaban, the war, and his childhood; and pines after Remus. It’s a little plotty, and deals a lot (sometimes through flashbacks) with the specific awful things that happened to Sirius—largely because, after years in the constant presence of Dementors, those are nearly literally the only memories he has left. It’s a wonder he’s got the strength to love Harry and Remus at all. But then, maybe it isn’t.

This is a Very Serious Fic, but the rest of Duskglass’s HP work is actually just cracky enough to tickle your funny-bone, while still making you think “okay but why couldn’t we have done that in the first place.”

So! That’s it for recs, for now. These are all things I’ve found and read in the last month; if any of y’all are interested in my old HP recs, let me know and I can make a post for that, too. While I’m still very conflicted about my choice of current fandom, I am not in ANY way conflicted about my taste in fic and authors. Send these guys some love, read their fic if you’re so inclined, and leave some nice comments at the end of it.

#harry potter #hp #fic recs #hp fic #to the authors: if for some reason you don't want to be on this list #let me know and i'll be happy to take your part down #tho i'm hoping you're fine with it because i want other people to read this stuff #and then cry about it with me #harry potter fic #harry potter fic recs

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confused-as-all-hell · 3 years

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as widely requested, here is the era of peace between the couples who have subjected to my misery and doom. rest assured i’ll stop causing you all so much pain. first, as always, comes nina and matthias serving enemies to lovers. i would love it if you reblogged, because it makes such a difference

tagging everyone who stormed my dms and notes looking for kinder endings: @thebonecarver @crazywritingbookworm @holding-shan-back-from-murder @highfaelucien @saltyfortunes @queer-bookwyvern @smol-satan @quintessential-octessence @nightshade3465 @murderbabies @wafflesandschemingfaces @dreaminginvelaris

@black-like-my-soul to you, ofc, because you make everything brighter

Matthias Helvar hadn't always loved her.

Once upon a time, he had simply been a boy from the countryside, his fingers stained with blue ink, the curve of his mouth slow and deliberate.

Once upon a time, he had spent his days closeted away in the university library, poring over texts and thick tomes snatched from the very highest shelves.

Once upon a time, he had slept peacefully in his bed, and woken to the sun rather than a star-bright laugh, and his evenings were dull but he knew their rhythm, their beat.

Once upon a time, his name had been eight letters, three syllables, one simple intonation; the first time he heard her say it, breathless and gasping with her head thrown back against the wall, he lost his fucking mind.

They had just been two students, too determined and arrogant and convinced of their own pride. Nina Zenik was raucous and gorgeous and so likened to the sea, all lush curves and storming tempers and glittering surfaces and unknown depths. Matthias Helvar was quiet and furious and easily compared to the ice, all shining facets and cold beauty and unforgiving resistance and inflexible anger.

They danced around each other, at first, a solid series of cautious steps and mocking inclines of the head.

Sometimes he glimpsed her running around the fields, her straight dark hair slick with snow, spluttering as a tall young man tossed another handful at her. He watched with mounting fury as she stretched out during lectures, her head tipping back, soft rosebud lips parting.

Matthias hated her.

Hated the exquisite sprawl of her body, the graceful curves and elegant concaves and sharp angles.

Hated that when the night grew dark, darker, darkest, she was all he could think about.

Hated her eyes, brightest summer green, like dewy leaves and eager flower shoots and grapes stolen from his sister's plate.

But he had never glimpsed anything quite so ethereal as her gaze, and her lovely, secret smile. The smile she turned on her dearest friends, the smile he so often wished to experience, the smile he thought could turn the coldest dregs of the world warm.

She was fucking stunning, and brilliant and wise and glorious and he wanted to kiss her so badly it ached.

She was fucking awful, and loud and insouciant and miserable and he wanted to hold a knife to her throat and listen to her beg.

But she was Nina Zenik, after all, and he never managed to do much more than ruin himself with his fantasies and hopes and wild dreams.

When Matthias lay on someone else's bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that couldn't quite focus, all he could hear was the soft lilt of her laugh, the dulcet cadence of her voice.

He heard her whisper, Matthias Matthias Matthias as if his name was her religion, and she was kneeling at the altar.

And if Matthias spent his nights imagining the press of her hands, the furious set of her lips, the slide of her clothes against his bare skin, he could blame it on his hatred.

He found excuses to watch as she bickered with Kaz Brekker in the corridors, shouting over her shoulder and grinning all the same. He studied at the same table where she was talking to Wylan Van Eck as he sketched with limber dark pencils, preserving her smile in charcoal and paper. He couldn’t keep himself from listening as she laughed with Inej Ghafa, both of them doubled up, arm in arm. And when he glimpsed her trailing her fingers up Jesper Fahey’s arm, her eyes blurred with ecstasy, he nearly lost his damned mind.

Sometimes he reminded her of a hurricane, fierce and indomitable and unforgiving, and then he saw the shade of her eyes and all he could see was flowers flowers flowers.

Winter roses, shrouded in snow and cloud and mist, regal despite every attempt to make them bow.

Spring cherry blossoms, their branches slender and elegant, every little flower a bouquet of rosy jewels.

Autumn sunflowers, veiled in dusty light and the dying cinders of day, the sprawled petals a beacon of hope.

Summer hydrangeas, sweet and bright and prismatic with their precise hues, resting in a crown upon her head.

She was every blossom in the world flowering at once, a determined tide of unfurling colour, undaunted and unbothered.

Nina, Nina, Nina. Even the lilt of her name was a blessing in his mouth, though everything he longed to do with her was godless.

Matthias wanted to watch those rosy lips part, wanted to hear the breathless moan that escaped her, wanted to taste the sound on his lips. He wanted to watch the famous Nina Zenik come and come apart on top of him.

She was a song, and he could have listened until the downfall of the world. He had never heard anything quite so exquisite.

Her voice felt like redemption.

And suddenly, Matthias was seeing her everywhere.

She was in the little cafe across the street, her dark hair unbound, her lipstick the colour of fury, leaning across her table to better reach the sugar bowl.

She was dancing in the club his friends dragged him to, her hands tangled in a pretty girl's hair, and they were both kissing, moaning breathlessly, and all he felt was jealousy jealousy jealousy.

She was unwrapping a cherry popsicle and sucking on it idly, her head in some boy's lap as he braided her hair, and he had never known such hatred.

She was in his messages, in his kitchen, in his bed.

When Nina was drinking at a club, her lips around a twirling straw, her red velvet dress hitched around her thighs, all he could think about was the daring cut of her neckline, the precise slash across her breasts.

And maybe it was because he was drunk and tired and ecstatic that he asked her for a dance.

It wasn't the slow, sweet, serious waltz he had always imagined undertaking with his future bride.

It was furious and frenzied and fearless, his hands on the curve of her waist, her lips tracing a hot path down his throat.

It was Nina angling her face to stare up at him, long lashes low, her mouth parted ever so slightly.

It was Matthias sliding his fingers into her hair, gazing down at her, kissing her.

When she sighed against him, a breathless exhale, he lost his fucking mind.

His hands were tracing up the tight velvet of her dress, ghosting across the flare of her hips, faltering at the graceful curve of her breasts, and then she was whispering and smiling and her fucking green eyes were fluttering closed.

Matthias never saw the colour green the same way.

They never spoke of the kiss, or the dozens that followed, each one occurring beneath the strobe lights of their nightclub and a haze of ecstasy.

His evenings began to play out like a movie one had watched thousands of times, and yet every single twist was breathtaking, ethereal.

Nina's warm, sweet mouth. Her wicked hands. Her secret smile. The press of her lips against his own. The curve of her body tight to his own. The brilliance of her, so incredibly staggering that he felt the need to turn away.

She was Nina Zenik and sometimes when Matthias realized he was the one she was kissing, the one who felt her clever touch, the one who was witnessing her delighted grin.

And in those moments, the world could have been hewn of gold for how exquisite it seemed.

The very first time Nina kissed him outside of their club, he could barely move.

She had simply bounded up to him, dark hair ribboning back, and suddenly she was kissing him, one warm hand through his own.

All Matthias could do was stand still, stand still, stand still.

He still dreamt about the wicked, determined, furious look in her eyes as she collided with him. That single spark in her gaze could have lit cities aflame.

Their relationship was never the brutal, raucous wreck Matthias had imagined.

It was Nina with her arms around his neck in the corridors, leaning onto the tips of her toes, smiling up at him.

It was Matthias leaving a bouquet of sunflowers in her dorms, because something about their undaunted bright stand reminded him of her.

It was Nina tangled in his bedsheets, her hair a dark halo on the pillow, sunlight slanting across her soft skin, smiling just so slightly even in her sleep.

It was Matthias waking up to a series of drunken texts and shaking his head, because of course she was out drinking at three in the damned morning.

It was Nina skating across the lake of his childhood, her arms held aloft for balance, smiling softly as she whirled; a wraith of the cold, a sylph of the ice. Her cheeks were red as cherries in the winter air, and every breath was a cloud of warm air past her parted lips.

When she threw her head back, dark hair shaking loose, he thought love might be his death after all.

And on the single night when the sky was clear, and the clouds were softer than spun silk, and they were laying intertwined in the meadows, Matthias wondered if it hadn’t already.

If he could have captured the stars, they would have been hers.

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youalexturnermeon · 3 years

Text

Chasing the Past Pt. 2 (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Click for Part 1

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: In the first part (Y/N), Daniel LaRusso’s sister, came back to LA after five years of being away. She reconnects with Johnny and wakes up in his apartment after getting drunk at a party. In this part (Y/N) and Johnny have to face Daniel and his rage hahaha

Warnings: swearing(!!!), mentions of alcohol, angst, fluff and maybe a little bit of slight smut

Wordcount: 2473

Johnny’s face is almost doubled right in front you, but you see it as a good thing, twice as much of Johnny is great. Four bright blue eyes are much better than just two. But then there are two again. He has you close to him, his strong hands resting on your hips, slowly making their way further down to your ass and he is twirling you around. You dance. “I missed you, Johnny” you slur and cup his beautiful face, on it the dirtiest grin you have ever seen. He doesn’t answer, just squeezes your ass and suddenly kisses you. Almost too much tongue, red lipstick on his face, sloppy kisses on the neck and the jaw. You are melting under his touch.

Blurry way though the dark, you are laughing, Johnny and you still dancing together through the night. In his hand a bagged bottle, you don’t care what’s inside as you take a sip. You stop for a heated make-out session, he presses your back hardly against the wall of an apartment complex and his hands are already making their way under your sweatshirt. The bottle slips out of his hands and breaks on the ground. “God, I’ve been thinking about doing this for five years!” Johnny grunts and almost violently kisses you. “Get a fucking room!” someone shouts angrily in the distance “Get away from here, you fucking pervs!”

White sheets, clothes everywhere, naked bodies, Johnny’s hands all over you, moans. You are enjoying yourself. Johnny’s messy blonde hair.

____

“Fuck”, you said again, almost in disbelief but this time you were smiling. Out of the sudden, Johnny moved. Your heart started beating, you didn’t know if you were ready for any conversation. You didn’t even know if Johnny would regret this or not. You most certainly didn’t, you just wished to remember a little bit more of the steamy night.

“Good morning, princess”, he whispered, voice all raspy and sleepy, he yawned and stroked your hair, “Did you sleep well?”

“I feel like shit” you admitted and sat up, dragging the covers over your bare chest, which immediately stressed how your head was still heavy and spinning. You almost wished you didn’t sit up in the first place, you wanted to lay on Johnny’s chest again. But you didn’t and just stared at him. God, he was still so beautiful. You then signed over to his naked torso, “Did we…?” You still had to reassure yourself that this amazing night actually happened.

“Oh yeah” Johnny answered proudly and sat up too. You were surprised when the first thing he did was kissing you. This Johnny you didn’t know, you caught glimpses of him, but he never fully showed himself. Then he got out of bed, put on some clothes and turned to you.

“I’ll get you an Aspirin and then I will make you breakfast”

“What is it with you Johnny?” you asked, completely perplexed, “You never made me breakfast, you never cared the next morning” Johnny shrugged: “And you see what it got me, the girl who finally made me get over Ali and the fight with Daniel, who made my life a little less miserable just disappeared on me for five years without a trace. I don’t want you to disappear on me again for god knows how many years this time”

Without a trace was a lie, he still could’ve gone to Daniel LaRusso, ask him about his sister, ask for her phone number, her address. But when you went to college you made it perfectly clear that Daniel would kill him without having second thoughts for banging his sister and if he didn’t manage, you would’ve killed him yourself. And after all this time Johnny asked himself why he cared about that, why he was such a pussy and cared about what Daniel would think and do, above all. Now he didn’t anymore, he had no fucks to give about it anymore. As long as you were by his side for a little while, he could live with Daniel hating him more than he did already.

“Glad, to have been at your service, you asshole” you said rolling your eyes but still laughing.

“You’re welcome. So, are you saying we keep that going or what?”

You shrugged.

“Does that mean you are staying in Reseda?”

You shrugged again, it kind of did but you’d never know for how long. Thankfully, Johnny dropped the topic after that. Just like you, he really wasn’t the type to talk relationships. Maybe you two would’ve taken a different path when he had been the last time but that was again, ancient history.

____

The breakfast was simple, Johnny wasn’t the greatest cook, but that was okay, you weren’t either. It was more about the time you spent together. It was fun, it felt amazing being with him in his tiny kitchen, just talking about the old times and joking around. It was even fun when he flunked a spoonful of scrambled eggs directly in your face. You ate, you took a shower you scrubbed off all the remaining make-up from last and you felt a little bit better. Johnny enjoyed having you over. Normally, he didn’t let his girls stay that long, he usually made them go home very quickly, not so with you. He’d even be okay with you staying the whole day, hell, even another night or two. But as soon as you got of shower his hope vanished.

“I need to go home now” you announced shyly.

“So soon?” “Yeah, Danny is probably worried sick, I also promised him, we go out for sushi today, just us two.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and hugged you suddenly, almost a little too tightly “Don’t you want to stay?”

“To be honest, I do, but I also want to spend some time with my big brother.”

“I guess, I’ll drive you home then” “Only if you want to, I can walk or get a cab”. Fortunately, you didn’t manage to lose your handbag at the beach, so you’d have enough money.

“That is out of question. I always drive my babes!” Johnny said proudly which was a big fat lie, he didn’t always bother but with you, it was another situation.

The car ride was not as bad as you had expected, you didn’t get sick which you were afraid you would do because you still could remember well enough how fast Johnny drove. Yet, it was great to sit in his red Pontiac Firebird again, it shot your memories straight back to high school when you secretly hung out with Johnny for a couple of times. Sadly, it was over too soon. Johnny pulled up in the driveway to Daniel’s apartment building. He quickly got out of the car to open the car door for you before you could reach the handle yourself.

“Wow, I don’t know if like that new Johnny” you laughed and nudged him, “Far too nice!”

“Yeah, would you like me doing that instead?” Johnny’s eyes darkened and you remembered also seeing that look last night and out of a sudden he pinned you between the red Firebird and him, his face very close to yours.

“Do you like me being a bad guy instead?”, his lips brushed over you when he talked. And you wanted to say yes or even nod but you breath quickened; your hart started beating a faster rhythm.

“Thought so.” he whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine on that hot summer day. He was just about to kiss you, maybe you should go back to his place after all, you thought, when you were instantly interrupted.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lawrence!?!?!?” a scream echoed through the whole block, “Get the fuck away from her!”

Johnny promptly jumped to side but as soon as the realized who that was coming from a dirty grin appeared on his perfectly shaped lips. Daniel, face almost grey with fury, was running towards them, eyes all wild, hands clenched to fists.

“Oh fuck”, you gasped but couldn’t hold back a laugh, that was too absurd, “Maybe you should’ve dropped me off a few blocks away”

“Nah, this is going to be fun”

But you thought otherwise, this was going to be anything else bun fun. Comical, but definitely not fun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?” Daniel yelled pointing a finger at you when he finally came to a halt right in front of you.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m completely fine, thanks for asking Danny”

“Don’t you fucking talk back to me like that!” “Jesus, Daniel, watch your filthy mouth, you didn’t swear that much since forever.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Daniel kept on, ignoring your sarcastic remarks, “You did not come home the whole night, I’ve got no call, nothing. I didn’t sleep, I was waiting for you, I was so fucking worried and then you finally decide to come here with him and you’re talking to me like I’m the bad guy?” Daniel pointed at Johnny without even looking at him.

“Ok, mom, calm down”

“Don’t you mom me, (Y/N). You smell like a fucking distillery; you look like shit and where the fuck are your shoes?” You looked down on your bare feet, then at Johnny who had protectively placed a hand on the small of your back and you two suddenly burst out laughing. Your drunk ass simply lost them at the beach.

“How dare you even make a sound?” Daniel shouted, this time at Johnny. It was getting embarrassing, even some neighbours were now watching how Daniel took a threatening step towards Johnny. He still was a few inches smaller than him, but he managed to compensate that with his glance. A little bit more wrath, you thought, and he would be shooting sparks out of his usually warm brown eyes.

“Damn, LaRusso, don’t wet your pants. You look like you are about to die from a heart attack” “Shut the hell up, Lawrence” Daniel growled and came even closer, so close the tips of their noses almost touched and Johnny just kept on smiling, he didn't even flinch “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

Johnny shrugged, he did.

“What the hell is my sister doing with you?”

“She just likes me a lot more than she likes you” Johnny’s grin kept getting dirtier and dirtier with every word leaving his mouth “Actually, she always liked me a lot. When I was beating your ass in high school, (Y/N) always has been hanging out with me instead of pitying you. While you were training with your weird-ass sensei, I gave her rides all the time, we were friends. When you won in ’84 she didn’t go with you to celebrate your illegal kick, she stayed behind and cared for me. Dragged me out of the parking lot and brought me into a hospital together with Bobby and Dutch. She just never told you because a delicate little flower like you would simply die from that. And when you were trimming trees, I fucked her every goddamn day until she went away”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Johnny in shock then at Daniel who needed a second to process everything that had been said. That was about it, Johnny dropped the bomb, he told Daniel everything that was kept secret from him and everything that he needed to know.

“You did fucking what?” Daniel asked through clenched teeth, his hands shaking, he was barely holding himself back and you knew, some whit was about to go down real quick.

“I fucked your sister LaRusso, five years ago and tonight and she liked it”

And you couldn’t even say anything against it, every bit of it was true. And when Daniel gave you a quick look he knew exactly. And then, very unlikely for Daniel he threw his first punch, Johnny immediately blocking it. He shoved you to the side so wouldn’t get between them. Both stood in fighting positions and then everything happened so fast. There was a lot of fists and legs and kicks and punches, too rapid for your eyes to grasp it. And you couldn’t believe it. After all these years, these to very still ready to kill each other. But you had enough, you had enough of this stupid rivalry, you had enough of them hating each other for no reason and you definitely had enough of being their recent motive for fighting.

“Stop!” you yelled, they ignored you, “Stop it! I’ve had enough of your stupid Karate bullshit! I’m sick and tired of you two always fighting. I can’t deal with being dragged into it! I fucking hate this. Why is this the first thing that happens to me after being back after five fucking years? Why you always have to be such a drama queen, Daniel? Why are you the only person you care about, huh? And you” you turned your shouting towards Johnny “why do you always have to keep the fire going why can’t you just let it be for once?”

Your screams were much louder than Daniel’s before, but the fighting enemies still ignored you.

“If one of you throws another punch, I’m gonna call the cops and you two can sort it out in a prison cell! I don't want you to kill each other just because you see me as an object that can only belong to one of you. I'm not, I like both of you. You're my brother and I love you. And I fucking love him, Daniel”

These words worked magic on Johnny who immediately let his arms sink and whilst he looked at you, worry written into his face, he received one last kick in the guts for losing his concentration. You threw yourself at Daniel and tried to hold him back from doing more damage, for a second you were afraif he was about to kill Johnny. But with you holding him, he did not dare to keep on fighting. He didn't want to hurt you. And yet he tried to free himself from you.

“Please, Danny” you cried “Please stop and let me be!”

Daniel remained silent and calmed down, you let him go. You went over to Johnny and embraced him, he hissed under your touch but couldn’t help himself than to press you closely to his chest. His face was beaten, his lip was bleeding, and a fresh cut crowned his brow.

“I’m so sorry, babe!” he whispered into your ear and kissed your cheek. He never apologized for fighting. Until now.

“No, I’m sorry!” you said and stroked back the sweaty hair from his forehead, then you turned to your brother, “You better be sorry, too”

“I am.”

“LaRusso is sorry?” Johnny wondered and spat blood on the ground, “That’s new”

“Shut up!” you shushed him

“I am sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t know you liked this jerk that much.” “To be fair, me neither” Johnny admitted “But I fucking love her, too, LaRusso, you know?” Daniel nodded, maybe for his sister’s sake he was ready to give his last enemy up.

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence imagine #johnny lawrence fluff #karate kid #karate kid imagine #karate kid fluff #cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #daniel larusso #daniel larusso imagine

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bastard-of-the-barrel · 3 years

Note

Hey, odd request but could you post the scene about where Kaz faints in the prison truck? I lost my copy of the book and I really wanted to read that scene today

The hinges held.

Another shout in Fjerdan, more footsteps. Then the crack of the reins and the cart surged forward, rumbling over the road. Inej let herself exhale. Her throat had gone completely dry.

Kaz took his place beside her. He shoved a hood over her head, and the musty smell filled her nostrils. He would put his own hood on next, then lock himself in. Easy enough, a cheap magician’s trick, and Kaz knew them all. His arm pressed along hers from shoulder to elbow as he locked the collar around his neck. Bodies shifted against Inej’s back and side, crowding up against her.

For now they were safe. But despite the rattle of the wagon’s wheels, Inej could tell Kaz’s breathing had got worse – shallow, rapid pants like an animal caught in a trap. It was a sound she’d never thought to hear from him.

It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

---

The money Mister Hertzoon had left with Kaz and Jordie ran out the following week. Jordie tried to return his new coat, but the shop wouldn’t take it, and Kaz’s boots had clearly been worn.

When they brought the loan agreement Mister Hertzoon had signed to the bank, they found that – for all its official-looking seals – it was worthless paper. No one knew of Mister Hertzoon or his business partner.

They were evicted from the boarding house two days later, and had to find a bridge to sleep under, but were soon rousted by the stadwatch. After that, they wandered aimlessly until morning. Jordie insisted that they go back to the coffeehouse. They sat for a long time in the park across the street. When night came, and the watch began its rounds, Kaz and Jordie headed south, into the streets of the lower Barrel, where the police did not bother to patrol.

They slept beneath a set of stairs in an alley behind a tavern, tucked between a discarded stove and bags of kitchen refuse. No one bothered them that night, but the next they were discovered by a gang of boys who told them they were in Razorgull territory. They gave Jordie a thrashing and knocked Kaz into the canal, but not before they took his boots.

Jordie fished Kaz out of the water and gave him his dry coat.

“I’m hungry,” Kaz said.

“I’m not,” Jordie replied. And for some reason that had struck Kaz as funny, and they’d both started laughing. Jordie wrapped his arms around Kaz and said, “The city is winning so far. But you’ll see who wins in the end.”

The next morning, Jordie woke with a fever.

In years to come people would call the outbreak of firepox that struck Ketterdam the Queen’s Lady Plague, after the ship believed to have brought the contagion to the city. It hit the crowded slums of the Barrel hardest. Bodies piled up in the streets, and sickboats moved through the canals, using long shovels and hooks to tumble corpses onto their platforms and haul them out to the Reaper’s Barge for burning.

Kaz’s fever came on two days after Jordie’s. They had no money for medicine or a medik, so they huddled together in a pile of broken-up wooden boxes that they dubbed the Nest.

No one came to roust them. The gangs had all been laid low by disease.

When the fever reached full fire, Kaz dreamed he had returned to the farm, and when he knocked on the door, he saw Dream Jordie and Dream Kaz already there, sitting at the kitchen table. They peered at him through the window, but they wouldn’t let him in, so he wandered through the meadow, afraid to lie down in the tall grass.

When he woke, he couldn’t smell hay or clover or apples, only coalsmoke, and the spongy rotting vegetable stink of garbage. Jordie was lying next to him, staring at the sky. “Don’t leave me,” Kaz wanted to say, but he was too tired. So he laid his head on Jordie’s chest. It felt wrong already, cold and hard.

He thought he was dreaming when the bodymen rolled him onto the sickboat. He felt himself falling, and then he was caught in a tangle of bodies. He tried to scream, but he was too weak. They were everywhere, legs and arms and stiff bellies, rotting limbs and blue-lipped faces covered in firepox sores. He floated in and out of consciousness, unsure of what was real or fever dream as the flatboat moved out to sea. When they tumbled him into the shallows of the Reaper’s Barge, he somehow found the strength to cry out.

“I’m alive,” he shouted, as loud as he could. But he was so small, and the boat was already drifting back to harbour.

Kaz tried to pull Jordie from the water. His body was covered in the little blooming sores that gave the firepox its name, his skin white and bruised. Kaz thought of the little wind-up dog, of drinking hot chocolate on the bridge. He thought that heaven would look like the kitchen of the house on Zelverstraat and smell like hutspot cooking in the Hertzoons’ oven. He still had Saskia’s red ribbon. He could give it back to her. They would make candies out of quince paste. Margit would play the piano, and he could fall asleep by the fire. He closed his eyes and waited to die.

Kaz expected to wake in the next world, warm and safe, his belly full, Jordie beside him. Instead, he woke surrounded by corpses. He was lying in the shallows of the Reaper’s Barge, his clothes soaked through, skin wrinkled from the damp. Jordie’s body was beside him, barely recognisable, white and swollen with rot, floating on the surface like some kind of gruesome deep sea fish.

Kaz’s vision had cleared, and the rash had receded. His fever had broken. He’d forgotten his hunger, but he was thirsty enough that he thought he would go mad.

All that day and night, he waited in the pile of bodies, looking out at the harbour, hoping the flatboat would return. They had to come to set the fires that would burn the corpses, but when? Did the bodymen collect every day? Every other day? He was weak and dehydrated. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The coast seemed so far away, and he knew he was too weak to swim the distance. He had survived the fever, but he might well die out here on the Reaper’s Barge. Did he care? There was nothing waiting for him in the city except more hunger and dark alleys and the damp of the canals. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. Vengeance was waiting, vengeance for Jordie and maybe for himself, too. But he would have to go to meet it.

When night came, and the tide changed direction, Kaz forced himself to lay hands on Jordie’s body. He was too frail to swim on his own, but with Jordie’s help, he could float. He held tight to his brother and kicked towards the lights of Ketterdam. Together, they drifted, Jordie’s distended body acting as a raft. Kaz kept kicking, trying not to think of his brother, of the taut, bloated feel of Jordie’s flesh beneath his hands; he tried not to think of anything but the rhythm of his legs moving through the sea. He’d heard there were sharks in these waters, but he knew they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.

He kept kicking, and when dawn came, he looked up to find himself at the east end of the Lid. The harbour was nearly deserted; the plague had caused shipping in and out of Kerch to grind to a halt.

The last hundred yards were hard. The tide had turned once more, and it was working against him. But Kaz had hope now, hope and fury, twin flames burning inside him. They guided him to the dock and up the ladder. When he reached the top, he flopped down on his back on the wooden slats, then forced himself to roll over. Jordie’s body was caught in the current, bumping against the pylon below. His eyes were still open, and for a moment, Kaz thought his brother was staring back at him. But Jordie didn’t speak, he didn’t blink, his gaze didn’t shift as the tide dragged him free of the pylon and began to carry him out to sea.

I should close his eyes, thought Kaz. But he knew if he climbed down the ladder and waded back into the sea, he would never find his way out again. He’d simply let himself drown, and that wasn’t possible any more. He had to live. Someone had to pay.

---

In the prison wagon, Kaz woke to a sharp jab against his thigh. He was ice cold and in darkness. There were bodies all around him, pressing against his back, his sides. He was drowning in corpses.

“Kaz.” A whisper.

He shuddered.

Another jab to his thigh.

“Kaz.” Inej’s voice. He managed a deep breath through his nose. He felt her pull away from him. Somehow, in the cramped confines of the wagon, she managed to give him space. His heart was pounding.

“Keep talking,” he rasped.

“What?”

“Just keep talking.”

“We’re passing through the prison gate. We made it past the first two checkpoints.”

That brought him fully to his senses. They’d gone through two checkpoints. That meant they’d been counted. Someone had opened that door – not once but twice – maybe even laid hands on him, and he hadn’t woken. He could have been robbed, killed. He’d imagined his death a thousand ways, but never sleeping through it.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, despite the smell of bodies. He’d kept his gloves on, something the guards might have easily taken note of, and a frustrating concession to his weakness, but if he hadn’t, he felt fairly sure he’d have gone completely mad.

Behind him, he could hear the other prisoners murmuring to one another in different languages. Despite the fears the darkness woke in him, he gave thanks for it. He could only hope that the rest of his crew, hooded and burdened by their own anxiety, hadn’t noticed anything strange about his behaviour. He’d been sluggish, slow to react when they’d ambushed the wagon, but that was all, and he could make up some excuse to account for it.

He hated that Inej had seen him this way, that anyone had, but on the heels of that thought came another: Better it should be her. In his bones, he knew that she would never speak of it to anyone, that she would never use this knowledge against him. She relied on his reputation. She wouldn’t want him to look weak. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? Inej would never betray him. He knew it. Kaz felt ill. Though he’d trusted her with his life countless times, it felt much more frightening to trust her with this shame.

The wagon came to a halt. The bolt slid back, and the doors flew open.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #leigh bardugo #grishaverse

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saladejin · 3 years

Text

Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me)

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :)

<< masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories.

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.”

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed.

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

~ three months later ~

“That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.�� You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

TO BE CONTINUED

#jimin x reader #jimin angst #jimin smut #bgwdynamitedads #btsghostie #jimin fluff #jimin scenarios #jimin imagines #bts smut #bts angst #jimin fanfic #BTS jimin #bts fluff #bts fanfic #policeman jimin #s2l au #heavy angst #shy jimin #saladejin

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 3 years

Note

I found this on Instagram and honestly, I wanna ask why???? One would think that threatening your supposed brother with his worst fear would be enough for people to understand that JC is not a good person

"Well well, the YiLing Laozu has died? Who was the one to kill him?”

“Who would have other than his shidi, Jiang Cheng, he put an end to his own brother for the greater good. (Jiang Cheng certainly DID tell the world this even though the seal was what ended Wei Wuxian).

Jiang Cheng led the Sects YunmengJiang (He also DID do this since he knew exactly where the wen settlement was and slaughtered civilian Wens with The Jins), LanlingJin, GusuLan, and QingheNie (Now, we all know as the story tells us these other two were in the wings compared to the leading forces) to destroy his hole, at Burial Mound.”

However, there was a nagging thought which stayed in the back of everyone’s mind; Nobody could summon Wei WuXian’s fragmented soul, though he had died at Burial Mound.

Perhaps it had been torn apart by the thousands of ghosts that devoured him. (Cue Wei Wuxian "let's make one thing clear, I killed me thank you")

Or, just maybe, it had escaped. (Cue Q-conspiracy Jiang Cheng "WEI WUXIAN I'LL FIND YOUR SOUL AND DESTROY IT)

If it was the first, then all was well. Nobody doubted the fact that the YiLing Laozu had the power to move mountains and empty seas. But, if it escaped, his soul would eventually return to be reborn, or possess a body. If that day came, the cultivation world, the whole world, would be faced with the most crazed damnations and vengeance, sinking into nothing but chaos and blood. (Oh hey look early foreshadowing for Jiang Cheng's M.O. for a whole thirteen years because he went obsessive).

To add on to that point above:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. After thinking it through, he made a gesture. The disciples understood his intentions and came over. (Jiang Cheng in his own head, in his own MIND says he is gonna set his disciples to drag away someone he suspects of being Wei Wuxian and has done this before enough times for his disciples to know the gig and let him torture away at Lotus Pier. THE MAN SAID IT HIMSELF AND MADE IT FACT AS LAN JINGYI DAYS LATER AND IS NOTORIOUS FOR BEING A PSYCHO TORTURER OF RANDOS).

That infamous meeting:

Wei WuXian immediately raised his head, “I haven’t forgotten! It’s just that…”

Yet, he just couldn’t find the right words to put after it.

Jiang Cheng interrupted, “It’s just what? You can’t say it? Don’t worry, you can go back to Lotus Pier and say your excuses while kneeling in front of my parents’ graves.” (YEAH GEEZ, just wants TEA with his estranged cut off Shixiong not brother and never was a brother cause martial is not the damn same as relatives, never mind that Wei Wuxian doesn't want that and definitely doesn't want to after Jiang Cheng insults Lan Wangji's entire person.)

Bonus:

Seeing Jiang Cheng turn around, Wei WuXian immediately pulled a mixed expression of “ I’m so shocked, my secret has been disclosed,” and “what do I do now that Wen Ning has been found”. Jin Ling was actually quite clever. Knowing that Jiang Cheng hated Wen Ning more than anything, he made up such a smooth lie with the previous knowledge he had. Jiang Cheng knew that the YiLing Laozu and the Ghost General often appeared together, so he already suspected that Wen Ning was in the area. Having heard Jin Ling’s words, he was already mostly convinced, and Wei WuXian’s expression convinced him even further. On top of that, he burst into a fury whenever he heard the mention of Wen Ning’s name. With his eyes blinded by wrath, how could he still have doubted? The hostility that built in his chest was almost making him explode. He flicked his whip, hitting the ground beside Wei WuXian, and spoke through clenched teeth, “You really take that obedient dog of yours everywhere, don’t you?!” (Jin Ling coming in with that "Yeah, my Jiujiu is crazy but I know how to take advantage of that to save you." You go Jin Ling, four for Jin Ling.)

Wei WuXian spoke, “He’s been dead for a long time, and I’ve died once as well. What else do you want?!”

Jiang Cheng pointed the whip at him, “So what? My hatred would persist, even if he dies thousands of times! He didn’t perish back then. Very well! I shall destroy him today, with my own hands. I’m going to burn him right now, and scatter his ashes right in front of your face!” (In the eternal words of Jiang Cheng "Can I not just hate you?" And everyone else who loves you and befriends you too because I blame you for choosing them over me and will choose to hurt them out of spite and jealousy.)

Keep in mind this is only book one still and Wei Wuxian has already put his full trust in Lan Wangji even before Lan Wangji ends the identity farce himself:

He had always thought that Jiang Cheng would be on his side, and Lan WangJi on the one opposite to him. He could never have imagined that things would turn out so differently. (Do I really have to elaborate that Wei Wuxian doesn't want Jiang Cheng by his side anymore? Or even trust him.)

And in contrast to Jiang Cheng's crazed reaction and when Lan Wangji is reunited with Wei Wuxian:

However, having taken only one step back, his ankle twisted, and he seemed as if he almost collapsed on the ground. With a change in expression, Lan WangJi hurried over and tightly gripped his wrist like what he did last time, back in Dafan Mountain. After Wei WuXian had been steadied, Lan WangJi knelt down on one knee to examine his leg. Wei WuXian was rather shocked, “N-n-no, HanGuang-Jun. You don’t have to do this.”

Lan WangJi raised his head slightly, the pair of light-colored eyes boring into him, then looked down again and continued to roll up the leg of his trousers. Still under his grip, Wei WuXian could do nothing except to look up at the sky.

His entire leg was covered with the black bruise of the Curse Mark.

After staring at it for a while, Lan WangJi spoke in a bitter voice, “… I only left for a few hours.”

Wei WuXian shrugged, “A few hours is a long time. Anything could have happened. There, there. Straighten up.” (Hanguang-Jun is SO MEAN, keeping innocent little Jiang Cheng from Wei Wuxian, who he was never hurt physically, ever in his life. Stop being dramatic Lan Wangji!)

In conclusion insta:

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #salt? salt #what is twitter and insta on cause this is some in denial flat earther comprehension

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pinkkunt-imagines · 4 years

Text

Shao Kahn || Ego & WAP

Songs: Beyonce - Ego & Cardi B feat. Megan Thee Stallion - WAP

Synopsis: The Kahn has been pussymatized, and is need of his favorite good little concubine.

A/N: Soo, I had to go with two songs for Shao. Ego because his attitude is big and well...you know... ;) And WAP because I can imagine he was pussymatized by Sindel. Soo here it is for reader. I’d also like to mention that I’m appauled about their is virtually almost no Shao Kahn x Reader on the internet? Like only one about him on Tumblr. Ya’ll gon give him respek! It was supposed to be Light NSFW, but it got out of hand real fast into a full smut one-shot. So NSFW WARNING BELOW! Here is also Shao Kahn eating your vagina through a screen gif.

“[Name]! Where is my [Name]!?” That roar rippled throughout the palace, practically scaring anyone who heard. “I want her! Bring her to me now!”

He sure was needy today, or more like, everyday. The only one that could help him was [Name], his favorite concubine out of a cluster of various women. Something about her was pure in nature, and a natural beauty at that. It was something he had to have for himself, something he had to rip apart and destroy. He had to change her, make her see that conquering people and land was the only way to get stronger. But the opposite had been happening.

She was the saving grace of Outworld. While her Kahn was a cruel man, capable of many bad deeds, [Name] was not. While she wasn’t a big fan of his more brutal approach with imperialism, she believed that if he was going to take other realms that reforming the people would be a better approach. It was all nonsense to him at first, people didn’t need to be reformed to listen, they just needed to do it. But [Name] was pretty good at choosing the appropriate times to talk about such topics, usually during pillowtalk. And honestly, it was working, [Name] was changing the immortal little by little. Lately, he found himself taking prisoners rather than executing them at the spot, just like she wanted. Mentally he cursed her and himself while making such decisions. Who would’ve thought that the man so obsessed with power would be influenced by some ordinary human. She was making him weak.

Shao also noticed a change in his mental thought when he was out conquering realms. Oftentimes thinking of something he could take from someone and give to [Name]. He needed to hold her at night, spoil her, listen to her concerns even when they were a bore. And unlike many of the other concubines who had to do chores like cook and clean, [Name] was not required to do such labor. Many of the girls became envious towards her and Shao’s favoritism. Was this some form of love? Vice versa for [Name]. There was something oddly attractive about his lust for power, and that big mean persona he put on. He took what he wanted like some thug, and most of all knew how to make her feel good. Being intimate so many times, she was bound to fall in love with him.

When walking into the large throne room, she noticed that Shao was already bare, rubbing his abnormal large cock in between his hands. Having sex was one of the only times he’d remove his helmet, as he did enjoy kissing more than he’d like to admit. She wore a black wool coat, fully buttoned and barefoot as she approached his throne. The distance between them was about six feet apart, and even then Shao was ready to pounce out of the chair and fuck her against the cold floor.

Fingers lightly tracing the buttons on the coat, [Name] teasingly ran her hand around her covered body, Shao’s eyes watching closely in anticipation, “So impatient today, Shaowie. I was already coming the first dozen times you called.”

Shaowie was the nickname she had given him after growing closer. It was okay to call him in private, but even she knew without warning to not call him that around others. But this only proved to her even more that he had a soft spot for her.

He grinned wildly, rubbing his cock with haste. He was ready and couldn’t wait any longer. “Ah! My [Name]! How ravishing you look today. Come now, and I will rip that piece of Earthrealm clothing off your skin and devour you.”

“Only if you can guess what I’m wearing underneath~”

“For your sake, it better be nothing.”

[Name] undid the buttons on her coat at a slow tantalizing pace. Her teasing gaze caught the eyes of the lustful man, and that's when he lost it.

“Come to me, now! I won’t wait any longer.”

He hoisted her naked body up, turning her around so that her back faced him, whilst he stayed seated. With both of his hands on her curved hips, he lined himself up with her already dripping hole before shoving himself inside. God, he was so big, so thick that he was splitting her in half. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. The initial burning sensation that she felt when he was ripping her apart was something that she loved. So full and so sudden, she could hardly breathe. All that left her mouth were strangled gasps. Shao on the other hand let out an animalistic growl, that echoed throughout the throne room walls. Her walls, with a short initial spasm, had clenched onto him tightly. Shao loved to take [Name] from behind, mostly for the show of watching his cock disappear inside her.

“Mmm, yes that’s it! Take all of my cock!”

He started his impatient and sloppy thrusts, using her tight soaked pussy as a cock sleeve with no care. Shao marveled at how good her cunt felt around him. She was no Sindel. No, she was tighter, younger, and was always on a mission to milk him dry. The fact that he was allowing himself to be controlled by her pussy was in proof in itself. What he admired most was her determination to take all of him (even though he was way too big for that), even when the head of his dick kissed against her cervix; yet, he always kept pushing forward, and she never objected. Shao Kahn’s ego matched what was going on below. He had every right to boast about himself, because he surely could back it up.

“H-Harder!” She moaned, completely immersed in the pleasurable pain that was Shao Kahn’s cock.

His claws dug into her soft flesh with greed as to so seem as pure fury, while he pulled [Name]’s body back against his dick, somehow managing to go even harder than he already was. Shao’s head flew back against the throne, mouth hanging open still releasing those animalistic grunts that thundered from his chest. It was mere carnal pleasure taking over both of them. In his frantic race for release, he accidentally hit a precise spot in her, beyond pleasant: she cried out and her soaked walls pulsated around his cock, signalling her early release. [Name] was already a drooling, babbling mess, but this took the cake. She didn’t even get a chance to feel the orgasm build up, she just began squirting everywhere, as her orgasm washed over her.

“Sh-Shao! Ah~ Keep fucking me, Emperor! Don’t stop!” Most of what she had said was slurred and incoherent, but it made Shao’s cock throb anyways.

In a demanding meanor, he asked ,“You naughty little thing. Who said you could cum just yet?”

There was never a need to hold back an orgasm when haing sex with [Name], he ALWAYS made her cum first, and that wasnt even by choice. However there was one occurrence where they came at together, and it was beyond breathtaking. He’d never felt that overwhelmed with pleasure unless he was killing an enemy.

Getting up from his throne, he twisted [Name] around, never retreating his member from her slick. The turn stimulated the underside of her abused clit, sending another round of sybaritic pleasure, that all she could do was whimper. Shao grunted, wrapping his power arms around her body, bringing his hands in between her ass cheeks, and harpooning his claws into them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, looking into his glowing red eyes that were sinfully hungry for more.

[Name] forcefully pushed herself in for a heated kiss, tongues and saliva exchanging, all without stopping to slam upward into her at brutal and merciless pace. Her pussy bubbled wet and obscene sounds, which only helped to push him to his release. He held her firmly and glued to his own body, and she could hear him panting and grunting desperately into the kiss, sounding like a true wild beast.

His rhythm doubled, he was close. The hand, more like a claw, that was holding tight to her bruised ass, dragged away from under her body to reach her head. He took a handful of her hair at the base of her scalp, and pulled with a quick tug. Her head was tilted in an uncomfortable arch, leaving exposed the slope between her neck and her shoulder, in which his face dove eagerly. His panting breath came out in hot puffs, his grunts roared louder and louder in her ear, while his hips continued frantically crashing into hers at an ungodly pace, the sounds of sweaty skins contact echoing with every impact.

Shao’s cock kept hitting that sweet spot inside her and she felt that familiar pressure dangerously building up. Her walls began clenching onto him again, she was so damn close, giving the man an additional, irresistible sense of blind pleasure. His pace began to wobble, his thrusts became more uneven and sloppy. He was close by now.

Finally he gasped and froze. His grip on her ass intensified, making her fear to explode. Then, with a final, powerful push, he stiffened completely sunk into [Name]. His body pressed flush against her, his nails were like blades into her skin as he did punctuated thrusts to release streams of hot cum that flooded her squashed walls, while the excess was already spilling out of her and along your inner thigh. Simultaneously, the fire that was building up in [Name]’s abdomen finally exploded, coming in waves of lightning pleasure, that she couldn’t help but dissolve herself in it. He grunted trembling and deeply straight into her ear; then it followed his long and echoing sigh, similar to a profound relief.

Shao lifted the exhausted woman off of his still throbbing hard cock, setting himself down back on his chair and her across his large lap. Chuckling, he ran his fingers through her soft locks. “Mmm~ What a good little concubine you are.”

#shao kahn #shao kahn x reader #shao kahn imagines #shao kahn imagine #shao kahn headcanon #shao kahn headcanons #shao kahn scenario #shao kahn scenarios #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #mk11 #mortal kombat scenario #mortal kombat scenarios #mortal kombat headcanon #Mortal Kombat headcanons #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat imagines

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limeflavoredlobotomizer · 4 years

Text

Hey guys. This is my first fanfic ever, so I apologize if it’s utter crap. Based on the amazingly talented @oifaaa‘s newest Sith au art.

“Sir, wake up!”

Anakin blinked, opening his eyes. He frowned, and looked up to see Rex standing above him, saluting. “Wha’s going on? Why’d ya wake me up?” Anakin slurred, still-half asleep. He checked the clock, frowning. It was the middle of the night! What in Malachor was Rex doing, waking him up at a time like this? He sat up, glaring at the clone. Rex fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“We.. uh.. it’s best to show you, sir.”

Anakin blinked. Was Rex.. nervous? There wasn’t much that could scare Rex anymore. They had been at war for years, after all. What could be urgent enough to wake him up in the middle of the night, and frightening enough to make Rex nervous? He stood up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, muscles still aching from that last battle. Rex coughed, startled, and Anakin looked down at his pajamas. He was wearing a bright pink T-shirt that was two sizes too big, and the words “Chosen One: Force’s #1 boi” were scrawled on it messily in glow-in-the-dark fabric paint. He blushed slightly. “It was a birthday gift from Aayla!” Rex coughed. “Still, you might want to put something over it, sir.” Anakin rolled his eyes. He could imagine the look on Admiral Yularen’s face if he came into an urgent meeting half-naked, wearing nothing but boxers and a hot pink t-shirt. But, as he was probably going to be dragged to some super-serious middle of the night war meeting, he slipped a clean (ish) Jedi robe on over it, and followed Rex out into the hallway.

The ship was silent, except for the low hum of the engines and the sound of their footsteps. It was eerie to see the ship, so alive in the daytime, like this. He hurried down the corridors, Rex leading the way towards the briefing room. Two clones, both new recruits, stood guard. Anakin nodded to both of them before walking into the room. Several clones stood there, their faces unusually grave, speaking to each other in hushed tones. Admiral Yularen stood in front of the holoprojector, looking somber. The Admiral sighed, looking around the room. When he saw Anakin, the man sighed, only raising his eyebrows a fraction of a degree when he saw Anakin’s T-shirt. Anakin realized, perhaps a little belatedly, that he had forgotten to put on shorts.

Anakin grimaced, and looked at the Admiral. “What is it?”

Admiral Yularen shook his head, looking grim. The man gestured for Anakin to come to him. Anakin obliged, his mind frantically running through a million worst-case scenarios Oh, how he wished Master Mace were here. The admiral pushed some buttons on the holoprojector and an image appeared, shockingly bright in the dark room. The rotating image showed a small Republic base, tucked into the mountains of some forested planet. It looked like a supply station, probably for larger ships such as the Resolute. Anakin turned to the Admiral, confused. Why was such a small base important? He opened his mouth to ask that very same question, when the admiral said, “This was the supply station we were supposed to stock up at. We’re currently hovering above the planet.” Anakin closed his mouth, and tried to work out why this was a problem. Had there been some kind of holdup? Did the station not have the necessary supplies? If so, that would be a problem. The ship was low on fuel and supplies, and they had to rendezvous with Aayla’s fleet in a couple of days. Also, as far as Anakin knew, this was the only supply station in the mostly deserted system. They wouldn’t be able to make it to the rendezvous point without those supplies.

Admiral Yularen continued, “We received a transmission from the security cams at the base 30 minutes ago.” The admiral clicked a few more buttons and the image disappeared, replaced by a holorecording of the same base. Admiral Yularen flipped a switch on the console, and the holorecording began to play. For a few seconds nothing happened. The recording was bland, simply showing two clones patrolling the perimeter of the base. Then, so quick that Anakin almost didn’t see it, a flash of red took off the head of one of the clones. Barely half a second later, two more identical red flashes killed the other clone, so fast, the body of his brother hadn’t even fallen.

Anakin’s first thought was that the base had come under attack by battle droids, but that didn’t make sense. Battle droids couldn’t possibly be that accurate, or that fast, and why would the CIS waste such valuable resources on a small Republic base in the middle of nowhere? Then he noticed that the red flashes that he had mistaken for blaster bolts were moving. Lightsabers. Red lightsabers. Sith. But that made even less sense. The Sith were a small Order, mostly made up of fallen Jedi. There couldn’t be more than 200 of them in the entire galaxy. Why would the CIS waste some of their most valuable commanders on a base in a deserted system that meant nothing to the Seperatists? It didn’t make sense, unless… unless the Sith somehow knew that his ship would be stopping here for supplies. Unless they knew that destroying this base would be the best way to stop his fleet from returning to the main battlegrounds in the mid rim. But how… Anakin shook his head. These were questions for a later time, as Master Windu used to say. He needed to focus on the here and now, and that was this meeting.

The Sith moved forward, walking into the circle of light thrown by the base’s lamps, allowing Anakin to see more of them. Like all Sith, they wore long, dark cloaks, with the hoods pulled low over their faces, so all Ankin could make out was their sinister, glowing yellow eyes. There were two of them, a master and an apprentice. The shorter one carried two lightsabers, a normal-sized one and a shoto. The taller one, likely the master, only carried one. The shorter Sith began cutting into the durasteel door, and the camera feed cut off. A new image replaced the holorecording, and Anakin gasped in horror. It was the base, the one they had just seen the Sith cut into, but it was completely destroyed. Fires burned in and around the building, which could hardly even be called such anymore, the windows were shattered, the walls falling as if pushed back by a mighty explosion, and, worst of all, bodies. Bodies everywhere, mutilated and utterly destroyed. If Anakin hadn’t known they were clones, he’d have been hard-pressed to identify them. Holy shit.

“Two… two Sith did this?” He asked, horrified. Admiral Yularen nodded, and Anakin noticed that all the clones in the room had gone silent. Honoring their fallen vode. Anger burned in Anakin as he looked down at the destroyed building. “You said this was thirty minutes ago, right, Admiral?” Anakin asked, not even bothering to hide the anger in his voice. Admiral Yularen nodded. “So.. um, hypothetically, would the Sith still be down there?” The admiral nodded once again. “It is likely, especially since we have not detected any ships leaving the atmosphere.” Anakin glared at the holorecording once more, then turned to look at the clones around him. Those were their brothers, their vode, that had been killed so brutally. Fury overwhelmed him. How could those Sith do that? They would pay. Anakin looked up to see Admiral Yularen frowning at him suspiciously. “What.. what are you planning, sir?” He asked, looking wary. Anakin grinned, and he was sure his smile was nothing short of murderous. “Prep my fighter. I’m going down.”

#Sith AU #Anakin Skywalker #aayla secura #Anakin Aayla friendship #@oifaaa #Might do a part 2 #I dunno #This was longer than i expected #Star wars #Star Wars AU #star wars the clone wars #Captain Rex #Admiral Yularen #Sith #Jedi #Clones #Prequel Trilogy #AU #korri’s writing

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pl-panda · 3 years

Text

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 10

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 10

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Chloé felt that something was wrong. She knew that the drama would only start with the class kicked out. She tried to enjoy the evening and do what she did at all other galas: be a star. As the daughter of the mayor of Paris and a famous fashion icon, she attracted quite a bit of attention. Now that she was the only reliable source of information on Marinette and Hawkmoth-related stuff, she found herself in the center of attention. Someone even asked her about her time as Queen Bee. She loved it here!

She just finished a small talk with the wife of… someone important, when unmistakable sausage hair flashed in the crowd. She would recognize her anywhere. Lila was still at the gala.

The blonde tried to find someone to tell it to, but she couldn’t do it fast enough. She saw her disappear into a corridor that led to the kitchen. Making a split-second decision, she followed her alone. On her way, she got a bright idea and sent the text to whoever she called last. There was no time to search through the contact list. It better be someone who can help.

The doors to the kitchen were closed and inside buzzed with the work of several hired helpers. They were preparing for the midnight toast. There was no way Lie-la could hide there. The only other doors led to the servants’ staircase.

“Ugh! The sacrifice I make for friendship.” She sighed before entering the tight passage.

This led her to the second floor, where she found the doors already open. It led to a long corridor with several doors on the one side and large windows overlooking the back garden. She realized she was in the west wing, which was the second oldest part of the manor.

“More creepy secret passageways…” She quickly checked her phone to see if somebody answered, but a crashing sound coming from one of the rooms got her attention.

Slowly, she crept toward the only room with lights on. She managed to get a sneaky peek inside before something hit her in the back of her head and everything turned black.

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“So… he really asked you out on the first day?” Allegra starred at Marinette in disbelief.

“Yeah. He was all shy and flustered, almost certain I would reject him.” She giggled. The two girls were standing on the sidelines while Jon got the boys to finally talk their differences out in a safe manner.

“That guy? Flustered?” Allegra giggled. “I think not.”

“And you? I thought Damian had no friends? Well, Jon was more of a family friend from what I heard.”

“My dad is the Gotham Mayor. Probably the only one who stayed in office longer than a week in the last decade.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way.” Allegra nodded. “I met Jon during the interview his mom was doing in Gotham for the Daily Planet. Then, we met at Gotham Academy. Damian was kinda just tagging along. And he still does. Well, I think he actually likes the occasional hanging out with us, but Claude disagrees.” She nodded toward the boys, who seemed to be coming their way. “It’s going to be nice to have a second girl in the pack.”

“I should totally introduce you to Chloé.” Marinette giggled before walking to meet Damian half-way.

“Tt. Felix is not his cousin.”

“And the floor is indeed made of floor.” Jon chuckled.

“I have the dusters…” He threatened, but his friend just laughed.

“Can we dance?” Marinette asked fast. Truth to be told she was waiting for a chance for quite a while, but with the press and then the drama and all the people wishing them well.

Nodding, he led them to the dancing floor and they joined many other couples.

“I just hope I don’t fall over… Or step on…”

“If a man doesn’t come to this thing with reinforced shoes, it’s his fault.” Damian stopped her before she could spiral. Then, his voice softened. “There is nothing to worry about. The only important person today is already dancing with me and the rest can stuff it.”

She blushed bright pink but didn’t respond. Instead, she hugged closer to his chest and allowed him to take the lead. The pair glided seamlessly through the dance floor, moving between other pairs and completely obvious to the stares they received. They melded in perfect harmony, losing the sense of time and space.

Inside Marinette’s head, they were dancing between the stars, bathed in subtle light coming from nowhere and everywhere. In the distance, her imaginary eyes could’ve seen the comet passing by and the full moon glowing in the sky. The music seemed to be coming from everywhere and encompassing them in soothing tones.

For Damian, they were the only constant in the sea of darkness. There was nothing to distract them from dancing. Even the music faded to the background when they moved in perfect harmony. The only source of light seemed to be Marinette. And even her glow was only an aura around her, not illuminating the rest of the place at first. In his imagination, everywhere they stepped, she would leave a small trail of light in the darkness.

Finally, the music stopped. The couple didn’t notice at first until the applause finally broke to them. They both realized they were now in the center of the large circle where people watched. One old lady had a tear in her eye. Marinette blushed at the attention, but did her best not to appear shy. Damian shrugged. He was superior to them, so it was obvious their dance was the center of attention. He bowed slightly to the crowd while Marinette curtsied before rushing away from the prying eyes.

“That was something…” Allegra smiled at her. “You two looked amazing. I really love how your dress reflected the light.”

“Thanks. I ma… nevermind.” She stopped herself. She wanted to reveal she made it, but Allegra was still unknown to her and she wasn’t comfortable with revealing that she is MDC so soon. Even if Jon vouched for her.

“Mari-bear!” Chloé rushed to the pair. “Quick! You need to come with me!”

“What’s going on Chlo?”

“It’s Lila!” The blonde motioned. The reaction was immediate. Marinette’s eyes narrowed and her whole body tensed. She nodded and followed the blonde, who led her toward the kitchen and servants’ staircase.

A saner part of Marinette’s mind noted that Chloé had no problem with the tight passage used only by ‘peasants’ but the majority of her focused solely on stopping whatever evil scheme Lila concocted.

On the second floor, the blonde led Marinette toward Bruce’s private office. Blood started to run cold in her veins. Did Rossi discover the entrance to the batcave? But no, Chloé would be calling the whole Batfam then. She was probably just scoping around and now awaits inside. Or maybe she just broke something in rage?

When they got close, Chloé opened the doors. Inside was in perfect order, except the chair was turned back. As it rotated slowly, Marinette managed to see disheveled blonde hair before pain exploded from the back of her head and she collapsed into the embrace of darkness.

Nobody noticed one more person in the corridor when Marinette left the office alone.

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Damian was ‘enjoying’ the small talk with some rich snob, doing his best to appear as the perfect son and heir to Bruce Wayne. Inside, he was cursing Allegra for stealing his angel so close to midnight. He could see the waiters hired for the evening spreading the champagne already.

“Hi. You’re Damian Wayne, right?” A girl asked him. Her blonde hair was let loose to form a large mane around her head. She looked maybe a year younger. What attracted attention were her eyes. One was bright pink and the other was brown to the point it was almost black.

“Tt. I need to get a better mask.”

“It’s the eyes. They give you away.” She smiled.

“What is it?” He scoffed. “I’m looking for someone so if you excu…”

She grabbed his wrist in a strong grip. “I’ve got a message for Damian Wayne. You will listen to what I have to say.” Her hand squeezed his wrist to the point it started to sting. “You’re far from victory yet.”

She then let go of his hand and disappeared into the crowd. She was small enough for him not to be able to track her. He took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) champagne and returned to his search, promising to check on the cameras later. Finding his beloved was now even more important.

Cursing under his breath, he turned. Marinette was just coming back from where Chloé dragged her. As soon as she saw him, she rushed toward him. A small smile ghosted his face when they met. Except something was wrong. She looked ashamed and scared.

“Damian… I… I think… I must confess something…” She said loudly, attracting the crowd. “I’m so sorry. I really am! It… I never wanted to push it that far! I just wanted a bit of the fame…” Tears welled in her eyes.

“What are you…” He started.

“They were right! I was just a filthy gold digger! But your family was so kind and you’re so precious and smart and I feel so bad for manipulating you! I can’t continue like that! It’s over between us. For your own good!”

A sword was suddenly pressed into her neck to the point it drew blood. Nobody was sure where Damian got the sword , but by now the guests were used to the fact that he could get the sword at any point in the Manor.

“Who are you, harlot, and what did you do to my Angel?” He seethed. People around quickly made a space for them, not wanting to accidentally find themselves on the business end of the sword.

“I’m sorry Damian. I know it must be hard but…”

“You are definitely not Habibti and you can drop the act. She would not act like this. You don’t even know her well enough to realize that this gold digging crap is laughable,” he accused. His voice was full of cold fury.

“You must let go. I… I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t even tie someone correctly.” A new voice joined the discussion as another Marinette pushed her way through the crowd. “Or check if someone sees you change. You’re pretty amateurish for a villain.”

“But… but…! Impostor!” The Marinette at the end of the sword screamed. People were already too confused for that to have any real effect.

“Tt. You’re the only impostor.”

“She wants to get the hands on your fortune!” The girl tried. “I’m so sorry!”

“For the love of god shut up. You sound like a broken record.” Marinette snapped. “And for your information, I don’t need to try and attach myself to someone. I have my own source of income.” Marinette hesitated. Even if the impostor, whoever they were, was dealt with, the media would still keep accusing her of trying to marry into wealth. And at school it would be even worse. She would not give Lila more lie material. “After all, I made my dress for today’s evening.”

Murmurs immediately broke. So far, everyone assumed that it was an MDC original. Very few smarter ones caught up on that, but the majority was scratching their heads. Slowly, the small intelligent percent explained to their oblivious colleagues what that meant.

“Yes, I’m MDC. It used to stand for Marinette Dupain-Cheng before I switched to Marinette Désign et Création.” She gazed over the crowd. “You can ask uncle Jagged if you see him.” She grinned. “Or Tim Drake. He has a signed CD. In fact…” She pulled her phone and made a quick tweet about the Wayne Gala on her MDC account.

“No…” The other Marinette starred in disbelief.

“Yes. I wanted to keep it a secret until I graduate, but someone forced me to unmask a bit earlier…” She glared at the impostor.

“No!” They screamed. Black bubbling energy covered them. Damian tried to stab with his sword and fell right through it, with his suit burning in several places. When it stabilized again, A teenager stood there. She looked mostly human, except her hair was fluorescent orange and her dress was torn in several places now. She had no accessories and her feet were bare. “You ruined everything! This was supposed to be my trip!”

Marinette took a battle stance, mentally giving herself a pat on the back for making her dress combat-ready. She didn’t bring the rope dart this evening since it would clash with her look, but she did put a small, almost unnoticeable sheethe with a knife on her left thigh. She quickly drew the blade and got ready.

“I will not be denied again!” The villain charged at Marinette. The girl tried to strike with her knife, but the blade broke on the first contact, shattering into small pieces that flew everywhere. Several cut her arm. In retaliation, the criminal delivered a punch that pushed all the air from her lungs and made her tumble.

Impostor was just preparing to deliver a final strike when suddenly a blade cut off her right hand before being stabbed through her calf, making her fall one one knee and pinning her to the ground.

Sabine was there, with fury on her face that would make demons run for cover and saints pray to God.

“No one.” She delivered a spin-kick at the downed enemy’s head. She tumbled down and spread like a run-over frog “Hurts.” Before the villain could catch the second wind, she pulled the sword from her calf and stabbed it deep into her left palm, pinning her into the ground. There was no blood whatsoever. “My daughter.” She spat on the impostor and stepped on her head with enough strength to knock out any normal human.

Just as her leg was supposed to give the villain a concussion, she turned into purple bubbling energy and moved. Sabine’s leg passed through the energy and her leg started to smoke a bit and turn red.

“That hurt!” The villain screamed once she reformed, all wounds gone like they were never there. A purple butterfly-shaped mask appeared over her face and the few people that knew what happened in Paris gasped. “Ugh! Fine!” She tried to lunge at Marinette, but a chair smashed into her head and batted her away like a baseball ball.

“Run!” Tom screamed at her daughter and charged with the chair. Marinette looked at her mother and Damian and all three nodded at the same time. Using the panic and people running away, they ducked into an empty corridor and locked the door.

“Tikki! Spots on!”

“Plagg! Claws out!”

“Roaar! Prowl!”

The light of three transformations was blinding. When it died, Sabine looked over the couple and noticed that she was the only one that had an unchanged outfit.

Damian’s outfit consisted of what were dark gray linen pants, a linen shirt with long sleeves and a hood with two folds on the top of his head that resembled cat ears. Over the shirt, he wore a black vest with dark-green finishes. On his left breast was a cat symbol. His forearms were wrapped with gray straps, over which he wore green armguards that reached a bit over the back of his hand. His dark-gray gloves had sharp claws at the end of each finger. His feet were covered with soft shoes that would make no sound as he moved. Behind him, a loose sash of gray imitated cat’s tail. The final touch was the black mask almost identical to what he wore as Robin, except the white eyes were green in this case. His baton was safely attached to his right thigh for easy access.

Marinette now wore a much more stealthy outfit. The core of it was black with dark-red accents. The boots that reached beyond mid-thigh had a single black spot on each vamp, knee, and at the top. There were dark red spots on each of her hips that doubled as some protection. Over her shoulders she wore a dark-red bolero with a black spot near her neck. The sleeves of her bolero ended just below her elbot and on each end was another black spot. She had an additional, very large black spot, on her back. A simple red mask covered her eyes. Her dark hair, which she wore loose these days, was tied into low twin ponytails with red ribbons. On each hand, she wore a red fingerless glove with a single spot on the wrists.

Sabine looked over the two of them. She immediately noted that Damian’s outfit was much more assassin-esque than the leather tights Chat Noir wore. Her daughter also looked more mature now.

“What happened to your outfit?” She asked, curious why the change happened now.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir are connected. Since I’ve got a new cat, I have a new outfit.” She smiled.

“Black Cat. In the outfit, I’m Black Cat. Chat Noir was a bastard.”

“Um… Akuma?” Ladybug waved her hand toward the main room.

The three jumped out of the corridor to the pandemonium that was happening there.

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