#cement plants aren’t my usual kinds of plants

[geopsych]

Gratuitous beauty: the cement plant at dawn. I had to walk through town early, wasn’t expecting to see something like this. Nature can make anything beautiful.

#pennsylvania #landscape #winter sunrise #sunrise #january #cement plants aren’t my usual kinds of plants

[bratkook]

girls in bikinis. (m) kth.

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: smut, pwp word count: 5.3k warnings: exhibitionism, unprotected sex, partially clothed sex, fingering, spanking, dirty talk, creampie, he fucks her in roller skates okay and its light and playful author’s note: this came to me as i washed my dishes and listened to this song by poppy and idk what possessed me to write this when i have 2471819 other wips i should be focusing on but i hope u enjoy it lmaooo

As the sun beats down on Taehyung, beads of sweat trickling down his neck while he cruises on his long board along the concrete path right on the beach, he doesn’t think he regrets encouraging your new hobby more than he does right now

You see when you first voiced your desire to learn to roller skate Taehyung had found it endearing, even going as far as purchasing the skates for you as a surprise because you had been so excited watching videos online of other girls gliding around.

When you finally got them and slipped them on, stumbling around like a baby deer discovering they had legs, he thought it would be an adorable hobby. Seeing you bundled up with your knee pads, matching elbow pads ready to catch your fall and a helmet strapped tightly under your chin.

It all screamed cute.

But your determination had set it, constantly practicing out on the sidewalk or in the shoddy parking lot of your apartment complex, not caring how many times you bruised your tailbone with your nasty falls until they slowly minimized.

Soon enough Taehyung had stopped providing you ice packs and comforting words when you took a tumble and instead he had begun to watch in awe as your strides got more confident, no longer afraid to apply pressure onto your toe stops when you caught some speed, mixing in some cool spins as you skated around him in circles.

With that added confidence came the fact that you no longer needed to be wrapped up in safety gear as extensively as you used to be which is what landed him in this situation, watching you glide along beside him with the skimpiest outfit on.

This no longer screamed cute, no this entire thing was currently shouting sexy in his head so loud it was a surprise no one around him could hear it.

Taehyung swallows down a groan when you push out so you’re ahead of him now, the scrape of your wheels mixing in with his own. His eyes trail up your body, seeing how your legs glimmer in the sun thanks to the body oil you had lathered on before you, making your entire body look like its glowing.

The expanse of your legs are out for the world to see and he’s almost positive if you bent over just slightly he’d catch a peak of the underwear you currently had on because these black cut off shorts were purely for aesthetic purposes.

Its not until you whirl around on your skates, gliding backwards with your arms and head bobbing along to the music you had blasting from your phone in your back pocket, that his eyes zero in on your tits. Taehyung can’t hold the groan back this time, not with the way he sees them bounce and jiggle with each stride of your legs, only being caged in by the tiniest triangle bikini top you had so graciously slipped on.

He knew you did this on purpose, did this just for him, color coordinating your orange top to match the suede of your skates and passing it off as a cute notion. Taehyung had gotten drunk a few nights ago, and with the added alcohol came the slip of his tongue, confessing how hot he thought you looked as you rolled around and how much hotter you’d look if you did it in just your underwear.

You, being ever the people pleaser, weren’t going to let him down. Of course you weren’t clad in your bra and panties but this was definitely second best and when you catch his dazed out expression it proves you right.

His foot mindlessly keeps pushing himself forward, coming back onto his board robotically to continue the glide while you shimmy your chest at him tauntingly.

“My eyes are up here.” You quip teasingly, your hand coming up to rake through your hair as you shoot him a dazzling smile. Thats when he finally blinks out of his daze, meeting your eyes with a cheeky smile on his own face.

“Oh I know,” he shrugs, rocking on his board as he glides side to side, his wheels kissing the edge of the path each way as he does so, “prefer staring at your tits though.”

A snort leaves you at his comment, swirling back around to face forward, slowing your pace down until you’re once again right beside him. You turn your head to look at him, smirking when you see him staring at you already, “Figured, that’s kind of why I wore this.”

“Ah,” he sighs out, his hand reaching forward to grab your own in a sweet notion as he matches your speed, “so I fell into your trap?”

The soft laugh you let out makes the horniness that's clouding his brain clear up, paired with the fact that he can no longer see the way your boobs bounce with every crack on the floor, he has a moment to cleanse his impure thoughts. 

“Yeah, it’s all going according to plan.”

Taehyung laughs fully at that now, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles, his ash blonde hair being fluffed up from the wind and the speed at which he pushes off the floor, “Oh yeah?”

A small hum is your only response, mimicking his movements and pushing forward once more to make room for bikers approaching you, once again giving him the glorious view of your ass and legs. 

“And how does this plan of yours end exactly?”

You spin around once more, the action smooth and nothing at all compared to the way you struggled months ago, your hand still grasping his own as he helps guide you from any oncoming people. There's a glint in your eye that he can’t pinpoint but he knows its trouble, it usually always is with you. 

“With you fucking me.”

His brows arch up at your lewd comment, how you said it so nonchalantly, almost as if you were discussing a grocery list. His balance falters slightly as he wobbles on his feet, your hand being the saving grace that stops him from face planting onto the hot cement. That would definitely sober his filthy thoughts up just as quickly as they came, nothing like good road burn to help him stop sinning.

“Well let's go then.” He chokes out, ready to drag you to his awaiting car, maybe you’d let him defile you in his backseat if you were this horny but you shock him once more when your shoulders shrug. A playful frown on your face as you look behind you, your eyes focusing on the surrounding buildings, “Why?”

“What do you mean why, you said you want me to fuck you or am I reading this all wrong?”

Another laugh bubbles out of you, the sound sweet and angelic as if you aren’t currently thinking of him rearranging your guts in the unholiest of places 

“Oh no, I definitely want you to fuck me but why leave?”

That’s when the realization hits him, his eyes widening up as his mouth drops open when he understands just what you’re suggesting, “Here?”

A simple nod is sent his way, your smile widening when he looks around in exasperation, almost as if he can’t fathom that you’d let him do whatever he wanted to you in any location. “But we’re in public!” He hisses out, his cheeks warming up to a blush and its adorable. 

“So, I’m horny and I want you to fuck me. Are you game?”

As adventurous as Taehyung was, he'd never, ever, fooled around in public and as much as he wanted to, the fear of getting caught and possibly being thrown into jail always stopped him. But the way you look right now is making all of his logical thinking go straight into the gutter and he can’t find it in himself to care, not when he can see this whole thing play out in his mind.

With every blink of his eyes he sees flashes of you, pressed against the side of a building as you moan out his name, the feel of your oiled up skin against his fingertips as he grips into your hips and fucks you from behind, the thrill of having to keep quiet.

He feels his cock spur to life in his shorts and that is absolutely the only convincing he needs to make his feet come down with a thump, haphazardly hopping off of his board and yanking you to an abrupt stop, his hands having to catch you before you topple over from the force of it all. 

“Hell yeah I’m game, but if we get caught it’s all your fault.”

He wastes no time scooping his board up and tucking it underneath his arm as he takes off, dragging you behind him while he hauls you off the bike path and onto the crowded boardwalk. His grip on you is secure as your wheels wobble on the uneven path, his pace speeding up when your laughter reaches his ear. 

A smirk spreads onto his face as his eyes bounce along each building, determined to find a location good enough for your rendezvous. The small whispers you send him make him feel like you’re a little devil perched onto his shoulder, luring him into making the worst decisions with the best outcomes.

“You gotta be quiet Y/N.” Taehyung whispers with a laugh, his hands placed on your ass, pushing you into the small alleyway between two buildings you had both deemed good enough for the scandalous act you were about to perform.

You have to bite your lip to prevent teasing words from slipping through, your heart was currently pounding in your chest as reality hits you, not believing just how easy it was to convince Taehyung do to anything involving sex.

It’s almost comical how he rolls you deeper into the small hiding spot, his board slipping from its spot under his arm and landing on the floor in a loud thunk. The sound echoes all around you but he can’t focus on that right now, completely ignoring the scowl you send his way after he had just shushed you into silence.

“You gotta be quiet–” You mock him, the end of your words being muffled out when he slaps his palm over your mouth, a taunting look on his face as he pushes you against the brick wall. The heels of your boots thud against the building as your back presses flush against it, the gritty texture of the wall digs into your back but any complaints you have get stuck in your throat when you see the look in his face, your breath huffing against his hand, the tiniest smile creeping onto your lips.

“Don’t worry about me baby,” he whispers out, his face inching closer to yours. His eyes sneak a side glance towards the opening of the alley way, seeing the occasional person walking past blissfully unaware that the two of you were tucked away in here, “unless you want people to see how desperate you are for my cock you need to keep that pretty mouth of yours closed okay?”

A stiff nod and a hum against his palm is all you give him, your eyes staring straight into his as he takes a moment to ogle you. His gaze trails down your neck, onto the swells of your chest covered in the tiny orange bikini, his head tilting slightly as he watches the rise and fall as you try to steady your breathing. 

“Nervous?” Taehyung teases, choosing now to remove his palm from your mouth.

“No,” you breathe out a laugh, resting onto your left toe stop as you sag against the wall, “I’m excited.”

Of course you were, this had been your plan after all. Get Taehyung so hot and bothered he’d do anything you asked and he had fallen right into your grasp, not that he had any complaints.

“You fucking minx.” He jokes, pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss, the smell of the sunscreen he had slathered his face in invades your senses, it reminds you of summer and you know after today it’ll also remind you of this moment.

Your lips drop open as he licks his way into your mouth, groaning when his tongue slithers against yours. Your arms hook around his neck, tugging him closer as he lightly licks the roof of your mouth before pulling back with a hum.

“Gotta be quick yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, letting his hands grip your sides, his thumb softly rubbing your waist on his way down to the button of your shorts, “hurry.”

The bouncing wheels of skateboarders whizzing by a few feet away has you gasping in excitement, Taehyung shooting you a wink when he catches the thrilling look on your face at the prospect of getting caught, “You got it.”

Taehyung pops the button of your shorts open, the sound reaching your ears, aiding in the small rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. The metallic scrape of your zipper being yanked down joins the air, his long fingers dipping into the waist of them and tugging them down your legs until they catch around your knees from the way your thighs are spread out.

He eyes the tiny pastel orange panties you chose to wear, your entire outfit being carefully thought out for this exact moment and it makes him chuckle under his breath, he really had fallen right into your trap. 

His fingers toy with your underwear, following the edge of it as it curves into your inner thighs, a shiver wracking through your body at the ticklish feeling, a slight detour being taken when his thumb presses into the damp patch decorating the front of it.

A wiggle of your eyebrows is sent his way when he eyes you teasingly, “Who would’ve thought you’d get this wet just thinking about me fucking you out in the open.”

“Please, I get soaked just thinking about you doing literally anything.”

He knew that much to be true, taking pride in being the main reason your panties were ruined.

Its not until the sound of people talking reaches his ears that he remembers he needs to hurry up, the idea of being caught was definitely hot but actually getting caught wasn’t so he once again grips your hips and turns you around.

Your heavy wheels clank against the ground at the change of position, your hands gripping the rough wall to keep you steady as he moves you, the rolling of your wheels only making him laugh.

“Uh, you’re gonna have to lean on your thingy to stop from rolling.”

“My toe stop?” You tease, putting pressure on your right foot to help stabilize you as he places a palm on your back, his fingers tracing the ties of your bikini top as he pushes you forward.

“Yes you smart ass.”

With you no longer rolling back onto him he deems himself ready to continue, his palms roaming over the smooth expanse of your exposed ass. You had clearly covered your entire body in that damn oil, not leaving a single area bare of the jasmine scented liquid which Taehyung had now decided was his new favorite thing.

“Hurry up and fuck me.” You whine out, your hips jutting further back, not at all expecting the swift slap he lands on your left cheek. His large palm swats against your skin so hard it bounces off the walls, the gasp getting stuck in your throat when everything falls into silence once more, half expecting someone to peek their head in from how loud it had been but it luckily never comes. He soothes your warm skin with his palm, kneading your flesh gently as he bit his lip.

“Gotta make sure you’re ready for me baby.” He scolds, his thumb hooking around your underwear and yanking it to the side, revealing your dripping slit to him. His other hand comes forward to let his fingers trail up your folds in a teasing motion, softly tracing up and around, not being able to resist teasing you further. When his index finger glides through your slick with ease his mouth drops open in awe, forever being prideful at the effect he has on you.

The small whine spills out of your lips when he slowly dips his finger in, enjoying the way your walls pulse around the tip of it before he pushes in to the hilt, starting a slow rhythm as he pulls out and thrusts back in, quickly adding a second finger and scissoring them inside of you to properly stretch you out for his cock.

“Mm Taehyung,” you sigh out, your head falling forward to rest against the cool wall as he continues to fuck you open. Each thrust of his long fingers has you keening, more of your arousal gushing out of you in excitement, becoming more and more desperate as he continues, “fuck I’m ready please.”

He playfully hums in thought from behind you, not entirely convinced two fingers would be enough for you to adjust to him. “I don’t think you are Y/N.”

The way your pussy clamps around his third finger when you feel the tip of a prod at your entrance proves his assumption correct, but he could take care of that. He knew you body well enough, having the motions down to a science. The way he curls his fingers, alternating between spreading them out and nudging against the sweet patch inside of you, it doesn’t take long until you’re fully relaxed in his hands, your hips rocking back into him at the feeling of being so full.

“There you go sweetheart,” he coos, his eyes slipping shut for a moment as he focuses on the wet thumping every time his palm hits your ass when he thrusts into you. The softest moans fill the otherwise silent alley, your fingers desperately clutching the wall, no doubt scraping your skin but that was a problem for later on, right now all you could think about was how amazing Taehyung’s fingers felt inside your cunt.

“Fuck, nngh please Tae.” You plead, twisting your body slightly to crane your head over your shoulder, hoping the clear desperation etched onto your features was enough to have him whip his cock out and fuck you like you wanted.

Your wide eyes glimmer with unshed tears from frustration and he takes pity on you, slipping his shiny fingers out of your pussy and popping them into his mouth like second nature. As if you needed him to do more to turn you on he has to go and lick your arousal off of his digits like it was his favorite candy.

“Okay,” he murmurs out, undoing his own shorts and yanking them down just enough for his cock to spring free. The visual of it out in the open almost makes those tears pool over, his large hand wrapping around the girth of it as he lazily pumps his aching length inches away from you, “you ready?” He questions, bringing his palm to his mouth to noisily spit into it, using it to lube up his cock as he steps closer to you.

“Yes.” You breathe out, rolling your lips together as you face the wall again, your head hanging low as you wait, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

Taehyung steps in between your legs, keeping them nice and spread apart, yanking your underwear to the side to reveal your sodden folds to him once more. He licks his lips over as he guides the head of his cock towards your entrance, the slight pressure of it pressing against you has you sighing out, gritting your teeth together to keep from shouting at him to hurry up.

Finally, he eases his way inside, his bulbous head breaching your entrance, the stretch that accompanies it beating the feel of his three fingers from before. This was what you wanted, his thick cock stretching you apart and filling you up the way he knew best.

Taehyung holds in a groan when your walls tighten around him when he bottoms out, his hips fully flushed against yours, the two of you panting as he stills inside of you.

“You okay?” He whispers, his fingers moving to grip your hips once more to help ground himself as he waits for a response from you. The sound of more people approaching has your walls pulsing around him and he groans, “Fuck, of course you’re okay. You fucking love this huh?”

A small whimper of his name is all you let out, the idea of being caught in the act making the words stick to your throat, instead you push back onto him, urging him to move.

Taehyung takes the hint, a smile gracing his face as he slowly inches back, beginning to rock into you in a steady rhythm, his pace increasing every time you let a tiny moan slip out from between your grit teeth, a small reward for being vocal because he wants you to let anyone listening know it was him making you feel good.

“Answer me baby.”

The squelching sounds of his dick hammering into you fill the air, the lewd moans finally leaving you with no qualms about who could possibly hear, “Fuck, yes I love it.”

He hums in appreciation, his hips fucking into you with more force at your admission, new determination settling inside of him to get you to fall apart, not an ounce of shame remains at getting caught.

Taehyunt can’t lie, he knows he loves it too, loves the way you’re letting him claim you in public, the way your moans echo in the space you’re in, your hand gripping the wall. A squeal leaves your lips, mixed in with a breathless laugh, when he angles his hips just right.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts out, gripping your hips tighter when you squeeze him, “letting me fuck you like this. Want everyone to see that you’re mine huh?”

One of his hands curls around your front, trailing up your body until he reaches your skimpy top. He yanks the fabric of your bikini to the side, his palm squeezing a handful of your tits as he continues to thrust into you, the coolness of his palm contrasting with the warmth of your chest.

“Just yours, only yours.” You slur out, your brain turning into putty when his dick curves just right. The way his hand squeezes and tugs at your exposed nipple has your mind spinning, your body being jostled by his thrusts and in turn making the foot that remains flat on the floor roll back and forth from the force.

“Ah, baby,” he laughs as his fingers pinch your pebbled nipple, hearing a small hum in response from you, “you’re rolling again.”

Taehyung slows his thrusts, rocking in to you more calmly as you grunt in frustration, neither of you took into account how inconvenient fucking in roller skates would be.

“My calves are cramping from holding my feet like this.” You admit with a laugh, feeling Taehyung lean his head forward until it rested in the juncture of your neck, his soft breaths hitting your skin as he chuckled.

“Okay, here bring them down flat.” He guides you, holding you steady as you even out the weight on your skates, a tiny yelp escaping you when you begin to roll down on the uneven alley floor. Taehyung repositions his feet to rest right behind the skates to keep you from sliding further, an experimental thrust of his hips being sent your way to test the hold, “Better?”

When you no longer roll back, just bump forward slightly, you sigh in relief, “Yeah, so much better. C’mon keep fucking me.” You plead, your palm coming down to wrap around the hand currently groping your tits, urging him on and he listens.

“Whatever you want baby.” He mumbles against your skin, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder as he pulls his hips back, rearing forward in a brutal pace that has you nearly shouting out. Your body hunches forward more freely now, no longer afraid of rolling away, instead your hand slides down the rough wall as you moan out his name.

His eyes catch on to the way you’re soaking his cock, leaving it slick and shiny with your arousal each time he pulls out. Taehyung feels like his mind is swimming, the whines of his name and the way you rut your hips back on him is the only anchor keeping him in the present.

He releases your nipple, trailing the hand down your front until it dips past your underwear and reaches your clit. Your reaction is instant, a loud gasp filling the air as your walls clamp down at the stimulation when he begins to rub tight circles on your sensitive nub.

“Oh god Taehyung,” you cry out, placing both hands on the wall and throwing your head back in pleasure, “you always fuck me so good.”

He grunts at your confession, the slight ego boost inflating his chest, the tiny licks of pleasure curling in his gut as he feels his release approaching, “Mm yeah? You’re creaming my cock baby, you enjoying yourself?”

Taehyung marvels at the way your back arches further, focusing on the way your ass bounces with every thrust of his hips and he can’t help himself when he delivers another harsh smack onto one of your cheeks, watching as the skin ripples and smarts at the slap.

“Ah,” you mewl, the sting of his palm sending tingles of pleasure up your spine. Your velvety walls pulse around him, always one to enjoy a little pain with your pleasure, “yes! F-fuck, I’m close Tae.”

He can tell, the way you’re sucking him in further every time he pulls out, desperate to keep him buried to the hilt, “You gonna cum like this? Gonna let everyone hear what a filthy girl you are?”

The taunting tone of his voice has your stomach tightening, the small coil of pleasure winding up inside of you with every roll of his hips, every deliberate flick of his finger against your clit. Your head turns to the side, having a clear view of the opening of the alley way, seeing the occasional person walking by. You never thought you’d enjoy the thrill of this as much as you did but the oncoming release you feel is evidence enough that you were thoroughly enjoying yourself.

“C’mon baby, let everyone hear you.” He groans out, a smile gracing his face when he hears the way you instantly do as he says, lewd moans of his name bouncing off the wall as you edge closer to your release. “Good girl.”

Your walls spasm around his cock at the praise, a few more flicks of his finger paired with his length expertly hitting your g spot every time is all it takes for your orgasm to crash over you. Your head falls forward, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan as your mind momentarily blanks, every nerve in your body lighting up as you come undone.

“Oh fuck–“ your moan dies in your throat when your body tenses up, small shocks coursing through you as he continues to roll your clit, enjoying the small twitches your body gives him.

Taehyung gasps when your walls tighten even further around him, his hand retreating from your clit to firmly grasp your hips to continue fucking you through it, seeking his own release now, grunt of pleasure escaping his open mouth and reaching your ears.

“Shit,” the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy is what sends him over, his thrusts getting sloppier until hes surging forward, his cock twitching as he pumps his hot cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim with a sigh of your name.

Your forehead rests against the cold wall as you try to catch your breath, the pounding of your heart can be felt in your ears as you come down. The breathy moans of Taehyung get closer as he tucks his chin over your shoulder, still buried deep inside of you.

“That was...so fucking hot.” He confesses, a wide smile spreading across his face when he feels your body vibrate with laughter.Carefully, he slides out of you, the both of you groaning at the loss of contact.

When Taehyung pulls away and slips his softening length back into his shorts, his eyes stay glued to the way his cum coats your folds, slowly dripping out of you. That was totally unacceptable so he gathers some of it onto his fingers and stuffs it back inside you before he readjusts your underwear to fully cover you, sliding your shorts back up your legs and helping you spin back around, readjusting your top with a grin.

“My legs feel like jello.” You admit when your balance falters, Taehyung having to grip your hips tighter to keep you from toppling over onto the gross floor.

“What can I say, my dicks just that good.”

He dodges the smack he knows is coming, a deep laughing filling the air as he ducks away from you, laughing louder when your horrible aim makes you wobble around.

“Tae!” You whine, an adorable pout on your face when he only laughs some more. Your arms cross over your chest as you stare at him with a slight scowl, “Help me.”

The smile on his face softens as he looks down at you, his hands trailing along your arms to unfold them and gently clasp his fingers around yours. “Of course I’ll help you baby.”

That satisfies you, standing up straighter now that he had a hold of you, “You think we can make it to the car without either of us face planting it?”

His eyes narrow in thought, the odds really weren’t in either of your favor but an idea pops into his mind, the curl of his lips indicating just how evil he was but you miss it, too focused on not catching your wheel on a pebble. Your legs were once again reminiscent of bambi and as much as he acted like he was unaffected, blowing his load in you had made his own legs feel boneless too.

“I mean, if we fall at least we fall together?”

Right, that seemed to be the best outcome but it was fine by you and way better than the two of you staying in this dingy alley way for much longer.

He leads you out of the alley, bending forward to pick up his discarded board before exiting the hiding spot and reentering the real world. It feels like you hadn’t seen the sunlight in ages, your eyesight spotting for a second before you adjusted to the brightness of your surroundings.

Taehyung uses that to his advantage, placing his board back on the floor as he stares at you, not yet noticing that he had let your hand go because the sun was absolutely blinding.

“I’ll race you to the car.” He shouts out, not giving you a moment to respond or argue about it before he hops onto his board and takes off, his foot pushing off the floor in a haste to win.

Your mouth drops open when you see him bolt, your brows furrowing tightly on your forehead, in disbelief that he had abandoned you after claiming he’d help you, “Asshole!” You shout after him, missing the way he smiles when the words reach his ears. With that comes the scraping of your own wheels as you take off after him, a small grimace on your face when you feel the way your ruined underwear sticks to your skin.

Soon enough you’re speeding right past him, your hair flowing behind you and the muscles on your legs flexing from the force of your pushes. Taehyung lets out another loud laugh, a change of position from earlier, this time you had fallen into his trap and everything was going according to plan. With you now a few feet ahead of him Taehyung can freely ogle at your body without a care in the world.

Checkmate.

#btsghostie #btswritingcafe #bts smut #taehyung smut #tae smut #taehyung fluff #bts imagine #bts writing #kim taehyung

[normal-thoughts-official]

Take a different turn

Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV)

Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago (mentioned) Alec Lightwood & Izzy Lightwood (mentioned) Izzy Lightwood/Meliorn (mentioned)

Alec Lightwood is a practical man, who happens to have an all-black house because it just makes things easier for him.

Magnus Bane is the witch that lives across the street from him, in a house covered in flowers and plants, always with a smile on.

And Magnus' clients keep knocking on the wrong house.

Read it on Ao3

Alec looks up from the book he was reading right in time to see that the latest client has just left his neighbor's house. The woman is leaving with a smile on her face, but it is no match for the one on the man that she's talking to. He waves at her, and she waves back, laughing, and one would think they are long time friends were it not for the vial of purple liquid she holds in her hand, making it unmistakable what this visit truly was, and what Magnus' line of work is.

Alec's neighbor is a witch, and the woman came to him for a potion. It's not like it's supposed to be a secret; there are signs along the nearest road advertising his line of work, and they even give his address - correctly, Alec has already checked plenty of times.

He waits until the woman has rounded the corner and Magnus has gone back into the house, and then precisely five minutes so the guy has some room to breathe, before getting up and crossing the street to talk to him.

The guy's house is nice - more than nice. Its walls are light yellow, not so bright that it hurts the eyes or even calls that much attention, but upbeat enough that it gives the place a happy kind of air. There are plants all around it and inside, some of which reach out from the windows. One particular tree has a branch that goes all the way outside, where it touches another's, where their branches almost curl around each other. There are a lot of flowers in neatly arranged little pots outside, all in constant bloom, of bright and beautiful colors. Anyone would think Magnus uses magic to keep them always beautiful, but Alec's seen him manually watering and pruning them, smiling and talking to them all the while.

I could use magic to keep them alive, but the plants need care and contact to be truly healthy. Why do you think Peter Plant and Perry the Plant-ypus are always holding hands? They need connection, he had said. Just like all of us, he added, in a much smaller voice.

The house is clearly well-lit, and there is sweet fruit hanging from some of the trees, which have little signs that read "feel free to take some!". Alec supposes it's a lot more fruit than anyone could eat or use on their own. All in all, Magnus' house is beautiful, and has an aura of kindness and happiness that sticks to it.

Alec's house is all black, because that way it isn't as obvious when it gets dirty.

Which is why they are stuck in their current predicament: every time Magnus has a client over - and man, does Magnus get a lot of clients. Alec wonders when he even eats - they go to Alec's house instead, because they "figured the address in the signs was mistaken".

Just like that last client, which Alec had been waiting to leave so he could talk to Magnus about how they could fix this. Again.

It's a little annoying, but Alec would be a lot more upset about it if Magnus weren't so genuinely nice to talk to. Alec has never been friends with any of his neighbors before, and it turns out that he likes it.

Still, Magnus' business can't prosper if the clients keep going to the wrong address, and Alec needs to work without being interrupted every hour or so to point people the right way to his neighbor's house. And assure them that yes, the yellow flowery house is where the witch lives. Yes, he is sure.

So, he knocks on the door, corners of his lips already tugging a bit as he hears the quick approaching footsteps of said witch.

Magnus is the most gorgeous guy Alec's ever seen, but that is fine because Alec already knows this and therefore won't act completely braindead. His hair is always changing style, length, and color, which would have cemented any doubts Alec could have had about whether or not he's the real deal. His real eyes have slitted pupils - which, okay, now that Alec thinks about it, that should have cemented whether or not he's the real deal - but he usually hides them behind a warm, rich brown that sparkles in the light as it assesses Alec, just like it's doing right now. Alec thinks the glamour is kind of a pity, because the golden eyes are also gorgeous. His hair has light blue streaks today, matching his eyeliner and vest, contrasting nicely with the yellow shirt that definitely doesn't hide the muscles of his arms, dear lord. His lips are a deep pink as he talks, just like the details in the shirt Alec can't quite make out; definitely courtesy of some kind of balm. His eyes are worried as they focus on Alec, and he snaps his fingers gently.

"Alexander, are you okay?"

Alec blinks. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"You aren't saying anything."

Step one failed, Alec thinks. "Ah," he says, eloquently, before pulling himself back together, "yes, sorry, I just wanted to ask," his voice sounds that weird kind of forced pleasant that he wears sometimes when he needs it, and the idea of using it with this guy makes him cringe internally, but well, he wants a conversation starter and he's bad at sounding natural, sue him, "are you sure that you aren't hiding the house or something? I mean, it's the third time today."

Magnus brings his eyebrows together, amused. "Well, you can see it, can't you?". He shakes his head slightly, and it would be challenging, but the guy has a way of making you feel like he was laughing with you.

Still, Alec huffs. "Fair point. Still, I thought your- solution would have worked out by now."

Magnus' "solution" to their little problem was to snap his fingers and make some kind of tower appear on the side of the house. The tower has a triangular roof, and it kinda looks like a witch hat, Alec will give him that.

But it's also light pink.

Magnus purses his lips, seeming genuinely lost. "So did I," he agrees, scrunching his nose a little as he thinks. "Maybe some kind of spell where only someone who knows what to look for can find it?" he says hesitantly. He then reaches out with his hands, scanning his own house with his magic thoughtfully. His head tilts slightly in thought as he does it, and flowers or no flowers, no one would doubt that Magnus Bane is a witch at that point. The way that he holds himself, the grace in every tilt of his head, the not at all exaggerated - now that he's actually concentrating and not showing off - movements of his fingers that are still so purposeful and fluid it's impossible not to look. Then his hand drops, and he sighs. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it," he says. "What about your solution?"

Alec's solution was to place a hundred thousand signs near his door that said This is not the witch's house! The witch lives across the street and Yes in the yellow house with all the flowers, and yes THAT one I promise you it's the one you're looking at, and don't knock to confirm just go there. But Alec's other neighbor, Meliorn, just so happens to be a fairy, and takes great pleasure in stealing them whenever they can. Superglue hadn't stopped them, nailing the signs to the door hadn't stopped them, not even painting them directly on the walls had stopped them. And Alec can't use the usual seelie-shooers to keep them away because they are dating Alec's goddamn sister, who will not ask them to stop. Hell, Alec's not even entirely sure she's not the one asking Meliorn to do this in the first place. She might be more of a trickster than they are, at least when it comes to Alec.

Match made in Heaven, Alec scoffs to himself before replying.

"Still no luck with Meliorn," is all he says.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help more with that," Magnus says, and he sounds so genuinely regretful Alec couldn't be upset about it if he tried. Magnus tried to talk to Meliorn about it, but he said they looked so happy with all the stolen signs he couldn't even bring it up. It's a fairy's nature, he had said, and Meliorn seems to have gotten pretty attached to the signs. They have a special place in their house and everything.

Meliorn's house, Alec can't help but note, is exactly what one would expect from a fairy. It's covered in vines and exotic-looking flowers, not that different from the ones Magnus grows, but that unnervingly follow you as you walk past. And, of course, it is filled with their treasure. Just Alec's luck.

Magnus purses his lips again. "I could change your house into something a little more like mine, so people at least won't keep coming to you- okay, I see the face you're making, and I'll have you know I'm offended. My house is beautiful, if I do say so myself," he winks, smile bright.

"Of course it is," Alec says, making a dismissing gesture with his hand, because the idea that it wouldn't be is ridiculous. Magnus softens in a way Alec can't quite understand, his face warmer than it looked even as he grinned, "it's just- not quite my style. Besides, I wouldn't want to kill all the plants. Also, I don't like big changes in the environment," he says, scratching the back of his neck. Magnus is the opposite, always changing something here and there, even if the core theme of the place never changes, "And black is nice. I just didn't think that there would be a witch next door people would mistake me for."

Magnus scoffs. "I still don't get what that's about. Black is the worst color for a witch. Absorbs all kinds of energies, you don't want that when you're using magic. Yellow is a lot better, irradiates pretty nicely and absorbs the good things. Besides, my tower has a witch hat now! And there are plants!" he gestures widely, in an almost offended way. Alec doesn't know how to tell him that no one associates plants with witches, at least not the kind of pretty, bright colored flowers and fruits that he grows.

"I guess people expect witch's plants to be less…" He pauses for a second, looking for the perfect word, "voluptuous".

Magnus scoffs. "Then how would I get my ingredients??"

Alec shrugs. He has no idea. He doesn't know how witches work.

"Besides," Magnus continues, "why do people not expect a witch's house to look approachable? Why would you seek help from someone that doesn't look trustworthy? I work to cure the sick, bring good fortune, keep plants and people healthy, keep away bad energies. It's not like I work with bad energies or take those stupid," he emphasizes the word with a tilt of his head, "requests, like 'Hex my neighbor's grass!'" He says that in a demanding voice, snapping his fingers and grimacing a little as he impersonates that kind of client. Alec knows for a fact that his mom has hired witches to hex their neighbor's grass more than once, and Magnus' imitation is surprisingly similar. The fact that this guy has unknowingly talked shit about Alec's mom only makes Alec like him more.

Once upon a time, he would have felt guilty about that feeling. He doesn't anymore, and it's a nice change.

Magnus looks at him, squinting slightly, "you have hexed your neighbor's grass, haven't you?," he says.

"What? No," Alec grimaces, disgusted, "you are my neighbor."

Magnus gives a little laugh. "Fair point. I suppose I'd have to charge a lot for that one. Starting with even getting a lawn to be hexed. That would need considerably more space. I am not getting rid of my plants, I'll warn you." He says playfully, pointing a finger at Alec. It stops just shy of poking him. Magnus seems to be very careful when it comes to personal space, which Alec appreciates so much he finds that he wouldn't mind if he actually touched him.

Alec smiles, because he can't help it. "I don't have a lawn either, so I don't think that's necessary. No, it's uh, my mom who has hexed the neighbor. And I agree with you, it's stupid."

"Glad we're on the same page," Magnus replies, raising his eyebrows playfully for emphasis.

They fall silent for a while, but it's comfortable, and Alec's smile lingers on his face as he watches Magnus look at his own house in concentration. It's like a puzzle he can't figure out. Alec supposes pop culture has been lying to people about witches more than he ever thought, if this guy's completely clueless expression is any indication. His house has pastel colors.

"I mean, look, logical or not, you could change the front a bit to look more like people expect, right? Make it a darker color or something, put the plants on the back? If people want unapproachable, give them what they want, you know."

Magnus sighs, and he says, in a small voice, "but I want people to visit."

This is exactly the kind of conversation that would make Alec freeze up, not knowing what to respond, usually. But instead, he finds that he actually knows what to do and grabs Magnus' hand almost on instinct. Magnus looks at him with wide eyes, shock and sadness and the kind of guarded hope that means fear, and Alec just looks back at him, gathering words.

But it still seems to be the right thing to do, because Magnus says, "Raphael just moved out. I had never lived outside of the village before, but because he's not a witch, I thought it best to come to a neutral place. But everything is so different, and now that he's gone… The house feels empty." Then he quickly takes his hand from Alec's, and a smile is back in place, bright as ever, but it makes Alec feel a lot less warm. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be putting this on you. I promise I'm not usually such a woe-y old man, you just… Caught me by surprise."

"No, no, I like it," Alec says, because it's true. "And well… I can visit, if you want." Magnus looks at him with doubt in his eyes, so Alec quickly amends, "I've always wanted to know what a witch's work is like."

That's not really true. Alec hasn't always wanted to know what a witch's work is like, more like he's wanted to know what a witch's work is like ever since he's met Magnus. But potato, potatoh.

And if he didn't want to know before, well. He definitely does once Magnus' smile blooms with brightness, his fingers almost twitching as he goes to show him the plants he grows and what they do.

#shadowhunters #sh #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec fic #this is y'all's fault. you know who you are

[thrillridesz]

[ to start from the prologue - click here ]

n/a: unedited!

The classes after this morning’s fiasco passed relatively quickly amidst a flurry of more confusing classes and an increasing amount of homework assigned with each class, it felt like such a relief when lunchtime finally rolled around.

As you purchased an egg sandwich and a can of soda from the lunch lady, you couldn’t help but survey the courtyard with dismay. It seemed as if every table was occupied and everyone had someone to eat with. If you were to either jump in or sit alone, you would stick out like a sore thumb. It would be embarrassing to say the least - to be the only one in the courtyard eating by your lonesome. You considered eating in class but quickly decided against it - most students who spend their lunch breaks taking naps usually sleep in the classrooms and you didn’t want to risk disturbing them. Eating in the toilet would be too unsanitary as well.

There was only one more option. You sighed as you climbed the steep steps to the rooftop, immediately getting second thoughts. Maybe you should have accepted Hyunjae and Hyunjoon’s offer. Though they weren’t the ideal lunch partners to have, you would have at least had some company.

Creaking open the door to the rooftop, you breathed a sigh of relief when you found it empty. By now, the sky had cleared and a bright sun hung high in the blue sky and though there were still a few puddles here and there, the ground was mostly dry enough to sit on.

As you sat down on the ledge of the rooftop, you couldn’t help but find this quietness and tranquility to be relaxing. Though you probably should not  be sitting on the ledge, you liked the feeling of your feet dangling fifty feet above the ground. In a way, it felt like a sort of mild adrenaline rush - to feel like you are on edge and free from everything. Below you, your fellow schoolmates and teachers alike were seated in their groups, all huddled together with their lunches in front of them. To your left, you could see the football field where the football team was having their extra lunchtime practices - running across the field and doing workout exercises. To your right, you could see the school gates from a distance away and you could barely suppress a snicker when you saw a few figures scaling the fence behind the unsuspecting security guard’s back, no doubt sneaking out for lunch outside.

Looking at the sandwich and soda in your hand, you shrugged. It wasn’t the ideal lunch you would have liked but it was good enough. Just then, a slam behind you caused you to jump and very nearly drop your soda can which would have fallen to the ground below. Your heart was pounding by then and your legs almost felt weak, you could have sworn you probably had a full five years shaven off your lifespan. There were so many ways how that could have ended so badly.

Turning around, you tried to peel yourself off the ledge but to your horror, you realised you were frozen stiff. You just couldn’t move from the shock you felt earlier. You felt your stomach sink and your hands were becoming sweaty with anxiety.

“Please, no…”You whispered to yourself. You were near tears at this point and mentally kicking yourself for deciding to sit on the ledge in the first place. Whatever it was you said about an ‘adrenaline rush’, fuck that. Your life is way more valuable than risking it all for a moment of ‘adrenaline’.

At that instance, you felt yourself being lifted from your frozen spot. Your eyes widened as your bottom left the ledge and your legs were in the arm. A pair of strong arms were looped around your body, carrying you bridal style before setting you down on the ground. The shock and exhilaration of it all left you stunned and speechless as you stared up at the guy who had carried you off.

“You alright? You are frozen stiff. I called out to you several times and you didn’t respond.” His face was etched into a frown as he waved a hand in front of you. His dark hair fell over his ears as he stared at you with a questioning look. Somehow, he looked really familiar but you had no way of telling where you had actually seen him before. You could only stare at his lips as he spoke, not hearing what he was really saying from the adrenaline that still coursed through your veins. What kind of guy had lips that were that thick? You turned slowly to look at the open door and realised with a start that that was probably what had caused the loud slamming noise that nearly tipped you over the ledge. The cogs were turning in your mind and as you turned back to the guy, you realised he was what caused you to almost fall.

In a split second, the anger in you boiled over faster than anything else in the world and you shoved at him as hard as you could, pushing him to the ground. As he landed on his bottom with a loud thud, he looked up at you in complete surprise and alarm.

“What the- What did you do that for?!”

“You scared me! I could have died!” You yelled, glaring down at him and he shot you an incredulous look.

“Since when?! I got you off that ledge and this is the thanks I get?” He scrambled back, his bottom dragging across the cement floor as you advanced menacingly.

You pointed angrily at the door to the rooftop and as he turned to look, you said, “The door. You slammed it and nearly shocked me off that ledge, did you know that?”

“I... “ The guy turned back to you, unable to find the right words as he spluttered helplessly before he gritted his jaw and held your gaze defiantly. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be sitting on the ledge of all places?”

Shit, he’s right.

“W-Well, still you shouldn’t have slammed that door!” You snapped, refusing to concede and he scoffed, pushing away from the ground and dusting himself off. Rolling his eyes, he planted his hands on his hips and a look of recognition flashed across his face. Tilting his head and leaning down to your level, there was a surprised tone in his voice as he asked.

“Y/n?”

You frowned, inching backwards. “Do I know you?”

“You can’t be serious. We’re in the same chemistry class!” He exclaimed, eyes widening.

“We are? How come…” That was when you caught a glimpse of his nametag. “Kim Sunwoo?”

So this was why he looked so familiar to you. How did you not notice? You must have echoed your thoughts out loud because Sunwoo snorted, all while regarding you with a ‘have you been living under a rock’ look.

“Imagine being so buried in your books that you can’t even recognise someone who was in the same class as you.” He scoffed. “Can’t relate.”

“Of course, you can’t. You spend half the time skipping classes or outside the lab, how would you?” You shot back and Sunwoo’s jaw ticked but he didn’t say anything in return since there wasn’t any fault in what you just said.

“Whatever.” He said simply. “What are you doing here alone anyways?”

You were quiet for a moment as you deliberated whether to tell him or not before you decided you had nothing to lose.

“I had no one to eat with and I didn’t want to look like a loser eating alone.”

Sunwoo raised an eyebrow questioningly, pursing his lips as he did. “Aren’t your friends around?”

You gave him a tired look. “No, they’re busy today.”

“Huh.”

“What about you? Why’re you here?”

“Well…” There was an uncomfortable look on his face as his brows furrowed together. Quickly, he peered over the ledge and curiously, you followed suit. In the courtyard below, all you saw were students and teachers going about their usual lunchtime business - eating, chatting and some trying to get some last minute work done before classes start. You squinted, not too sure at what you were supposed to be looking out for. Just then, you noticed it.

From the building where the two of you were at, a group of boys rushed out, their heads swivelling in all directions as their sneakers skidded against the gravel floor. Even from above, you could tell that the anger simply radiated off them, their mannerism brusque and full of aggression. Their steps were heavy and threatening and at the sight of them, some people steered clear of their way. As the two of you watched them stomp away, you lifted your head slowly to look at him.

Sensing your eyes on him, he turned to you with an annoyed expression.

“What?”

“You wanna explain?”

He gave you a pointed look before he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “They were bothering some weak freshman and I saw it. Couldn’t just walk away so I stepped in. We might have exchanged a few punches but they were kind of weak so I wasn’t really hurt.”

You looked at him, without saying a word as he ranted and for a brief moment, you noticed a slight wince in his movement as he wrung his hands.

“You sure you’re okay?” You asked softly, giving him a careful look.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay…” You trailed off, unsure of what to make of him. Clearly, he wasn’t unscathed but judging from his reactions, it wasn’t like he would admit to it readily either. Him and his pride. Just then, you picked up on a faint growling sound and Sunwoo’s face reddened. You had to stifle the giggle that threatened to gurgle up as he frowned at you, pouting petulantly as he did.

“Have you never heard someone’s stomach growl?”

“Here, take my sandwich” You said, handing him the food. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at it and then back at you. Though every inch of his demeanour indicated a distaste for it, you could tell in his eyes that he definitely wanted the sandwich. Before he could even say no, you pressed into his palm.

“Just take it, I’ll just have my soda. I’m not that hungry anyways.”

“But-” He started but you were having none of it.

“I mean it. I’m not that hungry anyways, I’ll see you around.”

As you walked away while he stood with the sandwich in his hands, he called out, “Hey, y/n!”

You swivelled around.

“What is it?”

He held up the sandwich, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”

You shot him an awkward tight lipped grin and a thumbs up. You may not be very close to Sunwoo, you didn’t know him all that well and this could have very well been the first time you were having a conversation but it seemed like the right thing to do.

After school as you were shoving your books and notes into your backpack, you suddenly got a text from an unsaved number. Confused, you tapped on the notification to see a text from Sunwoo.

hey y/n, i just wanted to thank you for the sandwich earlier. you rly didn’t have to but you did anyways

it’s nothing… how did you get my number?

the chemistry class groupchat?

oh… HAHAHA right, sorry i rly actually forgot for a moment right there

lol srsly did you think i stalked you or something

maybe 🤔

wow nice to know what you rly think of me 🙄 i have btr things to do than stalk you

SORRY LMAOOOO

haha anyways i wanted to ask if you would be down to hang out for lunch this weekend

You stared at the text on your phone, eyes widening in surprise as your fingers flew over the mobile keyboard.

wait why??

to repay you for the sandwich earlier

omg dude it’s just a sandwich, dw bout it

nah i feel weird

….

cmon i insist

..fine where are you thinking

how’s sunday afternoon at stray creamery?

you’re talking about that new ice cream place?

yeah

i might need to stay home and touch up on my geography report tho... it’s due monday

ah ok gotcha!

it’s not a no, i just said i might

well, if you change your mind you can just hit me up any time i don’t have any plans at all this weekend

haha ok sure! 👍

With that, the conversation ended as you went about the rest of your day, barely even checking back at all. The rest of the day flew by relatively quickly - going grocery shopping, doing homework and eventually falling back into soft linen sheets of your bed. It felt like Saturday had barely even begun and before long, it was Sunday morning.

As you plopped yourself down on your study chair, you couldn’t help but groan internally to yourself as you stared at the geography report before you. There was this sudden dread in you that bubbled up and just made you want to push it away and completely forget about it. You’ve had quite a week in school and on top of your disastrous shift yesterday at the diner where you worked part time, the last thing you wanted to do was homework. You shuddered at the memory of what had gone down during your shift yesterday

The new guy who was supposed to show up had to bail last minute, leaving you as one of only two other servers that afternoon and it didn’t help that the lunchtime crowd was one of the busiest, especially on a weekend. It would be an understatement to say that that turned out horribly - it was complete chaos. From Karens yelling into your ear for not pouring water fast enough to accidentally dropping a plate of food, yesterday had to be the worst service yet.

The murky green file that contained your report sat waiting as you simply sat soundlessly at your desk, unable to bring yourself to flip it over and get the grind going. It wasn’t like you didn’t care but you just cannot find it in you to focus on the task at hand.

Peering out your window, you pouted as you leaned your face against your palm, cupping your face while you watched your neighbours’ children outside playing basketball. Suddenly, you remember the conversation you had with Sunwoo on Friday.

well, if you change your mind you can just hit me up any time i don’t have any plans at all this weekend

That was what he said. Pursing your lips, you considered your options.

Do you forget about working on your geography project and meet Sunwoo, or do you push through and continue working on it to ensure a perfect grade?

➳ Call Sunwoo

➳ Work on your geography project

#tbznetwork #deobiwritersnet #tbz imagines #tbz scenarios #tbz fics #tbz oneshots #the boyz #tbz #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boy fics #the boyz oneshots #cyoa #kpop cyoa #choose your own adventure #the boyz choose your own adventure

[juyeoniemyhoney]

green tea & honey

After being shackled to your respective houses for most of the year, when your government finally allows normal commuting, you and Seokjin decide to go on a movie date. Seokjin picks a horrible movie and instead of watching, you decide to reflect on how you and Seokjin have lasted for four years.

-pairing: kim seokjin x reader 

-genre: lowkey comedy, fluff, really small mentions of CEO!seokjin 

-warnings: cursing, oc lowkey has anger management issues

-word count: 1628 words 

-A/N: a short seokjin fic for his birthday^^ hope you guys like it. 

--------

There are times when you wonder whether your life could get any better, times when you think that you have everything you have ever wanted in the world and that nothing can take that away from you. However, there are also times when you think that you have not shown enough love, hence why the the people surrounding you start to act up. And this is one of those times. 

Seokjin is your boyfriend. He has been for a long four years, ever since he played a horrid prank on you that consisted of cement, a cup of coffee, and your unknowing, naive self. Basically, you had drank cement, well, it went into your mouth and you immediately spat it out. You don’t know how or why that ended in a relationship with the goofiest, most insane man you have ever met, but you’re not that normal either, so you just kind of went with it. If you’d have to guess, you’d just been attracted to the way he’d always managed to make you laugh, even in serious situations. That was just Seokjin, funny and loud and outgoing, sometimes a pain in the ass but nevertheless, someone you have come to love whole heartedly. 

But right now, you are not so sure if you love for him can even surpass the fifty percent mark, but you’re absolutely positive that you are a hundred percent pissed at him. 

The two of you have been spending a lot of time apart from each other, with the global pandemic and what not, forcing you two to stay in your respective flats. But now that your country has allowed the public to commute normally, provided a mask is worn at all times, the two of you had decided to go on a movie date. Seokjin had been having a stressful time with his work pretty much the whole year, having had to close down multiple branches of his business due to insufficient funds, so, you being the amazing girlfriend you are, decided to allow him to choose the movie. 

Big mistake. 

Seokjin had chosen a horror movie. It still baffles you why Seokjin insists on watching horror movies when he knows very well that he is, to put it extremely bluntly, a pussy. That man gets scared of everything, from creepy-crawlies to ghosts. You’d be lying if you weren’t scared of those things too so, you really don’t know why he has to fucking put the both of you through hell. Seriously, Seokjin is another species. 

“Seokjin, stop squeezing my hand. It hurts,” you whisper to him, lightly jostling your intertwined hands when he doesn’t look away from the screen. Seokjin merely grunts and releases your hand, moving his vice grip to the poor armrest, gripping it so tightly that you are sure once he releases it, you could see that the fabric is torn through. 

Sometimes, you wonder if Seokjin is properly in love with you or not. It is not that he doesn’t tell you that he loves you, he tells you that he loves you plenty, always remembering to tell you before he sleeps and tells you first thing when he wakes up. It’s just sometimes, his actions don’t exactly show that he loves you. It may just be your way of loving and Seokjin’s way are different, but he is just, not romantic. But you suppose that you and him have been in a long-term relationship for a reason so you have never really brought it up.  

“Seokjin,” you whisper, lifting one of your hands to gently tug on the sleeve of his sweater to get his attention, “give me your jacket.”

Seokjin turns to you and levels you with a frown, thick brows knitting together, looking more confused than that time when he saw a bird just chilling in his flat. “Why?” is his fucking reply, and at that, you properly turn to him, ignoring the horrifying movie playing before the two of you to level him with a frown of your own.

“Did you just ask me why?” you ask, giving him an incredulous look, before looking down pointedly at your shivering hands. Seokjin sees your point and only frowns more, as if you had just asked him to turn into a unicorn or something. 

“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that,” you ask rather loudly, causing Seokjin to shush you before looking around to the other movie-goers to see if they had been disturbed. He turns back to you, frown still knitting those pretty eyebrows together, “Why,” he asks again. For a successful businessman, Seokjin sure is stupid sometimes. 

“Because I’m cold?” you offer dryly, hand tugging harder on his sleeve. Seokjin’s brows lift, as the realisation finally dawns on him and though you can’t see it through his mask, opens his mouth to say something, closes it in thought for a while, before muttering, “But I’m cold too?” 

Your frustration doubles, triples, quadruples and you swear, you have never wanted to hit someone so badly in your life. You love Seokjin to death, but sometimes he can be unbelievably insufferable and so unromantic, people have mistaken you two for brother and sister before, which is just petrifying. 

“Okay, then share it with me,” you decide, taking slow and deep breaths in, practicing the calming techniques your guidance counsellor had taught you. You are rather proud that you haven’t completely lost all your cool. When you had first started dating Seokjin, you would be screaming at him almost everyday, telling him not to do this and that, like some control freak. Seokjin had tolerated it at first, but one fateful day, he couldn’t take it anymore and just screamed back at you. That’s when you realised that you have a horrible anger problem, and decided to go and get that checked out. Of course, you had apologised to Seokjin and he apologised to you, and your relationship had strengthened because of that ordeal, not to mention the fact that you are also a little less crazy now. 

Seokjin stays silent, contemplating whether he should share it with you or not. After all, he did remind you to bring a jacket since you are always cold. You had already left your house when he sent that text and were too lazy to head back home to retrieve it so you’d thought that you would just suffer through it. But then, Seokjin sees the way that you are trembling and finally notices the small hand that is tugging on his sleeve and then, he is sighing in defeat and shrugging his jacket off of his broad shoulders and draping it on you. 

If there’s one thing that you’ve realised in your four years with Seokjin, it is that, despite all of his wisecracks and all of the pranks that he plays, despite all of the dad jokes and his happy-go-lucky way of living, Seokjin is sincere and loving and kind. He is also brazen and says whatever in on his mind so as to avoid misunderstandings and conflict, which helps out your relationship a ton, since you tend to do the exact opposite and keep your troubles to yourselves. Seokjin doesn’t tend to connect with you emotionally, and usually uses logic to solve your situations and problems, but you can always sense that he is trying and that alone, makes you want to try hard for him too. 

After Seokjin drapes the jacket over you, the two of you stay silent and watch the movie. It is downright horrifying and most of the time you are burrowing into Seokjin’s ridiculously large jacket, or using the box of popcorn to shield your eyes from the screen. As the movie drags on, Seokjin’s hand finds yours again and you start to shift as close to him as the seats allow. 

Eventually, you stop watching the movie altogether and just bask in Seokjin’s presence, decidedly leaning your head on his shoulder. At the same time, our free hand comes up to his arm and wraps around it in a loose hug. You can feel Seokjin melt into your touch, his head leaning on top of yours and his free hand coming up to pat your cheek. Seokjin feels warm and safe and even though you aren’t watching the movie, you’d like to think that if you were, you wouldn’t be afraid. 

“I love you,” you whisper to Seokjin, as you snuggle into his side. With his cheek pressed to your ear, you can feel it when he smiles, letting out an endearing chuckle before lifting his head from yours to plant a small kiss to your head, muttering, “I love you more,” into your hair. 

Your heart warms, skips a beat, and stops functioning simultaneously and even though you’ve told him this countless times in the last four years, it never hurts to remind him. “I’m so glad that you didn’t give Yoongi that cup of cement and accidentally gave it to me instead.”

At this Seokjin barks out a laugh, earning him a few angry shushes. His eyes widen before they are shrinking back to its normal size and he is saying, “Do you wanna leave now? This movie has already traumatised me enough.”. 

Your small smile widens and you are nodding in agreement to Seokjin’s proposal. Then, he is grinning at you, standing up, and leading you out of the cinema. 

Your relationship with Seokjin is more of a comedy than a rom-com. Your love comes in rough edges and infuriating pranks and stupid fights. Sometimes, you hate it and you want Seokjin to be more romantic and to stop being so brazen with his words. But most of the time, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

#seokjin #kim seokjin #jin #seokjin fanfic #seokjin drabbles #seokjin x reader #seokjin imagines #jin ff #jin imagines #bts #fluff #comedy #bts fanfic #bts jin #jin fic #fanfic #seokjin ff #bts drabbles #scenarios #seokjin scenarios #bts scenarios #seokjin fluff #seokjin x y/n #seokjin fanfiction

[we-are-inevitable]

modern art // javid (ch. 1)

A/N: hi !! so some of you may remember an old songfic i did in march of last year, titled ‘modern art’ after the song “IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23. well, i’ve always thought that that one shot would work great as a stand alone fic, and here we are! i have ch. 1 edited and SO MUCH of it as changed- like, for example, the fic is a chapter fic now !! regardless, i hope you guys like this !!

WARNINGS: depression, anxiety, self-deprecation, past addiction, mentions of addiction, just general Bad Times- pls be mindful when reading !! it’s just very Not Happy rn ADDITIONAL INFO: all characters are in their mid-twenties in the fic. oh also this is probably important but it’s a soulmate au !!

Read On AO3!

tag list: @bound-for-santa-fe @wannabecowboypunk @shippingcannons @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @smallsies @deliciouspeachpirate @newsies-is-my-erster 

Jack doesn't know what’s going on with himself, but he knows that he could really use his soulmate right about now.

They’ve communicated before. Never verbally, and never enough to reveal who they were. Perhaps they are both just... dealing with some unspoken fears, dealing with the worry of rejection sitting heavy in their chests. Perhaps they both like this mystery- the uncertainty that came with the notes scrawled across their bodies in a handwriting that isn’t their own.

Or perhaps they just aren’t ready to take the plunge. To grow up and face the harsh fact that, as soon as they meet, wherever and whenever that may be, a new chapter of their life will unfold. Consume them. Change anything and everything they’ve ever known or held dear.

They had been braver when they were children, that much was true. Jack remembers staying up late often, writing notes on his skin and watching in awe as the replies appeared. He remembers the giddy rush of trying to quickly wash off the ink on his wrist when they ran out of space to talk, and, oh, how they talked. There were school days when Jack would go to class exhausted, feeling like he’d been walking through quicksand for miles on end, but all of it had been worth it. The exhaustion he felt had been worth being able to talk to them until two, three, four in the morning. Sometimes he regretted it, of course, but only because it was harder for him to focus in class. Never because he was upset at them.

He could never be upset with them.

Even now, Jack remembers a lot about his soulmate. They liked music. They knew how to play the piano. They were into a few video games, even some that Jack had never played, and said that they always tried carrying a book with them wherever they went. Jack remembers that, as a younger kid, they liked Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but also liked analyzing Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe and a bunch of other fancy authors that Jack had never even heard of. They were intimidatingly smart, and sometimes, would carefully correct Jack’s grammar whenever he misspelled a word or something- but they were never mean about it, they were just… there. A steady presence that he could count on.

Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding them one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope.

He can’t exactly help it. For starters, he and his soulmate haven’t communicated in… well, shit, it had to be nearly a year. Maybe nine months or so, but there’s no way to tell for sure, and even then, their conversations since reaching adulthood have been dull, for lack of a better word. A few positive comments here, a ‘have a good day’ there- it’s all so mundane, and neither of them can be blamed for it. They both have busy lives- or, well, Jack does, at least. His job as a graphic designer is hard enough on its own, but the added pressure of doing freelance work and commissions on the side has been eating away at him for weeks, coupled with debilitating self-doubt and lack of motivation for… anything.

Saying that he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the century.

There is always another design, another client, another meeting, another deadline, another sleepless night as he stares at a blank canvas and prays for a spark of inspiration from whatever God is listening. Usually his inspiration comes from the world around him- his friends, city life, even the quiet confines of his apartment, but right now... Jack is stuck. He had holed himself up in his room days ago, trying and failing to get out of bed every morning when the time came to work- and thank God that the majority of his work could be done from home. His boss was understanding, too, to an extent.

Still, though, there’s a constant heavy weight on his chest that prevents him from moving most days, and he’s lucky if he even gets up long enough to shower or eat or do literally anything aside from lie in silence and count the cracks in his ceiling.

Nothing had happened to him recently to bring this on, from what he can tell. Jack has always been the happy-go-lucky leader, the man with a plan, the guy who always knew just what to say to motivate others into doing the best thing for themselves, but when that responsibility is reflected back onto himself, Jack feels helpless. There are words waiting to be said, sketches waiting to be drawn, designs waiting to be sent to clients… yet Jack lies there, motionless in his room for three days before he even has the energy, the willpower, to pull back his curtains and allow the sunlight to shine through. There is so much he wants to do, so much he needs to do, but he can't bring himself to do any of it.

In all twenty-five years of his life, through all of the things he’s been through, the ups and downs and foster homes and graduations and birthdays and funerals and therapists and rehab facilities and whatever the fuck else life decided to throw at him, Jack has never felt so worthless, so… lonely. His closest friends are all moving on with their lives. Many have already found their soulmate, have settled down and hidden their rowdy, rambunctious pasts behind skeletons in a closet. They’d all gotten their adventures done and over with in high school and college, and most are moving onto bigger and better things in life. They have careers. Families. Some have children, others have pets, a few have an insane amount of plants to care for.

All have seemingly left Jack behind in the dust.

No one told him when to flip the switch.

No one told him when he had aged out of adventure.

Now, they would never say it, but Jack knows. He knows. Saturday hangouts and trips to the bar had been replaced by Sunday church services and playdates for the kids. Rather than hearing yelling from his living room after his friends had all been teetering just on the edge between tipsy and fucked up, Jack hears the news, and documentaries, and podcasts, and the ghosts of a past life that he still seemed to be desperately clinging on to.

Katherine had been the one to tell him that he needed to grow up, though she didn’t put it in such a blunt manner. No, she’s just.... gently urging him to find a bigger apartment, or buy matching furniture from a place that is not a thrift store, or purchase dishes that weren’t of the plastic Walmart brand. She says it was because she wants to see him in a more professional, "adulty" lifestyle, but he knows it’s really because she can see that he’s a mess.

Deep down, Jack knows she’s right. She’s always right.

He just can’t help but feel cemented in place, dreaming of the past while dreading the new future ahead of him.

Jack never asked to feel so broken for no reason. All of the hope and optimism he had felt as a teenager was gone, lost in a sea of uncertain plans and shitty jobs and bill extensions and canvases dropped onto the floor with no rhyme or reason. And, yes, maybe Jack would look dramatic to someone who didn’t know his situation, but Jack knows what dramatic feels like. Dramatic feels like watching his best friend, Charlie, belt onstage in front of a backdrop that he helped create for the school play. Dramatic feels like laughing at the top of his lungs while walking through a random gas station at two in the morning, joined by Race and Al, all while higher than a kite. Dramatic feels like driving to the outskirts of the city with Katherine, climbing onto the roof of an old building and screaming about all of their stress, their anxiety, their insecurities, just to have some form of emotional release.

Dramatic doesn’t feel like sadness. It’s not supposed to.

Not for Jack.

He had been so… so happy, as a teenager. Proud and defiant and carefree. He was the kind of guy to skate and smoke weed in Central Park until midnight and take a math test at eight in the morning the next day. He was the kid who stood on a table in the cafeteria and came out as bisexual to everyone around him, just because of a dumbass bet that he didn’t even get paid for. He was the boy who wasn’t at all good in an academic sense, but who always knew how to talk himself out of trouble, who always came up with the most ridiculous- or most believable- lies to cover his ass when he needed it, who was always the class favorite, the teacher’s pet without meaning to be.

Jack had felt on top of the world back then, but now he’s struggling to even get off of the ground. The longer time goes on, the more lost Jack feels inside his own life. He feels like something was missing, something big. Something bigger than himself.

When his mother was alive, which now felt like lifetimes ago, she would often echo this old wives’ tale about how it’s best to find your soulmate while you’re younger, just to save them- and yourself- the pain of being alone for a long time. Jack had always kind of believed her; logically, he knew it was true, but he had always told himself that it wouldn’t happen to him. That he would be fine alone, though it wouldn’t be ideal, and that he would have plenty of time for soulmates after he got out and made a name for himself.

He’s starting to think, though, that maybe she was right. Maybe Jack had waited too long to make a move, to make contact again, because now, he just feels nauseous even thinking about it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows the negative effects of self deprecation and not taking his own mental health seriously, he’s been to rehab before, blah, blah, blah, but, fuck, how could he put his soulmate through something like this? This fucked up state of mind he has now. Jack can’t even imagine talking to Katherine about this, and Katherine had been his best friend for over a decade. He can’t just meet his soulmate now- it’s been too long, he’s too messed up, they won’t like him, they’ll hate him for not trying hard enough, and Jack will just end up alone again, wasting away in his bedroom because no one fucking cares. No one cares. He has nobody.

That’s not true. He has Medda, his mom, his savior, his impulse control, but the thought of telling her that everything is acting up again makes him want to scream. He has Tony, but Tony has Al, and Tony and Al have a kid- a sweet little five year old girl who calls Jack ‘Uncle Jackie’ and takes no shit from anyone. He has Katherine, but Katherine has her soulmate- this dude named Darcy, who Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion on because they just met, like, a month ago, and Jack hasn’t exactly been emotionally ready for a hangout session between the three of them. He also has Charlie, and Charlie has certainly seen him in worse times- like when Jack was kind of hooked on pills for the entirety their freshman year of college- but Charlie has grad school to worry about and Charlie would hate him if he bothered him with this.

Still, there are other people who would listen, probably. He could easily talk to Elmer, or Romeo, or Specs, or Jojo or Finch or Sean or a fucking therapist but that’s just it, isn’t it? If he talks, he burdens, and Jack Francisco Kelly would rather run himself into the ground than be a burden anyone.

So, he makes a vow.

He makes eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s gripping onto the sink, holding on for dear life, as he stares into his own sunken eyes. He takes in his appearance. Damp, messy hair, falling down to cover his forehead. Pale skin, which isn’t normal at all. Dark circles have taken their place around his eyes, and his smile- one of his favorite things about himself- is… nonexistent.

Distantly, Jack registers himself dumping a full bottle of ibuprofen into the sink. And then, he does the same thing with the bottle of melatonin from his medicine cabinet. The valium follows. He lets the water run for a long time. It's not that he doesn't trust himself- he'd done so, so good in rehab, and he doesn't even feel urges that often anymore- but it's better safe than sorry, especially since he's like... this.

This is not the Jack Kelly he’s used to anymore. This is not the Jack Kelly he wants to be.

But this Jack Kelly is the one who vows not to reach out. The one who vows to only answer when his soulmate is ready, and maybe not even then.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though.

Not when a heart appears on the back of his hand the next morning.

It’s there when Jack wakes up, and, honestly, it almost brings Jack to tears- but not necessarily for happy reasons. Sure, Jack wants to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy after seeing something like this? A lopsided heart drawn in red ink, right on the back of his left hand- it was the definition of a symbol, of a romantic gesture, and Jack wants so badly to write back, to strike up conversation, to draw a goddamn heart, but… he can’t.

He can’t, and that’s horrible of him, and he knows it.

Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his mom.

His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.

#if u wanna be added to my tag list just let me know !! #newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #javid #javey #newsies broadway #newsies musical #newsies fic #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #livesies #toursies #jac writes #jac txt.

[herbwicc]

Hi, was wondering if you knew of any good plant pots that aren’t necessarily pots? And how would I keep the drainage water from spreading lol

DO I EVER

For seed starters:

Ice cream cones.

Newspaper pots. If you're worried about it falling apart when you water it, remember that this is for seed starters and you shouldn't be drowning the soil when you water it. By the time it does start to fall apart is usually when it's time to transfer the seedlings :)

Toilet paper rolls.

Egg shells . I'm actually doing this one currently and it's going great! When it's time to transfer the seedlings, crush up the egg shell a bit. This one has an added bonus of calcium to your plant babies.

Reuse yogurt cups.

Also, if you're growing a certain fruit or vegetable from seed you got from the fruit/veggie yourself, use that fruit/veggie as a pot! Like starting bell pepper seeds IN half of a bell pepper itself! It'll start to decompose when it's time to transfer and it'll add nutrients for the seedling.

Can also use plastic cups of course!

For small plants/decorative plants:

Reuse tin cans.

Glue riverstones together to make a pot. This ones in Spanish so maybe translate if necessary.

Use a Colander. This ones neat because it already has drainage holes and handles to hang it up by.

In a wicker basket. (Video).

Vertical shoe organizer. I hate those DIYs of this where they put herbs or veggies in these... There's not enough space for herbs or veggies!!! Think smaller, decorative plants that will make your wall or porch just, look nice.

Cinder blocks.

Hypertufa planters. (Video). Hypertufa looks like concrete, but it's a mix of cement + soils and is much lighter! You can make a mold out of almost anything for endless shapes/designs. And the cement mix is much cheaper than one would think!

Recyclable grocery tote bags (video).

UNWAXED Canvas. In this video they bought the canvas fabric, but if you're like me and have lots of paint canvases that you said you would use and never did, just rip off the canvas fabric and sew it into a planter. It's important that you not use waxed canvas (as with some totes) so there's still airflow and drainage. You'll definitely know if it's waxed.

Wine bottles and glass bottles. Ok so I HATE that bottles don't have drainage holes and doing the layers of draining soil has never once worked for me. Here's a video for cutting wine bottles and here's one for making drainage holes in glass.

For bigger space:

Upcycle dresser drawers. The important thing with this one is to water proof it, which you can do with a spray sealant, and drill in some holes. This is what I have some of my veggie garden in and it's doing great :)

A bookshelf laid down. Same concept, make sure you water proof and drill holes. This is my next project coming up soon!

Plastic storage bins. Here's a 44 second video but it's seriously as easy as drilling some holes and filling it. I have 2 different kinds of tomatoes, basil, and 2 bell peppers in my storage bins and they're thriving!

Other plastic containers such as buckets, water jugs, trashcans, rain barrels, and olive barrels all work! Just drill in holes and you're good!

Burlap sacks, much bigger than tote bags. I'm dying to grow a big ol' cabbage in one of these, or maybe a lil lemon tree!

Laundry basket. In this video, she plants strawberries. My grandma has a wide laundry basket rather than tall, and she grows endless turmeric in hers :)

A bigger hypertufa would work too using two cardboard boxes as a mold!

A car tire, but I chose this link for the health considerations it discusses, give it a read before deciding what you want to plant in them.

And of course there's always !!!!!

Hydroponics

Which you can do in practically anything without having to worry about drainage holes.

Other than that, literally anything you can think of can likely be made into a planter as long as you cover the important factors: drainage and water resistance (to avoid mold)

As for catching water, any dish you can fit under will do! If you can lift it, you can also water it in the sink and let it soak out. *whispers but with Hydroponics you don't have to worry about that hmm* and for the bigger bois, such as the ones i use for my veggie garden, there's so much soil that it doesn't really leak to the bottom, it all gets used up.

#oops this took me a while lol #gardening #zero waste tips #zero waste gardening #sustainable gardening #environmentalism #veggie garden #indoor garden #indoor herb garden #plants indoors #green witchcraft #kitchen witchcraft #herbal witchcraft #witchcraft #mine

[spacehologramcollection]

Request; Kombat Krew and them falling for you+ Saying I love you.

I guess this is a sequel to them flirting? Not even sure. But this is a kind of when they realised, they loved you, and when they actually confessed it. Trashy, kind of long and not as many characters as I wanted to include. But it’s still warm and sticky over here, writing on my laptop is really uncomfortable! I will do a part two I swear. Under the cut due to length.  Warnings; Little NSFW, NSFW implied I guess? Better to be on the safe side. 18+. Angst, mentions of angst, fluff, tooth rotting fluff. Trash.  GIFS do not belong to me.

Sub Zero (Kuai Liang);

·         Kuai Liang is a complex man. A complex man full of ice puns and good advice. A shame he can never take his own advice. Not that he has much to give in terms of romance.

·         He realises he is attracted to you slowly. It’s not a massive ‘Oh dear, oh dear, I seem to have fallen for Y/N!’ situation no. It takes a little bit for him to realise that he does have, more advanced feelings. Feelings that go past the usual, friendship type which he shares with the majority of people.

·         What brings him to the realisation that he has strong romantic feelings for you are quite varied. You laughing at his puns and jokes, you debating with him and holding a conversation with him. The fact he can stay awake with you and discuss various things, no matter how stupid they may seem to him. And the fact that you listen to him and actually take his advice, lord knows someone should!

·         He will end up confessing his initial attraction to you one night. You both cannot sleep, so you’re sat atop the temple watching the snow flurries fall.

·         He’s nervous. His throat feels dry and he has no idea what to say to you. How does one profess their attraction? Bi-Han told him to compliment you, but everything seems so crude and forward. Smoke told him to write it down and give you it. That seemed lazy and cowardly. He’s the fucking Grandmaster of Lin Kuei. He’s fought through hell, and yet, he cannot confess his attraction to you.

·         He is literally Shang from Mulan. “You fight Good” but instead he talks about how committed and loyal you are. How you’ve got honour and he respects you. Before getting a little sweeter and managing to choke out a few words, on how he feels strongly towards you.

·         His ears are bright red by the time he says he wishes to be with you, if you want him that is, he understands. As Jonny says, cold hands are not ideal for much.

·         You swear you hear him squeak a little when you plant a kiss on his cheek. Admitting the attraction is mutual. Queue him smiling and laughing, before wrapping an arm slowly and tentatively around you.

·         No one can see you. So, this is fine. He can be Kuai Liang, a guy who just got himself the best partner in the world tonight.

·         The ‘I love you’ comes later on. It’s when you’re both in bed one night. His frosty breath ghosting your neck. One arm around your waist, holding him to you tightly. Not wanting to ever let go. He’ll whisper it before planting a cold laden kiss to the back of your neck. When you sleepily utter it back, he feels content, tightening the grip on your waist.

Smoke;

·         What. Is. This. Fucking. Feeling. If you thought Kuai was bad, meet Smoke, Smoke is 110% worse. He wants to scream, because even though he’s read many a book, he cannot find the right words to say to you.

·         Luckily, he wrote it in his rainbow unicorn dream journal, and it happens to be Bi-Hans favourite book. So, have no fear, the better Sub-Zero Brother is here! His words not mine. Bi-Han gives terrible love advice, but he does listen to how he fell for you.

·         He got hit with the realisation, that he had the feels for you, pretty damn hard. So hard, it nearly knocked him out. But I’ll get to that later. You’d known each other a bit. You both used to read the same book, before discussing it when neither of you could sleep. Which is often with Smoke, since he has a smoke demon living within him, one that sometimes, will not shut the fuck up (I’m going off the HC that it’s like a Symbiote relationship. Eddie and Venom style, since Smoke can turn into an Enenra)

·         You’re both discussing the latest chapter in the current novel you’re reading. You’re hands briefly touched, and he just could not cope. It had been a while since he’d been touched that softly. For the rest of the night, he was immersed with watching you speak, didn’t matter what you were saying. He wanted to hear it.

·         Before you left, you mentioned there was a book you were looking for but could not find. After you left, Smoke hunted that fucker down. Top shelf, to the right, behind Bi-Han’s ‘forbidden book’ Long story short, he slipped, fell and the book fell onto his head. Nearly knocking him out. Nobody saw, so it’s fine.

·         “You love Y/N, we love them too. They have a nice…’ That damn Enenra will not stop discussing you. He wants to meet you, but that is never happening. Not in a million fucking years. Never. Smoke doesn’t like fucking meeting him, why the fuck would he let it meet you?

·         He struggles with what to say. Bi-Han suggested just being out-right and forward. If it failed, he could always leave the temple and become a smoke machine. Really not helping.

·         In the end he does write you a note. He slips it into the book you’ve been looking for. It details how he was struggling to say the words, so he thought he’d write them for you. He highlights about what he loves about you. How soft you are with him, how you help braid his hair, how you laugh at his jokes and how you aren’t afraid of him.

·         He doesn’t expect you to be so quick with you reply, if at all. The Enenra does fill him with doubt. Doubt that you could ever love someone like him. Well, jokes on it. When Smoke returns from training, he went extra hard to try and take his mind off of the note; he’s surprised to see you’re sat waiting for him in his room.

·         You’re holding the note and smiling. He’s about to speak, but you quickly cut him off, listing everything you love about him. How he smiles, his grey eyes and how they remind you of the sea. How he’s essentially a warm beacon of light in this frozen hell. How he smells of apples all the time. And how when you’re sick, he’ll always bring you soup and read to you.

·         The ‘I love you’ comes when you’re both ice skating. He said there was a frozen lake near the temple. Nobody goes there, because what’s the point? So, it’d be a nice chance to be alone for once.  He’s actually pretty damn good at it. Not surprising since, you know, he’s essentially a ninja. But he’s got an arm around you, you’re both kind of just spinning, he’s a firm grip so no chances of you falling. It tumbles from his lips after you share a quick kiss. When you say it back, he can’t help but smile and press his forehead to yours.

Kabal;

·         Pre-Burn; For Kabal. When he gets the feels, he gets them HARD. He’s a laidback guy so he’s not going to get flustered. He’s just gotta make sure you feel the same. And also, that he can make it a day to remember when he confesses.  

·         He realised he was attracted to you, when you were training together. The Fight Club had closed early. Kano was away, it was dead, so you decided to close up shop. Kabal offered to stay back and help you clean up. You’d been flirting for fucking weeks.

·         It turned into you wanting to learn to throw a punch. Kabal was more than happy to help. You’re both joking about, you’re trying to hit the air and stumbling. Both of you are laughing, having a good time and then BAM. THE FEELS ARE THERE. He catches you when you stumble and pulls you close.

·         Suddenly this whole plan of him taking you out to dinner and a movie goes to shit. He kind of just leans in and kisses you. When you kiss back, it affirms that you have feelings for him.

·         After you break apart, he confesses that he’s been attracted to you for a while, and he thinks he’s falling for you pretty hard. He’ll ask if you want proof of how much he’s fallen for you. Because if you want proof, he can show you something he’s not shown anyone but Erron before.

·         You’re a little bit curious so, fuck it why not. That and spending time with him is always a bonus.

·         Brings you back to his apartment and will literally show you his living room. It’s decked in nerdy memorabilia, the latest console and a high-spec gaming PC; which is logged into his trolling WoW account.

·         Whilst you’re busy looking at his action figures and comic books. And his extensive collection of Johnny Cage films (You’ll have to talk about that later to him, since he told you he hated them.) He’s busy fumbling around in his bedroom.

·         When he returns you see he’s wearing thick framed glasses. He asks you not to laugh. And to not tell anyone. But yeah, Erron only saw this shit because he barged in un-invited one day. Saw Kabal sat there, near butt ass naked, watching TV with his glasses on. He’d have seen it all if the Pizza box hadn’t been covering his dick.

·         When you burst out laughing at his story, it kind of cements that he has feelings for you. He loves to make you laugh, because it’s the sweetest sound in the world.

·         He will tell you that. And then asks if it’s proof enough, when you say no, but a kiss would. He’s more than happy to oblige.

·         The ‘I love you’ portion comes further down the line. You’re both sat in the car, belting out some absolute fucking classics. He looks over, catches you smiling and singing along like there’s no tomorrow. Still in your pjs, because you both decided a late-night drive was a great idea. He just cannot stop smiling, you’re all his. He just randomly says it. It does make you spit out your Mcflurry though.

·         Post-Burn; Okay so this is angst central. The confident and laidback Kabal has gone. Replaced with Self-loathing. He hates his appearance now. So when the feels hit him, he starts to feel guilty, why should you be saddled with him?

·         The feels and realisation that comes with them, rise up when you help take care of him after his accident. When you offer to rub lotion on his skin, offer to help with his mask and gear. The fact you visited him in the hospital every day. You offer to go out and grab his shopping or to get medicine, when he doesn’t feel like leaving the house. The fact you aren’t ashamed to be seen with him. God, he loves you.

·         The fact you don’t mind going out in public with him, does put some of his self-doubt to rest. But not a lot.

·         He ends up confessing his attraction one evening. He couldn’t sleep one hot and sticky night. His skin is extra sensitive after the accident, so hot nights kill him off. He merely messaged you casually, explaining what was going on and asking if you were up; safe to say it came as a surprise to see you at his door, takeout in hand.

·         You both end up eating pizza and watching a movie. The AC is now cranked on full. You end up asking if it’s okay to cuddle up to him. He’s nervous and stuttering but he says yes. He needs to be a bit more adventurous.

·         You’re falling asleep, cuddled into him, eyes half-lidded fighting to stay awake. He’s laying back, stroking your hair and enjoying the feel of having someone’s skin against his own.

·         He ends up mumbling that he’s falling for you and he’s sorry for that. Queue you sitting up, arms stretched out to wrap around his neck. Telling him to never apologise for giving you what you want. He’ll press his masked forehead to yours, hands clutched in his, with him caressing the knuckles.

·         The ‘I love you’ Post-Burn is such a tender moment. It’s very raw and emotional. He’ll have taken his mask off to show you his face. When you accept him, caressing over the creases of his skin, slowly fluttering your fingertips. He feels so warm and content. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. After you kiss him for the first time, he’ll breathlessly utter it. His breath will hitch waiting for your retort; he’ll only relax when you say it back. He’ll smile, making eye contact before stroking your face. You’re everything he could have ever wanted and hoped for.

·         Crispy Kabal is such a sweetheart. And I fucking love him.

Erron Black;

·         Aw hell no. After Nitara and Skarlet, he swore no more feels. But then he met you and well, aw shit here we go again.

·         Erron is confident in his approach and is not ashamed to admit his feelings. If he has feelings for you, he’s going to tell you. He’s very straight forward like that. No point wasting precious time you two could be dating after all.

·         He realises he is attracted to you when he’s teaching you to shoot his pistol. He’s got his arm around your waist, hand helping to adjust your aim; and you’re sort of dressed a little like him. You did it as a joke, but you look mighty fine in that poncho and hat.

·         He’s impressed with your aim for a rookie, he’ll compliment you on it and admit he’s mighty impressed. Pretty face, good aim and as sweet as sugar, ain’t you the complete package That’s enough to make you blush.

·         He’ll take his hat off and ask if you fancy just grabbing a drink. He’s got a lot to tell you. Mostly about how he’s falling for you. By the end of the night, he’ll have listed off nearly everything about you. Which is on the ‘what I adore about you’ list.

·         He’ll love how you’re blushing and laughing. He’ll wrap an arm around you and ask if you fancy tagging along with him. He needs a solid partner, someone he can rely on and can go with the flow. You do all that.

·         He’s such a charmer in all honesty.

·         Him saying ‘I love you’ comes one night when you’re camping. You went for a hike, set up camp and you’ve been chatting bubbles for the past few hours. He was telling you all about his life, by god he’s lived a long one and has a lot of stories. You’re laid in between his legs, looking up at the stars. Whilst he makes up constellations.

·         Each time you go along with his made up bullshittery he smiles and laughs a little to himself. The three words just escape his mouth, he’s pretty relieved you say it back. He’s never really said ‘I love you’ before. It makes him feel all soft and fuzzy inside. It is time he settles down he thinks.

Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi);

·         This man is the most conflicted out of everyone. He cannot be falling for someone else. He feels guilty, how could he be doing this? He feels joy, he can finally feel again and not be emotionally numb. He feels scared, he doesn’t want to lose you. He feels nervous, he knows what to do and what to say. But that doesn’t mean he’s confident about it.

·         He, like Kuai, realised that he was falling for you slowly and it was over a period of time. He didn’t just think ‘OH DAMN’ not that he’d ever think that. It was small things. How you’d bring him tea after his morning meditation. How you’d meditate with him, do yoga and train with him. To you making him little paper cranes and leaving them around him.

·         The thing that made him realise that he was falling in love with you; was one night, the two of you were sat drinking and you asked him to dance. He doesn’t do dancing… but he couldn’t say no to you, not when you were looking up at him like that.

·         One thing he does do is swaying. He can sway like no tomorrow. He ends up swaying with you. He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, you fit so nicely in his arms, and you feel so warm.

·         He’ll end up leaving quickly, excusing himself, the guilt becoming too much for him to cope with. He cannot do this… or can he? He ends up asking Takeda for advice, who in the end, says it’s okay to eventually move on.

·         You’ll go back to your room and he’s sat there on your bed. He’s smiling nervously before apologising and confessing why he left. He’s attracted to you and it’s making him feel guilty. You’ll have to take things slow with him, but it is worth it in the end.

·         The sacred three words comes a bit later. More so than the others. He feels conflicted and he over-thinks saying it so much. What does he say? How does he say it? What if you don’t say it back?

·         In the end it sort of happens naturally and when he’s not even thinking about it. You’re both walking through the Fire Gardens. You’re asking him some questions about it. You both stop on the bridge. He pops a blossom in your hair, smiling as you adjust it and look up at him. The words leave his lips so quickly that he doesn’t think. He’s racked with fear and guilt, till the words leave your mouth in return. Then those feelings subside, replaced by happiness and joy.  

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat x reader #Sub Zero #Scorpion #kabal #Erron Black #Smoke #Kuai Liang #Hanzo Hasashi #tomas vrbada #Sub Zero x reader #Scorpion x reader #Erron Black x reader #Smoke x reader #Kuai Liang x reader #Hanzo Hasashi x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #Mk #mk11 #mortal kombat 11

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter One): Welcome to Hope County

Notes: Soooo, I’ve been talking about this for a bit and it’s time to just take the jump and start publishing my Far Cry 5 fic. I hope you enjoy. Also, i have like a series warning for this that will be on every chapter cause it needs it. 

Summary: Dahlia Hale is the youngest person working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Hailing from a small town in Louisiana, it’s going to take her some time to fully acclimate to the new environment and living on her own. Developing friendships takes time even for the most functional of people and for disasters like Dahlia it takes even longer. She gets along with her coworkers and there’s some religious family who’s taken a shine to her, for some reason. It seems like she’s on her way to getting the kind of friends she’s only ever dreamed about, even if it’s going to take some more time. 

Then everything goes to shit. 

Halfway through her six-month probationary hire and that nice religious family has kicked off a holy war with her becoming enemy number one.

To one side she’s a hero. 

To the other she’s a monster. She’s not sure which is right. 

Word Count: 9,290

Series Warning: I usually do not like to spoil endgame pairings in my fics, but this warrants being up front. This series is polyseed and involves heavy, recurrent themes of at times romanticized noncon, dubcon, large age differences, and stockholm syndrome that develops into a romantic relationship. The relationship between my oc and the Seeds is extremely unhealthy, toxic, and should never be replicated or sought out in real life. No matter how things progress or how they are portrayed at different points, this fact remains the same. i am comfortable exploring and enjoying these themes in fiction, not everyone is. If you are uncomfortable with or triggered by any of these things, please skip this and take the precautions you feel necessary to avoid this material. If you are an individual who struggles with separating reality and fiction; please do not read this. Otherwise, if you’re comfortable with and enjoy that kind of content, please enjoy. 

Chapter Warnings: Bliss flowers, hallucinations, threats of violence (really not bad compared to whats to come)

A shiver rolls down Dahlia’s spine, the chill of the Montana night settling into her bones. A sign welcomes her to Hope County, her motorcycle tire spinning dirt at it as she passes. The moon shines bright in the sky, cascading silver light down on everything. It’s beautiful despite the cold, light reflecting off the lakes and streams that pass through the county.  

It’s mostly woods and forests, fields of big white flowers and animals wandering through. The entire county is begging to be put on a postcard, from the animals, to the fields, to the…giant cement statue of a guy with a manbun…

Her tires squeal as she comes to a stop on the thankfully vacant road, she pushes the visor of her helmet up, as if the tint could cause her to see something like this. Sure enough, the white hunk of stone is still there. It’s of a man with his hair pulled back in a small bun, in one hand he holds a book and the other gestures outward. 

Hair raises on the back of her neck and goosebumps collect across her skin, the statue is…eerie. It looms across the entire region, a creeping specter. Unnerving doesn’t even begin to describe it, her body has started to lean towards it, almost drawn to it. 

Maybe it’s a historical figure for the county? People do that right, build monuments to founders or something. The clothes of the figure seem old fashioned, but she’s not sure about how far back the manbun goes.

She shakes her head and slaps her visor back down, she needs sleep. It shouldn’t be much further to her hotel. Dahlia revs her engine and rushes off that way, finally finding the large wooden hotel with its red roof. There’s a large wooden sign welcoming her to the King’s Hot Spring Hotel, the parking lot is decidedly vacant, and she comes to a stop by the smaller stone black sign that sits close to the larger wooden one, easy to overlook if someone wasn’t looking close enough. 

“King’s Hot Spring Hotel

On May 12th, 1902 a 7.6 earthquake struck the mountain south of the hotel. It created a 10 million ton landslide that sliced a deep crevice in the earth and destroyed half the King’s hotel. 16 people were killed in the landslide, their bodies never recovered. To this day, their ghosts are said to haunt the site of the rebuilt hotel. 

Built 1866.”

So, from a dirty cockroach motel to a haunted hotel, certainly a step up. She doesn’t really believe in ghosts, they’re cool as all hell, she loves creepy shit. But she doesn’t think any of it is real and if she’s wrong, maybe the ghosts will be nice enough to kill her. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine, unclipping her storage bag from it and making her way to the door. 

The inside feels warm and welcoming, rustic. A large stone fireplace with a bear skin rug in front of it, wooden stairs leading to the upper floors. Her eyes scan the room and she finds a registration desk where a woman sits, reading from a white book. She stands out slightly in the old styled hotel, tattoos covering her arms. The woman’s light, almost milky, green eyes, look up to see Dahlia as she makes her way to the desk. 

“I called ahead and reserved a room for tonight.” 

“Hale, right?” The girl flashes a soft smile as she slides the registration forms across the desk and Dahlia finds herself looking down at the receptionist’s arms, SLOTH and ENVY with strikes through them; half tattooed and half scarred in the woman’s skin. Heavy-handed work. 

“Yeah, that’s me, how’d you know?” 

“Oh, not many folks check in here anymore, between the ghost tales and the new management.” 

“Management?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she finishes scribbling in her info and handing her card over. 

“Here,” the woman hands Dahlia’s card back along with a room key and a map, “I’m sure you’ll find the path.” 

“Uhh…thanks…” 

She shakes her head as she leaves the desk, doing a double take at the worker, who’s now back to reading the large white tome with a soft smile on her face. Dahlia is entirely too tired to deal with weird cryptic people, maybe she’s trying to play up the creepy factor of the supposedly haunted hotel. Probably intrigues the tourists or some shit. She takes her phone from her pocket, ringing Lloyd as she walks to her room. 

“Hey, Stray,” He greets her with the nickname he gave her and she already feels a little better despite the chill and exhaustion. 

“Hey,” Dahlia unlocks her room and strides in, there’s a deer head mounted on the wall and a vase of those white flowers on the bedside drawer, “just wanted to let you know that I am officially in Hope County.” 

She tosses her luggage, along with the gunk the receptionist gave her onto the bed and does a fist bump for no one’s benefit but her own. 

“That’s good, your interview is tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah, hopefully it’ll go well, if not it might be another year of me eating cheese puffs on your couch.” 

“You make it sound like you’re some sort of bum.” 

“I mean…” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m gonna be a mess when you go.” 

“If I go, still gotta get the job.” 

“You’re gonna nail it, I know it, me and Earl were friends way back. He’s not dumb enough to let you go. And if he is, well, I’ll be having some words with him.”

“You can’t fight someone for not wanting to hire me.” 

“I mean, I can, uh, yeah, sweetie it’s stray, I was kinda, oh Caroline wants-“ 

“Stray, did you throw your fucking phone away?” Caroline, Lloyd’s wife, is on the phone in a second, worriedly yelling. 

“I talked to you when I stopped off in Denver.” 

“Yeah, in a dingy nasty motel and then we didn’t hear a word from you for over twelve fucking hours!” 

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself,” Dahlia laughs and rolls her eyes, the concern is appreciated but unneeded. She’s a cop and despite her short stature, she’s got muscles and knows how to protect her. Maybe it’s cocky and arrogant, but at this point in her life, she’s not afraid of anything hurting her physically, mentally and emotionally is a whole other ballpark. 

“Still, what if you were in an accident. Have you ate? Do you know where you’re eating tonight?” 

She ate back in Denver and her stomach is growling now, but she mostly just wants a shower and sleep. She’d rather just grab room service for breakfast. 

“I’m fine, I’ve ate and I will eat. Stop worrying, now I’m gonna get settled in for the night, I’ll call you after the interview.” 

“Wait, ha-”

“Goodbye, mon cher,” Dahlia ends the call after her casual term of endearment, cher and mon cher as normal to her as bud or pal. Maybe it’s just a Cajun French Louisiana thing, or it’s one of the many things she picked up from her dad. She instinctively plays with the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck, he was always so proud of where he came from, teaching her Cajun French from the moment she could talk. Would he be upset with her leaving the state? 

She shakes the thought from her head, she can’t concern herself with the opinions of people who aren’t here, as much as they’d mean to her. Dahlia finally has the tools to be independent and make her own way in this world, she needs to seize any and every opportunity. She double checks that her door is locked, before stripping out of her clothes. 

Dahlia sets her phone to play music as she takes a shower, singing along to it as hot water eases her aching muscles. Once she’s cleaned, she dries off and starts to make her way to the bed where her luggage is. 

The large white blooms on the table between the bed and window, draw her eye, her suspicion confirmed that they’re the same as the fields of flowers she saw on her way here. They must be a common flower here. She’s not a plant person, but she can appreciate pretty flowers when she sees them. The petals are soft against her finger and she pulls out one of the fresh flowers, sniffing at it. It tickles her nose, the soft scent pleasant, but it makes her want to sneeze. She tucks it back in the vase and scrubs at her nose.

Her vision swims for a moment, suddenly light-headed. She hasn’t slept much and has been driving a lot, her eyes must be tired as well. 

Dahlia digs some comfy sleeping clothes from her bag to change into. Content in her shorts and tee, the hotel much warmer than the outside chill. She pushes her luggage off her bed and takes a look at the Hope County map.  

Her vision is still swimming but she reaffirms where she needs to be tomorrow for her interview. It’s over in Fall’s End at the Sheriff’s Department. Dahlia fishes a marker out of her discarded jacket pocket and then starts to write directions down on her right forearm before tucking the map away. 

She rifles a cigarette from her quickly emptying pack, most places don’t like their hotel rooms stinking like nicotine.

Cool air rushes in as she opens the window, she leans against the windowsill, appreciating the view of the moonlight reflecting in the pool of spring water. Montana really is beautiful. 

She lights her cigarette, looking away for a second to ignite it. 

“Ooooh ooooh~” A soft melodic voice drifts in, piercing the quiet, and Dahlia’s head snaps back to the window. 

In the grass, a woman surrounded by green mist spins and dances, singing softly into the night. She’s young, but still older than Dahlia with dirty blonde hair that falls past her shoulders. A white lace dress with flowers across the waist and skirt. Illuminated by moonlight, a heavenly glow, angelic but singing a siren’s song. 

Who would be out there at this time of night?

Dahlia’s the only one in the hotel and she doubts the staff indulges in nightly dance sessions. 

When did Dahlia start leaning further out the window? 

Every fiber of her being screams at her to run to the woman. To jump out the window if she has to, anything to get closer to the hauntingly beautiful woman dancing along the decks before the spring. 

Dahlia slams the window shut, quick and hard enough to rattle it. It’s late, she’s exhausted, she’s ridden her bike almost twenty-eight hours straight. Only stopping for a late night in a shitty hotel in Denver before getting back on the road at eight am this morning. 

Between ghost stories and exhaustion her brain is fucking with her. 

The woman’s singing is still there. 

Softer now but still present, still beckoning. 

Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared to bolt in order to go find that woman. 

She smashes her fist against the side of her head, the impact of her knuckles rattling her skull as she literally tries to knock sense into herself. Her visions seem to clear a bit and she can’t hear the singing anymore, but she also might have concussed herself. 

Her cigarette is stamped out before she’s even halfway through it and she’s setting her phone alarm before jumping into the bed. 

She buries her face in the pillow, no matter what she hears or thinks she’ll see, she’s not going anywhere until the morning. This interview is the most stressful thing she’s dealt with in years, so much rides on it, and she can’t be exhausted tomorrow from chasing fairy ghosts or what the fuck ever. 

Her mind is just playing tricks on her, it’s an asshole, it does that. 

She’s not certain exactly when she fell asleep, but the next thing she knows her alarm is going off. Dahlia groans and forces herself out of bed, she hates waking up. Her interview isn’t even late, but god, fuck waking up. 

Her head is clearer now, no swimming in her vision and no singing or sirens. She forces her way out of bed, groggily trying to go about her day. 

She’s running late, she’s always running late, time isn’t real.

After taking her sweet sleepy time to get herself put together and inhaling a room service breakfast, Dahlia is running down the hotel stairs and scrubbing syrup off her chin. Why does she do this to herself? The receptionist calls out something and she waves her off. 

Helmet slapped on and engine revving, she guns it out of the parking lot and makes her way to towards the Valley. She comes to a bridge and pulls her arm from her jacket to read her scribbled directions, remembering too late that she can’t read her own handwriting. 

She squints trying to decipher what the hell she wrote, her chicken scratch leaving a lot to be desired. It looks like it might say she’s going to Holland Valley or Halland Volley or Hallard, something to that effect by crossing the Honne…Benne…Rover….Dridge… Why does she do this to herself?

She’s probably on the right track, probably. Dahlia readjusts her jacket, confirming that her mess of directions won’t be getting any clearer the longer she stares at it and makes her way over the bridge. More signs hang from the inner framework of the bridge, half of them bearing a cross symbol with what looks like sunbeams coming from the center, the other half states The Power Of YES; Take The Leap.

Heebie jeebies nest in her gut, those goosebumps from earlier coming back. Religion…

Maybe it was too optimistic, but she had hoped further up North she’d see less of…that. She did searches online and was told based on some statistical thing that Montana was less religious than Louisiana. But apparently religion isn’t completely avoidable in the United States. 

The crisp smell of apples manages to break through her helmet as she leaves the bridge. Apple trees as far as the eye can see, bright red fruit gleaming under sunlight, a giant orchard surrounds the road. People mill about the apple trees; couples holding hands and parents hefting their children up on their shoulders to pick the highest apples their little hands can reach. A few people look at her as she rides past, the rev of her engine and the music pounding from her helmet drawing attention. Some looks are judgmental, others unconcerned, a small kid waves at her as she passes by and she waves back, smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. There’s a constructed Apple Statue in the orchard, noting that she’s riding through the Gardenview Orchard.

Over the horizon, built into the hills of the Holland Valley is a giant Hollywood style sign that says ‘YES’. It’s infinitely less creepy than the weird man statue, but far cheesier. Whether that’s better or worse? Who knows, but Hope County is definitely…weirder than she anticipated. 

She passes through the orchard and coming up on the left apple trees are replaced with pumpkins on the ground. Fields growing them, some clearly bigger and further along in the growing process, none fully ripe, however. A house is built among the fields, one fence with a sign that says Rae-Rae’s Pumpkin Farm. 

There’s a couple walking around, holding hands, but more importantly there’s a dog. A mottled coat of black, white, and blue gray with a bandana around their neck. The dog’s head raises at the rev of Dahlia’s motorcycle engine passing by on the road, tail wagging but he doesn’t run out, a well-trained doggo. 

She’s running late. 

She doesn’t have time. 

One pet can’t hurt. 

Dahlia comes to a screeching halt, tires squealing and bracing herself against her handlebars of her bike so she doesn’t fly across the farm. The couple taken aback, staring wide-eyed at her as she kills her music and yanks off her helmet. The doggie is still wagging its tail, eager to meet their new friend. 

“Can I pet your dog?” 

The couple is older, by Dahlia standards, so probably around their thirties…or forties…or twenties…ages confuse her. A woman with short sandy hair and a man with a knit hat over his head, the woman’s dropped jaw becomes a soft smile, her eyes gentle. 

“Of course,” a thick southern accent tints her voice, “Boomer’s doesn’t know a stranger.” 

Dahlia stays outside the wooden fence, not wanting to step on crops or something, but she leans over it. Boomer’s big brown eyes landing on her, so cute, she already loves him. A few coos and he’s already rushing over, standing to put his paws at the top of the fence so he can get some much-deserved love. She pets the top of his head, scratching behind his ears and around his neck. He eagerly leans into scritch and pet, licking her. 

“Awww, such a good boy, yes you are,” she praises and laughs, soaking it in. Even if she’s running late, this is more than worth it. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asks. 

“Nah, here for a job interview,” Dahlia answers, hugging around Boomer’s neck as she snuggles him. 

“Where you interviewing at?” 

“Sheriff’s department.” 

“You’re kind of young for a cop, ain’tcha?”

“I’m an adult,” she says, shrugging her shoulders through the hug. She is a young adult and that’s all that needs to be said on that. 

“They finally trying to fill that deputy position?” 

“Seems like it.” 

“Sorry, to brush you off so soon, but we have to go pick up some equipment before noon and we’re already cutting it close.” 

Shit, right, time. She’s running late too, but the dog was worth it. 

“No problem, have a good one, you keep being a good boy, Boomer.” 

She gives a final scratch to his head, then slides her helmet back on, waving off the couple as she hops back on her bike. Her nerves have eased slightly at having gotten some time with a dog and even if she’s late, she doesn’t regret it. 

Her engine revs and she’s back to traveling down the quiet Montana roads. The sheriff’s department is in Fall’s End. A water tower baring the town’s name lets her know she’s arrived in the right area. It’s not a huge town. Along the main road, there’s the sheriff’s department, a general store, a bar, a church. There’s little streets and roadways showing that beyond those there’s houses and an apartment complex. Not huge, but certainly bigger than where she’s from, which…isn’t saying much. 

Dahlia parks her motorcycle outside the sheriff’s department, all those initially dissipated nerves are bubbling back to the surface. Her stomach in absolute knots and her muscles tense with anxiety. She shuts off her bike and pockets her keys then pulls off her helmet, fiddling with her hair. A deep breath, before she finally steels herself to step into the building.  

There’s a desk to Dahlia’s right when she enters the building, an older woman with a layered bob of red hair. 

“There something I can help you with, darling?” Her southern accented voice asks. 

“I have an interview with the sheriff.”

“Really,” the woman’s eyes scan Dahlia up and down, eyebrows furrowed in judgement, “can I get your name?” 

“Hale,” she murmurs, once again fiddling with her messy strands of dark hair. She knows she doesn’t exactly look the most professional right now. But professional clothes and motorcycles don’t truly mix. The woman, her desk tag says N. McClure, shuffles through some documents and reads over something. 

“Okay, just take a seat and I’ll let Earl know you’re here.”

Dahlia plops down in one of the reception area’s chairs, fiddling with the cat ears on her motorcycle helmet. Her leg bounces up and down, shaking out excess energy as the woman at the desk starts to call back, asking for Whitehorse. It’ll be fine, Dahlia reassures herself, Lloyd and Caroline have been talking her up to their old friend. All she needs to do is be herself, maybe, probably not. She’s kind of a mess. 

The clock hand ticks slowly, Dahlia feeling like she’s about to go crazy waiting for her interview to start. Finally, the woman hangs up the phone she was calling back to Whitehorse on, a soft smile on her face that pulls at the wrinkles around her eyes. 

“Earl’s ready to talk to you, come on back.”

The older woman steps out and helps show Dahlia to the office door, passing through a bullpen style office area to get there, Sheriff Whitehorse is scrawled on a plaque by the door. Dahlia knocks and he tells her to come on in, she slowly opens the door and steps in. There’s a modest sized quaint office with only a few personal touches. She’s only seen old photos Lloyd had of himself and Whitehorse, from way back in police academy. The man before her is much older than he was in those photos, weathered with wrinkled skin. He looks like an old sheriff pulled directly from a movie; green uniform, cowboy hat, scraggly brown hair, and a mustache.

“You’re Lloyd and Caroline’s Stray, right?” He says, standing up from his desk to shake her hand over it. He’s over a foot taller than her, probably close to a foot and a half. His hand swallows her own whole, it’s probably bigger than her face. 

“Holy shit, you’re tall.” 

That’s not a good way to start an interview, but he seems to be laughing and smiling. So, maybe it’s fine. Lloyd once said she has a charm about her despite her lack of tact or decorum. She’s still trying to figure out what that charm is, but still. 

“Go ahead and take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. She follows suit, leg still bouncing like it was in the waiting room. Whitehorse puts a manilla folder down on the desk, the little tab labeled D. Hale. It’s surprisingly thick for someone who’s never met her in person. 

“Lloyd and Caroline talk highly of you, hell the whole town does.” 

“The whole town…?” She raises an eyebrow, what’s that supposed to mean? Reinette, Louisiana is a small town, it’s police department has about six people in total and everyone knows everyone. But certainly, they wouldn’t call up Whitehorse to talk about her. 

“I swear Lloyd must have handed out the stations number to everyone down there, we’ve been getting two, three calls a day of people who can’t say enough good things about you.” 

“Oh god.” Heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks, god damn it, Lloyd. 

“You’ve left quite an impression on the place.” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Dahlia pushes some hair off her face, fidgeting with the locks.

“And you haven’t been working there long, have you?”

“Not counting training, about a year and a half, I know I don’t have much experience.” 

“Still making such an impact in a short amount of time, says something.” 

“Thanks.” His words soothe her nerves and embarrassment a bit, maybe this will go well.

“But, there’s the issue of your record…”

“My record…?” She shouldn’t have a record, he opens the manilla folder and she feels bile raise in the back of her throat. 

“Between what’s on the books and what everyone was saying, I was starting to wonder if there were two of you, Hale. Runaways, break in, fights, attempted grand theft auto, and petty thefts, the list goes on. Doesn’t exactly scream future cop.” 

“I thought records got expunged at eighteen.”

“If you request it.” 

“Oh…well then…”

“I know this all happened when you were a minor and you’ve been clear for the past two or so years, but…”

“It still looks bad, I know, I know. I’m not going to try to tell you some bullshit excuse or sob story. I did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. I regret most of it, not all of it, but most of it. Lloyd and Caroline helped me get my life back on track, I know two years doesn’t seem like a long time, but I’m not the same kid I was when I did that shit.”

That what she tells him, but she’s not sure how much she believes it. It feels more like her situation’s changed than she’s changed, but if she just said that she’s no longer a delinquent because she doesn’t need to be, well, it wouldn’t sound as good or employable. 

“What made you wanna be a cop?”

“Wanted to help people,” she answers with a shrug, it’s not really anything more complicated than that. Whitehorse huffs out what sounds like a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, I gotta ask, why here? Lloyd and the whole town loves you. It’s a hell of a move and the pay raise ain’t much.”

“Look,” she sighs and folds her hands on top of her motorcycle helmet, calming her body down, “I love Reinette, I love Lloyd and I love Caroline. I owe them and the whole town a debt that I’ll never pay back. But, I’m twenty years old. I’m not their kid and even if I was it’d be time for me to go, I’ve taken enough of their time, money, and everything. Reinette, bless the town’s heart, it’s...dying. There’s more cows than people, our station has more cars than officers. It won’t be long before they do away with the town’s department and just do everything through the Parish. And the parish’s department doesn’t need any more officers.”

Her throat constricts as bile raises in the back of it, her stomach churning. After everything that town and its people have done for her, she’s leaving them. A traitor, betrayer. 

“You figure any of those officers will even find work in the parish, at all?” He asks with a knowing, soft look in his eye. If he keeps in contact with Lloyd, he’s already well aware of the trouble in Reinette. 

“I doubt it, town’s a sinking ship. Lloyd…he’s willing to go down with it,” her eyes sting and she clenches her jaw, containing herself, “I can’t do that. As much as they all mean to me, I can’t. Lloyd’s gonna retire when it goes under, I’m twenty, the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m trying to help people; I’m trying to make a difference. But my hands keep getting tied because of money, resources, anything and everything. Lloyd and Caroline gave me the means and the tools to make something of myself, I’m not gonna piss that away because some fucker decided we weren’t worth investing in, I…”

She’s clenching her fists and nearly smacking her helmet, anger and frustration welling up inside of her, a geyser of emotions threatening to break through. This is an interview, she can’t do this, can’t be emotional. She needs to stop this, a deep breath before she starts to speak again. 

“I can do more here, I know no place is perfect, but I can do more here.” 

“Well, no one can say you’re not passionate.” Whitehorse lets out another chuckle, seemingly amused. 

“Sorry, certain shit, just winds me up.” She massages the back of her neck, why is she such a fucking idiot? No one wants to hire a cop who can’t keep their cool and throws a fit. She was supposed to tone down her dumbassery, not ramp it up. 

“There’s nothing wrong with caring about what you’re doing.”

“Yeah…” She half-heartedly agrees, Whitehorse is trying to make her feel better. Her interview has become him trying to console her, absolutely pathetic. She might as well call Lloyd and Caroline now and tell them she blew it. 

“You got any questions for me?” 

“Uh…”

Did she just fuck this up as bad as she thinks she did?

 “Not really, I just wanna get to work.” That earns her another chuckle from Whitehorse, even if he doesn’t think she’s competent, at least she’s entertaining it seems. 

“Full of piss and vinegar, ain’t ya?” 

“To say the least.” She lets out a dry laugh, but there’s no mirth of joy behind it. Not a shred of happiness as she thinks about what a fucking idiot she is. 

“Well, if that’s all,” Whitehorse stands up from his desk, “I’ll go ahead and show you out.” 

Dahlia stands up, the sheriff places a large hand on her back as they leave his office, finding their way back into the reception area. 

“It was nice to finally meet you, Hale.” 

“Same, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” She’s sure that he’d rather be doing literally anything else, especially after that beyond trash interview. 

“It’s no problem at all, I-”

The doors to the department open, a man and a woman in green deputy uniforms coming in. Another giant, the man is barely an inch of two shorter than Whitehorse, with shaggy dark hair and hazel eyes. More importantly, the woman while taller doesn’t absolutely tower over Dahlia, her long black hair is braided over her shoulder and her olive skin makes her hunter green eyes stand out all the more. 

Dahlia’s throat feels tight and her heart race is a little faster. So…that’s a thing. 

“We running a daycare, now?” The guy asks, looking down his nose at Dahlia, though that might just be because of the height difference. Either way, she glares at him, he’s been around her a grand total of five seconds and he’s being a dick. 

“Pratt…” The woman, her name tag says J. Hudson, rolls her eyes at him. Her voice is warm and rich; why is Dahlia’s face so hot? Is she sick? Has the Montana weather already kicked her ass, what is this?

“This is one of the interviewees. Hale, these are my deputies.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Hudson flashes a soft smile and what is Dahlia’s heart doing? It’s like someone’s squeezing it and filled her gut with bugs while they were at it. She fucks up an interview and now she needs a doctor, great. 

“Same, I was, uh, just on my way out actually.” She needs to go sleep off whatever the fuck has just hit her. 

“Good luck,” the taller woman gives a friendly tap to Dahlia’s bicep, “hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.” 

Dahlia is dying.

That’s the only explanation. She fucked up an interview and now she has the heart plague or some shit, hell of a day. 

“Uh, yeah, I, um, ‘preciate it.” She’s avoiding eye contact and she doesn’t know why she's stumbling over her words and she doesn’t know why.

“Pssh,” Pratt scoffs, “she’s gonna need it.” 

Suddenly, she can talk again. Weird. Hudson and Whitehorse shake their heads, clearly use to his bullshit

“Sorry about Pratt, he’s, well he’s Pratt.” 

“Eh, every station has at least one cop who’s just trying to make up for his tiny dick.” 

“I assure you, I-”

“Enough,” Whitehorse cuts him off, talking like he’s breaking up a child’s squabbling. Doesn’t really help make her look any more mature or competent, way to steer into the skid, Dahlia. 

“For the millionth time, no one wants to hear about your dick, Pratt.” Hudson rolls her eyes, why is that being said for the millionth time?

“Well, that’s certainly my cue to go, have a good one.” 

Dahlia quickly waves off the sheriff and deputies, making her escape. She takes the couple steps to her motorcycle with quick rigid movement, making sure she’s away from windows or the glass door, not wanting any of them to see her. 

She lets out a low guttural groan muffled by how tightly her jaw is clenched jaw and knocks her knuckles against the back of her head. 

Idiot, she fucked everything up by going on some huge ass fucking rant. 

Despite the distance, this was a phenomenal opportunity the best she’s had. It’s not like she hasn’t looked into place in Louisiana, but something is always wrong. She’s never made it as far as the interview. Either she never gets a call back, maybe they’d seen her records the same way Whitehorse did and didn’t even bother giving her that chance. Or she’d learn the town, parish, city, whatever was no better off than Reinette. One of the sheriffs she talked to on the phone knew her stepfather and recognized her name, nearly making her puke before she hung up. 

This was beyond a shadow of a doubt the best chance she’s had. Whitehorse has the Lloyd seal of approval which is as good as gold. And as much as the distance is guilt inducing…, the fear of betrayal and abandoning people who mean so much to her. But, she needs somewhere far away. 

As many good memories as Lloyd, Caroline, and the people of Reinette have given her. There are still too many bad ones, too many people figuring out where she came from, one too many bad memories trying to be more than just that. As much as it may eat her up to leave, it’ll eat her up even more to stay. Between the impending unemployment and her own past, every good moment there has a shadow looming over it. 

When she gets back to Reinette she’ll start working to get her record taken care of. Once that’s settled, it’s back to job hunting. A bump in the road, a moment of frustration, but she’ll come out the other end. She always does. 

Her stomach growls, burning through a pack of cigarettes and stress binge eating sound like a great way to deal with this. She’ll find some place to stuff her face and call Lloyd once she gets back to the hotel. 

There’s a general store, she doesn’t know if the bar lets minors in, so it’s probably her best place to grab some quick snack. She plops her helmet on and makes the short drive to the store, parking her bike outside and pulling her helmet back off to light a cigarette by the dumpsters. Her stressed brain is desperately craving nicotine. 

She rips open her pack of cigarettes and lights one up, bringing it to her lips. Smoke pools in her lungs, clawing to her insides and easing her nerves if only for a second. Holding it there for a moment before breathing it out into the air. Her eyes are drawn to the neon sign of The Spread Eagle bar, even bright in the daylight. It also seems to have some activity despite the early hour. Well, early for a bar. A white truck pulls up in front of the building, a man with long grungy hair climbing out of the passenger seat. 

Those odd pains in her chest and churns in her stomach fade as she inhales the smoke, looking up at the clear blue sky. A soft breeze blows through, carrying the gray trails away with it. Montana really is beautiful…

“Get back here!” A woman yells out, door to the bar swinging open violent as the man with long hair comes rushing back out, arms piled high with crates of alcohol. 

Dahlia drops her cigarette and helmet, bolting towards the bar, as the thief tries to scramble into the back of the pickup truck. He gets the crates set down, but she’s grabbed the back of his shirt before he can climb in. A harsh yank, pulling the tall man back into her and away from the truck. She encircles her arms under his armpits and locks her hands behind his neck, grappling into a full nelson hold that keeps him from running off. The odd angle of these heights and the way he was yanked from the back of the truck leaves him on his knees in his grasp. 

“Someone call the sheriff’s department!” She yells out, she doesn’t have any jurisdiction here or cuffs to actually arrest the guy. 

He tries to fight back against the hold, attempting to break free, but all he manages to do is writhe and squirm. The door of the truck swings open, the driver jumping out, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy sound. Another man easily a foot or more taller than her. 

“Help me, brother Theodore,” the man in her hold struggles to beg for help. 

“We have strict orders from John Seed to confiscate this liquor.” 

“Don’t know or care who that is, mon cher.” 

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve to know him,” the guy tells her, sneering and she sees his finger twitch, brushing over the gun in his belt holster. She can’t have firearms going off in a residential area. 

“All you’ll do is end up shootin’ your friend, don’t be stupid. Liquor ain’t worth bloodshed.” 

He lets out a sigh and his hand relax, something clicking in his mind. The man, Theodore, chews his lip, eyes flickering as she nearly sees the gears turning in his head. 

“What’s going on here?” A familiar rough voice asks over Dahlia’s shoulder, she doesn’t need to look to know Whitehorse has come to investigate. Even if she did, she wouldn’t dare look away from the man in front of her, not until she’s sure he won’t try to shoot. 

“These pieces of shit peggies were trying to steal my liquor stash,” a woman explains, somewhere behind Dahlia. 

“Liquors still in the back of the truck,” Dahlia tells them, none of it seemed to break, so hopefully it won’t hurt the bar too much. 

“If it wasn’t for her, they would have cost me a month’s worth of sales.” 

“Pratt, Hudson,” Whitehorse calls the names of his deputies. 

“I got it here,” Hudson taps on Dahlia arm, cuffs in hand, and that weird heart thing is happening again. 

“Um, yeah, o-of course.” She maneuvers away from the guy, she’s never stumbled over her words like that before. Hudson cuffs the guy and starts reading his rights off. 

“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” Pratt barks out at the Theodore guy who's surprisingly obedient as he lets the deputy cuff him. 

Dahlia scratches at her nose, watching the scene unfold. She’s finally gotten a good look at the woman who was being robbed. 

And, not only is everyone here tall, they’re also apparently beautiful. The woman is than both Dahlia and Hudson, with honey blonde hair tucked up into a bun and soft blue eyes. Her features are soft, cherubic almost, with freckles over the bridge of her nose. 

Have women always been this pretty?

When did women start being this pretty?

The fuck is her heart doing?

“Looks like it’s a good thing you were here,” Whitehorse tells her, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “you managed to get Mary May’s liquor back and stopped it from escalating.” 

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” 

“Someone you know, sheriff?” The blonde, Mary May  asks. His smile gets wider and he squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a comforting touch. 

“This is my new Junior Deputy.” 

“I am?” 

He’s not serious, there’s no way, he has to be fucking with her. 

“Unless you changed your mind?” 

“Hell no,” she shakes her head, “I am the new Junior Deputy, wait, Junior?”

“You’ll start with a six-month probationary hire, paid of course, manage that and we’ll take you on permanently.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“You’ll start next, c’mon down to the station Mary, we’ll book ‘em and get your report in.” 

“See you around, stranger,” Mary May tells her as she follows after Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt forcing the thieves along. Theodore shooting a glare Dahlia’s way. 

“Look forward to working with you, Rookie.” 

“Pfft, I give her a week, tops.” 

And with that, Dahlia is left alone on the road of Falls End…with a new job. 

She got the job. 

She’s got to get through the probationary hire, but she got the job. Holy shit. Holy shit. And she starts in a week. She needs to call Lloyd and Caroline, she needs to find somewhere to live, there’s so much to do. 

Dahlia is practically skipping back over to her helmet and bike. She’s gotta start getting her ducks in a row. 

She speeds her way back through Hope County, making her way back to the hotel. She has so many fucking calls to make and shit to go through. Before she knows it she’s back in the Kings Spring Hotel parking lot, fumbling to get her phone. As silly as it may be, she’d rather call Lloyd and Caroline in a less populated area. She’s grinning ear to ear, enough to hurt her cheeks, she looks like a dork and that’s not going to get any better. Helmet under her arm, she dials Lloyd as she paces in the isolated parking lot. 

“How’d it go?” Lloyd is asking before she even says hi. 

“Six months, probationary hire, then we’ll go from there.” 

‘So, you got the job?” 

“That was the bummer way of saying I got the job, yeah.” 

“I can hear you smiling!” 

“Shut it!” 

“Caroline! She got the job, yeah!” 

“I,” she rubs a hand down her face, “I thought for sure I blew it.” 

“What changed?” 

“Some bar across the street got robbed right after my interview, I stepped in, next thing I know I’m the Junior Deputy.”

“Holy fuck, do you know what that is, Stray?” 

“Dumb luck?” 

“Fate, Stray, it’s fucking fate! The world telling you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be!” 

“You really are a sap, ain’t ya?” 

“What are you doing now?” 

“I’m staying another night here, but once I hop off I gotta start looking into where I’m gonna stay. I start in a week, so I gotta start moving, I’ll see you all in two or three days once I make the drive. It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll manage.” 

“Man, you’re really leaving.” 

“No crying.” 

“Seems like yesterday Caroline found you in the barn.” 

“No crying.” 

“You were so thin, just a little bag of bones…” His voice is choking up.

“I’m hanging up, you cry baby!” 

She does just that, smiling up at the sky. It’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels like the start of a new life, a new her. There’s a jump in her step as she makes her way back into the hotel, room service food and she’ll start making phone calls. 

“Miss Hale!” The soft lilted voice of the receptionist calls out when she sees Dahlia. 

“Oh, hey.” Dahlia walks to the desk, head tilted in question, what could she need?

“A heads up, we’re switching the water in the tank for the shower and bath system to water pumped in from the spring.” 

“Oh, that’s cool.” 

“It’s so much more relaxing than regular tap water, be sure to use it tonight.” 

“Uh yeah, thanks, by the way can I order some room service?” 

“Of course.” 

Dahlia goes through her order for room service, being assured the order will be put in and delivered before she knows it. With that she goes back up to her room, she starts digging through the bedside drawer, searching for a phone book for the area. There’s a white book in the top drawer, with that same strange cross like symbol that was on the signs along the bridge. She throws it on the bed, finding a local phone book beneath it, much more important. 

She starts rifling through pages. Hope County is mostly a trailer park town, for people who can’t afford to build or buy an actual home and land. There is an apartment complex in Falls End, but the rent is high for pretty small apartments. The prices probably jacked since housing is so limited. She’d rather get a whole trailer to herself for cheaper and just travel further for work. 

Hours pass by her making phone calls, seeing about housing and stuffing food in her face when she’s not talking. The Silver Lake Trailer Park that’s nearest the station has no vacancy or trailers available for rent, but they refer her to the Moonflower Trailer Park. It’s some distance, but with how fast she rides her bike, it’s doable. It’s the only place with vacancy, she’ll drop by with a down payment and check out the trailer tomorrow before she heads back to Louisiana to get her stuff and everything tidied up there. The world outside the hotel window has gone dark, moon hanging bright in the sky. 

That settled she finishes off her food and collapses back on the bed. She’s still smiling, grinning ear to ear.

“Wooooooo!” She yells out and pumps her fist up at the ceiling, fuck yeah, she’s got this. 

She’ll grab one of those spring water showers and then pass out for the night. She grabs her phone and sets it up to play music in the bathroom while she washes up. Her clothes hit the floor, air conditioner chilling her skin as she waits for the water to heat up. It has a soft floral scent and is tinted slightly green, spring water. 

She steps in under the hot spray of water, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt of the day. Her muscles relax under the water and steam, as she scrubs the hotel soap into her skin. She blinks her eyes open once she’s done washing her hair, finding her vision clouding, her body feeling heavier and heavier. Must be the exhaustion of the day. Dahlia quickly finishes washing, the last thing she needs is to fall asleep in the shower again. 

Her steps are shaky, her body swaying as the world swims around her. Colors distort and shift in prisms before her eyes. It’s like the night before, but times a million. Her movements sluggish as she dries herself and quickly pulls on her sleep clothes. She was feeling ill earlier, maybe it’s catching up to her? But it doesn’t feel the same. Not panicky and nervous. One of her favorite songs starts to play through her phone, though its eerie tones aren’t as welcomed in this moment. 

She grips the sink for leverage, steadying herself as she looks into the mirror

All our times have come.

Her dark brown eyes aren’t dark brown, not quite. She tugs at her eyelids, the iris growing milkier and lighter than she’s ever seen it. What the hell is this? A soft melodic laugh echoes through the room, like it’s near. 

Here but now they're gone.

She stumbles out of the bathroom, finding her empty bedroom. Nothing unusual. 

Seasons don't fear the reaper.

The laugh rings out again, a flash of white passing by her open door. When did it open? She didn’t leave it open. 

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...

She’s walking out her door before she can give it another thought, looking back and forth across the hall, who’s there? 

We can be like they are

Her feet pad down the hallway, steps suddenly sure and confident as she tries to follow the voice. Like her body is being drawn, pulled, following sheer instinct. She needs to find them. 

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

A flash of white, the swish of lace fabric, that laugh again vanishing into one of the rooms. Dahlia is there, trying to wrench open the door. Then it rings out from behind her. 

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

A woman stands at the end of a long hallway, the one from the tight before. Long sandy hair and beautiful green eyes. A blue butterfly perches itself on her fingers, the woman looking at it in awe. Dahlia takes slow steps forward, she wants to speak, ask who she is and what she’s doing here. But her tongue is heavy, her throat tight, vocal cords numb, not a sound escaping. 

Baby I'm your man...

Green eyes flicker from the butterfly to Dahlia, a soft almost mischievous smile tugging at the woman’s lips. She laughs again as Dahlia nears her, then she runs, childish and giggling she runs towards one of the rooms. Dahlia is chasing her even after she vanishes from sight, legs moving without her permission, instinct driving her to reach this woman. She doesn’t know why, but she needs to reach her, touch her. Be closer. 

La la la la la

La la la la la

The laughter turns into soft humming, singing echoing through the halls. Somehow the sound is everywhere, all consuming and right in her ear, but also distant the source too far away for her to find. She walks down the halls, taking turns and climbing up stairs, following her instinct that pulls her in each direction she goes. 

Valentine is done

Flashes of white fabric, doors closing and shutting. It’s a game of tag that she can’t seem to win, the small hotel has somehow become a labyrinth as she tries to find the humming woman. Short hallways and few rooms have been traded for never ending paths with room lining them. 

Here but now they're gone

Sometimes spacious and open, other times claustrophobic, choking, walls scraping the skin of her arms where she has to fear she might become stuck. More halls and more floors than she’s ever seen, winding paths that make her dizzy. But she can’t stop searching for that woman. 

Romeo and Juliet

One more turn, the woman is at the end of a hallway. Standing before a door, softly singing to what is now two butterflies balanced on her fingers. Dahlia starts to walk down the hallway, tight, claustrophobic. She keeps her hands on the walls as if it will give her more space, as if she could force the walls to open wider for her. 

Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet

Her heartbeat races as she walks closer and closer, the walls threatening to crush her between them. She can hardly breathe, every breath ragged and tight. Dying. She feels like she’s dying, air being stolen from her lungs and heart pounding lie it’s trying to escape her chest. It worsens with every step she takes near the woman. 

40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and Juliet

Some part of her brain, the small part that doesn’t have a thick haze of fog clinging to it, tells her to run the other way. That with this feeling only growing with every step towards the siren, with her heart pounding harsher, breathing getting raspier, she’ll die if she keeps going. That this truly is a siren luring her to death, but she can’t listen to that part of her. Her body won’t. She needs to reach her. 

40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine happiness

She’s getting closer and closer; the woman isn’t running this time. Just calming singly, like she doesn’t even notice Dahlia. She tries to reach out for the woman, her fingers nearly brushing the woman’s dress sleeve. 

Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are

Then the woman walks through the door, Dahlia could curse and cry if her vocal cords would only work. Once again, the woman evading her, being just out of reach. But this hall has no doors along its sides, no turns or twists. The only two options are going back or going through the door after her. It’s not even a choice. 

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

She wrenches the door open and she’s in another world. No more wood walls and floors, her bare feet touching lush grass that tickles her skin. White petals float in the air and scatter across the ground. Trees curl around the area and when she looks out at the horizon, she sees that large statue of that man looming over the area. 

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

When she looks straight ahead at the middle of the field is the woman, she twirls, short white dress fanning out around her hips. She stops, turning to face Dahlia, she smiles softly. Delicate and angel like, she stretches her hand out. An offer, a beckoning. 

We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper

The feeling of impending death lifts the very moment she sees the woman. Her heartbeat and her breathing easing, relief and contentment filling her body. She’s smiling and she doesn’t know why she feels alive. Free, like she can do anything. She’s walking closer and closer to the woman, each step making her happier and happier. Her body lighter and lighter. Calm and peace, she’s never known. She’s right where she belongs, she doesn’t need to be anywhere else. 

Dahlia reaches out, finally about to touch her, a touch of their hands is so simple, so minor. But it feels like the only thing she wants. All she’s ever want, like every moment in her entire life has been building up to this, being here with her, whoever she is. 

Before skin can meet skin, the siren fades to mist. 

No, no, no!

She grasps desperately at the air where the woman once was, her heart racing, her lungs stinging like the airs been knocked out of them. The world is crumbling, falling down, everything going out beneath her feet. It’s falling apart and she can’t stop it, she can’t fix it. 

Dahlia takes a heavy gasp, desperately sucking in a heavy breath and she blinks, the world around her has completely shifted. Her vision isn’t blurred, no more prisms of color before her eyes. 

Cold, goosebumps raising up on her skin, shorts and tee doing nothing to save her from the Montana breeze. She’s outside the hotel, in the world she knows. That damn statue looming still in the distance ahead of her. 

Dull. 

The landscaped she was so mesmerized by this day, seems so dull now. She feels dull, after so many emotions, so much intensity both in fear and happiness…she feels so numb. Dahlia rubs her fingers together, her craving for the feeling of another’s hand in her own…there’s an ache. She was so close, but now she’s been plunged back into reality. 

She stands out in the field outside the hotel, staring at that cement statue, it still seems to call her. Her heart telling her to go towards that looming structure, but her head tells her to go back inside the hotel. 

So, she doesn’t move. 

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, just staring. 

“Miss Hale!” A voice pulls her further back into reality, the hotel receptionist walking out towards her with a large blanket. 

Dahlia blinks a few times, she no longer feels numb, the very real emotion of shame flooding in. She’s standing out in public, in her pajamas. Did she just wander out of her hotel room in her sleep clothes? She must look ridiculous. 

“Hey…”

“Is everything alright? You just walked out of your hotel, looked like you were sleepwalking.” 

“Uh…yeah, I guess.” 

That makes sense, she must have went to bed and had a weird dream…yeah. 

“Here,” the woman wraps the large blanket around Dahlia, “you must be freezing.” 

“Thanks, sorry, I, just, weird dream.” She murmurs as they walk back to the hotel, Dahlia giving one last glance at the hotel.

“Dreams are nice, aren’t they? Sometimes you just wanna stay there forever.” 

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #john seed #faith seed #jacob seed #deputy oc #This Is Love #Dahlia Hale

[this-is-a-love-story-fleabag]

Lunchtime in Hell

Fleabag and the Priest go for lunch at Dad's place. 1841 words. Also on ao3.

"Gosh, is that a bikini?" said my godmother. "Aren't you brave."

Aw.

Her capacity for saying something that sounds like a compliment but is actually spectacularly cruel will never cease to amaze me. All of the words individually are perfectly polite, but when you put them together you create a masterpiece in passive aggression.

Sometimes it takes me a couple of hours to work out that's she's insulted me. She should teach a class.

Not quite knowing how to respond, I looked at the priest, and tried not to pout.

He gave a sympathetic grimace and finished his mouthful of wine. "Not as brave as explaining erotic artwork to teenagers, I bet."

She looked devastated. Brilliant.

We were two streets away from Dad's place when I started having second thoughts.

"We could just say I had another miscarriage."

The priest stopped short. To his credit, he didn't sigh as loudly as I knew he wanted to. "The parable of the boy who cried wolf might-"

"Yeah, OK, I guess I can't do that one again." I thought for a moment. "We could say I broke my leg!"

He closed his eyes and pressed hard on the bridge of his nose. "No."

"No, you're right, too easily falsifiable. Maybe I could actually break my leg. Find a heavy log or something."

"A log."

"Yeah."

"In the middle of Kensington."

Balls. "You're no help at all."

"It's not going to be that bad."

I decided not to dignify that with a response, and started back on my grim march. Slouching towards Bedlam.

We reached the front door and he rang the doorbell, before he noticed that I was edging backwards off the step and onto the garden path.

"Oh, no, no, don't you run off," he said, grabbing my hand.

"Aren't you supposed to save people from Hell?"

He gave me a fond look and a kiss on the forehead in response. He looked unreasonably gorgeous in the blue jumper with the good sleeves, and I, as usual, was dressed like a teenage girl who'd just finished her A-levels and wanted to act grown-up.

I am under no illusions about my fashion sense.

Ominous footsteps approached the door. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," I murmured. He grinned. Handsome bastard.

My godmother opened the door with a theatrical flourish, wearing the kind of elaborate silk gown that a thrice-divorced heiress might throw on to be told by the police that her wealthy husband had died in a mysterious accident.

It suited her, the bitch.

"Darling!" she crowed, rushing out to give air kisses to our cheeks. Her hand lingered for slightly too long on my priest's bicep.

"Your father's just in the kitchen, why don't you go and help him?" she asked in her typically imperious manner, hustling us inside and closing the door. "Father, come and sit down for a glass of wine."

He gave me a terrified look as he was ushered into the pristine front parlour, but if he wanted to be rescued he should have agreed to the running away plan earlier.

I found Dad with his head in the oven, frantically basting a roast chicken.

"Alright, Dad?"

He started, and narrowly avoided banging his head on the top of the oven. "Oh, hello dear. I was just, er, with the, yes. How are you?"

"I'm fine." I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "How's the cooking?"

"Oh yes, fine. I could use your help, actually. The little pastries need to go onto the serving, er, thing."

When we returned to the front room, my godmother was practically sitting on the priest's lap, and he was visibly sweating. He stood up as soon as we entered the room, emanating relief.

"Let me help you with that tray," he entreated.

I passed it over with a raised eyebrow, and he made an unnecessarily complicated show of placing it on the table, moving to a different chair in the process. Very smooth.

"I was just telling Father here about my new philanthropic project," the satin-clad tentacle beast cooed.

"Yes, it's really very, you see she's-" started Dad.

"Thank you darling, yes, it's very important work, you see." She had one clasped to her chest and her eyes closed in an expression of great vehemence. "I'm taking the sexhibition to the local schools to show to the children." She opened her eyes and gazed at them beatifically. "It's just so important to me that underprivileged young people have the chance to really appreciate my work."

Wow.

The priest gave me another pleading look.

"That's very selfless of you," I managed to choke out, a hysterical giggle rising in my throat.

She tilted her head to one side, looking as though she was proud of me for understanding the magnitude of her sacrifice. "I know."

She continued her self-centred monologue as we sat down at the dining table in front of heaping plates of roast dinner. There was a brief lull as everyone tucked in.

"So dad, how have you been?" I asked through a mouthful of carrots.

"I-"

"He's taken up gardening, haven't you, darling?"

"Yes, I-"

"Terribly good at it, his raspberry canes are just fantastic this year."

Dad, bless him, just babbled nonsense for a moment until he gave up.

"It's a very spiritual act, gardening. Don't you agree, Father?" She was touching his bicep again, which was clearly making him very uncomfortable, but the position was making her trail her sleeve in the gravy, so it wasn't all bad news.

"Yes, it can be very meditative," he said, using his Priest Voice. "The act of nurturing life that way is quite beautiful."

He has one plant, a cactus in a flowerpot on his windowsill. It's dead.

"Now you simply must show me the photographs from Turkey."

Clearly angling to see pictures of the priest in his swimming trunks. Joke's on her, he spent the whole time slathered in sun lotion, hiding under a t-shirt and an oversized hat. That man does not tan well.

He brought up the photos on his phone, selfies the two of us outside the Hagia Sophia, one at a restaurant, one of me holding a plate of kebab meat as big as my head, one of him eating a piece of baklava in the least dignified way possible, and the jackpot, one of the two of us on the beach. He was wearing at least three layers of clothing (and still somehow managed to get sunburnt), and I looked fucking great, tanned and skinny in my swimming costume.

"Gosh, is that a bikini?" said my godmother. "Aren't you brave."

Aw.

Her capacity for saying something that sounds like a compliment but is actually spectacularly cruel will never cease to amaze me. All of the words individually are perfectly polite, but when you put them together you create a masterpiece in passive aggression.

Sometimes it takes me a couple of hours to work out that's she's insulted me. She should teach a class.

Not quite knowing how to respond, I looked at the priest, and tried not to pout.

He gave a sympathetic grimace and finished his mouthful of wine. "Not as brave as explaining erotic artwork to teenagers, I bet."

She looked devastated. Brilliant.

"Your sister's doing very well," said Dad, changing the subject. "You really should try asking her about your little café."

"Hey," I said, keen to cement my place as Best Daughter. "Claire has to live in Finland. I'm the successful one now."

"And so modest, too."

My godmother reached over to cup my face with one soft hand, leaving a trail of gravy on the tablecloth. "Well, you're got a lot to be modest about, don't you, darling."

"Thanks." I think?

"Weren't you going to expand your premises?" Dad pushes on. "She could help with your, er, your business, er, plan..." He waved a vague hand. "...thing."

The shop next to me is up for sale so I'm going to put an offer down and get a little more space, but I need to take out another business loan. It's fine, Claire's all over it.

"She's already helping me. I mentioned it to her and there was no stopping her after that."

Dad chuckled and topped up my glass. "Is there ever?"

I took a sip. "As long as she doesn't start suggesting some kind of Finnish-inspired pickled fish menu I'm all for it."

"Surely they don't actually eat that in Finland," interjected the priest.

"You think they're just trying to trick the tourists?"

"Must be, yeah."

"That way they can keep all the delicious reindeer meat to themselves."

"Bastards." He smiled at me and squeezed my knee under the table.

My godmother refused to allow us our peaceful moment of reindeer-nonsense, and broke in with her own opinions on the topic. "You know, I think the Scandinavians have a real appreciation for more unusual tastes. They're a very experimental people."

I raised an eyebrow.

"When we took the sexhibition to Sweden it was very well received."

There we go.

Several excruciating hours later, when I'd fully satisfied myself that my dad was alive and well, and meted out the appropriate amount of politeness to his wife to keep things smoothed over, I excused myself for a quick and restorative fag on the front porch. It didn't take long for Dad to join me. I handed him a cigarette and we smoked together in companionable silence. We have an understanding these days, a relationship lived through these quiet moments away from everything.

On my return inside, I could hear my godmother's strident tones through the wall. "Gosh, you are a saint to put up with her."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" said my priest slowly in his most dangerous tone, dripping with polite menace. Cold enough to give you frostbite.

I felt very loved.

"She's just a bit-"

She cut off her sentence abruptly when she noticed me standing behind her but didn't have the self-awareness necessary to look ashamed of herself. He was staring daggers at her, but stood when he saw me and came over to wrap me protectively in his arms.

"I'd really like to be heading off," he murmured, making an affectionate and rather pointed show of giving me a kiss.

"Would you look at the time?" I said theatrically to the room at large. "We'd better be going, we've got that thing."

"Fuck, yes, the thing. Very important thing." We're a flawless double-act.

With some stuttered pleasantries from dad and more air kisses from his wife, the ordeal was finally over. We walked down the road for ten minutes in meditative and rather shocked silence, enjoying the fresh air and taking the opportunity to process our trauma.

"Fuck," he said eventually, succinct as always.

"Quite."

"I mean, I've revised my stance in recent months on the merits of repressing your sexuality, but maybe it would be good if she could fucking repress hers a little more."

"There's definitely a middle ground between total celibacy and being a raging sex-dragon."

"I like to think I've struck the balance quite well."

"Was happy to help with that, by the way."

He drew his arm around me and I leaned my head on his chest. "I'd say you've been fucking instrumental."

"I really want to just go to a canyon somewhere and scream the word 'cunt' into the void for like an hour."

"Is there a canyon near here?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I might just have to scream into a pillow."

He stopped and drew me closer, stroking my head and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I think we can arrange that," he murmured.

#fleabag #my fics #fleabag/priest #fleabag x the priest #phoebe waller bridge #andrew scott #love is awful

[encyclopika]

Sneak peak of Missing Out Chap 4 - Home

Saw the work in progress Wednesday thing and...yeah, I owe a sneak peak. I haven’t been able to write for a while - a combination of computer issues and lack of inspiration has left me dry. Nevertheless, I got a whole scene done the other day. This isn’t all of it, and it’s probably not final, but you’ll just have to wait for the rest! Read Missing Out on AO3

***

There was that word again - “feral”. I've heard it all my life, here and there and more once I entered the underworld of villainy. It's a word to mean “person with an animal quirk”, and although it's not meant to be a slur, it kind of is. People let it slip from time to time. The human race has always craved an “other”. You would think with the advent of quirks that the uniqueness of every individual in the world would stop that bullshit, but you would be wrong.

Quirks are about as varied as there are people. Flight is boring as fuck compared to what some people have packing. Some people can make bubbles, others can summon camera lenses from their skin, some people can set themselves on fucking fire. And, hey, Ai could bring people back to life like they were never dead. But even with all of that crazy shit, there's just something about animal quirks that rubs people the wrong way. Something just clicks in people's heads that there is something fundamentally different about us. Something inhuman. And when you're not human, you don't get to pretend that you are one.

*

I left the scene of multiple crimes that night to follow the rest of my pay down the street. Flying all of a sudden became more of a pain than it usually was, and my side hurt like hell. I'd have to limit my time in the air. Landing on another roof closer to the murder warehouse, I listened for them.  

Now, I know what you're thinking – damn, Asuka is such a dumbass going after the guys that just beat the shit out of him. And, yeah, I was fifteen. Spare me the logic. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and I figured I had the upper hand now. The guys thought they left me crumpled in the alleyway; they wouldn't be expecting me at all, kinda like that bear trap dick. The darkness is my element and I work best in the cover of night when I can blend in. They'd never see me coming.

But listening for them was easier said than done. Between my side aching and the warehouse still spewing out the agony of death in all its putrid slender for my nose to catch, my other senses really weren't getting equal access to my brain. As I got closer, leaping to the next rooftop, my quirk took over, and I could tell multiple bodies were piled up in the murder house. It had to be, but at the time, my quirk wasn't developed enough yet to get an accurate count. That's actually a skill UA helped me to hone.

(A sidebar – when UA says it will nurture young heroes into capable pros, they really aren't kidding. Search and rescue drills are tweaked with my quirk in mind. They actually put dead rats - the kind you get to feed pet snakes or use for class dissection or what have you - into the dummies we have to find. My classmates get so pissed because I can do the entire operation more efficiently than any of them with my eyes closed. It doesn't help that I went into first year an empty husk of myself, but still tried my best to go through the motions and amount to something, anything at all. I came in with a prior knowledge of how villains worked and how to fight, even if it was dirty, and ended up breezing through most classes with a look of boredom. I guess after a while they just chalked me up to being the “silent but still a douchebag” type. When I woke up in second year, they had already determined I wasn't a class friend, but the class rival. It was like junior high all over again. God, I can't wait to just graduate and never see those fuckers again.

Anyway! Back on topic...)

I wasn't concerned with the warehouse, though my curiosity was growing. When I finally spotted my prey, they had stopped to rest and count their earnings under a security light in an alleyway right next to that warehouse. Giggling to each other about how they easily duped me, they leafed through the cash and determined the prices they could bargain for the parts they stole. You know, under my watchful eye. The alley they sat in meandered through to the next street, which meant they had two avenues of escape if I were to jump them. There were also two of them, and I could still feel one their fists in my stomach. Swooping down behind the entrance wall, I watched them and planned my course of attack.

I'm a quick fighter – if I can knock out an opponent, then I will opt for that over a drawn out scuffle. I can be as muscular as I want but that won't ever save for the fact I have hollow bones and weigh a lot less than you can imagine. The club of bone at the wrist of each wing is my best weapon, so the plan was to smack that shaved head as hard as I could with one, steal the money in his hand, and fly away from the cyclops with haste.

However, before I could work up the nerve to actually do that, a fog bank rolled in from the opposite street. The thick mist flooded the alleyway and covered my enemies, reducing them to silhouettes under the bright security light. Out of no where, a third shadow appeared. In the next instance, he moved in, his hand clutching a blade that was followed by a waterfall of blood from the neck of the taller cyclops. The cyclops gurgled, his hands going to clutch his neck as he crumpled, leaving the guy with the shaved head to suffer the same fate. The ghostly apparition seemed to teleport in front of him, another cascade of blood following a lightning fast movement across the neck. The body fell, and that was the end of them.

In the next blink of an eye, I was staring down into Karma's serious face, his eyes wide with adrenaline, but his mouth in a thin, diagonal line of frustration. Oh, and his knife was a centimeter from my jugular.

“Birdy, birdy, I almost killed you!” he said with that sing-song in his voice, even though he seemed mad and still hadn't dropped the knife. “What are you doing here? Over here?”

I pushed his arm down, lowering his weapon as I answered, “Those were my targets. They didn't pay me-”

“Oh!” Karma cut me off. “Snooze you lose, I guess.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, it really doesn't matter. They have cash on them. You can have it.”

“You bet your ass I can have it! I'm takin' it! Not for birds, anymore,” he said, whipping his knife so the blood splattered against the brick wall to my right. He sheathed it in its holder, and I could hear it sharpen as it slid in. “Now, gotta find a nice dumpster to hold the funerals.”

Karma's fog bank still hadn't cleared, although it became thinner now that the attack was over. He kept the air space over our heads thick, shielding our identities from the security camera that hung off one of the roofs. He was very in tune with his hunting grounds – he knew where every security camera was and knew the layout of the downtown area better than most people knew their ass from their elbow. His methods were known throughout the underworld. Most villains didn't make it out of his killing sprees, and so his reputation was built up like a legend. No one had ever seen him, but the results of his punishments were sometimes left in conspicuous places, and so the legend propagated. It felt like I was the only one in the world who knew Karma was just a crazy dude and not, like, a creature from another world. The first time I saw him cut someone down, it had been after a job just like this one. Karma had been hunting my customer for a long time, and decided he didn't want to cut me down, too. Instead, he explained himself, got me to cough up the details of my situation, and I guess he took pity on me. He said he wasn't a fan of killing kids, and so said he'd help me. And here we are.

“You might not have to,” I said as I approached him. He had knelt down to claim the couple hundred thousand yen my customer had just been counting some five minutes ago and stuffed it into the ratty pockets of his well-worn purple-striped pants. “Another villain was also on a murder spree tonight.”

Karma paused for a moment before asking, “How do you know that, Bird?”

“Kicked his ass about a half hour ago...he was chasing some kids down the block,” I explained, but Karma only studied me more. I sighed, trying to cover for myself. “You don't smell that? They came out of this building right here.”

I pointed up to the warehouse in front of us. It was getting hard to ignore the strong signal of death that wafted over me as thickly and ominously as Karma's mist, beckoning me towards the single metal door off to the side. A shiver ran down my spine, the feathers there standing on end. I didn't know for sure if it was safe, but if Karma was going to follow me, I figured we could take whoever was down there if it came to it. I really couldn't stop myself from investigating, the curiosity pushing me further down the alleyway to that door. I needed to know what happened; the thought that I could be next was a subconscious feeling that planted itself in my mind and refused to leave.

The metal door was unlocked and opened with a whine as I pulled it open, revealing a set of stairs that descended into a very dark basement. There was a dim light on somewhere down there, but otherwise, it set the perfect mood for a horror movie. The urban tomb was open now, and its contents sent a very strong message to my quirk that felt like someone stuck a flamethrower up my nose. I almost smacked myself with how quickly my hand raced to close my nostrils.

“It doesn't smell that bad,” Karma murmured as he dragged the bloodied body of the guy with the shaved head past me and sent it rolling down the cement stairs into the basement. “Then again...then again, maybe I'm just used to it.”

#my hero academia oc #oc: krow #my hero academia fanfiction #villain to hero #hero origin story #murder #sneak peaks #Missing Out #encyclopika art

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 18 - Danger Signs

I walked through Union. I smiled to myself as I decided to stop at a gazebo. My hair flitted through the breeze, softly brushing against my face. The later day warmth and breezes always feel the best. I rested against the railing of the small structure, enjoying myself. I had taken to walking around the town lately, it's been helping my usual upset stomach. I've been experiencing even more cramps and pain in my stomach since I've made a home here.

I've been living in Union for several months now. Maybe even half a year. I had never been happier, and never before did I think I could feel like the way I do now. I had a stable job as a florist and as a painter. I was able to tend a wonderful garden of various flowers. I could paint and spend the day putting together bouquets of my favorite flowers all together.

I felt the world rumble underneath my feet. The wood of the platform I was on shifted and creaked as everything began to move. I shifted, grabbing onto a post to catch myself.

I glanced down at a small stream of water as large ripples bounce across the surface. That's odd. I thought to myself. I don't remember ever experiencing a full earthquake here before. These have been going on all day...

I hummed quietly to myself, turning to walk away from the gazebo. I sighed, wondering what was on the agenda for the rest of today.

I glanced to the side, following a small line of trees and potted plants with my eyes. Another rumble met me as I put my foot down while walking. I almost lost my footing, stumbling as something happened, a few of the pots falling over.

I stood back up silently, looking around. No one else was usually here during the day, since I was able to set my own hours. Another rumble and shaking of the ground rocked through my body. I stayed there, unmoving as the aftershocks - or so I thought - continued shifting through my body.

There had been some odd tremors all day, but this was the worst. I shook of my own accord, beginning to feel frightened. These were worse than what had happened earlier today.

Once it seemed the earthquake had subsided, I stood. I swallowed, my mind swimming and some more nausea flowing through me. I leaned over and vomited, unable to do much more as I tried to stand my ground. I breathed roughly once I caught my breath, and looked at my surroundings.

Cracks and fissures were beginning to form across the ground. The paved roads were cracking and looked off for some reason. I furrowed my brow as I watched.

I pulled out my phone and opened it. I dialed the city hall emergency number as another crack formed as a smaller aftershock began again.

"Hello, city hall, how may I help you?" A voice picked up.

"Hi, I'm Rose Olian. I'm at the gazebo by the park, and there are some big earthquakes and there are cracks beginning to appear here."

"We've been hearing about that for the past few minutes. Are you somewhere you can get safe?"

"I'm a little out in the open, but I can certainly try to make my way somewhere else."

"At the moment, all we can recommend is to move towards town. Perhaps go to city hall if you can make it, if not try heading for the visitor's center. We aren't currently sure when this will pass."

"Okay, thank you so much."

Another shaking struck my area, almost knocking me down. I shuddered, beginning to feel a sense of pure fear take over me. I held my stomach, trying to quell my nausea. I need to make my way into town, I can't be sick out in the open again.

I swallowed and stood up. I shivered, feeling something cold surrounding me. I stood, looking around, staring at the area. It had just been midday, and it looked like the sun was rapidly setting over the horizon. I could still see the light of the sun, but the blue sky was shifting to black, no colors in between.

I could almost feel as something changed inside of me. Briefly, I realized I couldn't remember my name. It came back to me after a moment, Rose Olian. My memories began playing rapidly in my head, playing on repeat over and over again.

"My... My head--" I reached a hand to grip my head by my hands, crying out in pain.

Before I could recollect my surroundings, I was slammed to the ground, shoving me face first into the dirt. Something had tackled me and began hitting me. I kicked violently, hearing gunshots as something sliced deep into my side. I began screaming as pain seeped into my bones.

After a moment, something collapsed onto me as I continued to struggle. I felt something grab my wrist, sliding me out from under the dead weight. I stared as I was pulled away from a deformed dead body. I gasped aloud, seeing my own blood spattered across the pavement, lungs and throat hurting as I breathed heavily.

"It's okay, miss! I've got you!"

I turned over, seeing one of the city workers holding onto my arm. "You... You killed them..."

"They're lost, they're a thing now. You need to come with me, right fucking now."

I could feel the blood of the humanoid creature cooling rapidly on my skin. My own hot blood dripping down my left side where it had torn me almost open. It all had happened so fast, and I stood up as the city worker pulled on my arm roughly.

The darkness surrounded us almost instantly, the sun disappearing behind the horizon in the few seconds it had taken that monster to attack me. I held my right hand to my side, the worker yanking violently on my arm and pulling me along with him. The pain surged through my body, my sundress completely tattered around my back and soaking up my blood. He pulled me along as another earthquake rocked the ground we ran along.

I continued to stumble as he held me by his side. Every once in a while one of those things ran at us, or tried to grab one of us. When we saw a monster, he shot at it quickly, knocking the creature that used to be a human down or killing it.

My shock began to disappear as we found our way into town. He pulled me into a building, and I found myself stumbling across the threshold of the visitor's center. Some people glanced up as we made our way in. The worker finally released my wrist and turned me over to some other city workers that were in the main room. They grabbed onto my shoulders, yelling something about a first-aid kit and bandages.

"I'm going back out. I'll grab something a little stronger. We need to meet forward." My escort told the workers.

I could briefly hear them discussing something as I was ushered through a door and down a cement staircase. I didn't know there were underground areas in this city, but I guess now it makes a little more sense. For storage, at least, it does make a little sense. I breathed heavily, my legs beginning to fail me now that I was somewhere safe. My adrenaline began to fade and exhaustion began taking me.

"Can someone come help me? Please?" called out the worker that guided me by the shoulders.

I barely could see some familiar faces that turned towards us as we entered a cold basement. They didn't move, terrified eyes pointed towards me as they had called out. I could only imagine how I looked, torn dress and bloodied torso.

I stumbled forward, almost slipping out of the grasp of the worker. After a moment I was guided to sit down on the floor, head lulling forward, my stomach twisting as the stench of blood permeated my surroundings. I heard clicking footsteps, almost delicate coming closer.

"Here," said a male voice that approached my sitting form. "Allow me to help..."

Firm hands grasped my shoulders, someone sitting in front of me, holding me up. I could barely see anything as I blinked away the tiredness. I felt my body trembling, barely registering a purple suited man sitting in front of me.

"Thank you, just keep her sitting up." said the worker as they began putting gauze around my wounds.

"It seems she is about to fall asleep." A hand held my head up from my torso after it fell forward, allowing me to breathe again. "It is okay, miss. I am here."

I felt myself slipping away, the dark environment finally taking me. Oddly, I felt comforted by this man's voice. He sounded familiar, gentle, and almost kind. He was wearing cologne that was combating the scent of the blood around me.

I thought I could feel him leaning forward to me, hot air brushing against my ear. I could almost feel him tucking my hair back as my head was held aloft.

"I am here for you, it is okay..." whispered a breathless voice. "I won't let go of you again."

-

I awoke with a start. I initially tried to sit up, but a searing pain in my side kept me from doing so. I carefully leveraged myself, pulling myself up with the back of the couch.

Wait, couch? I glanced over, seeing a dark room surrounding me. However, there was an odd ring of light around the couch, illuminating me. I was covered by an almost velvet red fabric, heavy and weighing me down. I was on a couch, red leather cushioning me where I lay.

I put a hand to my head. Where had everyone gone? Where was I?

I held myself up, holding the heavy fabric against myself. I couldn't move, couldn't do much as I lay against the couch.

I looked over myself for a moment. I was still wearing my blood-soaked and tattered dress. My chest was bound, and I could feel pressure of something pressing against my left side. Whoever brought me here at least had the decency to leave me in my clothes, but cover me with this large thing of fabric. I swallowed, thinking of that man who had spoken to me before I fell asleep.

How long was I passed out? I looked around myself again, only to be greeted with the darkness still permeating me.

Ugh, I do not feel well. I placed a hand to my temple, shaking my head for a moment. What happened? What happened to Union? What... What's happened to me?

"Ah, you are awake!"

An excited voice caught my attention. I turned and looked as someone emerged from the shadows. A man stepped towards me, and for a moment I felt panicked and terrified.

He was dressed in an elegant purple suit with a red scarf and similar red gloves. He had a camera and a knife in his hands, raised slightly above his head as though to give off a sense of glory. A smile was portrayed proudly on his face. He had bangs that covered his eye, smooth hair and the rest combed back away from his face.

"Mm, my dear, you don't need to look so frightened, but I guess it's possible it's been too long."

He chuckled lowly, spinning in place as though to show himself off. He turned one heel over the other in his expensive-looking loafers as he spun slowly. He laughed some more as I watched him.

"Mi amore," he said as a foreign language filled my ears. "Are you not happy to see me?"

He moved closer to me, and I stayed silent. I swallowed, shuddering as he reached for me. I avoided his gaze, but I could see his never ending smile beginning to falter and slip into a frown.

"Rose...?"

I glanced at him as he spoke my name. "S-sorry, I'm just... I think I'm confused."

He leaned towards me, and his leather-clad hand caught my chin. An odd look of concern crossed his face. I could smell the same cologne from before, from the visitor's center, wafting over me as he moved.

I recoiled as he placed his lips to my forehead. I gasped out as pain shot through my abdomen. His eye fell despondent as it looked me over, making me hold the red velvet fabric closer.

After a few moments, he reached for me, making me back away further. I couldn't get anywhere as I was still stuck on the couch, so I cowered in terror as his hand reached me. A single finger traced along my jaw, slipping to be the back of his knuckles down my neck. I shuddered and turned away from him. The faintly touching hand slipped over my shoulder and grasped my arm, pulling it towards him. His hand gently closed around mine, holding it tightly, as though caging me to him.

"My muse, please tell me, of all things that you did not forget me."

I blinked up at the man, seeing his face unmoving, almost unfeeling, as he watched me.

"I... I don't know who you are."

#Stefano Valentini #The Evil Within 2 #tew #tew2 #tew2 stefano #stefano valentini fanfiction #the evil within stefano #stefano #His Bloody Rose #Chapter 18 #Danger Signs

[pastelwitchling]

Malex one-shot Angst/Fluff Prompt List #9 (Prompt #14)

14. “I’m screwed.”

***

               Michael stretched in his sleep, and felt his arm hit something warm. He peeked an eye open, and found Alex lying on his side, naked and sound asleep. He smiled, and leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on the private’s shoulder, then his arm before lying back down. He had his arms folded on his stomach, the bed was warm, sunlight seeping in through the gap in the curtains, but he found himself unwilling to go back to sleep.

               Alex usually had his brows furrowed like he was constantly remembering something miserable, his shoulders straight as if he thought he was supposed to formally address everyone, his lips set in a straight line as if he didn’t think he was allowed to smile. But now, he looked at peace. Michael softly grazed his cheek with his fingers, the corners of his lips tugging upwards at the warmth in them.

               He ran his hand down Alex’s arm, his back, shivering at the soft skin. He moved closer to Alex, and kissed down his arm, then his chest. He nuzzled against Alex’s stomach, his hands reaching up to feel Alex’s shoulder blades, his spine, his waist.

               He came back up to kiss Alex’s lips, and rested their foreheads together, listening to the quiet sound of Alex’s steady breathing.

               “I’m screwed, aren’t I?” Michael whispered, and lazily kissed Alex’s lips again.

               He felt hands come up his arms and settle on his shoulders, gently pushing him away. Alex whined groggily. “Stop, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

               “I don’t care,” Michael muttered against his lips, and held Alex’s face in place as he deepened the kiss.

               Alex moaned seemingly despite himself, and Michael took the opportunity to move them around so that he was hovering over Alex, in between his legs.

               He leaned down, grinding his cock into Alex’s, their chests pressed together. The two moaned, and Alex’s hands went from Michael’s shoulders to his waist as he pulled him further down.

               “A-Ah,” Michael moaned, and grinded into Alex again, his eyes closed. “Y-You feel so…”

               Good, incredible, phenomenal… there were no words good enough to describe Alex, Michael realized. Nothing to describe the electric shock that went through his body at a single touch of Alex’s fingers, the way his heart raced whenever Alex’s eyes caught his, when Alex kissed him, held him, touched him.

               He caught Alex’s lips in an open mouth kiss, Alex’s hands going from his waist, to his back, to his chest. His fingers ran through Michael’s chest hair, rubbing his nipples, and Michael groaned into his mouth. He pulled back, panting, and moved further down. He pressed his stomach into Alex’s already hardened cock, and sucked his nipples, roughly biting the skin, leaving Alex writhing beneath him.

               “Guerin,” Alex breathed, his hands in Michael’s hair. “Kiss me.”

               Michael looked up. Alex’s eyes were pleading, begging him to get closer, and with a whispered curse, he moved back up and roughly captured Alex’s lips, the two fitting together perfectly as their hard cocks grinded against one another.

               Michael spread Alex’s legs further apart, his thrusts becoming frantic as he pressed harder and harder into Alex. Alex came a split second before Michael did, but Michael didn’t stop thrusting until the oversensitivity became too much to bear, and he fell on his back beside Alex. The trailer was quiet save for their panting, and Michael looked over at Alex, his chest falling and rising with every breath, his eyes filled with golden specks as they reflected the sunlight, the dark blush on his cheeks and nose a stark contrast against the bland color of the sheets – like he was some kind of ruby on the cement, making everything beautiful just by existing in that space.

               “Yep,” Michael muttered to himself, his eyes on Alex. “Totally screwed.”

               “What?” Alex looked over at him.

               Michael smiled and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” And Michael thought it really, honestly didn’t.

***

The prompt is courtesy of @hellsdemonictrinity.

#malex #alex manes #michael guerin #one-shot #fanfic #fanfiction #malex one-shot #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #angst #fluff #malex angst #malex fluff #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis #writing #writer #storyteller #gay #love

[kitandkanoodle]

let’s hear it for the boy

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @starments​, you beautiful land mermaid. you asked for starmora smut over a month ago, and instead, i come to you, hat in hand, with over 8,000 words of a weird character study.

and also smut.

OR, how peter quill and gamora learned about peter's praise kink: a tale in five parts

read it on AO3!

i.

Peter doesn’t hear praise very often.

When he was younger, his primary motivation was to not get his ass beat, to not get screamed at or walloped for his mistakes.  And considering the Ravagers were a bunch of pricks, kind, complimentary words were rarely tossed his way.

And because of his upbringing, he learned to keep secrets, learned to lie, and most important of all, he learned how not to fuck up.  He adhered to a strict code of fake it till you make it.  Act tough, stand tall, smile in the face of danger, and the assholes trying to scare you off might think twice.  These days, he’s grown into his role, and when he cracks a joke, when he stands with his hands on his hips so his guns are only a twitch away, folks tend to take him seriously.

So he doesn’t lack for confidence.  He’s been accused on more than one occasion of having an over-inflated sense of self-worth, of being far too arrogant.  And, if he’s honest, that’s true, sometimes.

And he doesn’t lack for a kindness, in general.  The Guardians mean well, but they aren’t exactly a vocal bunch – save for Drax, who tended to overshare, and Mantis, whose filter was underdeveloped.  In general, he’s learned to read more closely into their actions, has learned that their little gestures carry far more weight than what they say.  

So it’s fine.  It’s cool.  He’s had thirty years to make do.  

It’s fine.

ii.

Gamora flips him to the mat for the fourth time today.

He groans with frustration, dragging a hand down his face as he rolls back to his feet.  He falls back into his ready position, fists up and dominant side tilted away from her – a boxer’s stance.

“I’ve definitely got it this time,” he says.

Gamora gaze travels him from head to toe – and he’s gotten used to that sort of scrutiny.  She’s studying him, making sure he’s physically and mentally well enough for another round.  She’s learned his measure, he thinks.  She knows when to force a break if he’s wearing himself out or if his frustration is making him too sloppy.  

But apparently Gamora seems satisfied with what she sees, and she nods.  She falls into her own defensive stance, all practiced, deadly elegance.  She only offers a curt nod as a signal to begin.

(For a second, Peter is, like, weirdly turned on.  He wonders if there’s any chance they can have a bit of fun, later in their sparring session.)

Peter makes the first move, as he usually does, and Gamora defends, effortlessly dodging each punch and kick.  More than once, when he laid breathless on the mat, he had told her how much it felt like a dance, in a way.  Her agility and grace.  The back and forth, the way they moved in tandem to some private rhythm.  She never said much whenever he offered up the comparisons, but her small, gentle smile told him she hardly minded them.

And it always happens like this: at some point, Gamora takes off the kid gloves and moves into his space.  He can never quite figure out when she decides to take the offensive – sometimes it’s after only a couple of seconds into the fight, sometimes it’s long enough for Peter to wonder if he’s working himself into some sort of advantage.  But there she goes, snapping into attack mode, and it’s all Peter can do to block and twist and dodge out of the way of her strikes.

One of her hands latches around Peter’s wrist before he can slip away, the other grabs hold of his collar, and she steps into his space, one foot planted between both of his.  Gamora whirls, throwing him off-balance, and—

Yep.  There he goes again, launched over Gamora’s shoulder.

But something clicks this time, and once she releases him, he twists his body.  Rather than landing flat on his back as he had almost every other time, he manages to turn himself to land on his feet.   Momentum sends him skidding along the mats, but he digs in one heel to slow himself.  When he finally comes to a stop, half-crouched and both arms thrown out to maintain his balance, he barks out a laugh.

“Holy shit,” he says, relief and pride making his voice bright.  “I fucking did it.”

Peter looks up to Gamora, a slightly dazed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he’s surprised to see her wearing a similar expression.  She approaches, offering him a hand up.  

She says, “Well done.”

... which, like, almost never happens.

... and frankly, it’s kind of stupid how much those two words startle him.  Gamora tended to be stingy with her praise, and for good reason. An actual, genuine compliment from her is a shock, to the say the least.  His face feels warm, his chest tightens, and he clears his throat a little awkwardly.  When he hauls himself up with Gamora’s help, he keeps his head ducked.

“Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “it only took me fifty tries to get it right.”

She looks at him funny, after that, but he can’t tell what that look means.  

iii.

The Guardians of the Galaxy and decorum mix about as well as fire and water, but somehow, they still find themselves roped into attending a gala.  The cover story is that the host, Varakai M’ral, had invited the Guardians to his birthday celebration as novelties, like they were some sort of living, breathing conversation starter.  The reality is that they’re supposed to be playing security, their weapons tucked away beneath finery, after M’ral received more than a few worrying death threats.

“I hate dressing up,” Peter had told Gamora back at the ship.  “It makes me feel all weird and stuffy and fake.  Like, should I talk about important junk, like the economic crisis on Ecliptis, or the recent embargos instated on Redoxian?”

“Do you know anything about either of those things?” she had asked skeptically.

“God, no.”

Like the other Guardians, wearing expensive clothing and mingling with the rich and famous was hardly Gamora’s idea of a good time, rife as these occasions were with arrogance and elitism.  She was forced to attend a few events like this, generally as some representative on Thanos’ behalf to cement some alliance or other, or in order to track a mark, but she was careful not to reveal her discomfort.

In the gala proper, Gamora scans the crowd with a critical eye, but her face is a cool mask – a skill she learned to cultivate in her lifetime as an assassin.  She taps into that knowledge now, trying to discern any questionable activity, trying to identify any guests who appear more nervous than they should.  

So far, the only questionable activity she has noticed is Peter, who stands beside her, adjusting his jacket for what appears to be the twentieth time.  Oddly out of character for him, considering had made a life on lying; out of all of them, Peter was the best at acting natural, at lying through a smile.

She watches him more carefully, this time, and she notices the way he runs a hand along his jacket’s front, focusing on where Gamora knows the inside pockets are sewn.  His blasters are back on the ship.  They had been told to arrive with no visible weaponry to allay suspicion, and Peter was forced to satisfy himself with only a few of his smaller gadgets.  As they departed for the party, Peter had been reluctant to leave his guns behind.

“Stop fidgeting,” Gamora murmurs, pressing a hand to his upper arm.   As an afterthought, to help cement their cover, she adds, “You look fine.”

(He does look good in that tailored suit, she thinks.  She hasn’t told him as much, though; large as his ego is, he hardly needs the praise.

Peter had been far more effusive of his praise of her attire – more specifically, he had gawked and croaked, “Holy fucking shit.”

And later, when he found his voice again, he had asked, “Why can’t we just have our own private party?”

At the time, she had shaken her head, had let out a practiced sigh.   But as she passed by him to exit their shared room, she had flashed him a small, knowing smile that promised, Later.)

Peter cuts her a slightly skeptical look, but he exhales through his lips, forcing the tension from his body.  “I’m not fidgeting,” he murmurs back.

“Yes, you are,” Gamora says, and she pauses to lift two flutes of sparkling wine from the tray of a passing waiter.  She hands the extra to Peter and brings her own glass up to conceal her lips when she says, “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he replies.  Peter gulps down a mouthful from his glass.  She looks at him askance, quirking one of her silver eyebrows at him as if to ask, Are you sure?

“You keep adjusting your jacket,” she says softly.  She delicately tips the glass against her lips, mimicking the motion of drinking without actually imbibing anything.  “You keep checking your weapons.”

Peter wrinkles his nose, gritting his teeth, before he tries for an air of nonchalance once again.  “I’m just feeling out of my element, is all.”

Gamora watches him from the corner of her eye, most of her attention aimed toward the rest of the ballroom.  She tells him, “We’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you’ll be fine,” he grumbles, though he’s careful to leave a bright lilt in his voice to convey he’s being facetious.  It’s a tone he adopts often, Gamora’s noticed; it’s an attempt to conceal half-truths behind sarcasm.  Anyone else might think it a joke, but Gamora knows better by now.  “I would feel a whole lot better if I had a gun.”

She pauses before turning toward him, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together.  “You don’t need a gun.”

“Well, not now, obviously, but if shit goes south—”

“That’s what I mean,” she says patiently.  “You don’t need a gun.”

Peter snorts out a laugh, and Gamora can practically see the gears turning in his head as he works to churn out some attempt at a joke.   Before he can make light of his self-deprecation, she cuts him a sharp look, and he thankfully takes that as a sign to swallow down his words.

Peter Quill is an odd man.  It was an opinion, at first, when they were forced to share space on the Milano, traveling to meet with the Collector on Knowhere.  Now, after months and months of spending time together, and even now that they were “an item,” as Peter liked to put it, Gamora has learned that her opinion was not an opinion at all.  It is a cold hard fact.

Peter Quill is odd.

He is a man of contradictions.  He understands the value of teamwork, but he so rarely asks for help.  He is terribly irresponsible, yet in the heat of battle, his focus and determination has guided the Guardians out of the jaws of defeat more than a few times.  He’s confident to the point of arrogance, and yet there are moments like these, when that tiny bit of self-doubt shines through like a beacon.

“You are more capable than you give yourself credit for, Peter,” she says, still patient but not unkind.  “Trust yourself more.”

Peter turns toward her.  She sees the confusion on his face, mixed with genuine suspicion – like he suspects this might be a joke at his expense, or like he expects her to temper the compliment with some caveat or qualifier.  On another day, Gamora might have done just that – there are absolutely instances where his pride could stand a bit of whittling – but not right now.  Not when she can see how exposed and vulnerable he already feels.

“We’ll be fine,” she repeats.  She reaches up, the backs of her knuckles briefly running along the line of his jaw, feather-light, and she’s slightly gratified when she sees the way his eyes ever so slightly dilate.  “You will be fine.”

Peter swallows down his disagreements, and Gamora is grateful that he takes her seriously, that he doesn’t try to disparage her sincerity with an ill-timed joke.  She sees the way he struggles for a response, but at length, he only manages to nod.  When she smiles in approval, trails her fingertips down the side of his neck, she sees the way his breath hitches, ever so slightly.

They heave out identical sighs when the skylight above the dance floor shatters, and four men rappel down into the ballroom, demanding compliance.

“Back to work,” Peter grumbles, reaching into his jacket.

iv.

“This was supposed to be our day off,” Peter grits out for the fifth time.  His voice sounds harsh and loud within the confines of his mask. He flinches when a plasma blast slams against his cover, his arm flying up to shield his face from the splinters of wood that fly past.

“You keep saying that.”  Gamora grunts in frustration, popping out of her own cover to return fire.  Circumstances being what they are, she’s borrowing one of his blasters.  He hears the distant thump of a body hitting the floor before she ducks back down.  “They aren’t going to stop trying to kill us just because you say it enough times.”

Peter scowls to himself, waiting for his blaster to cool.  This was supposed to be a date, he repeats silently, because he knows if he says it aloud – again – Gamora will probably kick him.  It was supposed to feel normal.  He was supposed to get her flowers and pay for a fancy meal with fancy wine and a fancy dessert.  With all the steps they’ve been taking with each other, with all the progress they’ve made together, with how much they actually literally love each other (and will the thought of that ever stop making his heart skip a beat?), they’ve never had a chance to just be a couple.  Today, apparently, still isn’t that day.

The Guardians of the Galaxy are starting to make a name for themselves, which is both gratifying and daunting.  Nice, because it means they’re getting more steady work.  Crappy, because Peter isn’t sure they’ll ever be able to live up to their auspicious name.  These days, they aren’t accused of being thugs, of being wolves in sheep’s clothing, and there’s a growing contingent of folks who are starting to see them as honest-to-god good guys.

But there are also those who see them as threats.

The Guardians of the Galaxy are also victims of circumstance and coincidence.  They never sought each other out, and definitely never sought out to be heroes, but life had still shrugged and said to itself, “Hey, let’s see where this goes.”  And today, life had thrown them in the path of a Sovereign envoy which was apparently slumming it away from their home planet.

So they can add inciting a political incident to today’s rap list, Peter guesses.

One of the Sovereign guards blasts another chunk out of Peter’s cover – little more than an overturned table that was proving to be surprisingly sturdy, all things considered – and Peter can feel the heat of the plasma as it flies past.  He curses under his breath.   Thankfully, most of the other customers and wait staff had vacated the place when shots started firing, which leaves Peter and Gamora with about eight assholes with giant chips in their shoulders.  

“This isn’t working,” Gamora barks.  Her own cover is being similarly whittled down, and she growls as she’s forced to shift to one side.

“I can kinda see that, yeah,” Peter shouts back.  He peers out from behind his table and shoots a guard down.  Seven assholes left.

He casts around the room, to the scattered and shattered dishware, to the overturned furniture.  There’s not a whole lot to work with, he thinks, unless he wants to treat the Sovereign to a meal of steaks and salads recovered from the floor.  This was a nice place before the Sovereign wrecked it.  The owner was something of a Guardians of the Galaxy fanboy, who liked to give them discounts whenever they came by – which was nice, because the place was fancy as hell, was decorated like it was something straight out of a James Bond movie, and was almost certainly out of their usual price range.  After this, they can probably kiss those discounts goodbye.

He groans, irritated by the lack of anything useful, throwing his head back to sigh at the ceiling.

... which is when he catches sight of the giant chandelier, hovering, white and bright and resplendent, right over their assailants.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says, and he digs through his pockets, tossing his second gun to Gamora.  “Cover me.”

Gamora follows his gaze up to the ceiling, apparently catching his intention, but the puzzled look she cuts him tells him she has no idea how he intends to get from point A to point B.  And in fairness to her, he’s not entirely sure how he plans on pulling this off.  Peter’s just sort of winging it, but, well, when doesn’t he?

He finds what he’s looking for – two of his gravity mines, tucked away in his jacket.  (He’s gotten into the habit of keeping his gadgets on him, which is potentially dangerous for him if they accidentally discharged, but whatever.)  He pries off one of the back panels, concentrating on his work.  He listens to Gamora return fire on the Sovereign, listens to her curse, listens to the remaining Sovereign guards’ calls to accept defeat and surrender.

“Your deaths will be quick and painless,” one of them promises, which is the complete opposite of persuasive.  

“Peter,” Gamora calls in warning.  “Hurry.”

“I’m trying—”

He snaps the panel shut, switching to the second gravity mine.  It goes faster this time, now that he has a reasonable idea of what he’s doing.

“Peter.”

Gamora cries out in surprise when a blast flies past her cheek, though she twists out of the way.  She ducks back down behind cover to regroup.

He slams the panel shut on the gravity mine.  God, he hopes this will work.  He quickly gestures for Gamora to return his guns, which she does without hesitation, and he snaps the gravity mines to the lower barrels of his blasters.

“Surrender, Guardians!” one of the Sovereign shout.  “We will not be merciful much long—”

Peter pops up out of cover, aiming his guns at the ceiling.  He fires off both mines, and when they latch into the ceiling, they belch out a bluish pulse.  The chandelier judders as Peter ducks back behind the broken tables, and Gamora, yanks him toward her, folding over him to protect him with her body.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, and Peter wonders if his plan backfired.  Fuck, that’s embarrassing.  One of the Sovereign barks out a laugh, but he’s drowned out by cries of alarm, and—

The squelch of the Sovereign’s bodies is drowned out by the cacophony of the chandelier shattering.  The floor shudders with the impact, and bent metal and broken glass slam against their cover.  Quiet settles over the room, save for the clink of glass and whine of metal scattering across cracked tile.  They wait for a handful of heartbeats before Gamora finally loosens her hold.  They slowly stand.  Peter feels slightly unsteady, thanks to the burst of adrenaline that had hit him, and they survey the carnage.

... admittedly, it’s not pretty.

Peter lets out a relieved breath, turning to Gamora.  She received more than a few cuts, scrapes, and burns on her bare arms, and he winces a little, reaching for her.  When she notices his concern, she shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, catching his hand.  “It’s superficial damage.  It will heal.”

She turns back to the fallen chandelier, her hand still curled around his.

“You reversed the polarity on your mines?” she asks.

“Yeah.”  His gaze flicks up to the mines still stuck to the ceiling. He’s... probably not getting those back, now that he’s thinking about it, but it was worth the sacrifice of two mines to not be dead.

Gamora is quiet for a second, but at length, she squeezes his hand.  

“That was a good idea,” she says, the words deliberate and slow, like she’s a jeweler, carefully selecting precious gems.

Slowly, Peter turns to stare at her, stunned.  Heat rushes up his neck, and his mind goes blank.  Somehow, though, after a few heartbeats, he manages to croak out a dazed, “Thanks.”

Apparently that was the magic word, because Gamora turns to him, wearing that soft almost-smile that she seems to reserve just for him.   She curls one hand around the lapel of his jacket, and after a gentle tug, he leans down far enough for Gamora to press a kiss to the brow of his mask.

v.

The job was terrible.  There’s little to temper that fact.

Everything that could have gone wrong did.  They had received a dossier on the assignment, but it might as well have been about another job entirely for as accurate as the information was.  They faced far more resistance than they expected; the layout of the compound was nothing like the building plans they had been provided; and the mercenaries had been far more skilled than the ragtag band of bullies the Guardians had been told to expect.

There were too many all at once; too many variables to balance.   While the Guardians generally made their livelihoods on improvisation, they reached a point in today’s assignment where the risk was far greater than any possible reward.

It’s why Peter had called an end to it only a third of the way into their planned assault.  He signaled the retreat, and while there was a bit of pushback from the more bloodthirsty of the Guardians, they eventually relented and escaped back to the ship.  For their efforts, Drax received a few ugly burns; Rocket had twisted his ankle; and Mantis was sporting an ugly bruise along her temple and had to be carried back to the ship.

Afterward, Gamora and Peter returned to their client, though Peter had done most of the talking – or, more accurately, he had received a large portion of their client’s displeasure.  Their client, Marnnel Parloy, made their vast disappointment all too clear as they screamed at Peter, who had weathered it with a surprising amount of patience.   Parloy berated the Guardians, had accused them of incompetence and weakness, and Gamora had gritted her teeth, hands clenching into fists. Peter was doing much the same, though when she searched his face, she was surprised to find something akin to guilt in his eyes.

Parloy had leaned in, their face mere centimeters from Peter’s, had shouted, “I should have known you would fail.  What else could I expect from a team of thugs led by an idiotic, primitive Terran—”

And Gamora had heard enough.  She snatched up Parloy’s wrist and spun them to slam them face first into their desk.  She twisted their arm up behind their back, grabbing hold of the back of their head to press their cheek firmly into the desktop.

“You do not speak to him like that,” she had snarled.

In the end, Parloy only gave them half their payment – largely in deference to the rage in Gamora’s eyes – and she and Peter returned to the ship in absolute silence.  

And here they are now, moving through the quiet corridors of the Quadrant.  Peter trails after Gamora, and she still feels her blood boiling at the way Parloy had treated them.  She wants nothing more than to return to that office and tear the tongue from their mouth and feed it to them.  

They step into their shared quarters, and Gamora turns to him, expectant.  After terrible jobs like these, Peter tended to have a great deal to say, needed an outlet to vent his frustrations.  Generally, it devolved into insulting their clients or their opponents in the most vulgar ways possible, which typically made Gamora roll her eyes.  

For once, however, she feels that she might agree with everything he says.

But Peter stays silent.  He locks the door behind them, far too intent on his task, and Gamora frowns.

“Peter,” she says, and he sighs, turning toward her.

In an instant, he crosses the space between them, one hand cupping the line of her jaw, the other curling around to the small of her back, pulling her against him.  He slots his lips over hers, kissing her fiercely, hungrily, channeling pent-up frustration and anger.  It’s challenging, it’s confrontational, and it’s demanding a reaction.

They’ve danced this dance before, and Gamora knows the steps by heart.

She grabs hold of both of his wrists and shoves, pinning him to the door.  Peter’s breath hitches, and from this close, she can see his pupils dilate ever so slightly.

It makes some feral creature in her chest hum with satisfaction.   There was a point in their relationship when she had been afraid of her own reaction, when she had feared what it meant or what she might do because of it.  Now, though, she knows how to control it, and she knows that Peter enjoys it.  It had been his idea to start using pass phrases.  “Safewords,” he had called them, tailored after an old childhood game he used to play on Earth.  Special calls and responses to offer each other when they needed to check in with one another, when they needed to slow down, or when they needed to stop.  Having those words in place had assuaged many of her fears of overstepping his boundaries.

And now, Gamora has come to embrace the sensation, knowing what it means, knowing how to keep it tamed.  And she understands it now: a bittersweet mix of possessiveness and affection.  Something that purrs, Mine.  All mine.

But there’s something off tonight, Gamora thinks, and she pauses, studying him, much as she does during their sparring sessions.   Assessing him.  He twists his wrists, which is normal, but when she tightens her grip in warning, demanding stillness, he struggles more instead of taking the hint.

Which isn’t normal.

“Peter,” she says, her voice hard.  His jaw clenches, but he isn’t deterred.  It’s in that moment that she notices something sharp in his gaze, an odd sort of desperation.  She realizes Peter isn’t actually trying to free himself at all; he’s actively goading her into using her superior strength against him.

The dark thing purrs in her chest in approval, but she frowns, eyes narrowing.

“What color are you, Peter?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and she sees the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“Green,” he croaks out.  “I’m fine.”

“What color will you say if we need to slow down?”

“Yellow.”

“And if we need to stop?”

“Red light,” he says.  He swallows before adding defensively, “I’m fine.”

She can tell he isn’t, though.  Not really.  She can sense the agitation rolling off of him in waves, something sharp and desperate, but not in his usual ways.  Usually, Peter puts up a small fight, but after a few stern words from Gamora, he calms, turns pliant like soft clay.  Tonight, though, he’s fighting her, and even with his wrists still trapped under Gamora’s hands, he leans forward, trying to capture her lips again.

She pulls back, just out of his reach, and he lets out a small, annoyed noise.

“Gamora,” he says, exasperated.  “Are we doing this or not?”

She tilts her head to one side, and while she says nothing, Gamora knows Peter can sense the warning in her expression, the reminder that she is in charge.  That finally quells him, and he swallows, settling back against the door.

Gamora takes a deep breath before stepping back and freeing him.   Dismay flashes across his face, but before he can argue, she says, “Take off your clothes and wait for me on the bed.”

He lets out a relieved breath before quickly moving to comply.  She moves away, stripping her coat and leaving it on the back of a nearby chair.  Her mind races as she walks to a small, discreet cabinet with biometric locks coded to her handprint and Peter’s.  Considering what it contained, the last thing either of them needed was a well-meaning teammate rifling through their belongings and finding their sex toys.

Her relationship with Peter had been an adventure in and of itself.   But his willingness to go along with her experimentation and curiosity had been a different adventure altogether.

It’s clear enough that Peter desires a distraction, and, well, sex tended to be an excellent distraction for him.  He was easily silenced or calmed with a heated kiss, and a few light caresses along his thigh drew his attention to her instantly.  He responded so well, so eagerly, that it was intoxicating.

Tonight, however, Gamora feels something nagging at the back of her mind.  She had learned early in her training to trust her instincts, and right now, her instincts are telling her, Tread lightly.

She rests her palm on the door of the safe, and it beeps brightly as it unlocks.  After a quick glance, she sees Peter watching her expectantly, naked and waiting on the edge of the bed.  His cock is swollen already, curving up toward his stomach.  His hands are curled into fists, resting on his lap, but he makes no move to touch himself.

Good, that dark thing purrs.  All mine.

Gamora takes her time opening the cabinet door and scanning through its contents.  It almost feels a little ridiculous, like she’s making a small production of it, but Peter’s attention is firmly captured.  It also gives her time to think and come up with a strategy.  Peter didn’t normally resist her like this, and that alone was concerning.  He clearly needed some sort of outlet, however, and she can provide that, she thinks.  She could be in control for both of them.

She settles on something simple and retrieves a skein of deep red rope.  She takes her time moving to the bed, and Peter’s gaze stays on her the entire time, like he’s hypnotized by the sway of her hips.

“Color?” she asks, as she kicks off her boots.  She makes the choice to leave the rest of her clothing on.

“Green.”

Gamora presses a hand to his chest, encouraging him to move to the center of the bed.  He moves without hesitation, folding his legs underneath himself in the way she usually likes, and that dark, growling thing in her chest is called to attention.  Good, she thinks again.  “What will you say if we need to slow down?”

“Yellow.”

She unfurls the rope, and with her heightened senses, she hears the quiet hitch of his breath as he watches it slip through her hands.   “And if we need to stop?”

“Red light.”

That feral sensation uncurls in her chest, stretching out, and before she can stop herself, she purrs, “Good.”

He tears his gaze away from the rope to stare at her, clearly startled, and a flush darkens his cheeks.  He quickly ducks his head, almost embarrassed.

Ah, she thinks, head tilting as she considers him, her silver eyebrow quirking upward.  This might call for a small readjustment in her strategy.

“You will do as I tell you,” she says.  “And only as I tell you.  Are we agreed?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, eyes dark when he finally looks up at her again.  “Yes.”

“I mean it,” she insists.  “You will do exactly as I say.”

Peter’s eyes narrow as he frowns at her.  He’s weighing the odds that it’s a bluff, she knows.  He’s trying to decide in this moment how much he might be able to get away with, how much “wriggle-room” she’ll allow him, as he liked to call it.

Thankfully, he seems to understand that she is being entirely serious, and he reluctantly nods.  She nods in return.

“Give me your hands,” she commands, and she moves to kneel behind him.

He complies, and she moves his arms where she wants them.  She folds them behind his back, one of his hands resting against the crook of his opposite arm, the other cupping his opposite elbow.  She winds the rope around his forearms, trapping them together.  They’ve done this enough times that she’s memorized the motions, could manage this in a matter of minutes.  Tonight, Gamora is deliberately taking her time.  Peter is horribly impatient at the best of times, and even now she can sense his patience fraying with each slow loop.

“Gamora,” he sighs out, exasperated again.

She ignores him, though, and once she’s wound the rope around his forearms to her liking, she ties a knot and draws the rope up his back, over his shoulder.  She deliberately presses herself against the line of his shoulders as she pulls the rope diagonally down his chest, wrapping it around his torso.  He leans back against her, and she knows it’s an involuntary motion.  He craves touch, craves warmth, and he tilts his face toward hers as she leans over his shoulder.  It’s sweet, she thinks as he nuzzles against her, and the dampness of his breath gusts along her cheek.  Her free hand curls under his chin before her grip tightens, forcing him to face forward.

“I didn’t say you could move,” she tells him, squeezing his jaw in warning before releasing him.

She moves even more slowly after that, letting the soft rope drag over his skin.  She creates an intricate design over his body with clever knots and loops, trapping his arms against his torso.  All these knots are redundant, she admits, but there’s a great deal to be said for drawing this out, for how amazing Peter always looks when she finishes with him.

His breathing grows more ragged and uneven with each pass of the rope, and she can see how his heart hammers against his ribs.  His cock twitches, and judging by his involuntary, restless shifting and the quiet noises that nearly escape him on every other breath, she knows he must be aching.  Even so, he tries to keep still for her, tries to make it as easy as possible for her to maneuver around him.

“Good,” she whispers into his ear.  “You’re doing so good, Peter.”  

His cock throbs with the praise, and that quiet whimper finally breaks free.

She finishes tying off the rope, and she moves around to kneel in front of him, admiring her work.  The red rope, formed into diamonds across his torso, stands out against his flushed skin, and his chest heaves with his ragged breaths.  When she cups his jaw, forces him to look up at her, his green eyes are so beautifully dark that the feral thing in her chest growls with approval.

“Look at you,” she hears herself saying.  She cards the fingers of her free hand through his unruly hair, the blunt tips of her nails dragging over his scalp, and he sighs.  “Beautiful.”

Peter stops breathing for a second, his cheeks growing darker.

Gamora pauses, filing this moment away, and she runs her hands down his restrained arms.

“Stay still for me,” she commands, and he nearly nods in response.   Instead, he catches himself, and rather than answer, he just waits, watching her.

She continues to touch him, feeling his warm, bare skin under her palms, skimming over the knots and lines of rope.  Gamora traces his body like it’s completely new to her, like she hasn’t done this countless times before.  He struggles to keep himself in check, but when her palms run over his chest, Peter leans up into her touch – a movement so subtle that Gamora is sure he isn’t aware he’s done it; she decides not to fault him for it.  She feels his heart hammering against his sternum.  Her hands shift southward, over the muscles of his stomach, to the crook of his hip, and when her palms slide over his thighs, thumbs drawing tantalizingly close to his swollen cock, he lets out a pleading noise.

She teases him like that for a long while, just feeling him, just touching him, exploring every inch of his body that she can reach with her hands – except, quite noticeably, his dick.  Heat coils through her, wild and hungry, gathering between her legs.  And when she replaces her fingers with her lips, tracing the contours of his muscles with her tongue and tasting the salt on his skin, he groans.  His arms strain against his bonds, but Gamora is confident he has no chance of freeing himself.  Not without her assistance, at any rate.

“Color?” she asks, her lips brushing against his pulse point just beneath the hinge of his jaw.  Her fingers tangle into his hair at the nape of his neck, and he ever so slightly tilts his head away, exposing his throat to her.

It takes him a few heartbeats to wet his mouth enough to answer, “Green.  Really— really fucking green.  Gamora—”

She interrupts his plea by capturing his mouth with hers, and he moans into the kiss, melting into it eagerly.  This far along, he’s sloppy.  A little too much tongue, unmindful of his teeth, in that unthinking way that Gamora has come to adore.  He lacks his usual finesse, boiled down to pure greed and want, and she hums with approval, smiling against his lips.

“You should see yourself,” she says, still close enough that their lips brush, that they share heated, damp breaths.  “You should hear yourself.  You’re so perfect like this, Peter.  You’re doing so good.”

His response this time is almost visceral.  He moans against her mouth, his cock jerking and muscles flexing as he tries to keep his hips from bucking, and Gamora feels heat twist low in her gut.  The dampness between her legs draws her attention, and she decides her needs should be taken care of.

She shoves him down onto the bed, and he lets out a small, startled noise, though it ends quickly when she straddles his stomach.  Reaching for the zipper of her vest, she slowly strips off her top, feeling his eyes on her the entire time.  Once her top is tossed away to the floor, she plants her palm against his sternum, feeling his racing heart, holding him down.  He looks up at her with open wonder, with adoration that makes her chest clench.  His gaze traces her breasts, the curve of her body.  In the past the way people had stared at her had made her feel like an object to be admired.  Somehow, Peter seems to see her, imperfections and all, and he loves her, all the same.

She shifts to peel off her leggings, holding his gaze.  It’s obvious what he assumes will happen next with the way his gaze darts down to her pussy, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.  For a few moments, Gamora entertains that fantasy, carding her fingers through his hair, tracing his lips.  But instead of indulging him, instead of moving to straddle his face as he surely expects and wants, she remains where she is, legs wrapped around his middle – away from his throbbing cock and eager tongue.

She slowly rocks herself over his stomach, finding one of the rope knots tied just beneath his sternum.  She sighs with relief as she grinds her clit against the knot, her hands pressing Peter’s shoulders down against the bed.  When he realizes what she’s doing, Peter lets out a dismayed whine, struggling against the ropes again.

“Gamora,” he breathes out, desperate.  “Please—”

Her nails dig into his shoulders.  She growls, “Hold still.  Don’t move, unless I tell you.”

He gulps down a breath, then another, but he manages to comply. Gamora can see the way his eyes are starting to glaze over – that familiar signal that his mind is drifting into some odd space, like he’s fallen into a trance.  It had worried Gamora, the first time she witnessed it, but when he had come out of it, he had assured her he was fine, had tentatively admitted that he enjoyed it.

(“It’s kind of like... floating.  Like being drunk or high,” he had said, when he tried to explain how it felt.  “I swear it’s a lot nicer than I’m making it sound.”)

She smiles at him, cupping his jaw, and says, “Good boy.”

And Peter sighs, sinking away into that headspace entirely.

She rocks herself against his stomach again, her clit grinding against that knot, and she groans quietly.  His muscles strain beneath her as he tries to keep as still as possible, as he tries to keep himself from rutting uselessly at the open air.  Peter watches her, practically without blinking, nearly without breathing, like he worries he might miss a single second.

“Good,” she gasps out, and she can feel golden heat gathering low in her stomach, thighs clenching against his tense arms.  “You’re doing so good, Peter.  You’re working so hard to be good for me, so perfect for me.”

Peter bites down on the pleased groan that tries to escape him.  

“Look at you,” she pants out, rolling her hips against him, faster and harder with each pass.  She’s so close.  “Gorgeous.  Perfect.  Do you want to help me finish?”

He nods eagerly, wetting his lips again, and with as enthusiastic as that response is, Gamora feels no need to deny him.  She crawls up along his body, straddling his face, steadying herself with one hand on the headboard.  Her other hand tangles in his hair, and Peter cranes up to lick her folds, but manages to stop himself.  His dark, glazed eyes find hers, waiting for her direction.

She smiles.

“Good boy,” she says, and he inhales sharply.  “Just your mouth.  Go ahead.”

Predictably, Peter needs no further instruction after that.  His mouth finds her sex, lips pressing against her folds, tongue tracing her to circle her clit.  His beard tickles against the insides of her thighs.  Gamora moans, rocking against his eager mouth, and she cups the back of his head, holding him against her.  Not that he needs the assistance, and his clever tongue quickly brings her back to the brink.

“Peter,” she moans, curling over him.  She grinds herself against Peter’s mouth, both hands tangling into Peter’s hair to hold him in place, to let her use his mouth and eager tongue as she needs.  He groans deeply against her, the sound dragged from somewhere deep within his chest, and she feels the vibrations against her pussy.  “Just like that.  That’s perfect.  Yes, just like—”

She comes with a groan, thighs tightening around his head.  She rocks against him, riding out each delicious, fading wave.  When those waves recede, she slumps with a sigh, carefully shuffling back to free Peter’s head, even as he kisses along the inside of her legs.  Gamora smoothes her fingers back through Peter’s hair, easing his head back down to the pillow.

“Perfect,” she sighs again, once she’s straddling his middle.  “You’re so good for me, Peter.”

He whimpers softly, and she brushes his sweat-damp curls away from his forehead.

Once she’s caught her breath, she leans down to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue – something tangy, almost a little spicy.  His groan is trapped between their lips, and she feels the way his body trembles.  Peter is riding that fine line between tension and exhaustion, between desperate need and the need to remain obedient.  She hasn’t yet freed him from that last command, and when she realizes how much he’s struggling to hold himself still, that dark sensation in her chest unfurls.  He mumbles something, but the words are indistinct, shapeless.

“Do you want to stop?” she asks gently.  When he’s in that odd mindset, she knows how difficult it is for him to form words, and she’s learned to hold herself back a little, to watch him carefully.  He quickly shakes his head.  

“Do you want to slow down?”  And as she predicts, the shake of his head this time is even more frantic.

She hums quietly, leaning down and pressing her lips against the shell of his ear.  She whispers, “Do you want to come?”

Peter’s whole body goes tense, and a strained, pleading noise escapes from the back of his throat.

Letting out another quiet hum, she ghosts her fingertips down his chest, tilting her head and feigning a thoughtful look.  She lets the moment drag on, drinking in the sight of his silent pleading, before she slowly nods.

“All right,” she says, and Peter lets out a relieved sob.  “You did well for me.  I think you deserve it.”

She moves down his body, and he spreads his legs for her.  For a few moments, Gamora is content to watch the way his muscles flex and strain, the way he stares at her, biting down on his lips to cage in the whine that wants to claw out of him.  She holds his gaze as she settles between his legs, running her palms over his tense thighs, and without looking away from him, she curls her fingers around his cock.

His groan is trapped behind his teeth, and he throws his head back, still struggling to hold himself still, as she had commanded.  His chest heaves with his harsh breaths as she strokes him, long and slow.

“Look at you, so perfect,” she breathes out again, making no attempt to disguise the heat or the affection in her voice, and his cock throbs in her hand.  “Go ahead, Peter.  Show me how much you want it.”

His moan is a thing of beauty, once she gives him permission to move again, and he bucks himself into her hand, urgent and desperate.  She strokes him harder, faster, and Peter moves with her, hips rocking with her rhythm, following her lead rather than trying to set the pace.

“Good boy,” she says, before gripping his hips and shoving him down to the bed.  He whines as she holds him down, a look of alarm flashing across his face.  

But Gamora smiles at him, holding his gaze as she sinks down to take his cock into her mouth.

It takes almost no time at all – not with how long and how deliberately she’s teased him.  She relaxes her throat, swallowing him down, and he bucks into her mouth, groaning wordlessly, chanting indistinct swears.  He’s still lost to that fog, but he manages to let out a warning, little more than an urgent whine, and Gamora hums around his cock in encouragement.  Not a breath later, he comes, spilling down her throat, and she strokes him through it, swallowing each salty burst.

When he collapses back against the bed, she licks his cock clean, smirking a little with the way his hips twitch with discomfort.  Gamora sits up, running her hands along his legs, his hips, in slow, soothing sweeps.  She watches as he gasps for breath, eyes shut and lips parted, and not for the first time, Gamora marvels over how amazing he looks like this, exhausted and spent and satisfied.

She tells him as much, too, and when he lets out a small, pleased sound, something close to a mewl, she smiles.

Gamora grabs hold of one of the rope knots and slides her arm beneath Peter’s shoulders.  As exhausted as he is and with the way his arms are still bound behind his back, she knows sitting up is a tall order for him.  Rather than making him struggle, she hauls him up instead, letting him slump against her front as she reaches around him to works at the knots.  He nuzzles against the crook of her neck, lazily and clumsily kissing her shoulder, and she murmurs approvingly.

Carefully, she unwinds the rope, bit by bit, frowning a little at the raw, red marks his struggling has rubbed into his skin.  It doesn’t take too long to free him, thankfully, and when she unties the final knot, unraveling the rope, Peter’s arms fall to his sides.  He quietly groans with relief, and Gamora massages his shoulders, his biceps, his hands, his entire body, until he melts entirely against her.

Gently, she lays him back down on the bed, stretching out beside him as slowly regains his senses.  In these long moments, she keeps touching him, murmuring quietly.  When he’s crawling out of that strange fog, she’s learned that it’s best to ease the transition with words of reassurance, with kind touches.  She rests her palm against his sternum, watching the rise and fall of his chest, feeling the calming of his heartbeat.

After a while, Peter blinks at her, as if waking from a dream.  He smiles a little lazily.

“Hey,” he croaks.

“Hey,” she echoes, brushing his hair away from her forehead.

“That was...”  He struggles for a few seconds – and this, too, is common after he crawls out of his fog, where he had difficulty finding the proper words to express himself.  It’s why Gamora is hardly surprised when Peter finally settles on, “Holy shit.”

Offering him a pleased smile, she runs her fingertips along the line of his jaw.

He licks his lips again, and she can see the gears turning in his head as he carefully selects his words.  Gamora waits patiently, just tracing his cheek, letting him find his own way without trying to hurry him.

“You were...” he frowns again, chewing on his lip.  Then, in a rush, “You were nicer than I expected.”

This time, Gamora mirrors his frown.

Before she can respond, however, he props himself up on an elbow.  “I mean, not that you’re not nice.  It’s just, after— after what happened today, I thought—”

Peter cuts himself off, still having trouble with how to express himself.  Gamora slowly sits up, studying him.

“You expected me to be more harsh,” she supplies.

He hesitates for a breath before slowly nodding.  “Yeah.  I just... I figured... after today...”

When his face darkens and he ducks his head, it takes her a second to recognize the expression.  She had seen it earlier in the evening – the same look that had crossed his face as he weathered Parloy’s tirade.  

Guilt.

Ah, she thinks, feeling a wave of disgust for Parloy all over again.

She swallows it down, reaching over to cup Peter’s jaw.  She says, “That wasn’t your fault.”

He makes a scoffing noise, trying to turn away, but Gamora pulls his face toward her again.

“That wasn’t your fault,” she repeats firmly.  “If anyone is at fault, it’s Parloy.  They provided us poor information and refused to take responsibility for it.  I suspect they were setting us up for failure.”

Peter, however, seems unconvinced, and he bows his head.

“Peter,” she says, and though his gaze briefly darts up to her face, he doesn’t look at her.  “When have you known me to withhold criticism?”

He snorts out a quiet laugh.  “Like, basically never,” he says.

She nods.  “And don’t you think if our assignment had actually been your fault, I would have said as much?”

He takes a breath to answer, but when he realizes that he’s about to prove her point, he sighs, shoulders sagging.  Even without a response, Gamora knows she’s won this particular argument, and she nods again, satisfied.

“You did what you could, Peter,” she says.  “You made the right decision to retreat.”

This time, when he glances up, he looks a little relieved, a little hopeful.  Gamora hesitates for a second, curling both hands over his cheeks.

“I’m proud of you,” she says, and his face flushes.

For a long while, Peter is struck speechless, but he seems to regain his senses quickly, making a show of batting her hands away.

“Oh my god,” he grouses.  “I can’t believe you said that.  Gross.”

Gamora rolls his eyes, but she lets him pull away, dropping her hands to her lap.  Peter scrubs at his face, but his embarrassment and pleasure is all too obvious.  The latter seems to win out, in the end, and she sees it when he finally meets her gaze, his cheeks still red and a tentative smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

She reaches over, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Any time,” she says.  She swallows down her own embarrassment when she purrs, “Star-Lord.”

The giant, startled grin that splits Peter’s face makes her chest tighten with affection.

#kanoodle fics #starmora #peter quill #gamora #star-lord #gotg #guardians of the galaxy #this is almost 9000 words #i'm so sorry for this mess #but happy birthday lily!!!

[catalystic-dragons]

Just a quick info dump about my wof fantribe ;v;

Name:

Warrenwings

Base:

Name Meaning:

A network of underground tunnels and burrows - a reference to how Warrenwings live:

Naming Convention:

Warrenwings name their hatchlings after geological features, ground-nesting wildlife, precious stones and insects. Sometimes, they are also named after fungai or plants that grow in little light (thus cultivated underground).

Home/Habitat:

Vast burrows underneath the dry savannah on which they live. The burrows are ever expanded by teams of builders - when they aren’t expanding, they reinforce the older tunnels and burrows. Cave ins are only really common on mining levels, where the poorest dragons mine precious metals and gemstones.

Burrows are usually quite spacious, regardless of ranking, as Warrenwings are usually half the size of Mudwing at full growth, though Royals can have over double the space of a commoner.

Average Lifespan:

A well fed warrenwing may live for up to 500 years! But it is exceptionally rare for them to exceed more then 250 in their current environment. As they get older, warrenwings become more sluggish and reptile-like, preferring to bask and wait for food to come by than engage in energetic bouts of hunting.

Government:

King and Queen rule as a unit with a council of elders. While the King and Queen have the majority of the power, the council of elders vastly outnumber them, and are made up of the oldest dragons in the tribe. With their wisdom of the tribe’s history, and the experience to provide guidance, they help the king and queen make vital decisions, and feed back from their communities directly.

Any royal can challenge their parents for the throne once they complete a sacred trial, known as “Night of the Long Hunt”. During this trial, the royalling must hunt down a male lion and bring his carcass to the tribe for a great feast. Some never do this, and thus abdicate from the throne - but Ravine, the current Queen, bought back a fully grown male to prove her worth as a strong leader, a strong fighter and a good tactician. She picked her mate, Beatle, before she became queen, and thus he inherited the title King after she had proven herself worthy and her mother, Meerkat, had stepped down.

Abilities:

Warrenwings are exceptionally hardy dragons; what they lack in size and speed, they make up for in strength and stamina. Their tough hide is built to protect them from potential predators, like large wild cats and hyenas. Their wings are too small to let them fly for long distances, or at all in some cases, but they make fantastic shields against predators or other warrenwings.

Aside from their horned snouts, shovel claws, thick leathery wings and thick tails, often equipped with clubs, spades or spikes, they have a cement-like mixture they can fire from glands at the back of their throat - used both for offence and the building of their vast burrows.

Diet:

A warrenwing is not a picky eater. While they are classed as omnivorous, they must get protein in their diet; through grubs they find in the tunnels, or kills bought in by the hunters. Fruits are enjoyed as a special treat during the rainy season, and mushrooms and root veggies make up the rest of their food. It should be noted that they cannot digest leafy plant matter well, but will eat it if there is nothing else. They do need to consume porous rocks regularly to produce their cement like spit.

Colours:

Common Primaries - Earthy browns, stone greys, mossy greens, charcoal black, sandy yellows.

Uncommon Primaries - Snowflake obsidian, dark greens, fleshy colours (scaleless)

Rare Primaries - Leucistic, piebald, melanistic

Legendary Primaries - albino, opalite, opal, any deep/bright colours

All Accents- rare mineral/gemstone-like colours; blue/green/red/turquoise/purple/yellow/black/etc

ROYAL ONLY - opal

Traits:

Common - underbite, short nose horns, short horns, chin spines, short ears, hard scales on legs, leg spines, short spines down back, short spines on tail, spade on tail, small wings, wing claws, short tail, shovel claws, smooth underbelly

Uncommon - rabbit ears, ram horns, long horns, branching horns, rabbit back legs, extra row of leg scales, medium wings, gecko tail, club tail, medium leg spines, plate underbelly, scaleless

Rare - blindness, starnose, drillnose, droopy ears, long nose horns, double horns, spine mane, tusks, large wings, clawless wings, paws, stegosaurus plates, thagomiser tail

Legendary - snake mouth, tremorsense, antlers, short fur mane, wingless, long tail, arrowhead tail, crocodile tail (dragging)

ROYAL ONLY - secondary “gemscale”, gem markings by the eyes, triple layer arm scales

Continent:

Warrenwings live on an island that is largely vast scrubland, desert and savannah along the equator, where it is very hot and often very dry. Their home is known as Platynus (Genus of beetle), and is rather unforgiving in its nature. From space, it looks like a dragon coiling back on itself, trying to bite it’s own tail. It should be noted it is significantly smaller than the other continents. While there are mountain ranges around the fringes of the Platynus, and there are several active volcanoes dotted about, it is mostly arid, with droughts running riot when the sweltering dry season extends for longer than a month. Because of this, Warrenwings view water as sacred, and often try to cultivate pools of water in their underground home.

The wildlife present on Platynus are hardy species. There are several kinds of dromedary, and some wild species of horse. The most common large predator is the hyena, or lion, which will prey on small and weak warrenwings if given the chance. Meerkats, wild hamsters and moles are commonplace in the scrub, and many species of vulture and hawk make their home in the trees. At first glance, Platynus may seem like a lifeless plain, but it is teeming with life. Elusive elephants and rhinoceros can be found in the quiet corners of the continent, away from the bustle of the wildebeest herds and the jaws of giant crocodiles.

Religious Beliefs:

Warrenwings find harmony in the natural order of their world; the circle of life is something many hold dear as a solid belief. Elephants are seen as old Gods, wandering through the brush. Following them brings the promise of water, so naturally Warrenwings see them as sacred animals to be revered and respected. To kill and Elephant, or eat its carcass, is a great taboo. The hyenas of the plains are seen as harbingers of death; seeing a pack when you are alone is a sign of terrible things to come. Vultures are seen as guides - whether that is a guide to the afterlife, or a guide to your next meal, depends on the vulture.

As the concept of Kings and Queens is relatively new to Warrenwings as a united tribe, some side warrens have unofficial leaders, who are often revered as wise ones. These are often old female Warrenwings, who pass the knowledge of tunnel carving, medicines and water cultivation down the generations. While unofficial, offending these old matriarchs is frowned upon.

Lore:

Warrenwings were only made aware of the outside world when a mudwing and icewing shipwrecked on their shores. It was an experience which shocked the tribe, who mainly lived apart and competed for resources in rival burrows, into connecting as one people. Knowing there were many tribes out there, ones that displayed strange and terrible powers, led them to form their current society. While the current Queen is aware there remains a lot to be desired, she is working hard to create a warren where her people can live together in harmony. She has been Queen for 10 years, and while her people like her, there is a stirring in the poorest parts of the warren. While not quite ready for a true rebellion, discontent grows in the mines.

Laws:

Warrenwings live by a simple rule. One must help the warren stay alive. Killing another warrenwing is only ever an option in extreme cases, and will rarely stand up against the Queen and her Council, unless you have evidence to support your side. Though the King and Queen are seen as the ultimate heads of the law, they can be challenged by the Council and dismissed if the Council deem it necessary for the good of the Warren.

Simply, the laws are thus:

Do not kill your fellow dragons

Do not force your love upon those that do not wish it

Be kind to those in need; share with them your water, your shelter, your food

Do not go out alone above ground, unless you have been told to do so

Never defile the water; do not steal it, do not soil in it

Never kill an Elephant, for they are sacred

The King and Queen decide justice, but are not above justice itself

Those who defy the law are tried by the Queen and Council, and testify before randomly selected warrenwings who will, along with the council, decide their fate. The worst case scenario for any warrenwing is exile, and that is not taken lightly by anyone involved.

Alliances:

None thus far. They are a private tribe and are well removed from the political spheres of the canon dragon tribes.

Rankings:

Rankings are decided by jobs, which decide where in the warren you live. Those who show talent during their training years are recommended to the Masters of those fields, who then decide whether or not to take them on as apprentices.

Lower class Jobs (poorest): Miner, cleaner, seer, sentry, gem refiner, gem cutter, guard, tunnel digger, mushroom farmer

Middle class jobs (average): Tunnel Architect, tunnel overseer, wiseone (only for older tribe members), hunter (above ground), gatherer (below ground), cook, weatherwatcher (above ground), lawkeeper, soldier, weaver

Upper class jobs (rich): Jeweller, dowser (one who finds water), royal guard, royal cook, personal seer (to royals), water cleanser, gem polisher, royal quarters cleaner

Royal Jobs (royal family only): Queen’s Guard, King’s Guard, water overseer, lead hunter, lead gatherer, lead lawkeeper

Animus Laws:

Animus dragons exist, but are often exceptionally rare. They are feared, but beloved by their kingdom, and reside with the King and Queen to be raised alongside their own hatchlings. They are only ever asked to use their power in extreme cases, like severe droughts.

#the dragon talks #wof #wof amino #fantribe #wof fantribe #wings of fire #wings of fire fantribe #warrenwings #my art #the dragon writes

[holographic-chogi]

Protector pt.2/23

Author: holographic-chogi

Pairing: still a surprise!! Sticking with fem!readerxstray kids

Rating: this chapter is PG

Warnings: none for this chapter

A/N: I’ve been releasing shorter chapters so I can release updates more frequently, I have finals going on so unless I write shorter updates there’d have to be a huge gap between chapters. Also there is major handmaiden’s tale inspo for this series (if you couldn’t tell) with the whole theme of the dystopian gender divide. 

Summary: a virus has wiped out most of humanity, and society has collapsed. People survive in groups where they live in constant fear and a struggle to survive. Women were the primary victim of the virus, leaving few behind. You are one of the few, kept in secret since the beginning. However, you’ve just been caught.

Masterlist                                                                                                

The panic attack from earlier wore you out. At this point you only register that you are outside and it’s dark out. Someone to your left pulls your arm around his shoulders so he can support you more. Your guess, is it’s the nice freckled boy with the deep voice from earlier. He does most of the work but that doesn’t stop you from tripping on various rocks and plants, and eventually potholes.

You must be traveling on the highway. You’ve been walking a while. Your eyelids keep drooping and you try to keep your hold on the boy but you keep feeling yourself slip.

You hear an annoyed huff from behind you, and suddenly you feel two strong arms behind your knees and back, and then you were being carried bridal style. You’d feel awkward if it weren’t for the sleep pulling at you. Before you close your eyes you look up, feeling a bit curious.

Huh. Changbin was carrying you. You didn’t expect that.

Hours later you come to. Your eyes remain shut as you feel the softness of the blankets above you. This is much nicer than you’re used to, you can’t remember the last time you’ve slept on a mattress. It wasn’t like Jiho deprived you of that on purpose. Actually, all the blankets in your old room went to you, while he would usually fall asleep in that wooden chair near the door.

You feel your heart prick. You hope he’s okay. You know he didn’t leave you. He couldn’t have.

When you finally decide to open your eyes, you wince from the flash of sunlight. Must be daytime.

Your eyes adjust and you gasp at your surroundings.

It is the most pleasant looking room you’ve seen in awhile. The two windows let in loads of sunshine, lighting up the whole space. The walls are a light, cream color and the ceiling is made from wooden panels, with beams spread across the top. There are stalks of old, dried lavender pinned to the walls amongst a few other flowers. The bed has an old-fashioned looking wooden frame and a plaid, baby blue comforter stretched across its surface (that you were currently underneath). The bookshelf on the wall near the door is full of old books, and the nightstand beside you has a couple placed upon it as well. Framed photographs were lined up along the dresser. They’re of a young woman and her family, they look like farmers. You’re guessing that this room was inside a farmhouse, it looks a lot nicer than the cell block.

That awful cell block. There were four cell blocks within the prison, and you (along with your group) had been staying in B. In short, the group would usually just call it Block B. It wasn’t an ideal place to be. The condition that the group had for you staying there, was that you would be hidden away. Women after the virus were a rare commodity, and they didn’t want a target on their back more than they already had.

Pretty much the only things you knew about your old group were their names. Before and after joining them, you spent all your time with Jiho. He tried his best to make your “room” comfortable, but with no windows to see the time of day or surface to sit on besides cement, there wasn’t really any way to make it better. As bad as it was, both Jiho and you knew it was dangerous to be without a group. Especially with you tagging along.

You’re brought back out of your thoughts from the sound of two guys laughing outside. Oh right. You shouldn’t get too comfortable.

There’s one thing first that you need to know.

You sit up more in bed and lift the covers to look down at your clothes. You feel relief wash over you to see the same jeans and grey hoodie that you’d been wearing last night. Sure, maybe some sweatpants would’ve been more comfortable to sleep in, but you’d rather not be unclothed in a group of what you assume are all men. After all, most groups are these days.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and walk to the door. You feel hesitant to open it, but then chuckle to yourself. Deja vu much?

You open the door to reveal a hallway with (surprise) even more windows to let the sun in. So many doors...must’ve been a big family that had lived here before. You head down the wide, wooden staircase to the main floor.

The stairs end at the middle of the main floor. Directly in front is the front door, currently propped open with the screen shut, letting a nice, warm breeze brush past. To your right is a living room and to your left was a kitchen, and oh my. The undeniable sent of scrambled eggs fills your nose and you feel your mouth water. You definitely don’t get to eat often and when you do, it certainly doesn’t smell this good. You tiptoe towards the kitchen, hoping that the meal was left unattended.

You peak around the corner and into the kitchen. Someone is whistling quietly while they prod at the eggs in the frying pan, a soft hiss from the oil everytime he does so. You recognize the soft orange hair and know that it belongs to the freckled boy from last night. You muster up some courage and step forward.

“Um...hello.”

He jumps a bit, then turns around with a flustered smile. He must not have heard you. “Hi! You’re awake! I was actually just about to go bring you some food”.

You wrap your arms around yourself, “I’m sorry if I startled you, I’m just quiet on impulse. Thank you for making me food.”

You look at him and force a smile. He seems sweet, but you still have your guard up. The only other person to treat you this well in a long time is Jiho.

The freckled boy let his own smile stretch wider, “no worries at all. Did you sleep alright?” His gaze flashed to one slightly less comfortable and he looked at the tiled floor. “I know jeans aren’t very nice to sleep in, but I figured you wouldn’t want any of us to change your clothes. I hope that’s okay”.

“No that was the right call, thank you for that. The jeans weren’t that bad to sleep in either, I usually sleep in much worse conditions.” You chuckle to yourself. If only your old group could see where you slept last night.

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed, he looked displeased. “What kind of conditions?”

You didn’t like where this was going. Time to change the subject. “My name is Y/N, what’s yours?”

His intense gaze melted away and his smile returned a little bit. “Name’s Felix. It’s nice to meet you Y/N.”

You weren’t gonna lie, his smile was heart-melting. Maybe it was a trap. “Where are we?”

He leaned back into the counter a bit, “We’re miles from the prison. This place is some farmhouse that was abandoned after the virus. We’ve been here about a year and a half.” His eye smile grew again, “We have animals. Do you like animals? We have crops growing too, that’s my favorite part of the farm, actually.”

You dug your nails into your forearm as you tried to keep eye contact. This has to be a trap, he was way too nice. Your gaze sinks to the floor as the dread sinks in. You’re miles from Jiho, and you aren’t sure if he even knows where you are. And miles in what direction? You wouldn’t even know where to run. You feel trapped, at the complete mercy of the boys in this farmhouse. You’re snapped out of you thoughts quickly at the feeling of hands on your forearms. You look up to see Felix’s worried face.

“Hey, I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” He rubs his thumbs in a soothing motion on your skin, in an attempt to calm you down.

You look up at him, no longer trying to hide the fear on your face. “W-why are you being so nice to me?”

His lower lip sticks out in a sad pout, “do people not usually treat you nicely?”

Just as you are about to answer, the screen door swings open. You flinch and scramble out of Felix’s grasp; spinning around to lock eyes with Changbin. He looks at you and then narrows his eyes at Felix. His voice comes out in his usual grumble, “Give her her food and head out, meet us by the water pump.” he looks back at you quickly before adding, “we’re having a family meeting. Wouldn’t wanna miss it”.

It doesn’t take you long to wolf down breakfast. Not only were you hungry, you also have the tendency to stress eat. You were sat down in the living room on one of a couple couches, trying to scope out the area outside. They’re most likely unaffiliated with a district. If they were from the YG or SM districts, you’d be within a city, not some farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The JYP district wore their signature initials everywhere, and you haven't seen those on anyone. This was a good thing though, the districts were dangerous for women. Your kind was a rare commodity, and the districts, especially YG and SM, were notorious for not letting women leave. YG was easily the worst, being you would literally be property. At least SM has the courtesy to pretend you’re a normal citizen, not a prisoner. JYP is who you knew the least about. Jiho told you that they don’t have a central city, they’re more just a collection of groups spread out across the territory that answer to the most powerful group. Not as bad, but you still figure you should still steer clear.

From the front living room window, you can only see so much. The most obvious is a handmade fence, made from several pieces of other mismatched fences that stretches pretty tall. There are two perches on either side of the entrance for what you presume are for keeping lookout. Since the meeting had started, Changbin and someone else had been alternating the perch on the right. That probably isn’t the best way to escape. Maybe there’s a back entrance. You get up from the couch to move closer to the window and get a better look, but just as you do, you see everyone except Changbin heading back to the house. You quickly dart back to the couch, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

The screen door opens, and the whole crew files in, making their way into the living room. Most look at you with warm smiles, while some look with curiosity. One particularly young looking boy, most likely in his late teens, shies away behind the others. Felix shoulders his way to the front, and kneels in front of you to get to eye level.

“Are you doing alright, Y/N?”

You nod, keeping your eyes down.

“Our leader, Chan, has an offer to make you if you’re willing to hear it.”

You look up at Felix. His smile is warm as usual. “Which one is Chan?”

One of the boys you remember from last night steps forward. “That’d be me. We met yesterday, but it was pretty hectic so I’d understand if you didn’t remember.”

You did remember him, he scolded Changbin when he tried to point a gun at you. You were grateful for that. “I remember you. Thank you, for telling him to put the gun away.”

He looks almost bashful at your remark. “O-oh. It was no problem, really. He shouldn’t act so impulsively all the damn time.” He straightened up a bit, “anyway, I have a proposition.”

You nod again, waiting for him to continue.

“We can protect you here. You shouldn’t be without a group, and we won’t have any problem taking you in. I understand you’re waiting for Jiho, but we can’t say for sure when he’ll be around to come find you. If we bring you in, we’d have to let Jaebum know you’re with us. He’s in charge around here, so we gotta keep him filled in.”

You stare at him, one eyebrow cocked in confusion, “aren’t you in charge around here?”

He nods, “I’m in charge of the group, Jaebum is in charge of the district.”

What? Your eyes widen, the familiar look of fear on your face. “We’re in a district?” Your panic becomes evident, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “Where are we? Am I trapped here?”

Felix instinctively reaches out for you, hands on your shoulders. “Hey… you aren’t trapped, I promise.” feeling your shoulders shake, he pulls you closer, “shh...you’re okay. You’re alright.”

The others watch, clearly off put by the affection Felix was giving. After a moment, Chan pulls Felix away. “That’s enough. Give her some space.” He looks back down at you, trying to stay stern. “You’re in the JYP district and you aren’t trapped. Women aren’t prisoners here, you can leave whenever you want. However, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be on your own.”

You sniffle. You hate that you’ve cried in front of them so much. You hate feeling weak and you hate that no matter how you view it, you need to stay here. At least for now. You look up at Chan, wiping tears from your face. “I don’t think I should leave either.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #protector