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spookyserenades · 9 months

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Trouvaille - Chapter Eight

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 23.4k

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Updates on the 7th of each month

Annnd it's August!! We've come a full year (at least, since I've begun writing Trouvaille) and now the story is matching up with post dates 💃🏻 I hope you're all well! This update features some angst, and the final two scenting scenes.... one of which is particularly spicy, as a head's up! This chapter concludes the scenting arc, and after this, we'll be moving more quickly into other plotlines 🥳 There's also plenty of tender moments in this chapter, so I hope you'll enjoy those as well. As always, comments, feedback, questions, and even ranting/screaming is always welcomed! My inbox is open, as is the taglist. Without further ado, please enjoy this update!!

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Jeongguk gracefully pulled back from her body, the agile movement allowing him to land backwards on the balls of his feet so he could lean against one of his bed posts, staring down at Y/N with lidded eyes. Adjusting the strap of her tank top back over her shoulder, Y/N frowned slightly when she realized the fabric covered his mark up. Jeongguk hummed, appearing to be gathering his thoughts before he resumed the conversation they were having prior to his… collapse.

“So, none of us particularly like Taehyung. I mean, that much is fucking obvious. Contrary to what you may have assumed, I think you’re a pretty smart girl– I’m sure you’ve picked up on all of us avoiding him like a virus,” Jeongguk began, a thoughtful look spreading across his face. Stunned by the compliment, Y/N felt herself flush from the neck upwards.

“Even so, he’s not a threat to us. If he wanted to kill any of us, he would have done it already. So really, there’s no reason for us… er, Namjoon, really, to knock his teeth down his throat. Yet. From what Yoongi told me about his little chat with the bear, Taehyung is in no hurry to befriend any of us yet– all the more reason for us to give him space,” Jeongguk adjusted the loose collar of his tee shirt as he spoke, before trudging on, “If things get sticky and there’s cops knocking on the front door somewhere down the line, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. We’re all keeping an eye on him in the meantime, but I’m confident he won’t hurt you, at the very least,” Jeongguk continued, watching Y/N carefully as she heaved her upper body up so she could sit up straight.

“So what you’re saying is… you’ve all decided to steer clear of Tae, but keep him under surveillance at all times? And all the while, he’s content with just keeping to himself? Is that right?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, the elk hybrid’s tapered ears flickering lazily as he nodded in response. “Is it wishful thinking to hope fights like that won’t happen again between any of you?”

Chuckling without responding to her inquiries, Jeongguk passed a tattooed hand over his face, moving to his wardrobe to pull some fresh sweatpants out of it. While his back was turned to her Y/N dragged her eyes up from his legs, over his muscular back, and to his mussed hair and antlers. His antlers were truly something to marvel at; though the scale of them were significantly smaller than were when Y/N first saw them while he was still in elk form. She wondered if that was some kind of trait scientists had worked into elk hybrid DNA. After all, it would be pretty difficult for Jeongguk to carry around the weight of full-scale elk antlers while shifted into human form. The shape of them seemed to encircle his head, perhaps another scientist’s idea, maybe to prevent others from colliding into the antlers accidentally, compared to the way if they’d branch out horizontally– taking up more sideways space. They were covered in a rich brown velvet and looked soft to the touch, Y/N staring at them unabashedly since his back was turned.

Squinting, she noticed the very tip of one of his antlers, one that was crooked like a tree, seemed to have a viscous liquid sluggishly rolling down the length of it, and as she leaned closer to get a look at it, Y/N realized it was blood. Stiffening, Y/N immediately got to her feet, rushing over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder without thinking. Jeongguk flinched in surprise, looking down at her with a scandalized expression as she got on her tip-toes to confirm that he was truly bleeding.

“Jeongguk, you’re bleeding! One of your antlers!” Y/N exclaimed, reaching her hand upwards to touch before stopping herself abruptly. She didn’t know if antlers, like hybrid ears, were sensitive, and didn’t want to risk him getting angry with her.

A noise of surprise fell from his lips, gripping his sweatpants in his fist and stalking towards his bathroom while mumbling to himself. Y/N followed after him hot on his heels, eyes on a spot of velvet covering his antlers that seemed to be beginning to peel away from the bony appendage. In the mirror, he turned his head in a few different directions, a deep grimace appearing on his face as a droplet of blood slipped down his antler and onto his cheek.

“Aw, fuck… its late August, I forgot about this bullshit. Don’t worry about it, I’m not hurt. My velvet’s just shedding,” Jeongguk groaned, using the back of his hand to smear the blood off of his face with annoyance. “Unfortunately, I’ll be walking around here for the next few days looking gory as hell, and it makes a goddamn mess.”

“How often does that happen?” Y/N asked, awed. Gripping the lip of his granite sink vanity, Jeongguk made eye contact with her reflection.

“Just once a year, usually around this time,” Jeongguk answered, spinning slowly so he could look down at her again. “Alright, let’s focus, here. I want to shower and sleep for at least four hours.”

Blushing, it dawned on Y/N that she was taking up a bit too much of his time especially after he had stayed up the entire night, clearing her throat. Part of her ached to ask more questions surrounding the particular subject of velvet shedding; such as if it was painful for him, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re right, okay. What else should I know?” Y/N inched backwards into his bedroom, the elk hybrid leaning his hip against his sink vanity. Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked the charm bag she had made him resting on his dresser, beside his notebook and the ruby rosary he’d used to get rid of that entity. He had half a mind to ask about it, one million questions begging for answers from the elk hybrid, but she had to keep it together, for now.

“Last night was a full moon. Namjoon is a wolf hybrid… Do you know what I’m trying to say?” Jeongguk narrowed his eyes purposefully when Y/N shook her head with confusion.

“You know, how there’s that idea that wolves howl at the full moon and are riled up by it? Technically, it’s something of a circulated rumor, but I’m led to believe that there’s some truth in it. It’s not like he’s a werewolf or anything, so stop looking at me like that. I think a full moon just influences his mood, that’s all. He’s more agitated and moody than he’d be otherwise. This whole week leading up to the full moon the wolf has been acting bizarre, anyways; fine one moment, pissed off the next with no explanation as to why. It gave me whiplash, at first, before I put the pieces together.”

She was still staring at Jeongguk incredulously, trying to process that he was pretty much telling her the explanation for Namjoon’s behavior was adjacent to Hollywood lycanthrope lore. Her mother always used to tell her people tended to act a bit strangely on the nights of a full moon, but never really put much stock into the theory. If anything, it was a sort of flimsy excuse as to why Namjoon had totally flown off of the handle, but she’d take any information Jeongguk would give her gratefully.

“I suppose if that is true, certain things would make more sense to me,” Y/N began slowly, trying not to make any more funny faces at the elk hybrid or insult his insight. “I get what you mean. He’ll be willing to converse one minute and the next he’s either glaring at me or avoiding me like I’m the plague. You two worked together to get rid of that entity, and the following day you both had that little spat outside…”

“It’s his species. Wolf hybrids aren’t adopted very often, they’re extremely temperamental, territorial. He’s been trying to establish dominance over the rest of the house since he’s gotten here,” Jeongguk yawned, another trail of blood falling from his antler and running down the side of his face. He didn’t seem to notice. “Then again, none of the hybrids you’ve adopted find homes quickly, unless they plan on shooting us or something. Not many humans are comfortable with lions, tigers, and bears in their homes.”

Snorting at his Wizard of Oz reference, Y/N sobered up a bit. The sad reality that she had only come to adopt her hybrids because no one else had wanted them, apart from someone looking to hunt them down for sport, had her stomach churning. Hybrids that were spliced with domesticated animal DNA were always the popular choice for the average potential adopting owner looking for companionship, as most people knew how to handle animals such as cats, dogs, and rabbits. The behavior of a jaguar hybrid was quite different than any house cat hybrid she had ever met. She thought it wise to order some guidebooks online that night; if she hadn’t known about Jeongguk’s velvet shedding, or Namjoon’s sensitivity to the moon cycle, what else didn’t she know?

“A lot of humans are just evil. Honestly, I’m surprised that they haven’t passed a law making hybrid hunting illegal. Makes me think some of these lawmakers partake in it themselves,” Y/N seethed, the primal urge to protect her hybrids coming back to her again. It seemed to be a frequent emotion, especially in the past 24 hours. “Alright, let me get out of your hair, or I’ll go on a tangent. Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“Yeah, I think that’s it. They’re probably going to be pretty pitiful when you go down to confront them, just warning you. They know they fucked up, neither of them want to upset you any further, so you should be good. You might need to patch them up a bit, they both got a few good blows to the face. Reeks of blood in here,” Jeongguk sighed, flicking the light on in his bathroom, turning the shower tap on as he spoke.

Growing antsy, Y/N decided it was time to get a move on before Jeongguk started stripping in front of her, knowing that he wasn’t exactly above that. She had a feeling Jeongguk knew exactly how much he affected her. With a jolt, her brain registered that it was highly likely that all of the hybrids in the house heard the pitiful noises she made when they scented her. It was slightly embarrassing, but there was nothing she could do about it. It probably wasn’t even something they thought twice about.

“Right, so I’m going to go talk to them, I guess… clean them up. Please get some rest, then come get some food, okay? Oh, and thank you, again, for everything. You’re sweeter than you look, Jeongguk,” Y/N couldn’t help but to tease him a little bit, Jeongguk snapping his head around as he was checking the water temperature and sending her an unimpressed grimace. She could see a whisper of amusement in his midnight eyes, however.

With that, Y/N offered Jeongguk a sincere smile before shutting his bedroom door and setting off down the hall. Mindlessly brushing a hand over the shoulder he had scented, Y/N felt her skin flushing as she thought about how brazen he had been, and how he was able to just switch it off in a flash and resume civil conversation with her. It was a bit disorienting, she thought, swiping the first aid kit she’d dumped on the bottom step of the staircase before running up to talk to Jeongguk.

Taking several breaths, Y/N started the short distance down the hall to Namjoon’s bedroom. The door was open; light from his large windows flooding out into the hallway, and Y/N hesitated as she approached the doorway. She could tell both of them were in there, the sounds of heavy books being slid back into their spots on the bookshelf and the ruffling of clothes being folded telling her so. Swallowing down her nerves, Y/N entered the room.

Namjoon was by the bed, which had been made already, folding all of the clothes he had torn out of his wardrobe. He was facing the window, away from her, but his ears were flat against his skull and his shoulders were drooped, so she knew he was aware of her presence. They had almost completely restored the room to how it was before all hell had broken loose the previous night, the blood on the floor mopped away, each item on Namjoon’s desk placed back in their rightful spots. Taehyung was staring at her from the book shelf, looking from her face to the medical kit in her hand while he cautiously placed a clothbound book about candle magic back in place.

“Morning,” Y/N greeted evenly, wanting to ease into the scolding as best she could. Judging by the thick cloud of doom in the room she had walked into, both of them already felt bad enough.

Entering the bedroom a bit further, she eyed Taehyung, who had hung his head and started to lift another book off of the floor. He’d changed into a fresh outfit, but looked disheveled and sleep deprived. She placed the first aid kit on Namjoon’s bed, standing a few feet from him as she unzipped it slowly.

Namjoon was surreptitiously avoiding her eyes, Y/N watching him fold a pair of jeans with his knuckles bloodied and bruised. He had thrown on sweats and a simple white tee shirt, and had apparently showered with his damp silver hair pushed back from his face, but like Taehyung, his appearance was tired and out of sorts. Silently, she scooped up the small armful of clothes he had folded, placed them back into his wardrobe, and marched back to her spot beside him.

“Come here, both of you. I want to clean up your injuries before they get infected,” Y/N commanded firmly, pointing at the bed she wanted them to sit on. “And, we need to talk. Or, I can talk and you can listen.”

Taehyung moved promptly, though rather leisurely, sitting on the foot of Namjoon’s bed. In consequence, the wolf hybrid sprung out of the way, nearly knocking Y/N over in the process. Gritting her teeth, she waited for Namjoon to sit down on the mattress a few feet from Taehyung with reluctant obedience. He still wouldn’t look at her.

Slipping into injury evaluation mode, Y/N assessed their wounds while trying to remove her emotions with great difficulty in doing so. Both had torn and bruised knuckles; Namjoon had a nasty cut over his right eyebrow and a split lip, Taehyung’s cheekbone and jaw was bruised and it looked like he might have bitten through his lip with his teeth when Namjoon had directed a blow there. Tutting, Y/N got to work by beginning to load up some cotton rounds with disinfectant.

“You two don’t have to be best friends, hell, you don’t even have to like each other. But you cannot get physically violent like that, no matter how you rationalize its justification. It’s not fair to the others that they were forced to break up your fight last night.”

Y/N knelt in front of Namjoon, who was closest to her, taking one of his hands that was gripping his knees and arranging his digits to be splayed over hers, dabbing away caked-on blood with the cotton round as she spoke. His hand was limp in hers, like he had resigned to being touched, and she could finally feel his amber stare on her even as she focused on his injured hand. He didn’t react to the stinging sensation of the disinfectant, even when she moved over to his dominant hand that had the brunt of the damage to the knuckles. She was erring on the side of being especially gentle with her ministrations, considering they were paired with a bit of a scolding.

“What would have happened if they weren’t here? If it was just the three of us, would you have fought until one of you got knocked out or killed? You know I can’t break up a physical altercation between any of you, you’re hybrids. Stronger and faster than me, sharper instincts, and you’re men on top of it all,” Y/N continued, rising from her knees to sit in between the two of them. “I know you’re both more than capable of having a conversation to hash out conflict. The violence was unnecessary, and it really broke my heart to see you two like that.”

The solemn vocalization of her feelings echoed about the room hollowly. She motioned for Taehyung to give her his hands while she saturated another cotton ball with fresh disinfectant. He slid his hand into hers easily, remaining eerily quiet as she cleaned him up. Surprisingly, both hybrids hadn’t made an attempt to respond to her in any way, almost making her feel guilty for even attempting to admonish them in the first place, but she knew she had to put her foot down before things escalated again. There was not a cell in her body that wanted to be patching up wounds inflicted by each other in the near future, and she was making that clear.

Pulling out some Neosporin, Y/N swiftly applied it to both hybrid’s hands, taking a few moments to collect her thoughts. The room was deathly silent, Y/N getting the feeling both of them were holding their breath. Shocked that Namjoon was letting her touch him this much, Y/N let out a ragged sigh, ready to wrap their hands before moving onto their faces.

“Namjoon, could you pass me that roll of gauze, please?” Y/N murmured, squeezing his palm lightly as she dabbed ointment on the knuckle of his right index finger, the most mangled one of all. Clearing his throat, Namjoon rummaged around in the kit, the roll of gauze appearing before her face at once. “Thank you.”

“Y/N… I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered suddenly, Y/N motions wrapping the gauze around Namjoon’s hand methodically pausing for a moment. “I started it, shoving Namjoon. It spun out of control from there.”

Namjoon’s grip on her hand tightened as he grunted lightly, Y/N peering up at him curiously. There was a deep frown on his face, knowing that Taehyung was taking a bit too much of the blame. She finished wrapping up his hands, turning to Taehyung to do the same. She still had their faces to work on, Y/N clocking the dried blood crusted onto the sharp edge of the Kodiak hybrid’s jawline.

“I shoved him first,” Namjoon muttered, remorse dripping from his tone ever so slightly. Stunned, Y/N gawked at Namjoon through her peripherals while trying her best to steadily wrap Taehyung’s hand, looping the gauze around his thumb and back over his palm.

“Please, just– can you both try to avoid fighting like that? It makes me sad, seeing you two beat up like this. Please promise me you won’t do something like this again. No more violence in this house,” Y/N finished what almost felt like a parental spiel, dropping the gauze in her lap as she got up from her seat between them.

She was met with two pairs of eyes hesitant to lock with her own, and Y/N wondered what some of the others had said to them to get them to such a somber state of mind. Taehyung nodded, looking at his feet, while Namjoon’s ears drooped even further downwards.

“Alright, I’m done scolding. I’ll get some washcloths from the bathroom, fix up your faces,” Y/N brightened her tone a few degrees, spinning on her heel and disappearing into Namjoon’s en suite.

She returned after a couple of short moments, two warm washcloths in her hands as she stood in front of the wolf hybrid. Finally, he looked her in the eyes, his as unreadable as always, Y/N gripping the cloth in her hand before leaning down a bit to scan his face. Sighing sadly, she used her free hand to tuck a couple of fingers under his chin, tilting his face upwards and to the side so she could begin to blot away at the dried blood crusted around his eyebrow. While he definitely grew rigid with her close proximity and touch, Namjoon allowed her to clean up his face gently.

Cupping his jaw with her hand, Y/N dabbed all of the blood off of Namjoon’s brow, cheekbone, and finally his split lower lip as tenderly as she could, all while avoiding getting lost in his turbulent gaze. She tried to work quickly; the silence around her was absolutely deafening, and she was well aware that Namjoon wasn’t exactly keen on receiving physical touch.

“Okay, Namjoon… looks like you’ll just need a bandage over your eyebrow,” Y/N murmured absently, peeling the paper from plastic of a butterfly bandage to apply over the site. No matter what, both hybrid’s injuries would likely disappear within two days with their healing capabilities. “Sit still for me, won’t you?”

Y/N gently requested the latter part of her statement, noting that Namjoon was slightly squirming in his seat, his fluffy silver tail beating against his mattress periodically. He didn’t appear to like obeying orders from her, Y/N able to spot that from his body language a mile away, but did so without an utterance of a complaint. He really must have felt bad about his behavior the previous night.

“I… shouldn’t have said those things to you last night,” Namjoon vocalized out of the blue as she was smoothing the bandage over his brow bone. “I’m… sorry. Uh, hmm. Yeah, I’m sorry. I don’t actually think of you in that, um, way.”

Namjoon spoke as if it was the first time he was tasting a genuine apology on his tongue, the words clunky and awkward in his mouth. Even still, Y/N could detect the sincerity in them, even if it was the most bizarre way she had ever been apologized to. She kept in mind Jimin and Jeongguk’s theories that he hadn’t had much practice in being around sensitive emotions. She wondered if the speculation on his file that he had been a hybrid raised in the wilderness was actually true, based on his difficulty with dealing with certain emotional situations, but brushed it aside for later as she used a clean finger to spread some Neosporin onto his swollen cut lip. She didn’t miss the tiny intake of breath that came from him as her finger traced over the soft flesh.

The apology hung in the air heavily as she figured out how to respond. She’d pretty much forgiven Namjoon already, after his display of contrition and Jeongguk’s speculation that the full moon may have agitated him into volatility. As seconds ticked by and he was left without a reply, Y/N moving away from him to toss the bandage wrapper in the trash by his desk and the bloodied washcloth in the hamper, Namjoon began to fidget uncomfortably again. Humming, she turned back to him, reaching out to graze across his cheek softly. He stilled at the touch, pupils blown wide.

“I know. I forgive you, Namjoon,” Y/N smiled softly as she brushed her thumb over his elegant cheekbone, hoping that this event wouldn’t encourage the wolf hybrid to build up even stronger walls around himself. “Let’s try to put this behind us. Okay?”

Dropping her hand from Namjoon’s face, she turned her attention to Taehyung sitting stoically on the bed, his tongue peeking out from between his lips to try and get rid of some of the crusted-on blood at the corner of his mouth. Using the remaining clean rag, Y/N gingerly washed away the blood around his mouth, the Kodiak hybrid flinching as she passed over the tender, bruised area by his jaw. She quickly mumbled out an apology, using her palm to brush his curls off of his forehead to make sure the area was without injury. There was a small scrape by his hairline, Y/N dabbing away at it with a sigh.

“You got each other pretty good, huh? If we ever have an intruder, I’d actually feel bad for that son of a bitch,” Y/N attempted to lighten the mood, tired of simmering in angst and gloom.

Though neither of them chuckled at her joke, Y/N felt Taehyung’s posture loosen up a bit from beneath her. He didn’t need any bandages on his face, so Y/N expertly disinfected the wounds and finished up with the Neosporin. She ruffled Taehyung’s curls back into their place, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze before packing up the first aid kit.

“I think you’ve put this place back together well enough, you two should eat and take it easy the rest of the day, maybe get some space. Just find me later and I’ll refresh the gauze on your hands,” Y/N slung the strap of the kit over her shoulder, motioning for them to stand and follow her out into the kitchen. When she was patching up Namjoon’s face, she heard his stomach grumbling, and wanted the both of them to have a proper breakfast. “Yoongi made these really yummy pastries, perfect for fall coming up… some kind of hash, as well.”

The mention of pastries seemed too tempting to pass up for Namjoon not to stand from the bed and inch towards the door, Taehyung following close behind. Smiling, Y/N felt them waiting for her as she returned her kit to the closet beneath the stairs. She noticed Namjoon’s ears finally perked up after being flat against his skull for so long, a few shades of color coming back to his complexion. Taehyung remained a touch grim, shuffling beside Y/N silently as they headed for the kitchen.

Only Yoongi remained in the room, Jimin and Seokjin’s plates cleared away as they obviously fled to other parts of the house, perhaps to nap or wash up. The leopard hybrid was busy stacking leftover pastries onto a platter, the kitchen polished to a shine. Stiffly, both Namjoon and Taehyung took seats at the opposite ends of the kitchen; the former perching on a barstool, the Kodiak hybrid sliding into the booth of the breakfast nook.

“There’s still some hash left. Though, I’m not really in the mood to share it with either of you,” Yoongi said as soon as Namjoon sat across from where the leopard hybrid was standing and arranging pastries onto the platter, Y/N snickering lightly.

Now close by Yoongi’s side, Y/N attempted to butter him up a bit so he’d concede and let the other two eat. He peered down at her curiously, the curiosity quickly replaced by suspicion as she batted her eyelashes at him and placed a hand on his forearm. He looked pretty with his hair tied back, displaying several shiny silver hoops dangling from his ears, the tips of which were blushing pink.

“Yoongi, come on, can’t you share a little? You made so much. I want another cinnamon roll, too, anyways,” Y/N pouted, really laying it on thick. She hypothesized Yoongi was pretty easy to convince if teasing was involved, his tail flicking furiously behind him as he stared down at her hard.

“Fine,” Yoongi grumbled, Y/N letting go of his forearm with a satisfied hum. “But I’m not serving them. Get it yourselves.”

Yoongi eyed the other two hybrids in the room with contempt, all while placing the pastry with the most cinnamon and icing on it on a plate, offering it to Y/N promptly. He was too cute, and too sweet, for his own good, she thought.

“Thanks, Yoongi,” Y/N took the plate gratefully, smiling at him brightly as she immediately dove into the pastry.

She remained by his side, as he placed plastic wrap over the leftover pastries, though not before Namjoon was able to swipe one from where he was sitting. The wolf hybrid winced as the split skin of his lower lip stretched to take a bite, Yoongi chuckling lightly and shaking his head.

“Serves you right,” the leopard hybrid muttered, Y/N stepping on his foot as soon as the words left his mouth. In retaliation, his tail flicked back furiously enough to smack the back of her thigh, forcing a muffled squeak out of her mouth stuffed full with pastry.

Taehyung had filled up a plate with hash wordlessly, returning to the breakfast nook to eat by himself. After she was done with her cinnamon roll, Y/N decided to refill Yoongi’s coffee mug for him, ambling over to the coffee bar. She happened to peer out the kitchen slider window, a flash of something colorful outside catching her eye. Startled, she set Yoongi’s mug down, getting closer to the window.

“Oh my gosh! Is that Hoseok?” Y/N exclaimed, spotting the vibrant orange coat of a lean fox scampering around the backyard playfully. Foxes didn’t typically come out during the day time, and Y/N could hardly remember the last time one had visited her backyard.

“Yeah. I think he wanted to blow off some steam. Seokjin should be out there with him too,” Yoongi replied from across the kitchen, putting some condiments back into the refrigerator. “It’s not too often hybrids like to shift more than necessary, it’s more comfortable to be in our human forms. But being in animal form has its uses, mainly to expend any pent-up energy.”

Following Hoseok’s quick movements around the back yard with eager eyes, Y/N could barely keep track of him. Another noise of exclamation came from her as a separate form came into her view– a blue-black jaguar, slinking lazily around the hedges leading further back into the property. The sight was startling, of course, even though she knew it was only Seokjin. A childlike giddiness welled up inside of her as she watched the two hybrids explore the backyard, wondering if it would be alright for her to go outside and take a look at them more closely.

“Why don’t you go out there? Unless you prefer gawking from afar,” Yoongi’s voice echoing her inner thoughts was suddenly much closer to her, taking his refilled mug from the coffee bar with a wry grin.

“Would it be okay? I mean, I don’t want to bother them or anything, if they’re trying to blow off steam,” Y/N questioned, Yoongi looking highly amused.

“I doubt you’d be bothering them. Just make sure you turn around when they shift back, so you don’t get flashed,” Yoongi confirmed, pointing to the lawn chairs with both hybrid’s sets of clothes, folded neatly.

Scandalized, Y/N felt her face become as hot as an iron, though the desire to potentially interact with Seokjin and Hoseok while they were shifted greatly outweighed her embarrassment towards Yoongi’s comment. She could hear Namjoon muttering from his seat several feet away, Y/N yanking the slider door open excitedly before she could stop herself. She knew that Yoongi would be able to handle any bickering between the other two, and definitely nip it in the bud, so she left the three of them in the kitchen without too much worry.

The temperature outside was boiling and only growing hotter, Y/N cursing as she stepped out into the sunlight on the patio. Autumn’s arrival had never been so anticipated by her, especially as she began to perspire as soon as she felt the heat on her skin. She could no longer spot Seokjin, but could see Hoseok, who had paused his energetic sprints around the backyard to stand statue-still, staring at her with his head cocked.

Hoseok was a beautiful fox, his coat a glossy sunset color, his frame athletic and larger than most foxes she had seen before. Even from afar, she could now confidently tell that it was Hoseok, his clever eyes remaining and glowing even in his animal form. All she could think to do was wave, swearing she could hear Yoongi’s laughter from inside of the house, but it was one of the last things on her mind. Before she could even gather her thoughts enough to ask Hoseok to come closer, he did.

Hoseok bounded over to her, a noise of delight tearing from her lips as he sped past her in a flash, circling around her form joyfully while chittering softly. Y/N couldn’t believe she had an opportunity to interact with a fox so closely, Hoseok continuing to dash around her as if to dare her to try and catch him. Giggling, Y/N sunk her knees down into the sweet-scented warm grass, hoping he’d approach her once she lowered herself down. It was strange, to keep in mind that she wasn’t dealing with a wild animal, but with Hoseok, her charming and sunny fox hybrid.

“Hoseok, are you having fun? It’s not too hot out here for you?” Y/N cooed, trying her best to track his movements as he circled closer and closer around her body kneeling in the grass.

Hoseok chirped from behind her, Y/N feeling the bristly brush of his tail against the back of her arm as he got nearer than ever, until he made his final semi-circle to face her more fully. By the way she was sitting, Hoseok’s face was only an inch or so below her chin, Y/N able to count the black whiskers on his snout.

“You’re awfully cute like this, you know?” Y/N couldn’t help but comment, fingers twitching to reach out and scratch under his chin. She found it easy to tease Hoseok when his sharp tongue was unable to quip back, the fox hybrid leaning back on his haunches and staring at her inquisitively.

All at once, Hoseok stretched forward, his body laying down in the grass and his face settling down on Y/N’s knees. Trying not to squeal at the sensation of soft fur of his face brushing her knees as his chin settled in her lap, Y/N froze, her hands hovering mid-air as Hoseok made himself comfortable.

“Oh boy. Cozy, Hoseok?” Y/N chuckled, still refraining from indulging her desire to bury her fingers into Hoseok’s lustrous fur, as difficult as it was. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, at the very least. “Can I touch?”

Of course, Hoseok was unable to answer in his shifted state, but he nuzzled his face further into the bare skin of her thighs, tail swishing behind him languidly. Taking his reaction to her words as a go-ahead, considering he hadn’t yanked himself away, Y/N promptly buried a hand in the silky fur between his ears.

Immediately, she massaged through the fur, lightly scratching Hoseok’s scalp with her fingernails as his eyes slipped shut with the sensation. Like always, she avoided the hybrid’s ears out of consideration for their sensitivity, stroking down from the crown of his head to between his shoulder blades. In her lap, Hoseok had become a boneless heap, enjoying every touch she had to offer, his breath coming out in short pants wafting over the skin of her legs.

She must have hit a sweet spot right behind one of his ears, Hoseok shuddering as his eyes snapped open. Kneading her fingers into the spot a bit more firmly in response, a tiny growl came from the fox, the pink of his tongue flashing before her eyes as he dragged it in a long strip over her thigh. Jolting at the velvety, wet sensation, Y/N’s cheeks were flaming, though she wasn’t exactly surprised that Hoseok was teasing her even while fully shifted into his fox form.

“Cheeky boy,” Y/N muttered, still stroking the soft fur behind his ears as she looked away from him, trying to find Seokjin in the tall grasses and weeds making up the backyard. “Hmm… where’s my Seokjin, huh?”

Mostly talking to herself, her hand slipped away from Hoseok’s crown as he sat up, head turned towards the large tree by the picnic table. Slow blinking at her through his peripherals, Y/N followed his gaze, squinting at the tree a little ways in the distance. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, the thick branches of the ancient oak tree cloaking the picnic table in ample shade, the vibrant green leaves rustling with the dry breeze. Taking a closer look once Hoseok nudged his nose towards it, Y/N scanned the crooked branches stretching across the sky as she got to her feet to follow Hoseok trotting over to the tree.

“Oh!” Y/N squeaked, finally managing to see what Hoseok was trying to show her. Seokjin had climbed the tree, resting on a particularly thick branch lazily.

One of his arms was dangling off of the branch, Y/N gulped at the razor-sharp claws hanging in front of her face. Hoseok barked out a strange sound close to the word wow, pawing at the tree trunk as Seokjin placidly opened his eyes, peering down at her and the fox hybrid. Her pulse was racing, not being able to get over being near such a large (and usually lethal) cat. In one fell swoop, Seokjin elegantly jumped down from the branch, Y/N stumbling backwards in shock as he landed in front of her. The impact he made with the soft grass was barely audible, Seokjin incredibly light on his feet for his size; considering his stocky build and strong musculature. Trying not to stare at his fangs as Seokjin returned Hoseok’s vocalizations with a hoarse, guttural noise, Y/N watched as Hoseok got in the jaguar’s face and began to screech, as foxes do when engaging in fights.

“Uh oh. Are you two fighting now?” Y/N giggled, Hoseok immediately clamming up and sitting down to stare at her. “Aren’t you best friends, though?”

Seokjin pulled away from Hoseok, stalking towards Y/N. Doing her best to remain still, she allowed Seokjin to approach her without shying away– his copper-penny eyes boring into her intensely. To her great surprise, Seokjin ducked his head, nudging Y/N’s palm and apparently attempting to get her to pet him. A soft exclamation fell from her mouth, her fingertips smoothing over his skull while he leaned up into the touch with a feral purr. She kept repeating in her mind– it was her sweet, gentle Seokjin, the one who held her until she fell asleep the previous night, not a wild jaguar that might take her hand off.

“So pretty,” Y/N breathed, getting a good look at Seokjin’s blue-black coat.

Darker fur along his torso was decorated with rosettes, and his coat was glossy, but Y/N did not miss some of the old scars littering his body, much like the ones she had noticed the day she had adopted him and treated the wound on his side. Biting down on her lip, Y/N focused on scratching behind Seokjin’s ears, him seeming to enjoy it just as much as Hoseok had by the way he was rubbing his face against her thigh. Using her free arm to swipe sweat off of her forehead, Y/N ached to head back into the AC, even being in the shade wasn’t enough to convince her to spend any more time outside. Hoseok began to pant as he sniffed around the oak tree, the heat surely taking a toll on him as well.

“Guys, we should head in. It’s too hot out here to be out for very long, and I’m dying for a popsicle or something. Care to join?” Y/N cupped Seokjin’s face, scratching below his ears soothingly as she spoke. His eyes were shut, turning to putty in her hands.

Hoseok promptly scampered to the patio where he had left his clothes, Y/N trailing after him with Seokjin close behind. The latter seemed a little disappointed that she had to stop petting him in order to follow Hoseok, but he trudged beside her quietly regardless. Reaching the scorching-hot pavingstones of the patio, Y/N heard the slider door yank open, but was too busy staring at the fox and jaguar in front of her. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to being so close to apex predators like that, willing to be pet and doted on.

Her vision cut out as a sinewy hand pressed over her eyes, another gripping her waist as she was pulled into someone’s chest abruptly. Squealing, Y/N grabbed at the wrist keeping her waist in place, the scent of vanilla and mulled spice filling her senses.

“I told you to turn around, or you’d get flashed. Those two are shameless,” Yoongi whispered into her ear, Y/N shivering at the paired sensation of his hair brushing against her neck and his gravelly voice from inches away. Even though she tried to squirm away from the leopard hybrid, his grasp on her was ironclad, keeping her firmly in place with her back against his chest.

“Hey, Yoongi, you’re gonna give the poor girl a heart attack, sneaking up on her like that,” Hoseok’s voice finally rang out in the humid air, Yoongi’s clamp over her eyes only growing firmer.

“Put some pants on, Foxy. Standing there chastising me with your junk out, have a little decency or self respect, at the very least,” Yoongi replied gruffly, Y/N all but melting into his chest with the proximity and the timbre of his voice.

“Oh, like what you see, kitty?” Hoseok shot back over a mouthful of laughter, the sounds of fabric sliding over flesh from a few feet away heightened with one of her senses robbed from her.

“You never seem to run out of shit to say, huh?” Yoongi griped, his pinky finger threading through one of the belt loops in her denim shorts. For some reason, the action felt incredibly intimate. “Your fly is down, Seokjin.”

All at once, Yoongi’s hand dropped from her face, Y/N blinking rapidly as bright sunlight burned her eyes once her sight was returned to her. Yoongi maintained his grip on her waist almost possessively, and she knew the sweat rolling down the back of her neck suddenly had nothing to do with the heat outside.

As her eyes focused, she caught Seokjin tugging up the zipper on his jeans, his broad shoulders straining against the white tee shirt he’d shrugged on haphazardly. Gulping, she averted her stare as Hoseok clomped over to her with his plastic slides slapping the paving stone patio, cocking his head to look at her inquiringly.

“How did the scolding go? Tail between their legs? Not that Taehyung has much of a tail, in the first place,” he asked dryly, the expanse of his dewy golden skin exposed by a flimsy muscle tee (that he must have picked up at the mall) catching sunlight and dazzling her.

“Foxy,” Yoongi’s tone had a warning edge to it, his hand finally retreating from Y/N’s waist as he pulled the slider door back open, a rush of cool air flooding out into the patio space. “Shut it, already.”

“Yoongi, honey, it’s alright… everyone deserves to be filled in,” Y/N insisted, motioning for both him and Hoseok to head into the house before her, Yoongi’s tail going ramrod straight at the sound of his name being called. “Everything went smoothly in my opinion, Hoseok. I’m hoping that this incident won’t be repeated, I can’t bear the thought of seeing any of you hurt like that again.”

“You’re being mushy, again, silly girl,” Yoongi chortled between words in front of her, Y/N noting that both Namjoon and Taehyung had vacated the kitchen.

Muttering under her breath over Yoongi’s incessant need to poke fun at her, she shut the door behind Seokjin, who was smiling at her so kindly that she thought she’d fall over at the way his full lips tugged into the saccharine shape. It was difficult to grasp just how breathtakingly beautiful Seokjin truly was without even trying, donning such a simple outfit and nearly dripping with sweat. She had to tear her eyes from him promptly in order not to dwell on that fact for too long.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, so I’m a sap, whatever! Anyways, thank you guys for everything last night… helping with the cleanup after the cookout, intervening during the incident– all of it,” Y/N passed a forearm over her dewy forehead, mind on peeling wallpaper off of the second floor hallways– when she was upstairs earlier, she realized the paper had pulled from the walls in large sheets due to the recent heatwave, even with the new AC system pumping through the house.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re overly forgiving?” Hoseok poked Y/N in the shoulder as he leaned over the island they had congregated at, a devilish grin revealing his sharpened incisors. “No, wait. Alice said you’re ‘known to be too trusting’, if I remember her words correctly from that phone call you had last week.”

“H-hoseok!” Y/N squeaked, her face coloring with mortification. Simply shrugging, Hoseok traced patterns into the granite of the island countertop, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “Al–”

“Hoseok, didn’t you want to show me how to use the sauna? Quit the wiseass act, for once,” Seokjin vocalized abruptly, his fingertip and thumb tugging at Hoseok’s russet ear sharply. At the contact, Hoseok braced himself on the granite with a swiftly masked dark grimace, springing into action.

“You’re lost without me, Jinnie,” Hoseok choked, his hands trying to grasp at Seokjin’s tail as the jaguar hybrid lured him out of the kitchen and in the direction to the basement. “Hey! Where’d you learn the word ‘wiseass’, anyway? I didn’t teach you that!”

As Hoseok’s voice faded, Y/N was left staring at Yoongi’s silhouette illuminated by the fridge light as he rummaged around in the drawers, his ears fluttering with each subtle move she made rounding the counter as she reached his side. The leopard hybrid was silent until he happened upon what he was looking for; sending a smirk over his shoulder at Y/N.

“Here, have a drink. Hot out there, huh?” Yoongi tossed Y/N a bottle of electrolyte water, which she miraculously caught mid-air. Uncapping it, she took several greedy swigs, narrowing her eyes at the leopard hybrid’s smug expression.

“You know? You’re a real wiseass yourself, Yoongi,” Y/N accused, just about fed up with his borderline flirtatious banter. “Come on, let’s watch a movie or something… I’ll put on something boring, so you can take a nap. You’ve been up pretty much all night, regardless of what you told me this morning.”

Yoongi watched her carefully as she finished her drink, even allowing her to tow him along to the parlor entrance from the kitchen with her hand wrapped around his dainty wrist. Supposing she could save the wallpaper-peeling endeavor for the next day, perhaps when it wasn’t so hot, she decided to spend some personal time with the hybrids after the chaotic day before, Y/N felt Yoongi’s tail occasionally curl around the back of her knee as she dragged him to the parlor. She was pleased to discover Jimin occupying the room already, freshly showered and perky, poised in the leather recliner as they entered the room, a Star Wars movie playing on cable. It was clear that Jimin didn’t know how to fully operate the TV and remote control yet; distinct confusion painted all over his features.

“Jimin, sweetheart, want to watch something else? If this isn’t up your alley, let’s change it!” Y/N declared, swiping the remote from the coffee table once situating a limp Yoongi against one of the couch armrests. The leopard hybrid was pretty much half asleep by the time she had towed him into the parlor room, much to her delight– he was adorable when he was sleepy.

“Ah, I hate to be a bother, Y/N,” Jimin murmured, barely above a whisper to accommodate Yoongi’s clear drowsiness. His sandy ears remained alert, his expression clear, leading Y/N to believe he may have gotten a decent night’s sleep even after the events of the previous night.

“Shh, Jimin, you’ll never be a bother,” Y/N assured speedily, flicking through her digital movie stash in search of something that may intrigue the coyote hybrid; and after a few moments she spotted something that could potentially spark his interest (not to mention, potentially bore Yoongi to unconsciousness). “Oh! I think you might enjoy this– Casablanca. Old Hollywood, with its charms and all!”

Jimin leaned forward on his seat, eager butterscotch eyes roaming over the film’s description. She had kept in mind his taste in literature– Joan Didion’s ode to some of the gripes of Hollywood in Play It as It Lays– and ran with it. While the film wasn’t necessarily similar to the book he had brought with him from Montana, it was Old Hollywood, and Jimin struck her as someone who preferred a classic to a flashy space movie. As per usual, Jimin’s emotions were easy to read, and he was obviously curious.

“Looks entertaining, Y/N. I’ll gladly watch it with you,” Jimin shot her his award-winning smile, Y/N hardly able to press play with the reception of the gesture. The added fact that he had finally dropped the “Miss” from her name had her heart racing, to boot.

The film began to roll fuzzily on the flatscreen, furthering Yoongi’s relaxation into the couch cushions. Y/N took it upon herself to spread a knitted throw over the leopard hybrid, hoping that the action would convey her deep gratitude for talking to Taehyung the night before. Whatever he had said, clearly it had worked some magic in calming the Kodiak hybrid down.

It was incredibly peaceful; enjoying an old movie, with a drowsy Yoongi several inches away from her on the couch, and Jimin’s insightful commentary on the film itself every once and a while. Staying with the two of them for the time being, Y/N felt her stress surrounding the others, the house renovations, and the possibility of additional physical fights between the hybrids melt away.

Yoongi began to stir in his drowsy state beside her, low rumbling purrs coming from his chest as he maneuvered himself closer to Y/N. Unceremoniously, Yoongi curled onto his side and dropped his body down heavily, his head landing in Y/N’s lap as he pulled the blanket closer around himself. Jolting in surprise, Y/N let out an amused snort in response, Yoongi’s ear fluttering sluggishly with his eyes shut. Glancing at Jimin sideways, the coyote hybrid thoroughly invested in the film and seemingly paying no mind to her nor Yoongi, Y/N began to gently card her fingers through Yoongi’s hair, the inky strands slipping through her fingers like rivulets of water.

A deep, satisfied sigh deflated his chest slowly and rounded out in a purr, apparently enjoying the sensation, Y/N tucking a lock behind the shell of his human ear and stroking the long strands by the nape of his neck. Ever since Yoongi had scented her, he had grown increasingly clingy and almost affectionate, which was something she didn’t entirely mind at all, if she was being honest with herself. It was almost like in another life, or in another existence entirely, she and Yoongi had been in this position before, had brushed each other’s lives in some way.

Continuing to fiddle with the leopard hybrid’s hair while he fell into a deep sleep on her lap, Y/N returned her attention back to the film and the occasional exchanged comments with Jimin. She was able to fish her phone out of her pocket without disturbing Yoongi, filling an online shopping cart with seven different guidebooks for each hybrid she had adopted.

Y/N had the feeling that she’d have extra time to read the books while she was at work the following week, considering foot traffic would be light with the end of the summer season. Not to mention, she wasn’t giving tarot or psychic readings, so she knew that there would be a few hours where she’d have nothing to do but sit on a stool behind the counter– in her mind, a good way to spend it would be educating herself on her hybrids. Once the order was placed, she relaxed deeper into the couch, lightly massaging Yoongi’s scalp as the movie rolled on.

The rest of Saturday passed slowly like honey dripping from a wooden dipper; consisting of lazy movie marathons with Jimin, napping Yoongi, and later Hoseok and Seokjin– all while trying to beat the heat with popsicles, and ordering sushi for dinner instead of having to cook. Booze began to flow around 5 o’clock, Hoseok making some kind of tequila concoction with crushed ice and lime for everyone, which finally roused Yoongi out of his sleep and off of Y/N’s lap, puffiness filling out his cheeks. Once he had moved off of her, she made her rounds to respective bedrooms, writing down sushi orders from Jeongguk (who had also just woken up from his nap with sleep wrinkles on his cheek), Namjoon, and Taehyung– the task akin to pulling teeth with the latter two.

When the food arrived, by some miracle all seven hybrids joined her in the parlor to eat, even though Namjoon and Taehyung were carefully avoided by the others throughout the meal. The two that had fought took seats far from each other; Namjoon on the window seat a little ways away from the TV, Taehyung on a chair further back in the room by the entrance to the kitchen. Thankfully, not a single word was uttered by anyone surrounding the fight or the presence of the Kodiak and wolf hybrids, everyone’s full attention on the continuation of the New Girl binge they were in the middle of.

The only thing that seemed a little off to Y/N was Hoseok’s behavior, even though he tried his best to put on his most beguiling smile as he mixed up cocktails, he seemed on edge compared to earlier on in the day. Most interestingly, Y/N could tell it wasn’t due to Namjoon’s presence for once, as the fox hybrid appeared less frightened and more agitated, so she kept a particular eye on him as he absently picked his way through a California roll. He didn’t even poke fun at Seokjin like he normally did, even when the jaguar hybrid had opened up a soy sauce packet in a way that had it exploding all over the front of his tee shirt, deepening her concern.

After a couple of hours of watching the show and snacking on the Japanese takeout, Hoseok abruptly excused himself, making a beeline for the basement. Frowning, Y/N looked to Seokjin, who had been sitting on the floor in front of her feet, his head tilted backwards to make eye contact with her.

“What’s up with him? Do you know?” Y/N whispered into Seokjin’s nearest rounded ear, which twitched rapidly at the action, the jaguar hybrid’s eyes narrowing in the direction of the hallway to the foyer and basement.

“Yeah, I have a hunch. Maybe you should check on him,” a slight knowing edge was mingling with Seokjin’s melodic tone, causing Y/N to ease herself off of the couch. Tequila was fuzzying the edges of her sight, but she was still able to step her way around Seokjin after giving him an appreciative hair ruffle, ambling in the direction of the basement.

Deep down in her gut, Y/N had a minute clue as to what Seokjin was alluding to when she had questioned him. Hoseok was one of the last to scent her, along with Jimin, both of whom she was monitoring subtly for any symptoms of refraining from doing so. Hoseok’s fidgety, strange conduct during dinner certainly strengthened her suspicions, though it was his particular clingy mannerisms in fox form earlier in the day that had set off certain alarm bells in her head.

Still hearing quiet mumbling mingling with TV audio as she wrenched open the door to the basement, Y/N thought it best to shut it behind her once she was descending the steps and if her suspicions were confirmed. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to hybrid scenting rituals, anticipation flooding through her bloodstream as she tiptoed down the stairs.

The metal sound of dumbbells clanking together bounced around the bare acoustics of the basement almost immediately once Y/N reached the bottom step. It was a pipe dream to believe Hoseok had gotten true rest since the night before the cookout considering this wolf phobia, the excess of exercise Hoseok was performing was indicative of something deeper, clearly.

Coming into view of the gym space thanks to the mirrored wall, Y/N caught Hoseok performing aggressive overhead presses, his back turned to her and impressively heavy dumbbells grasped in his fists. Hoseok was nearly dripping with sweat, the amount of it not enough to chalk it up to his five minutes in the gym, his complexion in the mirror blotchy as he repeated a lifting motion over and over again. Still in his dampened muscle tee and sweat shorts, Hoseok’s chest heaved as he exercised, even though he knew she was standing behind him. She could tell by the way his posture locked up, his tail grew rigid, and his nostrils began to flare.

“Hoseok,” Y/N began, the fox hybrid promptly ignoring her and continuing his reps with renewed vigor. “Hoseok, stop. You’re gonna strain a muscle, you’ve been active all day.”

Y/N laced her words with heavy implication, knowing that clever Hoseok would undoubtedly catch onto the unsaid. Still, he refused to put down the dumbbells, staring at his own reflection in the mirror stormily. Hissing, Y/N marched up to his side, glaring at the fox hybrid’s stubborn side profile, tangible waves of body heat coming off of him like a furnace. Wondering why Hoseok was so reluctant to scent her, his attempts to abstain from the act so painfully apparent it puzzled Y/N to no end. Hoseok was one of the hybrids who warmed up to her the quickest, and usually didn’t shy away from physical contact, so the behavior was bizarre to say the least.

“Hoseok. Are you ignoring me? You look like you’re going to pass out, would you please put the weights down and look at me?” Y/N raised her voice a decibel or two, Hoseok’s jaw clenching and unclenching as a prominent vein appeared on his forehead. “Fucksake, Hoseok–”

Growling, Hoseok finally slammed the dumbbells back onto the metal rack, spinning on his heel to stare down at her with a cocked eyebrow. There was danger written all across his features, in a way that Y/N had never considered Hoseok could possess, sending a shiver down her spine as his darkened eyes swept over her face. His chest was heaving, taking two big steps towards Y/N, making her back up in consequence as her heart began to race.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to swear at you, I was just worried because you look so–”

“Look so what?” Hoseok cut her off sharply, backing her up until her ass made contact with the seat of the stationary bike, and there was nowhere left to go. “What do I look like?”

“Um! You’re just flushed, you don’t look bad or anything, I mean– I don’t think you could look bad–”

“You’re always talking yourself into a corner, darling, and look where it's gotten you this time,” Hoseok interrupted her babbling again, using one of his sneaker-clad feet to lightly kick between her ankles and widen her stance, Y/N slamming her mouth shut in response. “I’ll stop you there, before you dig yourself into a deeper hole.”

“You– and you’re always t-teasing me!” Y/N accused weakly, her words getting caught in her throat when Hoseok wrapped his hands around her waist firmly enough to have her wincing, finding herself plucked off of the floor and being placed onto the seat of the stationary bike.

Now eye-level with the fox hybrid, she gawked at him with wide, startled eyes, following the bead of sweat running down his temple and coasting down the side of his face. His hands remained on her waist, with enough force to likely bruise, Hoseok more worked up than she thought. Distantly, she cursed Seokjin inwardly for not giving her more of a warning surrounding the fox hybrid’s state, but as Hoseok’s tongue peaked out from between his lips to dampen the flesh, most coherent thought fled from her mind.

“I’ve told you before. You make it too easy for me,” Hoseok replied, his usually bright tone replaced with something darker, more predatory.

All Y/N could do was stare at him, effectively pinned to the seat with his vice like grip on her waist and his dangerously brilliant eyes boring into her like he could see through her skin. They swept over her throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he let go of one side of her waist to drag a fingertip up and over her clavicle, tapping his index finger against her thrumming pulse. Shuddering, her eyelids slipped shut as her breath began to come out in small pants, Hoseok chuckling lowly at her reaction to his touch. She felt pathetic, basically turned into a puddle already and he hadn’t even gotten close enough to bite her.

His index finger trailed upwards to crook under her chin, his thumb resting beneath her lower lip, tilting her head up and to the side a bit. A small groan spilled from Hoseok’s lips as her throat became more exposed to him, her scent undoubtedly filling his senses powerfully. Squirming in her seat, Hoseok’s grip on her waist loosened, the hand traveling to the back of her head as he took a fistful of her hair. He wasn’t being gentle by any means, his fingernails digging into her scalp as he threaded strands through his digits, pulling her closer to his face as she finally opened her eyes.

Hoseok was but a breath away from her, Y/N finding herself focusing on the freckle kissing his cupid’s bow, his eyes lidded as he stepped impossibly closer, slotting himself between her legs and dipping his face down to nuzzle at her jawbone. Eyes rolling back in her skull at the sensation of his lips ghosting over her jaw, Y/N bit back a whimper, her hands finding purchase on his bare biceps, his skin slightly slippery and feverish with perspiration.

“Hoseok…” Y/N whispered, sensing that he was stalling a little bit, taking deep breaths through his nose while tucked into the crook of her neck as his ears twitched at the sound of his name.

“What, are you eager or something?” Hoseok returned coolly, lifting his head to speak into her ear directly. His breath ghosting over the sensitive area had her practically clawing at his skin. “Patience, my darling.”

The dulcet tone of his voice caused the whimper to finally tumble from her lips, Hoseok grinning against the shell of her ear before she felt the sharpened points of his incisors nip roughly at her earlobe. The action had her pressing closer to Hoseok, her chest flush with his as her hands fumbled to the back of his tank top, gripping the dampened fabric as an anchor. With the implications of the fox hybrid’s words, she no longer held any doubts that all of the hybrids were aware just how much she enjoyed when they scented her, the realization both humiliating and exciting once it dawned on her.

“Oh? Are you embarrassed? Worried that the others upstairs will hear you?” Hoseok murmured into her ear, hand dropping from her jaw to press against her lower back, the force of the touch making her spine arch harder into Hoseok’s chest. “Doesn’t matter anyways…”

Feeling Hoseok’s heart racing as he pressed himself against her, Y/N began to shake in response to his tone and shamelessness, using her thighs to squeeze Hoseok’s hips in an attempt to get him to hurry up and bite her already. Sighing deeply, Hoseok nudged the tip of his nose against the corner of her jaw, his soft lips finding the tender spot beneath her earlobe and planting a featherlight kiss there. Y/N knew then, Hoseok was unabashedly trying to rile her up; this was a new side to the fox hybrid Y/N had no idea about– rough, wild, domineering.

The kiss was immediately followed by the fox hybrid finally baring his teeth and sinking them into the same spot he planted his lips seconds prior, the razor-sharp sting of his incisors tearing into her flesh with borderline reckless abandon. Too startled by the blinding pain to make a noise, Y/N’s mouth dropped open in a silent scream as she felt thin streams of her blood running down the side of her neck. Growing entirely limp, her body weakly slumped against Hoseok’s firm chest, the pain of the bite fading more slowly than any of her previous ones, perhaps because of the harsh way he had torn into the skin, his hand on the back of her head still yanking at strands with force.

“A-ah, ouch, Hos-seok,” Y/N sobbed lightly, gliding shaky hands up to Hoseok’s shoulders for purchase, the fox hybrid groaning softly into her neck as her fingernails clawed at his deltoids. As the throbbing began to slip away, the fogginess of pleasure that came with the bite overtook everything– the combination of the two sensations almost too much to bear.

Pulling his teeth from the wound, Hoseok adjusted her in his arms by using a forearm to curl securely around her lower back, hand tangled in her hair moving to stroke the back of her head more tenderly. A couple of involuntary tears slipped down her cheeks in response to the overwhelming sensations washing over her; eyes rolling to the back of her skull when she felt Hoseok drag his tongue in fat strips from the base of her clavicle to just over the bite by the curve of her jaw, collecting the thin trails of blood that had dribbled from the wound.

Y/N was hardly aware of the low whines she was letting out as Hoseok held her more gently, paying almost reverent attention to cleaning up the area he had bloodied. He was supporting most of her weight in the process, Y/N winding her arms around his neck loosely to keep herself somewhat upright as he once again pressed a soft kiss over his mark. She blearily eyed the crescent-shaped divots she had created on the skin of his shoulder, a delirious scenting-addled brain remarking that she, too, had claimed him in some way. While Hoseok had been quite rough with her, she didn’t really mind, especially because all tension had drained from his body since, and he was now holding her so tightly.

“Sorry about the pain, I think I picked a tender spot…” Hoseok suddenly murmured into her neck, moving his arms so he could hug around her waist, hooking his chin over her shoulder. Finally, she could drop her head down into the crook of his neck, still feeling the loopiness of the bite. “I waited too long, lost control a little bit.”

Hoseok drew soothing patterns on her back as he embraced her, warmth spreading through Y/N as she nuzzled into him. His scent was comforting, and she was honestly relieved that he had finally calmed down from his incessant bouncing off the walls, but all at once she was exhausted.

“Do you need to sit here for a bit? Or do you want me to carry you upstairs?” Hoseok spoke again after several beats, piece by piece of Y/N’s intelligence coming back to her as the fog cleared from her head. “We should probably get you a glass of water, you bled a bit and it's so hot outside… I’m surprised Yoongi or Jin haven’t come down here to fight me yet.”

“No more fighting,” Y/N weakly choked into Hoseok’s warm skin, lifting her heavy head up a few inches to speak more coherently. “I s-swear, you’re all going to be the death of me, b-between the scenting, teasing, and the angst.”

Hoseok heartily laughed at her stuttered sentiments, pressing his fingertips into the tender muscles of her back as he held her. She realized she never answered Hoseok’s first two inquiries, blinking kittenishly at the fox hybrid as he studied her face calmly. The warmth and friendliness to his features had returned.

“You don’t have to carry me, we can just go up together. I should bid everyone goodnight, anyways– it’s about time I attempt to get my sleep schedule under control before I head off to work Monday morning,” Y/N managed to articulate clearly, secretly praying for a peaceful Sunday before driving Seokjin and Namjoon to the city for the book club and then herself to a nearby suburb to pick up her shift at Judy’s metaphysical shop come Monday.

Making a move to stand up from her seat on the exercise bike, Hoseok inched away as she lowered her feet to the ground, his proximity still quite staggering as she tried to un-pin herself from his body against the bike. As he processed her words and movements, Hoseok shook out his limbs, stepping aside so she could move freely once more. Though, she couldn’t get very far without his sturdy hand slipping against her’s, intertwining his fingers securely around her own and their arms interlocking in an almost serpentine way.

“I forgot about you starting work on Monday,” Hoseok remarked, and Y/N could have sworn she caught Hoseok faintly pouting, but nonchalantly let him lead her still slightly slackened body to the stairs.

His hand clasped in her’s was rough, but warm and steady. He parted with her momentarily and dashed into his bedroom, softly ordering her to put on his hoodie as she quivered by the stairs waiting for him. With her brain less rational than usual, she slipped the woodsy smelling hoodie over her head without a word, Hoseok’s hand entangling with her’s once more as soon as it was draped over her body.

“Jinnie told me he’s going with you, you’re dropping him off at the library with the godforsaken wolf.”

Sucking in a lungful of careful breath, Y/N nodded to the best of her ability as the pair of them clambered up the stairs at snail's speed. With Hoseok’s immediate drop back into his sharp-witted persona, Y/N was left a touch whiplashed. How had he gone from dangerous desperation to happy-go-lucky in a matter of minutes? “I’m afraid my mother has roped Seokjin into the extracurricular, if you will. Though, you’re all more than welcome to join the bookclub… my mom would love it of course, and it gives you a chance to get out of the house,” Y/N noted, slightly lamenting the fact that her hybrids didn’t have many opportunities to engage with much of society due to their limited rights.

“I’m not really into books in that way. Don’t get me wrong, I read, but I can’t picture myself dissecting thematic overtones in the same room as that wolf. Besides, I’d rather bother Yoongi all day. He’s funny when he’s agitated,” Hoseok held the door to the basement open for her while he responded, tugging her hand as they both cleared the last step into the foyer.

“Well, just don’t push his buttons too much. He’s skilled with a knife, you know,” Y/N giggled, nudging his hip with her own as they made it into the kitchen. With a snort, Hoseok released her hand, retrieving a pitcher of water from the fridge and pouring her and himself a large glass. “I’m going to scour the internet, see if I can find other clubs or activities for hybrids in the area, maybe there will be something that interests you. That way you don’t have to be cooped up here all the time!” “Ha, like a hybrid summer camp or something?” Hoseok pondered, a playful lilt to his voice. Contrary to his words, Y/N knew Hoseok was interested in pursuing new hobbies, he’d had let it slip during their chat earlier that morning.

“No, not a summer camp, silly. There’s a recreation center not so far from here, they might have sports teams or art classes…”

“You should see if there’s a ghostbusting club for the elk,” Hoseok slid Y/N her glass of water, a smug look on his face as he registered the unmoved reaction from her towards his jab at Jeongguk. “Come on, it was a little funny. Don’t tell me you’re already smitten with him.”

“Hoseok, I swear,” Y/N groaned, taking her water and moving towards the entrance to the parlor. She could catch a glimpse of Taehyung from where she was standing, still curled up in the chair by the window and fiddling with the hem of his blue flannel as he watched the TV from afar. “One of these days you’ll meet your match, and then you’ll have to hold your tongue.”

The fox hybrid’s melodic chuckles were dampened in volume compared to the chatter and volume from the television, the rest of the hybrids still in their spots around the parlor as if she and Hoseok never even left. She wanted to bid them all a good night, hoping to get into bed before 11 PM, so she began with Taehyung, reaching into her pocket for the roll of gauze she had tucked in there earlier to change out the old bandages. Hoseok returned to his seat on the floor beside Seokjin, carefully avoiding the Kodiak hybrid as Y/N knelt before him to replace the gauze.

“Can I see your hands?” Y/N murmured quietly, holding her palms out expectantly as she snagged Taehyung’s attention.

His garnet eyes softened as he stared at her knelt form on the floor, leaning forward and immediately resting his large hands in hers, the movement carrying his strong sandalwood scent with it. The weight of his hands was solid and unyielding, Y/N immediately removing the old bandages from that morning and inspecting his knuckles. To her great surprise, the wounds already appeared to be half-healed, mostly scabbed over and bruised at that point. Still, she preferred to wrap them so he wouldn’t snag the scabs on his sheets when he went to bed, swiftly wrapping his hands up and giving his fingers a light squeeze.

“Alright, you should be good after this! I forgot you guys heal so quickly,” Y/N grinned at Taehyung, appearing quite thoughtful as she began to pull her hands away. “I wanted to say goodnight, too. I have to start heading to bed a bit earlier so I can get up for work on Monday without an issue.”

Taehyung’s ears fluttered, eyes taking in every inch of her face as she spoke. He had an air of unease about him, Y/N figuring that he was still thinking about the events that had unfolded the night before, possibly trying to scan her face for any hint of fear towards him that might still be lingering. Really, she wasn’t afraid of Taehyung, even after learning the dark secret he had been keeping from everybody and the fist fight that occurred between him and Namjoon. Deep down, she knew that Taehyung had probably agonized over harboring a secret so damning, and it wasn’t like he plotted the murder… he had been metaphorically cornered, forced to choose between life and death. Whether that was naive or not, that was yet to be seen.

“Goodnight,” Taehyung’s deep, mellow voice drew her out of her thoughts, her eyes locking with his once more and away from his wrapped knuckles. “I hope you sleep well…”

He was much, much closer to her face now, one of his hands moving out of her grip to cup her cheek swiftly before getting nearer than ever, planting a firm, resolute kiss between her eyebrows, the action so unexpected it had Y/N’s jaw hanging loosely. Blinking stupidly, Y/N put a hand over the spot his warm lips had stamped affection over, slowly rising to her feet. Taehyung’s eyes were focused back onto the television, leaving her to trudge away in a bit of a stun.

Snapping out of it the best she could, she made her rounds to each hybrid clumped on and around the couch, Seokjin making grabby hands for one of her palms and squeezing it tight with a disappointed look in his eyes that she was retiring early. Jeongguk grunted in response to her bidding goodnight with blood sliding down his cheekbones from his shedding velvet, smirking up at her as she bashfully recovered from both Yoongi and Hoseok hooking arms around her legs from the floor in a sort of joint-hug. Man, they were all getting clingy– and her poor heart could hardly take it. After smoothing her hand over Jimin’s shoulder and exchanging a set of ‘sweet dreams’, Y/N eyed the window seat Namjoon had been sitting on, now vacated. Perhaps he decided to hit the hay early, too, but she still wished that he’d said goodnight to her.

She exited the parlor, grinning as she heard the TV decrease in volume as Hoseok turned it down a little, making her way through the dimly lit foyer with her cheeks warm. Hardly paying attention to where she was going, her thoughts surrounding her regret that she’d have to sleep alone in her bed that night, Y/N let out a squeak once she realized there was somebody standing in the hallway leading to her bedroom.

Shifting awkwardly from one foot to another, hands stuffed into the pockets of his gray sweatpants, was Namjoon, his ears flickering at the sounds of her footsteps creaking against the rickety floorboards. In the moonlight, his eyes still glowed amber, and his presence had a shiver dancing along the ridges of her spine. Approaching slowly, Y/N prayed he didn’t sense her minor apprehension in doing so.

“Can I have a word?” Namjoon broke the heavy silence as soon as she got close enough for him to murmur, Y/N nodding slightly as moonbeams from the skylight made the silver strands of his hair practically sparkle. He was almost otherworldly. “About last night…”

“Oh, uh, is something still on your mind? I suppose I haven’t really talked to you much today…” Y/N managed to choke out, dreading what he was about to bring up. There was a chance he’d be looking to argue with her again, which was the last thing she wanted on her mind before she went to bed.

“It’s not about the fight,” Namjoon quickly interjected, the lightest peachy flush dusting the tips of his human ears as he looked away from her. Temporarily relieved, she waited for him to get to the point, composing his face into a more serious expression while he assembled his thoughts. “It’s about your mother.”

Blinking, Y/N felt ice flood through her veins, wondering just how many times Namjoon could take her completely by surprise like that. Apparently sensing the dread coursing through her, Namjoon pulled his eyebrows together, stepping closer into her proximity. His scent, a manly musk mingling with floral honey, infiltrated her senses with the movement, and oddly brought her comfort immediately.

“Ah, don’t worry, please. I pulled a few Tarot cards from her last night, and wanted to discuss it with you… before everything else went down,” Namjoon remarked quietly, tilting his head down in an attempt to catch her eyes.

Moving to bury her hands in Hoseok’s hoodie pocket, her fingers brushed the little roll of gauze within the fabric, avoiding eye contact with Namjoon cowardly. She still had to swap out his bandages.

“Even when I told her not to do any more readings on you guys after Tae, she still did…” Y/N muttered, bitterness flooding her taste buds. “Did she tell you that you were going to die in seven days, or something?”

Namjoon seemed to choke on his intake of breath, Y/N finally meeting his eyes as she watched him try to mask the shocked amusement wash over him.

“N-no, I should hope not!” Namjoon breathed, removing his hands from his pockets to rub at the bare skin of his arms, as if a chill washed over him. Cute. “Seriously, though. I need to talk to you, can you come in for a minute?”

Namjoon jerked his head backwards to his bedroom door, the room filled with dusty lamplight and smelling like essential oil floor cleaner. Chewing her lip, Y/N followed the wolf hybrid into the room. He shut the door almost completely behind her, clearing his throat and pointing to his desk chair.

“Here, sit. I managed to take a few notes about what I pulled, before…” clearing his throat again, Namjoon ushered Y/N over to his chair, which she lowered herself onto while he leaned one hip against the desk to look down at her. “Anyways, take a look.”

The Magician - Apparently representing the querent; myself. Change in a situation or an environment needs to be brought about through a certain skill set (I?) possess… Spiritual development. Concentration is needed.

The Eight of Cups - My interpretation of this is seeking out higher spiritual power with the risk of abandoning material or previous efforts or successes/abandoning what one already has. Turning your back on something important, forgetting someone or something…

The Nine of Swords - Impending disaster, unavoidable fate. Whatever the disaster may be, nothing can be moved past until it is dealt with.

Namjoon’s handwriting, as beautiful as ever, curled across the weathered parchment in smudged indigo ink, the page littered in smaller notes she couldn’t quite read and a series of arrows and underlining. Another tiny clue into who Namjoon was fell into place in her mind– apparently, he knew enough about Tarot to grasp the meanings of each card, and she could feel him inspecting her from his perch on his desk as she looked over his notes.

“So? What do you think?” Namjoon vocalized after a few moments, taking his notes from her gently. Y/N noticed the wrappings on his hands had some of his blood seeping through, making her frown.

“Huh? Oh, you want my thoughts on the cards?” Namjoon nodded in response to her breathy inquiry, his bitten ear twitching as she scooted the desk chair closer to him, in order to get a better look at his notes once more. “I’m a bit rusty with Tarot, Namjoon.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure you remember more than you think you do,” Namjoon insisted eagerly, his desire for any kind of information from her etched across his features and laced in his tone. Humming, Y/N scanned the notes again– she might as well give it her best shot, for his sake.

“Hmm. So… I think you’re correct in guessing that you’re represented by The Magician, part of the Major Arcana. The other two cards you pulled aren’t particularly positive cards, especially The Nine of Swords. The suit of Swords typically indicates a sort of intellectual challenge to overcome, whereas the suit of Cups alludes to a spiritual challenge. I’m not sure what your beliefs are, Namjoon, but to me… these cards suggest that there is some sort of spiritual trial you’ll have to face, something that you’ll have to use your knowledge and experience to overcome,” Y/N began deliberately, eyes on the ceiling as if to summon some of her Tarot knowledge back into her brain.

“This obstacle you’ll have to face might bring you a great deal of anxiety, and you may become so wrapped up in fixing it that you forget to check in with reality from time to time. The fact that you came up as The Magician is a comfort; whatever you may face I’m confident you’ll be able to handle it and come away with even more experience than ever before,” She concluded, feeling a little badly she couldn’t give a better analysis. Sixteen-year-old Y/N could have given him a thirty minute in-depth reading with enthusiasm.

Namjoon seemed to be in deep concentration, lips pursed as he stared at the piece of parchment as if it was going to start speaking to him. A small, amused smile stretched across her face as she waited for her words to sink in, tapping her pointer finger on his knee in front of her to get his attention. It certainly did the job, Namjoon staring at her like she had grown a second head at once. Snorting, she fished the gauze out of Hoseok’s hoodie pocket, reaching out expectantly for his hands.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Namjoon muttered, though he put down the parchment and stretched out his hands either way.

“Indulge me,” Y/N whispered, cradling his palm in front of her face so she could gingerly peel the soiled gauze off of his knuckles. He hissed, whether in response to the gauze sticking to his wounds or her words.

His knuckles hadn’t quite scabbed over like Taehyung’s had yet, but Y/N supposed he took a few more harsh swings than the Kodiak hybrid had. Brushing her thumb over his skin tenderly, she held her breath as she re-wrapped his hands, waiting for him to say something, anything at all.

“Did I provide you with any useful insight, or were those theories you’ve already considered?” Y/N finally prompted, placing his hands back down on his lap. This time, he seemed reluctant to lose contact with her, as his left ring finger dragged along her palm more slowly than it should have.

“You’ve definitely confirmed a few things for me, thank you,” Namjoon replied, easing himself off of his desk and shaking out his tail he was sitting on. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, because I know you’re going to bed…”

Freezing her movements in rising from his desk chair, Y/N gawked at the wolf hybrid’s cryptic expression. What now?

“Well, now you have to tell me, or I won’t sleep a wink,” Y/N insisted, standing up to her full height and feeling Hoseok’s hoodie skimming her thighs as she straightened out. Stepping closer to him, she cocked her head, waiting for him to open his mouth and cut to the chase.

“I’m not sure that Jeongguk and I were able to permanently banish that entity last week. I think, based on this reading, and some of the tension still lingering, it might try to come back,” Namjoon uttered softly, carefully scanning Y/N from head to toe as if to analyze her body language and reactions.

Her shoulders sagged, not exactly taken aback by this revelation, because she, too, had entertained the idea. She still didn’t have any idea what kind of ritual the two of them had carried out to banish the entity in the first place, as she was totally unconscious throughout, and barely had the time to ask either of them about it amongst the chaos of the last week. There were the grounds to consider, where the Y/N had accidentally summoned the entity all those years ago in the first place– she highly doubted Namjoon nor Jeongguk had broken free from her side to cleanse the grounds that night. For all she knew, it could be lurking at the edges of the property, waiting for the right moment to gain entry into the home again.

“Yeah, I was thinking that too, lately. I’m not sure what you two did to stave it off for this long, but it is likely that I’ll have to do some heavy-duty protection wards around the property and the house next weekend. I might even have to do a full-scale banishment, if that doesn’t work,” Y/N sighed roughly, twisting her hands in the soft material of the hoodie’s pocket.

“Can I help?” Namjoon blurted, his back straightening out in purpose, eyes widening fractionally. “You should enlist Jeongguk’s help, too. If we work together, the chances of successfully getting rid of it are higher.”

Stunned, Y/N felt her mouth dropping open, wondering if this was Namjoon’s way of making it up to her for the way he acted the previous night, especially considering Jeongguk was the one to break up the brawl and haul the wolf hybrid away and Namjoon was still willing to team up with him. Maybe, he saw it as his ‘spiritual challenge’ he must overcome, or maybe he was more interested in the paranormal than she originally thought.

“You wanna help?” Y/N repeated meekly, Namjoon nodding once. “Alright, that’s a good idea– the three of us together can cover more ground quickly. When I go to work on Monday, I’ll pick up some things for the wards. If it comes to a full-scale banishment, we should wait for the next new moon in two weeks, just before your birthday.”

Namjoon froze, the constant sway of his silver tail even pausing, as pure astonishment washed over him. Cocking an eyebrow at his reaction, Y/N wondered if she said anything out of turn, or if he was re-thinking the whole ordeal now that she was discussing details.

“How do you know when my birthday is?” Namjoon asked, his complexion turning quite pale and then quite pink.

“What do you mean? It was on the clipboard at the shelter, and on the hybrid database I logged onto once I got your ID number from your official adoption certificate,” Y/N put her hands up as if she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Namjoon was so bizarre.

“Oh,” was all he offered in response, again gaping at her like she had an extra head.

“Anyways, we can discuss all of this some more tomorrow. Have you finished Wuthering Heights yet? I’m taking you and Seokjin to the library on Monday, don’t forget,” Y/N began to inch towards his door so she could head to bed. If she stayed any longer, she ran the risk of opening her big mouth and asking him about his favorite cake flavor, or a gift he had his eye on, and ruining her planned surprise of making all of the hybrid’s birthdays special in general.

Mortification further radiated off of the wolf hybrid in tangible waves, evidently not finished with the book, as he frantically turned to his nightstand and fumbled for the book. He seemed to have about 70 pages left. Trying not to giggle at his endearing mannerisms while his guard was down, Y/N reached his door while he was distracted.

“I’m heading to bed now, see you in the morning, okay? Don’t stay up too late reading,” Y/N called, giving him a little wave. Jerking his head up, Namjoon allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up shyly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” the wolf hybrid returned, his amber eyes trained on her and the sensation of it remaining long after she shut his door behind her.

Once settled under her quilt in her bedroom, Y/N tapped out some reminders on her phone in an attempt to extract one million floating tasks from her brain and trap them in written word. There was a grocery list from Yoongi, some things she wanted to pick up for Jimin at the hardware store, and a reminder to look for hybrid clubs and activities. Some stray ideas for Jeongguk and Namjoon’s separate birthday parties, a note to call Ben and the twins, as well as a small list of items to look for at Judy’s on Monday.

She had never felt so busy in her life, even when she was working back-to-back shifts at the animal hospital, but she found that all of the things she had on her plate brought her excitement, rather than exhaustion and dread. Apart from, of course, the very real possibility that she’d have to deal with that nasty entity again. As she switched off her lamp and got cozy, she tried not to dwell on ghosts and demons, or the fact that the bed felt empty without Seokjin, and willed herself into what she prayed to be a sleep full of pleasant dreams.

Sunday morning was rainy, gloomy, and the stifling heat was thankfully broken. Y/N hauled herself out of bed early to shower and pick out her outfit for work the next day. An alert on her phone told her that all of her hybrid guidebooks had been delivered and were waiting on the porch for her, so she sped out of her bedroom to collect them and stow them by her nightstand before any of the hybrids could notice they were there. It wasn’t like she didn’t want them to see the books, she just didn’t want to give them another reason to tease her about her lack of hybrid knowledge.

Once the books were tucked away, she followed her nose to the kitchen with her laptop under her arm– a buttery, sweet smell floating through the house and making her mouth water. Most meals these days were completely taken care of by Yoongi, purely because he often beat her to the kitchen to do so before she could even lift a finger. Yoongi had told her not to worry about feeling guilty over him preparing meals for the rest of the house, as cooking was something he genuinely enjoyed, but she still felt odd about letting him shoulder the responsibility.

Yoongi had prepared an almost comical stack of pancakes that he was consistently adding to a hot plate in one of the warm ovens, his long hair damp with his morning shower and tucked behind his ears. The counter was littered with sliced fruit, boats of maple syrups, sticks of butter and mixing bowls. The only other hybrid in the room was Jimin, who Y/N had noted preferred to rise early over the past week. He looked a bit hungover, nursing a rather large cup of coffee, cheek cradled in his palm and sandy ears drooping. Both hybrids perked up as soon as she waltzed into the room, Yoongi shuffling over to her with a mug containing coffee made to her precise preference. The realization that he had gotten the ratio of cream to sugar exactly right had a flush settling over her cheeks as soon as the drink washed over her taste buds.

She sat next to Jimin, the coyote hybrid oh-so-subtly slouching closer to her on his barstool, and made small talk while they waited for some of the other hybrids to make their appearances. Setting up her laptop, she drummed her fingers against the keyboard, wondering which part of her to-do list she should tackle first. Jeongguk’s birthday was fast approaching, and a flash of panic struck through her when she considered there might not be much time left for her to order gifts and a cake for him.

“Morning! Is there bacon?” Seokjin’s sweet voice had her eyes tearing away from the loading Best Buy home screen to seek out his face.

He was in almost the exact same outfit as Yoongi, a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved thermal, but Seokjin’s was a cornflower blue and Yoongi’s was a deep wine color. Immediately, he widely smiled at Y/N, offering her an enthusiastic wave, to which she returned with a slight chuckle.

“Haven’t made it yet,” Yoongi replied, flipping a pancake mid-air as if he was Gordon Ramsay or something. “I’ve been waiting for it to thaw, over by the sink. I’ll get to it.”

“Can I cook it?” Seokjin moved to the island, inspecting the limp package of uncooked bacon. Y/N exchanged a sideways glance with Jimin, who still managed to convey his amusement even though he really looked like he would rather eat mud than a piece of bacon Seokjin cooked.

“Can you even cook? Do you know how to operate the stove?” Yoongi lifted an eyebrow at the jaguar hybrid, Seokjin’s ears fluttering in annoyance.

“I’ve watched you enough times to gather the mechanics, thank you,” Seokjin grumbled, Y/N desperately trying to swallow down laughter with Jimin practically shaking next to her. “And on my phone, too. When I can’t sleep, I watch cooking videos, I want to learn.”

Y/N straightened out at this, tilting her head to look at Seokjin while his back was turned to her. There were instances where he couldn’t sleep? Was she selfish to lament the fact that he hadn’t disclosed that to her previously? Distracting herself from dwelling on that, she half-listened to Yoongi slide a skillet onto the stove for Seokjin and scrolled around on her laptop for a video camera for Jeongguk. Aware of Jimin looking over her shoulder, she finally came across a reasonably priced one with all of the specs she was hoping for– full spectrum, night vision, easily hand held. With the camera and a protection plan in her virtual cart, she clicked the option for in-store pick up, so she could drop by later that day on her grocery and hardware store run.

As if summoned as soon as the order went through, the elk hybrid traipsed through the entrance of the kitchen in his black hoodie, fiddling with a couple of his hoop earrings as he scanned the room. To Y/N’s surprise, he promptly planted himself on the other empty barstool beside her, and thankfully she had already closed out of the Best Buy website.

“Good morning,” Y/N greeted, feeling somewhat shy with his onyx stare boring through her. His eyes flickered to her laptop screen, where she was idly viewing the gallery of a local bakery, mumbling the same greeting back.

The fatty scent of bacon began to infest the room, Seokjin diligently turning pieces over in the sizzling pan and looking deeply satisfied with himself. He appeared to be doing quite well under Yoongi’s watchful eye, even though occasionally an acrid smell would fill the kitchen when he’d burn an odd piece. Slowly, the remaining hybrids found their ways to the kitchen; Hoseok grumpily complaining about the early hour still in his pajamas, Namjoon dressed smartly in a crisp linen button down and slacks, and lastly Taehyung, who entered the room so silently and unacknowledged by the others Y/N didn’t even realize he was sitting at the breakfast nook until she turned around at the sound of the rain increasing in density against the window. He gave her a half-smile, the red flannel he had on picking up the peculiar color of his eyes, Y/N giving him her brightest grin as if to make up for the fact that everyone else was ignoring him.

She turned over the ways in her mind that she could find out what kind of cake Jeongguk would want for his birthday, and all of them would give away the surprise and her intentions. Chewing on her lip, she felt Jimin shift closer to her yet again, his body heat quite comforting as his arm brushed hers. Shutting her laptop once Yoongi declared everything was ready, Y/N saw that he and Seokjin had set up a buffet style pancake bar on the island, the jaguar hybrid appeared gleeful and proud of himself, which had her practically melting when she got up to get a plate.

Namjoon was in front of her in the sort of clumpy line they had all formed to fix up their breakfast plates, Y/N spooned stewed berries onto her pancakes as she decided to slyly get the information she needed, in probably the most roundabout way possible. She did seem to like making things harder for herself.

“There’s this new bakery in town I want to try out, and I’ve been thinking about ordering cupcakes or something. I’d like to get you all your favorites if you tell me what they are,” Y/N announced nonchalantly, settling back into her seat and cringing somewhat as she basically heard crickets.

Getting the hybrids to tell her what they wanted when it came to food was always like pulling teeth, and she chalked it up to the fact that they likely didn’t have many opportunities to select things of their own preference. It saddened her, but now that they were with her, they really didn’t have to hesitate so much. She wished she could say that in so many words, but she didn’t want to risk hitting any raw nerves. Predictably, Hoseok responded first as soon as the shock cleared from his face.

“Uh… I don’t really know, all cakes are good cakes!” He began– not off to a good start. “I guess I like vanilla the best if I were to choose, simple but classic.”

“I liked those lavender cupcakes from the cookout, the ones your friend Ben brought,” Seokjin volunteered, a thick layer of maple syrup coating his voluminous lips. Nodding, Y/N added the two answers to a notes document on her phone for when their birthdays rolled around.

After what felt like forever, she was able to pry out an answer from all of them, and she had finished her stack of pancakes long before the list was complete. Strawberry cake for Taehyung, Yoongi liked chocolate with raspberry filling, Namjoon gave a vague answer with just ‘chocolate’, and Jimin had classic tastes like Hoseok with simple vanilla. Of course, Jeongguk was the last to answer, too busy staring at his phone and snacking on the burnt pieces of bacon Seokjin had set aside separately.

“Jeongguk? How about you?” Y/N nudged his shoulder with her own, and ironically he genuinely looked like a deer in the headlights, antlers and all.

“Huh? Oh, cake… I don’t like cake that much. I guess I enjoy cheesecake, but that's more of a pie, if people were being more honest with themselves,” Jeongguk finally responded while absently using his napkin to blot some blood away from his face that had been dripping from his antlers into his hairline, looking back down at his phone. Interesting!

“Cheesecake? Gross. Also, have you ever even seen an actual pie? Because they don’t look like a cheesecake,” Hoseok accused, his russet ears turned backwards as if his honor had been insulted.

“You’re an agitating motherfucker,” Jeongguk remarked simply, getting up to rinse his plate and stick it in the dishwasher. Yoongi began to shake with laughter, especially upon catching a glimpse of Hoseok’s visage cloaked with surprise.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, the job going by quickly with so many hands, Y/N decided it was as good of a time as any to head out on her errands so she could spend the rainy evening cozy in the parlor. Before everyone vacated the kitchen, she notified the hybrids that she was heading out.

“Do any of you want to come with me? It’s pretty shitty weather out there, so I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to tag along. I just have to go to a few stores,” Y/N narrowed her eyes at the pelting rain outside of the kitchen window, hoping the grocery store wouldn’t give her paper bags.

Minutes later, Y/N– considerably damp from running to her car like a crazy person, found herself in the driver’s seat, Yoongi beside her, Seokjin and Taehyung in the back. The rest of the hybrids elected to stay at home, and Y/N was grateful Jeongguk hadn’t joined her so she could pick up his camera without raising suspicion.

“Jimin looked rough this morning,” Yoongi remarked offhandedly, his tail swishing languidly behind him as he pushed a half-full grocery cart down the bread aisle.

Nudging him softly in the ribs, Y/N tossed two packages of hamburger buns into the cart while Yoongi bared his pointed incisors at her. The force of the nudge wasn’t enough to cause any pain, and she knew Yoongi was just trying to tease her again– but regardless, she was thinking the same too. The coyote hybrid slunk away to his bedroom shortly after breakfast, claiming he wanted to take a shower and read, looking less sparkly than he usually did. Maybe tequila was not his friend.

“You know, he’s the only one who hasn’t scented you yet. He probably feels like shit because of that,” Yoongi continued after a beat, examining a loaf of milk bread and dropping it into the cart as well. Y/N stiffened, not used to any of the hybrids explicitly bringing up scenting unless right before the act.

“God, you think? Why didn’t he tell me– and we’re not going to be back for at least another hour,” Y/N stared at Yoongi with alarm, the leopard hybrid shrugging with a lazy flicker of his ear. “What if he collapses like Seok–” Y/N immediately cut herself off with a hand clamped over her mouth, whipping around to stare at the jaguar hybrid with an apology clinging to her tongue. To her surprise, he wasn’t trailing after her at the moment, only Taehyung was at the end of the aisle scrolling through his phone.

“Don’t worry, he took off towards the produce like five minutes ago. Not that he’d care if you brought that up,” Yoongi assured, scanning the crumpled list in his hands distractedly. “Jimin will be fine. Actually, he has more self-restraint than most of us, which is pretty impressive.”

“Oh, was that a compliment for Jimin? Warming up to him, are you?” Y/N teased, Yoongi gritting his teeth and pushing the cart ahead of her. She caught the hem of his thermal, tethering herself to him so she wouldn’t be left behind, snickering the whole way.

“He’s one of the more tolerable ones. Seokjin’s fine, too. Jury’s still out with Foxy…” Yoongi replied begrudgingly nonetheless.

She didn’t know what was taking over her, but she wiggled her fingers against the wine-colored fabric covering Yoongi’s sides to tickle him once she was next to him, eliciting a purr and a tiny, toothy smile from the leopard hybrid.

“And what about me? Is the jury still out on me, too, Yoongi?” Y/N prodded jokingly, straightening out a wrinkle on his shirt while he reached for a jar of peanut butter on the shelf.

Yoongi paused, his tail brushing the length of her thigh as he turned to look down at her, a mysterious expression on his face as she continued to fix his wrinkled thermal. She forgot that she was in the middle of the grocery store with two other hybrids to worry about, soaking in the thoughtful twinkle in his hazel, feline eyes.

“Verdict is still pending,” Yoongi replied, smirking at the pout stretching across her face at his response. She let go of his shirt as he pushed the cart towards the produce section, Y/N ready to ice him out for a bit out of spite, until he continued. “‘Course I like you, sweetheart.”

Nearly tripping over a display case of cup ramen noodles, Y/N felt her body go both hot and cold as Yoongi simply slunk away with the cart, tail curling placidly behind him as if he didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. The nerve! Heart racing, she managed to pluck up the rest of the vegetables on the list that she could remember, spotting Seokjin not too far away merrily stacking cartons of strawberries in his arms.

With the groceries in the trunk and the three hybrids safely buckled into their seats, Y/N dragged them to the hardware store and blasted in and out to pick up a basic toolbox for Jimin. The coyote hybrid had wanted to get started on stable work that morning, but because of the inclement weather, he was stalled and Y/N wanted to get him some new tools to cheer him up.

Beside her, Seokjin was humming along to a Radiohead song on the radio. Yoongi had let him take the passenger seat on the way back, which was probably best for Y/N’s nerves considering he had dropped the ‘of course I like you sweetheart’ bomb on her. Not that she had calmed down at all, with Seokjin seeking out her hand immediately as soon as he clambered into the car, idly fiddling with her fingers as she used her other hand to keep an unsteady grip on the steering wheel.

“Just one more stop to make…” Y/N managed to squeak over the music, rain, and the blood rushing in her ears.

Seokjin traced her knuckles with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to pebble up the flesh of her forearm. She didn’t have the guts to sneak a peek at him reacting to her clear enjoyment of his touch. Y/N was going to die an early death, and the cause of it would be the seven hybrids she adopted.

A middle-aged man from the Best Buy store brought out Jeongguk’s camera after Y/N made a quick phone call for curbside pickup, not wanting to trudge out in the rain again. A box appeared in the window, and she tried not to frown, noticing the highly judgmental look on the man’s face as he looked from Y/N, to Seokjin and the way the jaguar hybrid was holding her hand, and even going so far as to peer into the back seat to raise an eyebrow at Yoongi and Taehyung. She could somewhat read the look on his face, typical dirty male thoughts as his eyes flickered back over her, zeroing in on the especially bruised bite Hoseok had given her on her neck.

“Thanks, have a good night,” Y/N ground out, wanting to yank the mustache off of the man’s face. Seokjin gingerly leaned over her body to accept the box, flashing the undeserving man a sharp-toothed beautiful smile.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will too,” the man mumbled, clicking his tongue and promptly heading back into the store.

Infuriated, and not knowing what the fuck that meant, Y/N swore at him while rolling the window up, adding a middle finger for good measure even though the man’s back was turned. She’d have to write a nasty Google review about that particular Best Buy. What was he insinuating?

“Wow, what a dick…” Y/N seethed, blasting through a yellow light so she could get home as quickly as possible. “Looking at me like I’m some sort of depraved sicko.”

“Don’t pay attention to those motherfuckers. Those are the type that think the purpose of hybrid adoption is…” Yoongi stopped speaking abruptly, noticing the dark look crossing over her face from the rearview mirror. She knew where Yoongi was going with that thought, and didn’t like it at all.

Some perverse people would indeed adopt hybrids for the sole purpose of entering a sexual relationship with them, which filled Y/N with utter disgust. Adoptions should be made from a place of wanting to give a hybrid a home and offering friendship and protection, not simply to exploit them in that way. Seokjin softly squeezed her arm, her fury definitely palpable and coming off in waves. She didn’t care.

“You’re not pieces of meat Yoongi,” Y/N snapped, the leopard hybrid’s eyes widening as she caught them in the rearview again. “He should’ve kept his mouth shut, it was fucking rude and the assumption is insulting. I’m sorry you three had to sit through that, I’m fucking livid… maybe I should call Ben and see if he can somehow dig up some dirt and get him fired…”

She had forgotten Taehyung was even behind her, silently witnessing her spiral into simmering rage, until she felt him gently pat the top of her head, reaching over her headrest. Somehow, that simple touch had her melting back into her seat, some of the red in her vision clearing away.

“It’s okay. It’s happened before, it’ll happen again, people with dirty looks and assumptions. What matters is that we’re with you, and their opinions don’t matter,” Seokjin murmured quietly, his words wrapping around her heart and effectively making her hold back a swoon. By then, her anger was gone, and Yoongi struck up a conversation surrounding what he planned on making for dinner.

When they got back, the three hybrids took care of the groceries, Y/N leaving Jeongguk’s camera in her car for the time being. As she unlocked the front door to the house, Taehyung gave her a one-armed hug, noticing she was still a little perturbed from the whole Best Buy dickhead exchange. She leaned into his strong frame, letting Yoongi in with his fistfuls of plastic grocery bags, humming as the Kodiak hybrid’s sandalwood scent calmed her down pretty much entirely.

Shuffling into the house, she helped Yoongi put everything away in the kitchen, before parting with the three hybrids to seek out Jimin. She wanted to check if he was feeling alright, give him his new toolbox, and hopefully encourage him to scent her. Because she had work the next day, she felt anxious about leaving him for most of the afternoon if he started feeling even worse.

Jimin’s door was closed, so she knocked carefully to alert him of her presence, however he likely heard and smelled her coming down the hall anyways. A somewhat hoarse ‘come in’ responded to her knocking, Y/N awkwardly shouldering her way in with the heavy toolbox. Jimin was lounging on his blue velvet chair by the window, which was cracked open and bringing the earthy smell of the rain in. His hair was neatly combed back and he was dressed in simple sweats and a long-sleeved cream cotton shirt, and he looked leagues better than he did that morning. Still, the way he death gripped the book he was holding, and the subtle twitch in his jaw seemed to be the cracks in his carefully constructed composure.

“Good book?” Jimin nodded, his ears fluttering as he put the book down to listen to her more fully. “Got you something!”

Y/N set the toolbox down on the windowsill beside the chair he was sitting in, not noticing the way he stiffened as she got closer. What she did notice, however, was the sensation of piercing yellow eyes burning a hole in her face, which had butterflies battering around in her guts. She did a little ta-da jazz hands number, grinning at the coyote hybrid as he tore his eyes from her face to inspect what she was offering him.

“Oh! Are these for…” Jimin began distractedly, swallowing thickly as if the room was filled with some kind of mind-altering gas. “This was on my list I sent you.”

“Mm-hm, I know you wanted to get out there today and start chipping away, and I figured you were a bit disappointed that the weather is inclement. I picked this up to cheer you up,” Y/N explained, wondering how on earth she could bring up the fact that he still hasn’t scented her.

In reaction to her words, Jimin’s cheeks flooded with a peachy blush, Y/N resisting the urge to reach out and pinch them. For a few moments, they went over Jimin’s plans– he was going to fix up the chicken coop first, as it was the easiest job on the list– the rasp of the coyote hybrid’s voice pleasant in her ears as he spoke. He seemed to relax a bit after a few moments, scooching closer to the edge of the chair to talk to her. When she opened up the toolbox to show him everything inside, trying to wrestle a screwdriver out of its spot, her fingertips nicked the sharpened edge of the tool, making her hiss in pain as the metal sliced the skin of her pointer finger.

“Ugh, I didn’t think those things could be so sharp,” Y/N whined pitifully, holding her injured finger up to her face, inspecting the wound with her lip jutting out into a pout.

The atmosphere immediately changed, and it was almost like the room dropped several degrees in temperature. In her folly, she hadn’t registered Jimin’s sudden silence, the way his posture turned coiled and rigid, and his tongue swiping over his lower lip hungrily. Quite literally forgetting that she was standing in Jimin’s room and that he was even in front of her, Y/N flinched in surprise when the coyote hybrid wrapped his roughened palm around her wrist. Pausing, she stared at Jimin with widened eyes, his own eyes a bit more lidded than she remembered them when they were discussing chicken wire. He was focused on the blood running down her fingertip, a pointed tooth biting down on the flesh of his lower lip, his jaw clenching once again.

“I should probably get a bandaid,” Y/N whispered, Jimin’s grip around her wrist delicate but keeping her in place. “Jimin?”

Apparently her words were falling on deaf ears, the coyote hybrid pulling her closer to him as if spellbound, and Y/N was similarly dazzled as she allowed him to tow her between his spread legs. Cringing as she caught a whiff of her own blood, she blanched when Jimin held her injured hand delicately right in front of his face. Just like that, she was ensnared by the coyote hybrid, eagerly holding her breath.

“Come here,” Jimin huskily broke the silence, mingling with the pattering of rain on his windowsill.

He spread his legs further, tugging her down carefully, a muffled squeak coming from her as she found herself perched on Jimin’s left thigh, his free arm wrapped around her waist and her legs dangling between his. Briefly, she felt like she was sitting on Santa’s lap at the mall– but the thought disappeared as soon as it popped into her head. His thigh was strong underneath her, toned from likely years of being an equestrian, but his arm slung around her waist was gently secure and tender, contrary to the fact that he’d really just pulled her down onto his lap.

“J-jimin?” Y/N breathed, close enough to him now to hear barely-audible growls bubbling up from the back of his throat, his eyes slipping shut at the sound of his name. Most of her hybrids seemed to have similar reactions when she said their names– she distantly wondered why that was. “What are you…?”

Y/N knew pretty well what Jimin was doing, but she couldn’t find her words to encourage him with her looking at her like she was an angel that appeared in his bedroom on a cloud. After sending her a pointed eyebrow raise, Y/N made herself comfortable in Jimin’s arms, his lavender shampoo calming. Her heart was pounding still, the intensity at which Jimin examined her head-to-toe dizzying, and his ears perked up forward and alert when her breath began to come out in shorter huffs and puffs.

“Is this alright?” Jimin whispered, slowly rotating her wrist by his lips, his voice so low and breathy she had to lean closer into his chest to hear him. She pulled her eyebrows together, because clearly it was okay– she wasn’t about to deny him an instinctual need, especially when the others had already done so before him– Y/N nodded either way.

“Yes?” Jimin hummed, his grip around her wrist loosening so he could swipe up a drop of blood running down her wrist with a pointer finger, the growls in his throat becoming more audible by the moment. “I’m yours? You’re mine?” Going completely still with this utterance, Y/N gasped, unable to break away from Jimin’s penetrative, hazy gaze. She knew, with all of the experiences she had with the others, that they tended to say things that seemed to stem from a more instinctual area of their brain before they scented, but the coyote hybrid’s words held such meaning that she could hardly process them rationally. She was his, she was all of theirs, there was no denying– each of them had completely claimed a spot in her heart– there was no room for conceiving the idea of ever abandoning them, which she knew was a reason many of them held off on the ritual in the first place, thanks to information she had learned on the internet shortly before Yoongi had scented her. Jimin, however, needed further confirmation, which she was more than willing to provide.

“Y-yeah. Yes, you’re mine,” Y/N managed to stutter, feeling Jimin’s hand wrapped around her waist drop to her thigh and squeeze ever so slightly.

Entranced, Y/N watched as Jimin pulled her wrist to his mouth, the only sounds now coming from the downpour filtering in from the cracked window behind the two of them. Keenly concentrated, Jimin ignored her blood, staining his own fingertip and running down her palm, choosing to pull the tender underside of her wrist to his lips at a glacial speed. Time was suspended, much of the rushed thrill from some of the scenting rituals she had been through with the others absent but the intensity still very much there.

“You smell so sweet…” Jimin growled, the hand on her thigh flexing against her muscles briefly; and Y/N could almost detect thin restraint in the grip, Jimin was ever the gentleman regardless of his animalistic instincts.

With her eyes half-closed, Jimin at last brought his lips to her flesh, placing a hot open mouthed kiss by her wrist bone. The ample petals of his mouth were delicate, but the action was searing against her flesh as he basically made out with her inner wrist, his devious tongue peeking out occasionally to trace along one of the veins closest to the surface of her skin. Mewling softly, Y/N slackened her body weight even further into Jimin’s embrace, letting him fully support her as he mopped up some of her blood with a swipe of his tongue.

“Jimin…” Y/N sighed dreamily once he passed over a particularly sensitive spot with a barely-there drag of his teeth, eyes drifting shut. “I–”

“Shhh…” the coyote hybrid shushed her tenderly, the pointed edges of his canines finally grazing what she presumed to be his chosen area to mark, Y/N hooking her free arm around Jimin’s neck without a second thought. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

With a mixture of a groan and a primal growl, Jimin sunk his teeth into her vulnerable wrist almost painlessly, the action so smooth and sensual Y/N could only focus on the blissful expression blooming over the coyote hybrid’s sculpted face as soon as he broke skin. If she wasn’t limp before, she certainly was after that, Jimin’s plump lips wrapped around the edge of her wrist as he infused his scent with her own with his teeth buried in her flesh, and the cloudy sensation the bite brought on having her head lolling back onto the coyote hybrid’s shoulder. The calming scent of lavender enveloped her senses, and Jimin was being so gentle with her, she swore that she could fall asleep on his lap, listening to his measured breaths and the rain outside.

Through fuzzy vision, she watched Jimin not only brush his tongue over the bite he created, but also clean the blood from her wounded finger as well, satisfied grumbles coming from his chest by her ear. Giggling at the ticklish sensation, Jimin hummed, now holding her hand gingerly as he took a look at the screwdriver injury, his lips dropping into a tiny pout. Y/N reached out with her free hand, still chuckling weakly, and poked his fleshy cheek, indulging in a desire she had been harboring since she adopted him. His eyebrow cocked up in response, a playfulness in his golden eyes as she withdrew her hand, and he decided to retaliate by completely taking her off guard– he brought her wounded finger to his lips and enveloped the tip of the digit into his mouth.

Gasping, stared at Jimin’s lips wrapped around her finger, dissolving into utter shock as his tongue whirled around the cut, the minor sting disappearing under his ministrations. It was her turn to groan, not sure if the action of him tending to her wound in this way was sweet or total teasing on the coyote hybrid’s part. A distant part of her wondered if the soothing properties of hybrid saliva soothed all wounds, not just marks left behind by scenting, because it certainly felt like her cut was already treated and bandaged. He pulled the digit from his mouth slowly, never breaking the intense eye contact they were currently suspended in, Y/N realizing her hand around his neck was entwined with the cropped blonde hair at the base of Jimin’s neck, embarrassingly, tightly so.

“Better?” Jimin’s ears twitched, likely picking up her accelerated heart rate, finally releasing her hand and brushing some hair from her face. “You’ll still need a bandage, but it should be soothed. And, you should be more careful, Y/N.”

Mumbling into his shirt, Y/N secretly agreed with him; if that was how he reacted when she got hurt, it was better for her nerves to avoid doing so at all costs. She focused on Jimin’s forgotten book, cast aside from when she first entered the room, and he was reading her old copy of The White Album that he must have swiped from the library. Distantly, she recalled something Alice once said– nothing more attractive than a man who reads Didion.

“Alright, up you go,” Jimin cleared his throat, using his hand on her waist to nudge her up and forward, off of his thigh, standing with her as she got her footing. “I have some bandaids in my bathroom. Stay here, for a second.”

Jimin leveled a sweet smile at her, though his expression was serious and there seemed to be a few things floating around in his head, his eyes a bit far away. She shifted from one foot to another, humming as Jimin squeezed her shoulder softly before retreating to his bathroom, the sounds of him pawing through his vanity drawers making her ears perk up. Taking a moment to look around his room, it seemed that Jimin had made himself somewhat at home, though the room was quite unchanged compared to the day she brought the coyote hybrid home. The only things she noticed that indicated someone was occupying the recently renovated bedroom were bits and bobs on his dresser, which she neared closer to to get a good look.

The knapsack that he had traveled from Montana with hung from a knob on the dresser, but the contents were carefully placed on the surface of the dresser. On the left hand side, the formerly crumpled hat he had pulled out of the bag last week was smoothed out and sitting by a lamp, a couple pieces of jewelry (a silver bracelet, silver hoop earrings) placed on a leather square, and on the right was his coiled belt and buckle, as well as a photograph. Footsteps approached before she could take a look at the photo, Y/N peering up at Jimin with a sheepish expression when he caught her snooping. Simply smiling at her, he took her wrist gently, peeling paper off of the bandaid he’d fetched and wrapping it around her little injury. Her eyes drifted back to the photo, the edges of it weathered and crinkled.

“That’s me and my sister, I was twelve, she was nine,” Jimin plucked up the picture, offering it to Y/N gingerly.

Taking it like it was made of glass, Y/N brought the photo closer to her face, a tinier version of Jimin grinning at the camera on the back of a palomino horse, one of his front teeth missing and a mini cowboy hat placed precariously on top of his head. In front of him was a little girl, his sister, with the same honey blonde hair and bright golden eyes, her cheeks rounded as she was frozen mid-laughter, Jimin holding onto his sister tightly while she gripped the horse’s reins.

“Aw, Jimin! This is so sweet, you two are adorable, and you look so alike,” Y/N cooed, placing the picture back down on his dresser while still admiring it. She’d never been to Montana, but the nature surrounding the two young hybrids was gorgeous and wild. “I can find a frame for this, so you can display it properly.”

A pang of sadness spread through her chest, wondering if Jimin missed his sister, his family, and old life. Perhaps, in the future, there would be an opportunity for her to book a flight and take Jimin to visit his family– now that he was adopted and not on the run, there would be no reason for him not to go see them every now and again.

“You meant it, right?” Jimin asked quietly after a few moments, Y/N tearing her eyes away from the photograph to search his eyes with confusion. “A few moments ago… am I really…”

Yours. Y/N knew what he was getting at after scanning his expression, the coyote hybrid easier to read than some of the others she had adopted. Humming, Y/N stepped closer, reaching out to squeeze Jimin around his middle, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He hesitantly reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her securely.

“Yeah. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

After a drizzly night spent watching Masterchef and devouring some kimchi stew and rice to combat the damp chill of the outside, Y/N made her rounds saying goodnight early once more, once she had cleaned up the kitchen with Yoongi and finished untangling herself from Hoseok on the couch. Shockingly, each hybrid besides Jeongguk and Namjoon had given her a big hug before she crawled to her bedroom with enough heat in her cheeks to fry an egg on the flesh. Though he hadn’t hugged her, Jeongguk let her dab a bit of blood off of his face with a tissue when she said goodnight to him from his spot on the recliner, a piece of his velvet hanging loosely from one of his antlers as he bit his lip and stared at her. Namjoon simply smiled at her, dimples and all, saying he’d see her in the morning.

Cursing when her alarm went off bright and early at 6:30 the next morning, Y/N sluggishly fumbled her way through her morning routine, blindly tapping out a wake up text with her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

Y/N: Good morning boys, ready to leave by 7:15?

Seokjin: Morning Y/N :) Yes!

Namjoon: ^^

Y/N: Perfect, see you in a few

Y/N shimmied into her outfit, some linen pants and a black long-sleeved shirt trimmed with lace she had fished out of the back of her wardrobe, hastily throwing on some Stevie Nicks-esque makeup. If she was going to work at a metaphysical shop, she might as well look the part. Satisfied, she left her room with her tote bag, making sure her wallet and keys were in there. She wasn’t paying attention, so she stumbled into Namjoon in the hallway, the wolf hybrid making a sharp oof sound as she collided into his back.

“Oh, sorry Joon,” Y/N wheezed, a bit of fuzz from the caramel sweater he was wearing sticking to her lip gloss and her head dizzy from smacking into a solid wall of back muscle. “In a fog… it’s so early,” she continued with a slight whine, Namjoon turning to face her with his face almost entirely pink.

“Um, it’s okay,” the wolf hybrid managed, coughing into his fist awkwardly as he followed her to the kitchen clumsily. She needed coffee, ASAP– she hadn’t even noticed Namjoon had been taken off guard by a nickname that had rolled off her tongue accidentally.

Yoongi was in the kitchen, naturally, still in his pajamas but placing items into paper bags. Of course, he already had her coffee ready for her, which had her reaching up to ruffle his hair in appreciation. Seokjin tiptoed into the kitchen shortly after, dressed neatly in a rose pink henley and jeans, excitement lighting up his orange eyes like a jack-o’-lantern.

After slamming some leftover pastries Yoongi made the other day down their throats, the leopard hybrid was shooing the three of them to the front door by 7:15, Namjoon and Seokjin scrambling to the car while she hung back. As she began to wave goodbye to him, Yoongi grabbed her elbow, halting her.

“Here, this is for lunch. Give one to each of the others, too,” Yoongi thrusted the three paper bags into her arms, making Y/N stare at him wildly. Yoongi made them lunch to go?

Unable to help herself, she leaned forward and up, planting a kiss on Yoongi’s cheek, the leopard hybrid squeaking in surprise the moment her lips touched the sleep-rounded flesh. Pulling away, Y/N saw Yoongi had gone rather statue still, mouth dropped open in shock. Giggling, Y/N made her way down the porch steps, casting one more look at the stunned leopard hybrid standing with the front door wide open.

“Thank you, Yoongi! Have a nice day, I’ll see you tonight,” she called, waving at him with the lunch bags swinging in her fist. It felt nice to have somebody think of her, making sure she had something to eat midday. She’d have to pick up something extra delicious for dinner, in thanks.

The weather was cool, leftover from the rain the previous day, so as soon as she slid into the car, Y/N hiked up the heat in the cab, though it hardly worked, shooting Seokjin a smile in the rearview mirror. He returned it, accepting the bag she offered him with slight confusion.

“Yoongi made us lunch. Isn’t that nice?” Y/N sighed while settling Namjoon’s bag beside his thigh, flinging the car into drive and praying that she could beat traffic to get the two hybrids to the Boston Public Library in a timely fashion. Judy had told her to show up around 8:30, so she was definitely in a time crunch.

“Why is this camera down here?” Namjoon asked after a few moments of listening to the tinny Rolling Stones tape she had begrudgingly put on for him, pointing to the box by his feet.

“Oh damn, I have to wrap that…” Y/N muttered, honking at someone stalling at a green light. “I got it for Jeongguk, his birthday is on Thursday. I thought he could use it for his paranormal investigation, if he wanted to take it up again.”

“Are you throwing him a party?” Namjoon spoke again incredulously, picking up the camera box and examining it, from what Y/N could tell out of the corner of her eyes.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag! It’ll be just the eight of us, though. I like to celebrate birthdays. I ordered him a cheesecake last night, even,” Y/N relented, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hedge around Namjoon.

“That’s sweet, Y/N,” Seokjin offered from the backseat, Y/N catching his eyes in the rearview, his scrunched up in mirth.

“You two can keep a secret, right? I’m a little bummed I couldn’t keep it a surprise, now you know you two will be getting parties too,” Y/N pouted, jumping on the highway and cringing at a crackling skip in the tape.

The two hybrids fell silent with this, as she predicted. None of her hybrids particularly enjoyed being the center of attention, apart from Hoseok, of course. She knew that Seokjin would definitely keep the secret since she asked, and Namjoon and Jeongguk were a bit on the outs at the moment, so she wasn’t particularly concerned he’d spill the beans to the elk hybrid.

“So, since you know now, can you give me some ideas on what to get you for your own birthdays? I don’t want to pick out something you won’t like,” Y/N broke the silence, crossing her fingers over the steering wheel she’d get at least a semblance of an answer from either of them.

“Um…” Seokjin mumbled timidly from the backseat, fastidiously staring out the window to focus on the bay outside of Boston.

“I really wish that when I was brought into the shelter, I knew what happened to my trailer,” Namjoon spoke suddenly, stunning Y/N so much she accidentally stepped on the brakes by a ramp a little too hard. “I didn’t have much, but my tapes were in there, my books. It’s probably sitting in some junkyard now.”

“I can probably see what I can do about that,” Y/N began slowly, her mind already coming up with a list of all the junkyards and impound lots around Boston.

“It’s alright. It’s likely it’s been cleared out, or impacted already. Uh… maybe you could find an old Walkman at a thrift store, or something,” Namjoon looked down at his feet, ears fluttering.

“I’ll see what I can do about the trailer, I’m serious, Namjoon,” Y/N insisted, once again attempting to make eye contact with Seokjin through the rearview. “Jin? Come on, give me something to work with!” Y/N teased playfully, Seokjin clearing his throat and nervously wiping sweaty hands on his pants.

“I don’t really know,” Seokjin admitted softly, causing Y/N’s heart to ache. Seokjin was in a lab most of his life, and spent more recent years performing in a circus– perhaps there wasn’t much time for leisure or exploring interests. “Maybe we could all go to a restaurant?”

“We can do that! After the book club, check out some local restaurant menus online, we’ll go anywhere you want,” Y/N encouraged brightly, finally managing to navigate into the city and minutes away from Boylston street. “We’re almost there, I’m going to call my mom so she can meet you two out front.”

By the time she hung up from her mother, who was nearly shouting with excitement in her ear, she was double-parked in front of the library. She told the two hybrids when exactly she’d be picking them up from the library later that afternoon, that they could hang out and read until the club started around 11. As soon as her mother appeared at the top step of the library, Namjoon bid her a gentle goodbye, eagerly exiting the car and jogging up the stony steps of the building.

“I hope you have fun today, Seokjin! You can always text me if you need me,” Y/N watched as he unfastened his seatbelt, his tail curling around his waist in what she perceived to be in response to having to part with her.

“Good luck at work today, Y/N,” Seokjin replied, giving her shoulder a light squeeze as he pushed himself out of the car.

She stayed put until she saw her mother sling both her arms around the hybrid’s shoulders, talking to them animatedly as they disappeared into the library. Shaking her head, Y/N honked back at someone behind her, pissed that she was blocking part of the road, and set off to her new job.

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @g-oomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @7evensin @lilmxchis

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 3 months

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Push the Sky Away - Part Two

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical sexism and violence. Word count: ~7.1k

Summary: Lorra and Aemond get to know each other, and Aemond grapples with the idea of what it means to be a husband. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Time feels as though it freezes for Aemond, stretching on for an eternity as he stares into Lorra’s eyes. He searches the depth of her gaze for any indication of fear or disgust, confused when he sees neither. He has never wanted quite so desperately to know what another person is thinking.

He is broken from his thoughts by the voice of his mother. “Lady Stark,” Alicent says warmly, “welcome to King’s Landing. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please forgive the King’s absence, he is eager to greet you, however, he must rest for the good of his health. I trust your journey was a safe one?”

Lorra looks away from Aemond, turning her attention to Alicent, and smiles. It lights up her delicate features in a way that makes warmth swirl uncomfortably in his chest, and he forces himself to divert his attention, fixing his eye upon the furthest wall of the Great Hall, a feeble attempt to calm himself.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honour to be here and to meet you, and I look forward to meeting the King soon, please send him my regards until then. My guards ensured my travel from Winterfell was uneventful.”

Aemond’s eye widens, looking back at her as he hears her speak. He has had few dealings with those of the North, but had not expected her voice to sound quite so different from those who occupy King’s Landing. Lorra is soft spoken, though there is a lilt to her accent that lifts and subtly elongates the vowels of her words. It fascinates and horrifies him in equal measure.

“I had anticipated that we would be hosting the entirety of the Stark family, my lady,” Otto interjects. “Where are Lord Stark and Lady Glover?”

“Back in Winterfell, Ser Hightower,” Lorra responds matter of factly. “I hope it is agreeable to you, but I have asked my mother and father to delay their arrival so that I am free to become acquainted with my betrothed without the pressures of formality.”

Aemond feels his throat run dry as she says this.

What precisely is she expecting of him?

Otto bristles slightly, clearing his throat. “Delay their arrival for how long?”

“Six months.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open, his chest tightening as Aegon titters quietly beside him, clearly finding the entire display amusing.

“That is most–” Otto begins, cut off as Alicent steps forward, taking Lorra’s hands in hers.

“That is most wonderful,” the Queen interrupts. “We look forward to meeting the rest of the Stark family when they arrive. We will be hosting a welcome feast for you this evening, in the meantime we’ll have you escorted to your chambers, so you can get settled. You must be weary after such a long journey.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lorra smiles and Aemond watches as her delicate fingers intertwine with those of his mother’s. He wonders whether her hands would feel soft against his own, and quickly shakes his head as if to clear the thought from his mind.

It isn’t until the bustle of people filing out of the Great Hall breaks him from his reverie that Aemond realises they have not uttered a word to each other since her arrival. He watches her as she walks away, and as though his stare beckons her to him, she looks back over her shoulder at him, giving him the subtlest of winks. He immediately lowers his gaze, feeling his skin flush warmly.

She is unspeakably crass.

Aegon has not budged an inch from where he stands, a lecherous smirk plastered across his face as he eyes his younger brother with amusement.

“Fuck off,” Aemond hisses, striding away to return to his own quarters.

He is restless, opting to pace the length of the room instead of sitting; he finds each time he takes a seat he fidgets to the point that he irritates himself, standing once more and allowing his feet to carry him aimlessly.

Books cannot hold his concentration, every attempt to lose himself in a philosophical tome is fruitless, Lorra’s presence has unnerved him too much. Her looks, her voice, her self assuredness were all far beyond the realm of what he had imagined. It rattles him that she has foregone the presence of her mother and father, he does not understand what she expects of him, and the fact that she had had the audacity to wink at him as she walked from the Great Hall makes his pulse quicken in a way that no amount of deep breaths can calm.

Perhaps she simply means to torment him for her own amusement?

Later that evening, having been alerted by a page boy that supper is to be served, Aemond is slow to make his way down to the dining hall. He immediately regrets his hesitation upon taking in the seating arrangements.

Otto and Alicent sit at one side of the long, wooden table, with Aegon to Otto’s right at the head of it. Helaena sits on the opposite side, to Aegon’s right, with Lorra seated next to her. The only available chair remaining is at the opposing head, between his mother and Lorra. Unsurprisingly, Viserys is absent.

A group of musicians play softly in the corner, the sounds of vielle, harp, psaltery and flute carry a dulcet tune throughout the candlelit space, as serving staff place platters of steaming food and jugs of wine upon the table.

He pulls out the seat, keeping his eye fixed upon the tabletop, grimacing inwardly at the loud scrape of the legs against the flagstone floor. He can feel every set of eyes in the room upon him and he detests it, muttering a quiet thank you to Alicent as she places a slice of roasted venison upon his plate.

Aemond allows himself to glance at Lorra. Her dark curls are free of the braid she wore earlier, her hair framing her soft face, and falling almost to her elbows in soft waves. No longer wearing her travelling cloak, he can see that her figure is svelte, the lines of the grey and white brocade gown she wears hug her subtle curves and bare the pale flesh of her shoulders.

He feels his mouth run dry at the sight and lifts his goblet to his lips, eager for relief. The tart taste of Dornish red envelopes his tongue. His mother has made a big effort this evening; musicians, Dornish wine, roasted venison. It all seems ridiculously over the top to Aemond for something that is nothing more than a mere formality.

“Such lovely music,” Lorra comments, nodding towards the corner where it plays. She fixes Aemond with her big blue eyes. “Do you dance, My Prince?”

“No,” he replies simply, glancing her way as he sets his wine down upon the table. He does not trust himself to speak further, he fears the pounding of his heart in his chest will cause his voice to falter.

“Aemond can dance though,” Alicent says with a proud smile, leaning slightly forward to address Lorra. “Him, Aegon and Helaena all learned as children.”

“I love to dance,” Helaena tells Lorra dreamily, leaning her elbows on the table’s edge.

“Does Aegon ever dance with you?” Lorra asks, turning to look at her.

Helaena shakes her head. “No, he is usually in his cups, and he trips on my skirts.”

“Would you like to dance, Princess?”

His sister nods enthusiastically, taking Lorra’s hand as she offers it out, and once more Aemond feels envy rise acridly in his throat that yet another member of his family has experienced her touch before he has.

Both Alicent and Otto turn to look, as Lorra and Helaena move to the open space of the room, the music rising in volume as they begin to twirl and skip around each other. Aemond watches, transfixed at the bright smile upon Lorra’s face and the way that her hair fans out around her as she moves. Helaena’s eyes are lit up in a way he rarely sees, and he marvels that with such a simple gesture this stranger from the North has managed to make his sister seem happier than she has in a long time.

He reluctantly looks away as he notices Aegon stand, moving clumsily from his own seat and around the table, slumping heavily in the chair that Lorra had previously occupied.

“She is pretty, brother,” Aegon slurs with a slight smirk. “Do you know what to do with her?”

Aemond wrinkles his nose in disgust, his older sibling reeks of wine, the stench pungent in his nostrils. “Your breath could light a brazier.”

Aegon chuckles, plucking a fig from Lorra’s plate and biting into it. “I shall take that as a no,” he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, “considering it is our sister she dances with, and not you.”

He scoffs, rolling his eye. “I have nothing to prove to her.”

“Then I don’t suppose you will mind if I dance with her too?” He raises his eyebrows, popping the rest of the fig in his mouth.

Annoyance prickles at Aemond’s skin and he narrows his eye as he looks at the mocking expression of his brother.

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, moving in his seat to face where Lorra and Helaena currently dance.

“Lorra!” Aegon calls out loudly across the table. “Your betrothed wishes to dance with you also.”

If proper decorum did not dictate otherwise, Aemond would throw himself out of his seat and throttle the life out of Aegon. Instead he stares at him, wide eyed with a mixture of horror and anger.

Lorra halts her movements, looking over her shoulder towards Aemond, before approaching where he sits. She is breathless, pale cheeks flushed, as she extends a hand to him.

He cannot possibly deny her now. Fucking Aegon.

He has never seen anyone appear so carefree, a marked difference to his unwavering stoicism, and he stares at her unblinking for a few moments before slowly reaching out to take her hand.

Her touch sends a ripple of warmth through his body from head to toe, and as he rises from his seat he worries he will stumble, utterly disarmed by the softness of her palm against his.

Helaena goes back to the table as Lorra and Aemond make their way to the space in which she had previously been dancing with her.

He swallows thickly, desperately trying to recall the steps he had learned as a child, feeling yet another surge of heat travel through him as Lorra raises her hand, placing her palm flat against his. Her hands are so much smaller and more delicate than his, he is certain that if he made a fist then his would cover hers entirely.

Lorra never once breaks eye contact, the ghost of a smile upon her lips as her and Aemond circle each other. He finds it is much like sparring, remembering where to place his feet, anticipating the movements of his opponent, though he does not possess the natural grace that she appears to have as she moves.

“You dance well,” Lorra murmurs, as they step in close to each other, “though you are stiff.”

“Dancing is not something I enjoy,” Aemond replies simply, eye raking over the way her hair tousles around her bare shoulders.

“Well, I am flattered you made an exception for me,” she says with a wry smile. “I look forward to finding out what you do enjoy.”

His lips part slightly, unsure of what to say. He cannot understand her interest in him. He had expected a meek, little thing, happy to endure the formalities of a political union, and instead he has been presented with an ethereal beauty intent on taunting him to the brink of madness.

Aemond feels as though he is in a daze for the rest of the meal, picking silently at his food, grateful for the fact that his family carry on the conversation so that he is not forced to participate. However, he finds his gaze is constantly drawn to Lorra, she fascinates and terrifies him in equal measure.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the evening finally draws to a close and he can retire to his bedchamber. Though, to his dismay, having left her physical presence behind, Aemond finds that Lorra is not so easily shifted from his thoughts. Her hair, her smile, the way she moves, all occupy his mind with alarming frequency. His fingers flex restlessly each time he recalls the feeling of her hand against his.

It is because she is different, he reasons, I just need to get used to her and then she will not haunt my thoughts quite so often.

The next day, Aemond shuts himself away in the library. He is certain that the fuss from yesterday was simply because it was Lorra’s first day within the Keep. Now they will be free to pursue their own interests outside of each other, and any time spent together will be arranged by either his mother or grandsire, with a chaperone present.

He takes down a large book on the history of Old Valyria from one of the shelves. Aemond has read it countless times before, and he seeks comfort within its familiar pages as he seats himself at a reading table. The words he knows by heart provide welcome refuge against the tug of uncertainty he has been thrust against.

The door creaking open startles him, the library is a space in which he is rarely bothered. No one but him and the Keep’s maesters ever set foot in here.

His heart lurches as he sees Lorra enter silently. A satin gown that matches the blue of the cloak she arrived in the previous day serves to illuminate her irises, making them shine in the low lighting of the dimly lit space. Her ebony hair is braided once more, falling across one shoulder.

Aemond wets his lips, gripping the pages of his book tightly. “Are you lost?”

She chuckles quietly, taking in his shocked expression. “Exactly where I mean to be. I was told I would find you here.”

He leans against the back of his chair, regarding her with silent suspicion as she moves towards him, taking the seat next to his.

“Fret not,” she tells him with an amused smile, “Ser Cole is outside the door, if you are worried I mean for you to have me against the bookcases.”

His eye widens at this, heat licking up his spine in a way that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

How can she be so coarse and not feel the slightest shame for it?

“So, what are you reading?”

He clears his throat, his focus returning to the book. “A history of Old Valyria, nothing that you would find interesting.”

“On the contrary, it is my duty to learn of the ancestral history of my betrothed, it is what we will teach our children. Do you not wish to learn the history of House Stark?”

“I know the history of House Stark.”

“Then we could share our learnings.”

“There is no need.”

“Why not?”

“We did not choose this.”

Lorra sighs. “We did not, and yet I see no reason why we cannot make the best of it. I want to know my husband.”

Aemond looks up at her, his expression hardening. “I study history and philosophy, I train with the sword, I ride the largest dragon in the world. There is nothing else to know.”

She lowers her gaze, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap momentarily, before turning her attention back to him. “And they say Northerners have an icy demeanour…I intend to thaw you out eventually.”

She rises from her seat, sweeping silently out of the library, and leaving Aemond alone to stare after her. Suddenly, his historical tome is of little interest to him.

Aemond does not see her again until suppertime, though she crosses his mind often, and he is resentful of the twinge of disappointment that burrows its way into his chest at the dinner table when she opts to converse with his mother and sister instead of him.

It does not escape his notice, however, that all of the dishes she passes to him throughout the meal are his favourites; sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and covered with powdered ginger, and rabbit stuffed with minced loin of veal. She had clearly been watching what he had eaten the previous evening.

He feels slightly embarrassed to realise he has no idea what she enjoys eating, keeping silent as he watches her carefully. She seems to enjoy the plums stewed in rosewater, and she helps herself to a slice of game pie, his lips quirking in mild amusement as he sees her pick away the pastry, leaving it to one side as she eats the filling. It unnerves him a little, he has never wished to know the intricacies of anyone before, and yet here he sits attempting to commit to memory the culinary likes and dislikes of a woman he barely knows.

She makes no further attempts to speak to him that day, and he retires for the evening believing that she finally shares his view that they need not interfere in each other’s affairs.

That is until the following morning. His boots crunch against the gravel of the training yard as he spins his sword in his hand, slowly circling to keep Ser Criston Cole in his line of sight as the Queen’s sworn protector wields his morningstar. He is about to surge forward, when he spots Lorra making her way towards the spread of weapons that are laid out on the bench.

She is dressed in form fitting grey trousers with a matching jerkin, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She is picking up each of the smaller blades, inspecting them in turn as he approaches, nostrils flared in annoyance and patience thin.

“What are you doing?” He asks coldly, frowning down at her as she rights herself, looking up at him impassively.

“Choosing a blade,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have not been able to spar since I left Winterfell.”

Aemond scoffs at this. “But you are a woman.”

His mother and sister never set foot in the training yard. He has never seen a woman spar before, the very idea seems ridiculous to him. In his opinion, the last of the female warriors died with Visenya Targaryen.

“An astute observation,” Lorra smirks, cocking her head. “My father ensured I was trained to fight as well as he and my brother, Cregan, can. Women of the North know how to defend themselves.”

“Cole, are you going to allow this?” Aemond demands, turning as the knight walks over to them both.

“You say you have trained before, My Lady?” Criston enquires.

Lorra nods. “I can fight with a sword and shield. I also hunt, fish and ride on horseback. My father has given me every advantage afforded to my brother.”

“Well then, My Prince, I suppose there is your answer,” Criston says with a slight shrug, stepping away.

“Perhaps my betrothed will train with me?” Lorra asks, picking up a sword and testing the weight of it.

“Absolutely not,” he replies coldly. “There is no honour in fighting a woman.”

“Are you craven?” She asks with a mock pout. “Afraid you will lose?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, eye narrowing as he exhales heavily through his nose in irritation. “Fine.”

He stomps to the centre of the training yard, turning as Lorra takes up a fighting stance, feet planted shoulder width and blade raised in a defensive position.

She easily dodges him, sidestepping him as he strikes forward with his own sword and rounds on him as she delivers a blow of her own, a dull thud against his bicep that makes him wince in pain and growl in frustration.

“Not bad for a woman after all, eh?” She taunts, jutting out her chin defiantly.

Aemond snarls, his sword clashing against her own as he pushes her backwards. “Why must you torment me so?” He hisses. “Is this a game to you?”

“I simply wish to spend time with my future husband,” she breathes heavily, “what is so terribly wrong with that?”

She winces, yelping in pain as he delivers a particularly hard whack to her outer thigh, and she falls backwards. He holds the point of his sword to her throat, as she stares up at him, wide eyed and panting.

“You are to be my wife,” he hisses, “not my friend, not my companion, learn the fucking difference.”

The metallic sound of armour rings out across the courtyard as Criston rushes over, pushing Aemond back by his shoulder, away from Lorra. She scrambles to her feet, gasping for breath, dropping her sword and hurrying away.

Aemond watches after her, the adrenaline of his anger slowly subsiding as guilt blooms heavily within him.

“You took that too far, My Prince,” Criston says sternly, his grip on Aemond’s shoulder still firm.

“She angered me,” he mutters quietly, still staring after Lorra, though she has long since disappeared from view.

“Every woman is created in the image of the Mother,” the knight tells him, “we must treat them as such.”

Aemond sneers, shrugging off Criston and stalking back towards the Keep.

Having returned to his chambers to bathe and change his clothing, Aemond is unsurprised when later that afternoon he is summoned to his grandsire’s study. He is anticipating a scolding for what had happened in the training yard earlier.

Otto sighs wearily as Aemond enters the study, leaning back in his chair and regarding his grandson through hooded eyes.

“What happened earlier was an appalling display, stupid boy. You will apologise.”

“I suppose she has told you everything?” Aemond responds wearily.

“No, actually,” he says, folding his hands in front of him upon the desk. “Your mother did, and she heard it from Ser Cole.”

Aemond is surprised by this, his eyebrows raising slightly as he realises Lorra had not rushed to tell of his misdeeds.

“I appreciate that you did not ask for this, Aemond, but it is important that we build an alliance with House Stark, for the good of Aegon’s succession. Apologise to Lorra. You must learn to get along with the girl, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or Lord Baratheon has four eligible daughters, and we can begin the process all over again.”

Aemond balks at this, the prospect of having to welcome someone new into his life and endure the formalities of courtship all over again causes dread to gnaw at his stomach. But also, in the very recesses of his mind there is a part of him that knows he does not want anyone that is not Lorra Stark.

As he leaves Otto’s study, he is certain he hears the rustle of clothing and hurried footsteps, yet when he peers further down the corridor, he sees no one.

At dinner that evening, Lorra is subdued, not speaking to anyone at the table. Aemond stares at her regretfully, saddened by the loss of the simple gesture of her passing him dishes of the food she knows he enjoys, and is struck by an idea of his own.

He reaches for a slice of game pie, sliding it onto his plate, and with a knife he carefully cuts the pastry from the top and the bottom, before pushing the filling onto a side plate. He passes it to Lorra and she looks up at him, wide eyed, taking it from him hesitantly.

“You noticed.”

“I may have lost an eye, but the one that remains does not miss much. However, I allowed my pride to blind me in the training yard earlier. I hope you will forgive me.”

*I shall think about it,” she says with a grin.

He feels the faintest tug of his own smile pulling at his lips in return, his heart feeling lighter than it has all day.

Over the next two months, Lorra and Aemond spend more time together. Afternoons are whiled away in the library, they either read silently side by side - Aemond preferring historical accounts and philosophical studies, while she opts for tales from the Age of Heroes - or they share stories of their lineages. Lorra recounts her own knowledge of direwolves and wildlings beyond the Wall, while Aemond tells her all about Aegon the Conqueror and how the first dragons came to be.

In the training yard, Aemond continues to spar with Criston, and Lorra is appointed a squire to train with. Though the two never cross blades again, Aemond often finds his gaze drawn to her, impressed by the fluidity of her movements and the ferocity with which she fights.

Lorra is a welcome addition to the Red Keep, she converses easily with all of the family at mealtimes, and they all seem fond of her. On the rare occasions that Viserys can be roused from his sick bed to the table, she is even able to draw a laugh from him, despite his lack of lucidity.

As Aemond and Lorra grow closer, his inner conflict grows with it. He has never had a friend before, let alone anyone he feels affection for. He has grown accustomed to a life of solitude, simply slotting another person into his daily routine proves difficult enough, when it is accompanied by a longing to reach out to her and hold her hand, or stroke his fingers through the lustrousness of her hair, he does not know what to with this. So he resists, ignoring the restlessness of his hands and the quickening of his pulse each time she is near.

He has never craved physical or sexual intimacy before, both times he had endured it he had found no joy in it, so he cannot understand why Lorra evokes such desires within him.

Over time, he finds that simply avoiding her alleviates his burden, and so his flights on Vhagar become ever more frequent. Up in the skies is the only place that she cannot follow, and when he is on dragonback he is given a momentary respite from the war that rages inside of him, a clash between the comfort of seclusion, and the desire for her to be close to him.

Late afternoon bleeds into early evening, the sky a tapestry of dusky orange and pink as Aemond lands Vhagar on the outer edge of the Godswood. He dismounts, stunned to see that Lorra is patiently waiting for him, her cerulean cloak with white fur trim clutched tightly around her as she stands by a large elm tree.

“So, this is the mighty Vhagar,” she says softly, no trace of fear in her tone as she marvels at the great beast that rumbles cantankerously, mere feet away, as Aemond approaches her.

“You should not be here,” Aemond tells her, “dragons are not playthings for those unused to them.”

“But you have yet to introduce me, and she clearly means a lot to you. I would like to meet her.”

He hesitates. His dragon is the only remaining barrier he has between himself and Lorra, if he breaks that down then there is no more escaping her, and he will be forced to deal with whatever the consequences of that may be.

“No.”

“Why do you avoid me?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You were not in the library this morning, you missed training yesterday. More often than not you go where I cannot follow. I do not understand why.”

Aemond sighs, averting his gaze. “I–I cannot give you what you want.”

Lorra’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? We have been getting along well.”

He shakes his head. “I am not built for companionship. I would only disappoint you. I can be your husband in name, but I cannot be your lover.”

“Do you not even wish to try?” She asks pleadingly.

More than I have ever wanted anything.

He says nothing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Every fibre of his being burns with the urge to pull her close and press his lips to hers, but uncertainty holds him back.

“Let me visit you in your chambers tonight, let us see if you really cannot play the part of a husband in anything more than name. If that turns out to be the case then I promise we shall never speak of it again. Do you agree?”

Aemond draws in a shuddering breath, icy tendrils of fear wrap themselves around his heart, while excitement flutters urgently in his lower abdomen. “Yes,” he utters simply.

Lorra nods, turning and walking back towards the Red Keep, leaving him alone in the Godswood.

Aemond anxiously awaits the knock at his door that evening, and even though he expects it, he still feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the soft tap of her knuckles against the wood.

His mouth runs dry at the sight of her, she is wrapped in a quilted robe, which she sheds upon crossing the threshold leaving her in just a thin cotton nightgown.

Once more, Aemond is stunned by how forthright Lorra is as she perches on the edge of his bed. He hovers nervously in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“I am no longer a maiden,” she tells him honestly, “I feel that is something you deserve to know ahead of our nuptials, and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Aemond swallows thickly, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again when he realises he does not know what to say.

“I was on a hunt with my father and my brother. I allowed a squire to sully my virtue, believing it to be true love,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As it turns out he was just eager to get beneath the skirts of a nobleman’s daughter.”

Anger prickles beneath Aemond’s skin, the very thought of someone using her in such a manner is almost more than he can stand. He will wring that pathetic excuse of a man’s neck if he ever gets his hands upon him.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” he utters, “you did not deserve that.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It matters not. So, tell me, what of your experience?”

Aemond sucks in a breath, moving slowly to sit beside her on the mattress, keeping a respectable distance, as he contemplates what and how to tell her.

“It was my thirteenth name day, and Aegon decided that the appropriate gift would be to take me to a brothel.”

Lorra nods, keeping quiet and allowing for him to continue.

“It was not an enjoyable experience for me. Truthfully, I was disgusted by it, and for a long time I never entertained the notion of being intimate with anyone again.”

“Until when?”

“Until I was told I was to be betrothed to you.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did not want to be inexperienced for my wife, I wanted to see if I could derive enjoyment from coupling with a woman after all, so as not to embarrass you or myself. I took a maidservant.”

“And how did you find that?”

“It was…better than my experience in the brothel, but beyond the physical sensations, I felt nothing. It was humiliating to have to see her after that. I made sure she drank moon tea and then had my mother move her to kitchen duties, so I would not have to see her again.”

Lorra nods in understanding. “So, we have both been unlucky. Have you considered that perhaps it is not the act itself that is unenjoyable, more so the person you are doing it with?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there is no emotional connection between you and the person you are intimate with then there is little joy to be found in the act. You are merely two bodies rubbing against each other.”

“I have never experienced an emotional connection with anyone before, so I would not know.”

“Not even with me?”

Yes, with you. Only with you.

The words stick in Aemond’s throat, unable to express how he feels. He cannot allow himself such vulnerability.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, shifting closer.

Deciding to act, before he can change his mind, Aemond leans in, pressing his lips to hers. Lorra leads the movements, clearly the more experienced of the two - he has never kissed anyone before. Her lips are soft against his, yet press with a firmness that coaxes him to mimic her gestures.

He buries his hands in her hair, finally feeling its silkiness between his fingers as he pulls her closer. The stickiness of their saliva as they deepen the kiss, her tongue licking against his, makes his cock ache painfully hard in his breeches.

Lorra moves to straddle his lap, and Aemond’s hands wander from her hair, down the smoothness of her skin, his grip gentle yet filled with desperate want.

It is as if something finally clicks into place for him as she presses herself against him, the delicate scent of rosemary and lavender that clings to her flesh makes him feel lightheaded. This is what Aegon had been talking about. He wants nothing more than to throw her down upon the bed, and tear her nightdress from her.

Yet as she pulls back, breathless, glassy eyed and glossy lipped, he feels the same awe he had felt the first time he had looked into the fiery jaws of Vhagar. Only this time, it is not the white hot intensity of the Seven Hells that he sees reflected back, it is the vision of the Maiden herself. He has never seen a sight more beautiful.

His reverence of her quickly causes him to freeze, he is unworthy, does not know what to do with someone he feels so strongly for, and it morphs into terror. This time, instead of claiming his prize he pulls away from it.

“I–I cannot. I am sorry,” he whispers, pushing her gently from him and moving to stand.

She sighs softly, her head bowed dejectedly as she brushes past him to gather up her robe and wrap it back around herself.

“Well, I suppose that is that then,” she says. Her voice sounds so sad, so weak, that it causes a lump to form in Aemond’s throat. He detests that he has made her feel this way.

“As agreed in the Godswood, we shall speak of this no further,” she continues, fiddling with the ties around her waist.

“So our marriage will be a mere formality?” Aemond asks in a hushed tone.

Lorra shakes her head sadly, finally looking up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “There will be no marriage at all.

It feels as though Aemond’s heart drops into his stomach as he stares at her, the lump in his throat seeming as though it means to suffocate him. “Why?” Is all he is able to rasp out.

“I have never wanted a marriage that is for mere political alliance. I want someone who loves me, who desires me. That is why I asked my mother and father to delay their arrival, so I could see for myself if you were someone I could fall in love with.”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, ripples of pain reverberating in his chest, and yet he stays silent, allowing her to say her piece.

“The sad fact is that in these last few months I have fallen in love with you, but I do not think you will ever love me back. I am sorry, Aemond, but I cannot marry you. Tomorrow I shall return to Winterfell, and perhaps you will have better luck with one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

Those final few words strike Aemond like a hammer blow. She had heard.

He watches sorrowfully as she turns and leaves his chambers. He is desperate to call out after her.

Please do not go.

Do not leave me.

I do not want a Baratheon girl.

I want you.

Instead he says nothing, frozen to the spot and cripplied by grief as one of the only things he has ever truly wanted walks out of his life, knowing he only has himself to blame.

Aemond stays shut away in his chambers when Lorra departs the next morning, unable to bear the sight of her leaving the Red Keep and him forever. He keeps the curtains closed, sitting in darkness, not having slept, thinking of all the things he should and could have said and done differently. But it is too late now, and Lorra is better off without him.

It is nearing early afternoon when Alicent knocks softly at the door, allowing herself in without awaiting an answer. Her big, brown eyes are filled with sadness as she stares down at Aemond as he sits there. It reminds him of how she used to look at him as he would sit by the fireplace as a child, trying to hatch his egg.

She rounds his chair, standing behind him and places her hands tenderly upon his shoulders. Aemond reaches up a hand, gently grasping her fingers with his own.

“Oh, my dearest love, I am so sorry,” she whispers sadly.

They remain in silence for a few moments, before Aemond finally speaks. “Will you ask Grandsire to wait before sending a raven to Lord Baratheon? I–I am not ready. Not yet.”

Alicent’s fingers squeeze gently around his own in a comforting gesture. “Of course. I will not allow him to rush you.”

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief, though he feels no amount of time in the world will make him feel ready.

Over the next week, Aemond attempts to return to life as normal, though it feels empty and colourless without Lorra.

As he reads in the library, the empty space beside him seems almost ominous with its lack of her presence. He takes to reading tales from the Age of Heroes as a means to feel that she is still there.

In the training yard, his eye wanders every so often to the space where she used to spar, a wave of melancholy washing over him each time he looks to find that she is no longer there. He wonders who she will train with once she is back in Winterfell.

One night at dinner, he catches himself absentmindedly cutting the crust from his pie, a sigh of frustration leaving him as he agitatedly pushes the plate away.

He hates this. Aemond is comfortable in solitude, he always has been, yet now it feels too vast, too lonely. The empty space is haunted by the memory of Lorra, creating an ache and a longing within him that he has never experienced before.

The hour grows late as Alicent, Otto and Helaena depart the dining hall. Aemond is about to rise to return to his own quarters when Aegon holds up a hand, halting him.

“Stay a while,” he says, moving into the chair next to Aemond’s. “There is still wine in this jug, let us see it off.”

“I think you are sufficiently in your cups enough for us both, brother,” Aemond says with a sigh.

“Anything to help cope with how you have been skulking around the Keep this past week,” Aegon replies, splashing the table with red wine as he fills both their cups messily.

“I have not been skulking,” Aemond says petulantly, taking a sip of his wine.

“You have,” Aegon tells him, gulping from his own cup. “If you are this saddened by Lorra’s departure then why did you allow her to leave?”

Aemond sighs. “Because…because I cannot give her what she desires in a husband. My only examples of what marriage really looks like is what I have seen of mother and father, and you and Helaena.”

“That is exactly why you should strive to give her what she desires. Those are poor examples to set the basis of a marriage upon.”

“And how would you know?”

“Do you know what I know? I know that you have made yourself at home in a lifetime of misery and isolation, so much so that the very idea of happiness frightens you.” Aegon titters as he takes in Aemond’s annoyed expression. “Can you believe it? Aemond Targaryen, the boy who claimed the world’s largest dragon at the age of ten is afraid of happiness.”

“I am not afraid,” Aemond glowers.

“Then what is it? Because it seems ironic to me that you have spent your entire life coveting what I have and resenting me for not wanting it, and then when you find yourself in a position that I so desperately want for myself you do not want it either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love, Aemond. The love of a good woman. I had that once, and due to my own cowardice it slipped away from me.”

“You were in love?”

Aegon nods, drinking deeply again. “There was a reason I used to frequent that one particular brothel. There was a woman there that I loved, and she loved me.”

“She loved the golden dragon you paid her each time she let you rut atop her like an animal.”

“No, it was not that,” Aegon shakes his head. “I wanted to marry her, she was with child. But when mother and grandsire found out they had her taken away from King’s Landing. I never found out what became of her, or the child she was carrying.”

“I had no idea.”

Aegon scoffs. “You would not. Mother did a thorough job of ensuring no one ever found out. But my point is, I was a craven, I should have boarded a ship to Essos the moment I became aware of her condition. I would be rid of a life I hate and free to be with the woman I love. Do not let your own cowardice deprive you of happiness. Goodness knows you have enough reasons to be a miserable twat as it is.”

Aegon claps Aemond on the shoulder as he rises from his seat, taking both his cup and the jug with him as he staggers away from the dining hall.

Aemond sits at the table a while longer in silence, contemplating his brother’s words. He is shocked at what Aegon has divulged, yet there are rare pearls of wisdom to be found in what he has said. He is right, Aemond does want Lorra, and it is time he casts aside his pride and apprehension to ensure she knows this.

He goes back to his quarters that night, with a plan in mind. Sitting at his writing desk, Aemond places quill to parchment and begins to write.

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r0ttenhearts · 9 months

Text

broken bottles

scaramouche x reader

college au

sypnosis: the pieces scaramouche left behind of your promises

warnings: angst, abandonment, no comfort

“if we live together we have to keep our fridge stocked with dr pepper.”

three bottles of that sweet brown drink laid untouched in the fridge. now chilled with the time it had spent in that cold box, rather than the warm state they were in when scaramouche first put them in.

“we have to have a fish tank! oh, scara, don’t you like them? they’re pretty right?”

“sure, we can have a small one. i don’t mind.”

the large glass aquarium was dormant of any aquatic life. colorful rocks were carefully scattered on the bottom, a fake wooden log on top of the rocks. it never got to float. water never touched the inside of the glass.

“after school we have to hangout, right? we can watch movies and shows together on the couch.”

“whatever you want (y/n).”

the living room was vacant for the most part. scaramouche’s favorite horror movies laid untouched in their cases, shoved under the tv stand.

“do you think i can bring my pc? you’ll help me find a new case, right? i don’t know much about this stuff..”

“i’ll help you find a laptop in the meantime. i’ll take care of it.”

on a notepad in the kitchen was a list of pc parts scribbled down in scaramouche’s handwriting. it was buried under the spam mail and magazines that scaramouche had signed up for. untouched and forgotten about, laptop on the floor of your bedroom.

“do you think we’ll get our own rooms? will you get annoyed if i go and visit you.”

“what’re you talking about? we’re sharing one, you dumbass.”

there was only one bedroom in the dormitory. pillows and blankets on the bed belonging to you. a bed big enough for two people, but only vacated by one every night.

“if we live together you can’t do the things you do with me, with other girls. it feels weird.”

“i won’t have a need to mess with them if i have you.”

the tears in your eyes when he wouldn’t look at you, his hands wringing together as he exhaled, looking up at you one last time. “i like someone (y/n). i can’t be here anymore.”

“you promised me scara. you promised you were done with that.”

“yeah, well, now i’m done with you.”

all that was left was the bottles he left behind, eventually tipping over and spilling all over the bottom shelf of the fridge. broken promises and shards of glass were all that remained.

taglist: @samarill @whorerificstuff @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @msdevilis @linkookie197 @beriiov @xiaonscaraswife

#genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x reader angst #wanderer x reader #wanderer angst #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche x y/n #scara angst #scaramouche x you #scara x you #scaramouche x reader angst #scaramouche

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kjhbsies · 3 months

Text

PT II: Flowers of Despair

Ellie Williams x fem!reader (wc: 3, 248)

Synopsis: Will a love bloom even if your marriage is not real? Will Ellie Williams find a way to open her heart again?

Warnings: part II of the Waiting Room fan fiction. ellie is an asshole. major angst??? mixed signals??? not proofread and may have grammar errors. there will be a last part of this fic. happy reading!

pt. i pt. iii

In the first week you two moved into your dream house, you were beyond nervous. You did not expect for this to happen so quickly. Your father insisted that Ellie and you should get together for the meantime, while preparing for the wedding. Ellie agreed, saying that there was no problem, so who you are to decline such a wonderful offer.

This was your dream home; it was perfect. It was a fairly huge house with big doors and a great garden. You specifically bought this months before, and was staying here every now and then. It was near the farm, so it was serene and beautiful. You loved the landscapes here since you liked to paint everywhere.

But now, you aren’t sure how to feel.

“This is my room.” You said, pointing out the bedroom on your right as the both of you ascended through the second floor. “I’m sorry if it’s somehow messy, I just did not have the time to fix it up.” You smiled. “Your bags are already in there, but the maids will arrange it in the closet for you when they’re finished cleaning up the living room.”

“We’re not sleeping in different bedrooms?” Ellie scanned the whole area. “Or you insisted that we’ll get to share the same bed?” She looked at you with her stoic face.

Ellie watched as the color of your face drained out. You became pale when you heard her say that. Ellie has no problem sharing a room with you. Hell, she can’t even remember how many girls she has on her bed every night. But, the problem is, Ellie just wanted to taunt you because, well, she can be an asshole sometimes.

“Oh! I-I did not- I thought that’s what married couples do, you know, share the same bed.” You rambled, heart beating fast.

This is so humiliating, you thought.

Ellie chuckled. Heart warming up as she looked at you. You were so fucking…

Cute?

“But, we’re not supposed to be like those normal married couples, aren’t we? I thought we had an agreement, babe. Don’t fall in love with me.”

“Then don’t call me babe.” Your face scrunched up at her. “You don’t have to remind me every single day about our arrangement, you know? I’m not an idiot. I can hear you loud and clear.” You gulped. Ellie’s jaw tightened.

Am I an asshole? You looked sad, and something inside me hated it. She thought.

You looked up at her with soft eyes. “Well, it’s been a stressful evening. Let’s just rest. I’ll call one of the maids so they can bring your clothes to your room. You can just pick any bedroom you’d like.” You said before quickly going inside.

You hated it.

You hated how she’s just in front of you, but you can’t even touch her.

You hated how she’s just within your reach but you can’t get her. You will not get her.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

One month.

One month is all it would take until you and Ellie will be married. And then, you can get your inheritance. Ellie would still endure a few weeks with you. After she gets the money, you and her can get a divorce, and if it’s possible, Ellie will get Dina again, and the three of them can live as a happy family.

But what about you?

Nah, it’s fine. Ellie doesn’t really care.

“You can cook?” Ellie asked surprisingly when she saw you in the kitchen. She is walking straight beside you. She ignored how you looked great in your sundress and floral apron. There it goes again, the bows in your hair look adorable. She shut down her eyes, mentally scolding herself when she caught herself looking like a fucking creep.

You glanced back at her. Your heart skipped a beat when she settled beside you, leaning her back at the counter while her tattooed arms were folded in her chest. She’s just wearing a plain slim fit shirt and a pair of black trousers. Her auburn hair was tied in a bun and her freckles looked really good in the sunlight. “Yeah. I make really good pastas. Guess you can say that it was my specialty.”

“I thought rich girls can’t cook.”

“And I thought we shouldn’t bother each other. So, why are you here?” You quipped back.

Ellie looked at you in amusement. Good catch. Damn. “I was… bored.” Even she was not convinced with her statement. To be honest, Ellie doesn’t even know why she went up to talk to you. She’s just intrigued when she smelt the aroma of the food and was surprised when you were the one making it.

When she first tasted the pasta, you were looking straight at her, waiting for Ellie’s comments. And it made her uneasy. To say, your gaze made her nervous. So, she’s slowly devouring the food in front of her, chewing it gently. And damn, you really are a great chef.

“Was it good?” You asked, curiously.

“Yeah. Fuck, I was surprised that you can cook because, you know, you’re a ric-”

You shook your head, looking at her unamused. “Please don’t say rich girl.”

Ellie laughed.

Ellie fucking laughed for the first time.

Oh, this arrangement will fuck you up so bad.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

On a Sunday afternoon, Ellie found herself in the garden, sitting in the grass, while holding her guitar. You, however, would usually be at the same spot while painting. When you found Ellie there, you decided to quickly walk away from her.

“You can sit with me, you know.” Ellie said when she sensed you around.

“Uh…” You hesitated, the grip on your easel and canvas became strong. “Sure.” You gave in immediately.

You settled beside her as you began setting your art materials up. You looked at Ellie while trying to strum her guitar. Well, you’ve known that she has the skills because you’ve always seen her playing that. And it shocked you to the core, but Ellie has a beautiful voice.

“This is the first time that I picked this thing up.” Ellie blurted. “I swore that I wouldn’t play guitar again since…” She stopped talking. And you have an idea of what she might've been talking about.

“Do you still like her?” You asked, gripping on the paint brush as tight as you can, fingernails digging through your palms.

Ellie’s mood turned sour. “That’s none of your fucking business, princess.”

“I was just asking.”

“Well, you shouldn't. Don’t ever bring her up again. As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t even talk with each other.” Ellie said before standing up while grabbing her guitar.

Your eyes drop as you can feel lumps in your throat when you’re holding your tears back.

Ellie did not know why she became so defensive. When anyone brings up Dina, her mind automatically flashes back to everything they’ve done. And as much as she tries to conceal or hide it at the back of her mind, Ellie can’t seem to get away from it.

She looked back and found you staring down at your lap when guilt started flooding her brain. Ellie wanted to apologize then and there but her pride made her walk away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The argument happened three days ago. You never talked to Ellie since the incident, and she didn’t even try to spare a glance at you either. The house has been eerily quiet and cold since that happened. Martha, your maid seemed to sense the tension between you two.

Every day, you’re always the one who wakes up earlier to make and eat breakfast for the two of you. You did not want to eat three times a day with her, and Ellie also felt the same way.

Did she?

I mean, to Ellie’s surprise, she’d wake up with food on the table everyday. And even though she tried to deny it, she’s always fascinated with how you cook and how delicious those meals are. It is obvious that you try to avoid her every day. And Ellie did not know whether she would be grateful or annoyed. Well, why would she even get annoyed, right? She asked for it. And now that you’re giving it to her, why is she always catching herself trying to find you every day?

To make it short, she’s an idiot.

Now, both of you were at Jackson to try wedding dresses. Your mother insisted that she knows the best tailor in town and that’s where the both of you were.

“Ok, twirl.” Your mom said when you stepped out of the changing room.

“I don’t like how it fits me. I can’t breathe.” You said while looking at your figure in the mirror.

“Try another one, mija. We have so many dresses here.” The old lady smiled at you and you nodded. Going back to the same changing room to try the dress that captured your eye.

Ellie passed by and your mom called her. “Ellie! How’d the fitting go?”

“It went well and faster than I expected.” Ellie chuckled.

“Well. Sit here and watch your future wife. I think she’ll like the last dress.” Your mom patted the seat beside her and Ellie hesitated for a second before she nodded and sat down.

You walked out of the changing room while wearing the first wedding dress that caught your eye. It fits you like a glove, and it is really flattering. Your steps halted when you saw Ellie staring right at you.

“Do you like it?” The owner asked happily. “It really brings out your beauty.”

Ellie silently agreed. She can’t keep her eyes away from you and how stunning you looked. Her mouth gapes, trying to find a word that best describes you at the moment but how her heart fluttered made her weak. Both of you are staring at each other’s eyes and you can’t seem to look away.

“Doesn’t she look great, Ellie?” Your mom asked Ellie.

She wasn’t even supposed to talk to you. Both of you shouldn’t even interact, let alone stare at each other like this. But there’s no choice.

“Yes.” Ellie gulped. “You look… great.” She cursed at herself. Great? Idiot, she’s more than that.

You try to fight off a huge smile so you look down, afraid that you just look like a stupid highschool girl at the moment. You turned your back at her immediately before nodding to the tailor.

“Yes I’ll get it since my wife likes it too.”

God, both of you were supposed to be mad at each other, right?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Throughout the preparation for the wedding, both you and Ellie were always at Jackson. Your morning routine consisted of you waking up at 7:00 in the morning to cook and eat breakfast, and read a book for an hour before Ellie woke up. And when the clock strikes at 9:00 AM, it is your time to stand up to go into your room, take a long bath and get ready.

Ellie will meet you outside, in the car, to go to Jackson. And it is awkwardly silent and painful. Jackson is a 30 minute drive and the two of you weren’t even letting out even a small quip, nor glance at each other as the two of you agreed.

Well, you wanted to apologize to Ellie for bringing Dina up in that conversation, three weeks ago. But you can’t seem to find the courage to talk to her. You did not know how much Dina really meant to Ellie up until now that even though it’s you that she shares the same house with, she can’t seem to forget her. This thought haunted you every night, but you can’t really blame Ellie. Dina is her soulmate, and you’re just a huge hindrance.

Besides, both of you almost never agree on anything. You loved the shades of pink and blue for your wedding, and Ellie will say that it is such the corniest color. While trying to make the perfect wedding invitation, Ellie would go up beside you to propose something really annoying. Ellie loved carrot cake but you hated the hell out of it that almost caused a huge fight in the shop. When things get heated between you two, you will just shut up because you can’t create a huge scene, especially that both of your parents are around.

Today is your break from her since after the wedding tomorrow, you would be tied to her. Not forever, but maybe months, or years, even. Ellie and you decided to have a girl’s and guy’s day before the wedding. You two would stay here at Jackson for the night – in her old house.

“We’re here.” Ellie said. You nodded and opened the door and she waited for you to get out before stepping outside. Ellie smiled widely as she saw her friends. Everyone of them started hugging and clapping each other’s back.

“Yo, man! I never thought you would be married.” Jesse said happily.

“Was that an insult?” She asked before playfully smacking him.

“Oh, hey, Y/N, if Ellie did something really shitty, you can just go at me. I’m really good at comforting pretty girls.” The masculine girl went up at you, grinning, while holding out her hand. “I’m Julie, by the way.”

“Uh…” You hesitated before looking at Ellie who didn't really look pleased. And seconds later, she is hitting Julie’s head hard.

“That’s my wife, you shit.”

Jesse and Julie shared the most obnoxious laugh.

“Okay, guys, I’ll just leave you all.” You smiled. “Ellie, I’ll just meet up with the girls. I’ll see you at your house later.” You said, waving at them.

“Wait, wait, where’s Ellie’s kiss?” Jesse asked.

“Dude shut up.” Ellie immediately answered.

“Come on, guys. You don’t kiss?” He asked again. “Ellie, what happened to your game, dude?” He taunted.

“It’s fine.” You looked at Ellie reassuringly before tip-toeing to kiss her in the lips. It was sudden, and it was just a quick peck but your heart hammered and you felt like it would come right out of your throat. “Bye.” You whispered softly before turning away.

Ellie felt frozen at the moment. Shit, she can still feel your lips at her. The scent of your lip gloss lingered at her and it’s all that she could smell right now. What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing to her?

Ellie watched your figure as you were walking through your friends. She was so glad that you quickly went away without looking at her, or else Ellie would be caught dead right there and then.

You’re so fucking confusing.

Ellie hated it.

Ellie hated you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You were staring at Ellie’s bedroom, scanning every little thing in here. Joel said that this has been her bed since she was nine years old. An old guitar was sitting near her windows, as well as a pile of books about spaces, science, dinosaurs, as well as a couple of ‘No Pun Intended’ books in different volumes.

You were shocked that she knows how to sketch when you found some sketchbooks on her desk. Some were filled up until the last page, but there are some who weren’t even touched. When you opened one, you saw that her sketches mainly consisted of horses, Joel, and Dina. She draws her beautifully, making her a goddess, just like what she sees in her eyes. Dina is her muse, and both of them can create a masterpiece. Somewhere in your heart was pierced as you were thinking about it. Ellie probably stopped sketching when she left, and has never touched a pencil ever since.

The door opened. And it showed a drunk Ellie. You sat up, quickly walking away at her desk and releasing the grip on one of her sketches.

“The fuck are you doing?” Ellie immediately walked up to hide her arts.

“I’m sorry. I just got carried away looking at-”

“Why are you here, anyway?” She looked at you angrily.

You sighed heavily. You did not want another fight with her. “Where am I supposed to be?”

“At your friends or something?”

You laughed sarcastically. “You really do hate me that much, huh?” Slowly, you were walking towards her.

She grinned. “Yeah. I guess you can say that you’re not my favorite person.”

“But you’re marrying me. Tomorrow.”

She stepped forward, looking down at you with a taunting gaze. “Guess I would just deal with it.” Ellie started grabbing something on her dresser. “I’m sleeping on the floor. You can have my bed.”

You stood there, feeling ridiculous. “This is what you called ‘dealing with it?’ We��re about to get married tomorrow, and you are still a coward.”

Ellie laughed loudly. She can feel her drunkenness start to wash away from her veins as you keep on talking. Yes, both of you shouldn’t even be arguing and she could just be the bigger person and ignore you but she just physically, and mentally can’t.

“What did you just call me?” She said, looking at you with squinted eyes.

“You’re a coward. I thought you brought a lot of girls here before, so why can’t you stand sharing a bed with me?” You asked, challenging her.

Ellie’s jaw tightened while she’s looking at you. Fuck, she can’t even say something back at you because you are making a lot of sense.

You rolled your eyes at her when she just stood there, frozen. Slowly, you went to her bed and covered yourself under the blanket.

There’s a nightstand beside you. In this, there’s a small lamp, a lot of toy figurines, coins, and a portrait of Ellie. She’s smiling at the camera, her auburn hair is tied in a bun and she’s wearing a tank top – revealing her muscles. You figured out that it was when she’s 19 – where she’s still a handsome girl you first admired. If you told your 16 years old self that you are marrying Ellie Williams, she would be beyond happy. She might faint, really. But right now, Ellie isn’t the girl you thought she’d be.

Everyone was right. She’s an asshole.

You sighed heavily as you felt the mattress beside you moved. Ellie lifted the blanket and settled herself under it. You and Ellie were sleeping both at your backs to avoid facing each other.

Why are you still wasting your time with her? Ellie wouldn’t love you no matter how hard you try. Maybe it is the time to accept the fact that she wouldn’t be yours here, or maybe in another lifetime.

She wants Dina.

And you’re not her.

“Is this a good idea?” You asked her suddenly. “We always fight and I hate it because I’m not made for it.” You shut your eyes tightly as tears started streaming down, wetting the bed underneath. “I just want to love you.” You whispered, confessing your feelings for her.

Ellie gulped, trying to remove the lump on her throat. “I told you not to fall in love with me.” She said, softly. She can feel a familiar ache in her heart. Like the same thing when her mom left her, when Shimmer died, and when Dina left. She tried so hard to avoid those, protecting her feelings so hard that she even forgot that she still had a heart.

Until you came.

You smiled sadly. “Too late, Ellie. I have loved you since we were sixteen.”

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction

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lovelywritinglady · 5 months

Note

This is my first request, I want to see how Tengen and his wives react to one of the wives (y/n) has been taking more naps then usual and hasn’t been walking around as much.

When they go to the hospital about it, they find out that it’s because the chronic pain (description: pain that last longer then three months no matter what medication they take) as well then having not much stamina.

Sorry if this is too complicated, I just been having a lot of trouble even getting out of bed without a walking stick. IM NOT EVEN FORTY

thank you

I shall do my best!! Thank you for requesting!

We’ll Take Care Of You

Tengen Uzui x fem!reader x wives

Fluff, mentions of polygamy, reader has a condition, slight angst.

Tengen Pov

Coming back from a month long mission was one of the best things to me. The look on my wives' faces when they see me again reminds me of all of the love I'm given. Currently I am a few steps from reaching my home when I hear my lovely wife, Suma, call that I am home. I smile at her excitment and quicken my pace as to not keep her and the others waiting too much longer.

Stepping into my rather large estate, I'm immedietly greeted with three bone crushing hugs and whines of worry. If I wasn't already sore from my fight earlier, then I'm definately sore now. Immedietly I wrap my large arms around their figures, but just as soon as my excitment comes, it is replaced with worry.

"Where is Y/n?" I ask my beautiful wives who are still wrapped around me.

"Oh, Lord Tengen, she is in bed. She hasn't been feeling too good for a while." Suma responed with a look of worry on her face now too.

"Is she sick and have you called a doctor?" I asked breaking a hug and looking to Makio and Hina for answers as well.

"We have and she has no sickness, she's just been in some pain and that has been causing her to be in bed a lot." Makio tells me.

"I'm going to go see her alone if that's okay with you three?" I tell them making my way to go see my Y/N.

"Of course, Lord Tengen, I'll make us some food in the meantime." Hina tells me as I'm walking to Y/n's room.

Slowly I opened the sliding door of her room only to be met with a lovely sleeping figure buried underneath blankets looking very comfortable. I slightly chuckled at the sight, but remembered that she has been sleeping an abnormal amount. Crouching down I wiped some loose strands of hair that fell on her somewhat peaceful face; thanking God that I get to witness the beautiful sight before me. Y/n then opened her eyes slightly giving me a smile.

"Lord Tengen, you're back!" She said quietly but the excitment in her voice was heard.

"Yes, and I hear that you have been sleeping a lot. My love, what is going on? Are you hurt in anyway?" I asked her as I laid down on the bed facing her and wrapping my right arm around her.

"I'm not so sure, my body aches all the time and I'm so sleepy. I'm sorry to have worried you Lord Tengen." Y/n says with tears prickling her eyes. Smiling at her I gently wipe the tears from her face and then carefully placing gentle kisses on her nose, forehead, cheeks, and finally a loving kiss on her soft lips. When I pulled away from her, she looked content and relaxed.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. How about I take you to the hospital tomorrow so we can see what is hurtung my baby, hmm." I tell her as she nuzzles into my chest.

"Thank you, Lord Tengen." she says in a cute whisper.

"Of course, now I think you should try to eat something. Plus Hina is cooking and we both know how healing her cooking is." I joke

"Yeah, she's been making me food recently and Makio and Suma have been making me feel comfortable and have been taking care of me too. I'm so thankful to have them here." she tells me and I can tell that she's blushing from that thought.

"We all love and what to take care of you and won't rest until you're better." I reassured her as we both got up from the bed. Her legs were wobbly so I offered her a piggy back ride which she gladly accepted. "Now come on, lets get you fed." I told her as I began walking to the kitchen.

"I love you, Lord Tengen." She hummed

"I love you too" I responed flashing her a wink.

"Hey, what about me?" Suma whines from the kitchen.

"Yeah, you love me too right, Lord Tengen?" Makio chimes in with a fierce blush across her face. "Yeah, Yeah I love you guys too." I told them

The Next Day...

Y/n and I left to the doctors as soon as the sun peaked through the clouds. She wasn't feeling her best so I decided to hold her on my back. My sweet wife was so sleepy and I could tell that her eyes were heavy as she did her best to keep her head upright.

"Y/n, if you need to sleep that's okay. We'll be at the doctors in about 20 minutes if you'd like to sleep until then." I spoke sweetly to her.

"Okay, I am pretty tired." She whispered as she placed her head back on my shoulder and closed her eyes. Soon enough she was sound asleep.

"Heh, such a cute girl." I smiled making sure I treaded lightly as to not awake my sleepy wife.

About 20 minutes later, we arrived. My sweet Y/n was still asleep on my shoulder and I reluctantly woke her up and as I did she slowly open her beautiful eyes and let out such a small yawn. I slightly blushed at her cuteness and reached to give her a small kiss on her cheek. She smiled at me and then made her way off my back and immedietly put her hand in mine. I could tell she was nervous and she took a deep breath and practically pulled me into the doctors home. She walked up and introuduced herself and stated that she had an appointmemt. I was astonished by her strength and admired her flashiness. After a few minutes, the doctor came out and called out my wife's name.

"Uzui Y/n, Uzui Y/n? A small older woman asked scanning the room.

"Yes, that's me." Y/n said as she walked over to the doctor.

"Love, do you need me to go with you?" I aksed hopeful that she'd let me.

"No honey, i think I'd like to do this alone if that's alright." She told me as she reached up and gave me a quick kiss on my left cheek before following the doctor.

"See you soon." I whispered as I made my way to the front anxious as to what was going on with my love.

A little while later...

I was impatient awaiting the news of my sweet wife and what's been going on with her. There were a few times that I almost barged in and demanded to speak with the doctor myself, but I stopped myself out of fear of disappointing Y/n and my other wives. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself once again only to hear footsteps and the sound of a door opening. There stood my wife with a strange expression on her face and the old lady doctor holding her arm. She immediately looked at me and gave me a sweet smile. I gave her one in return and just nearly ran towards her.

"So is she alright doc?" I asked embracing my wife.

"She's not dying if that's what you're concerned with. She has chronic pain and that's the reason that your lovely wife here hasn't be herself lately." the doctor explained

"Is there anything that we can do to cure it?" I asked worried for my wife.

"Yes, whatever you've been giving her as decreased her pain a little but it won't cure it. However, I have perscribed a special herbal tea and an ointment to put on any specific areas of pain. In a few months to a year your wife should be relitivly normal." She told me and then turned her attention to Y/n and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Lord Tengen, I think I'm going to be fine so please don't worry too much." Y/n spoke almost as if she knew that I was about to complain about how long her recovery would take.

"Alright, love, I trust you." I told her as I gently caressed her lovely face.

"Thank you for everything." Y/n said as she gave the doctor a small bow of gratitude.

"Anytime dear, and if those remedies don't work please feel free to come back so we can try something else out." the doctor spoke. She then gave us the tea and ointment meant for Y/n and the two of us were on our way home.

"Want to ride on my back again or are you feeling well enough to walk?" I asked my wife

"The doctor gave me a cup of that tea and it made me feel well enough to walk myself, so I'm gonna try to do that as long as I can." She told me which made me admire her strength.

"You're so flashy you know that." I complimented her

"You tell me that all the time, but thank you Lord Tengen." she giggled

About more than halfway to our home her pain got too much for her to bear. So I quickly put her on my back as we walked the rest of the way back to our home and back to our worried wives. As soon as we walked through the door and put Y/n down, Suma, Makio, and Hina all flocked to Y/n. She explained what was wring and the remedies to cure her pain.

"Oh Y/n I'm so glad that we know what will help you now and we promise to take care of you." Hina reassured

"Of course we will!" Makio and Suma spoke simultaneously

"Yeah, don't worry Y/n we'll take good care of you." I spoke to her as she gave me that sweet smile that I just adore so much.

Thank you so much for reading! I apologize for taking so long with the request. My writers block was crazy!

Please feel free to like, comment. reblog, and request!

click here to see what I'll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except Y/n•

-L.W.L

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 2 years

Text

when he sees me || Lee Know

Pairing: Lee Know x f!Reader

Summary: Interacting with others has never been easy for you, whether it is talking to them or, worse, flirting with them. As a result, relationships, but also any form of sexual interactions have always eluded you. You had no reason to think that was going to change anytime soon.

And then your hot neighbor’s cat shows up in your apartment, and you think that things just might change. Even if it’s only on one front.

Word count: 13.3k

Genre: Neighbors AU, slice of life, smut, fluff & angst

Warnings & Tags: mention of a dead grandparent, social anxiety, insecurities, loss of virginity, reader doesn’t tell minho that she’s a virgin, smut (vaginal sex, oral sex [female receiving], fingering, very soft sex), unreliable narrator, unresolved romantic tension.

A/N: Hi everyone! After going through a rough past couple of... six months, hence the disappearance, and pretty much not writing/not finishing anything for all of that, I just really wanted to try writing something again. This was long — it basically took me the whole summer to write this piece — but I’m happy that I’ve managed to create something again :) Thank you to all of the people who sent kind messages during that time, I saw them and truly appreciated them. I hope you enjoy this, and I would really appreciate it if you could let me know your thoughts, especially if you like it!

“It sounds like you really needs to get laid,” Nari comments, and the table laughs heartily while you smile. You make the conscious effort of creasing your eyes, so it looks genuine, but hopefully no one can tell. She reaches over to grab your hand, an amused grin on her face, and squeezes it. “We’ll get on that soon, I promise, but in the meantime, being here is the next best thing.”

You smile and nod, but you also shift slightly in your chair.

‘Here’ is the District 9, and it’s, for all intents and purposes, a strip club. There’s no actual stripping happening, but there are scantily-clad men dancing on stage, and rumors flying around about ‘private sessions’ that can happen in one of the backrooms, if you’re willing to pay. You and your friends — coworkers — are here for the men. But, as the lights dim and your friends start clapping, instead of focusing on the stage, you cast a look over your shoulder.

You’re pretty bad at the whole ‘neighbors’ thing. It’s not a voluntary decision, and more of a unfortunate consequence of how bad you are at maintaining interpersonal relationships. Over the years, you’ve come to a certain mastery of small-talk. You’ve gotten quite decent at making a good first impression, as long as someone starts the interaction for you.

You’d been living in the apartment your grandmother had left you for a little over six months when you found out most of the people living on the same floor as you resented you for never introducing yourself to them.

“I didn’t know I had to,” you’d mumbled awkwardly, shoulders shrinking.

“It’s not like you have to,” your mother had been quick to reply. “It’s just the polite thing to do, you know?”

Yeah. ‘The polite thing to do’ was usually what you had to do, but it didn’t surprise you that she wouldn’t understand what that meant for someone like you.

You’d regained their favor by helping out here and there when it came to carrying the groceries. Most of the people here had, like your grandmother, bought an apartment in the building with the intention of spending their retirement here. It wasn’t a great place by any stretch of the imagination, but it had an elevator and a bus line close by. At that age, that had been enough to convince them of pouring their whole life savings into an apartment, and you thought the sense of community it gave them was enough to make it worth it. It was good to know that your grandmother wouldn’t have been isolated here, though the fact that she’d never made it into the apartment broke your heart every time you thought about it.

There seemed to be one other person your age, a man you’d caught glimpses of every now and then. You’d seen someone with a hoodie standing in front of the mailboxes, you’d noticed a motorcycle that you were convinced no one else here could be using and, once, you’d seen a side profile — strong nose, well-defined jaw, bored eyes, and an earring dangling by his neck — as he’d walked past the elevator. As a reflex, you’d lifted a hand to halt it, but he hadn’t so much as glanced in your direction, going straight for the staircase.

No one here took the stairs.

“What a handsome young man,” Mrs. Choi has sighed dreamily next to you, before giving you a pointed look. “Don’t you agree, darling?”

The question had brought a smile to your lips. You found it sweet, the way older people in the building seemed to really want you to find a significant other.

“I didn’t see him all that well,” you had answered.

But what you’d seen had, indeed, been more than enough for you to agree to her.

The first dancer to get on stage has Nari gasping sharply and mumbling a quiet “fuck” under her breath, and it makes you grin. He’s been introduced as Chris, though you happen to know that’s not what his friends call him. For now, he’s sitting astride a chair, back turned towards the public.

To be fair, it is a very nice back. Muscular, with broad shoulders, and what you can guess of the arms seems impressive as well. When he turns around, Nari pretty much spits out the alcohol she’d just ingested at an attempt of calming herself down. He looks completely focused on his routine as he starts to dance, more sputter coming from your friends when he starts to aggressively thrust his hips.

He’s hot, you can’t deny that, but— you’re not sure. This kind of things just— doesn’t seem to be for you. Maybe it’s the monetary aspect that makes you uncomfortable, maybe it’s the way he’s avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s impossible for you to imagine that someone like you could be attracted to you, even remotely.

That’s not a new thing for you. Generally speaking, you can’t imagine the people you’re attracted to could be interested in you in return.

With one recent exception to this rule.

You had just come home from work, and all you wanted to do was throw yourself on your couch with a drama and never think about the outside world ever again. It was way later than it should reasonably be, because, as often, you’d stayed behind to work. So had most of your department. Unpaid hours, away from family and respite. You suspected that rhythm would drive you insane at some point, but you hoped you still had a few years left before that.

You had just had enough time to grab something to drink in your fridge when you’d heard meowing outside the window.

That wasn’t a rare occurence in the building. While cats weren’t technically allowed, they were tolerated, considering the fact that a good three quarters of the people here owned at least one.

What was rare was for one to be on your balcony, ginger tail up in the air as the cat’s head went through the bars. Your heart leaped in your chest, and you were on your feet in a second, rushing to the bay window. You opened it slowly, not wanting to scare the small animal, but were quick to pull it back after that, which earned you a nasty scratch to your wrist. Still, after that the cat was inside, no longer at risk of falling out.

“Where the hell did you come from?” you mumbled, watching him lap up the water you’d served for him. The only answer to your question was that he had jumped from an above balcony. He didn’t seem to be limping, but you had no way of making sure that he wasn’t injured.

When you left in the morning, after too short a night of sleep, you put a note about the cat on the building door, then went about your day.

The mystery man was sitting on the floor in front of your door when you got home. His head’s falling forward, face hidden by the black hoodie, but it snaps up with the ding of the elevator and then he’s looking straight at you.

And you forget how to breathe for a second.

‘Handsome’ doesn’t even begin to cover the way he looks. Almost black eyes are staring up at you, and dark brown hair fall in front of his face and framing it elegantly. Your eyes follow the nose, down to the well defined philtrum, the fleshy lips. He looks unreal.

You swallow.

“You’re here for the cat?” you manage to squeak out, after what you hope wasn’t too long or uncomfortable of a silence.

The man sighs and pushes himself up, letting his hood fall back. He’s not wearing the same earring as last time.

“Ginger cat?”

“With a white belly,” you’re quick to nod.

“Is he an asshole?”

Your mouth falls open. Maybe it’s because you’re so careful with your language, especially around strangers, but the vulgarity takes you by surprise. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“I mean I might not phrase it like that,” you mumble, “but, uh, yeah, he’s not…” You glance down at the bandage on your hand, hiding it behind your back. “He’s not very nice.”

Another sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, and you follow the movement with wide eyes — and probably too much interest.

“Yeah. That sounds like Doongie.”

He leans against the wall, and when you realize he’s waiting for you, you rush by him to open the door.

“So, where, uh, where do you live?”

With your back turned towards him, you miss the brief tightening of his shoulders at your question.

“Above here,” he shrugs, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling.

That makes it even stranger that he’s not taking the elevator, you think as you step inside and kick your shoes off by the door.

“He must be somewhere around here, I—”

“There he is,” the man comments from behind you.

And, indeed, the cat’s sitting on the table. He has interrupted the cleaning of his paw to stare at you and his owner, but the sight doesn’t seem to captivate him long, because he soon goes back to his business.

You hear a light chuckle behind you, and when you look back, you see a surprisingly fond smile on the man’s face. It completely transforms his expression, making him go from cold and kind of scary to warm and friendly in a second.

“It’s definitely him. Can I—?”

“Oh, sure, be my guest, but, uh, be careful. He lets his claws out pretty easily.”

When he shoots you a grin at the warning, you think you’re about to faint. Despite it, and despite his earlier claim that the cat was an asshole, he has no difficulty in catching it, and you hear him mumble some quiet, sweet praises to the cat as he scratches it behind the ear. The cat doesn’t complain either.

“Any idea how he got here?” you ask, just to say something, because standing awkwardly in the door entrance feels weird.

“He’s a little acrobat, aren’t you Doongie?” the man responds.

“I saw that there were some, uh, barriers you can put up to stop your cat from falling. Even if he's clearly good at that stuff, you know, it can’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll look into that,” he nods, slowly walking towards the entrance, careful to keep the cat steady in his arms. As he gets closer, you hear the cat’s purring, and you resist the temptation to caress it, worried that you’ll make him unhappy again. “Thank you, by the way. For looking after him.”

“Oh, that’s— That’s nothing, really,” you’re quick to shake your head. “I was happy to, and I’m happy he found his way back to you.”

“It’s Minho, by the way,” he says, and you nod, replying with your name, as he puts his shoes back on with surprising dexterity considering one of his hands is taken by a now pliant Doongie.

“Let me know if you need someone to keep an eye on him,” you say, though you’re immediately unsure of where that came from, of whether or not you’re sincere or if you’re just trying to be polite.

That makes the corner of his lips twitch — a smile that is for you this time, though it soon vanishes.

“Then you’d also have to deal with his siblings, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t want to force that on you.”

Siblings. Plural. That’s at least three cats.

Maybe you should adopt one too. So far, your crippling fear of disobeying authority has kept you from doing it, but if everyone in the building has some, it’s kind of unfair if you have to hold back.

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” you say, deciding that you do mean it. “I guess I’ll, uh, see you around?”

He nods, bowing his head in a polite gesture, before he walks out. You notice that, once more, he heads towards the staircase rather than the elevator, and your brain uselessly notes that if he’s always doing that, it explains how impressive his thighs look, but you shut it down.

Someone else, like your friends, for example, would probably have immediately started daydreaming about some neighbor romance. You have to admit that it is incredibly tempting, even if he barely looked at you throughout the whole thing, to imagine yourself in his arms. Yet, you reign your imagination in quickly. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment by imagining something that will never be.

After all, it’s never worked for you before.

“Holy shit, that was fucking hot,” Nari mumbles next to you, swallowing half of her drink in one go. “This place is heaven on earth.”

“I’d sell my whole family to ride those hips,” Daeun hisses from across the table, a sentiment that is echoed by the other girls. You don’t say anything, not that anyone notices. It’s not so much that you disagree, but rather that you feel— somewhat ill-equipped to deal with that sort of conversations. Enough to make you retreat in your chair, hoping no one notices.

The issue, here, is your complete lack of experience. It’s not that you ‘haven’t dated in a while’, though that is usually what you say. You haven’t dated. At all. And you don’t have the experience that people your age are supposed to have. At all. Not a first time, not a first hook-up, and, until quite recently, not even a stupid first kiss.

It didn’t bother you for a long time, as your years in high school, then in college, had passed. You’d always thought it would come, eventually. At some point, though, it had started giving you this gnawing feeling. You had never been your biggest fan, after all. Slowly, the question of whether or not something was wrong with you started taking up more and more space in your mind. That was what people said about incels, right? That they were unable to accept that they were responsible for people’s lack of interest.

After all, it wasn’t just that you hadn’t ever gotten that far with anyone. It was a general lack of interest. Where your friends never came back from a trip without a few stories about guys hitting on them, it just… didn’t happen to you. It didn’t help how shitty it made you feel that you were so ashamed of your own feelings, when your friends were complaining about unwanted male attention. When they talked about how ‘guys would hit on anything that looks even vaguely like a woman’.

Wasn’t it just pathetic? Were you really that desperate, that stupid to feel like that over what were essentially stories of sexual harassment?

Fuck. No wonder no one was interested, or that no one had ever been interested.

Your friends from high school and college — the ones you still talked to — were aware of the complete desert that were your romantic and sexual lives. Your colleagues… weren’t. It had just become embarrassing to mention it, at some point.

So, whenever something like that came up you just— tried to make yourself disappear, basically.

It definitely didn’t help that, for the first time since college and your last handful of disappointing and unrequited crushes, there was someone that you would like to have something with.

It’s 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning when you’re woken up by relentless knocking against your door. You’ve been asleep for five hours, tops, which wasn’t part of your plans for how you wanted to start the week-end. You stumble out of bed, then through your living-room, and you’re yawning when you open the door.

“Wh-what’s going on?” you slur sleepily.

In front of you if the neighbor with the cat. Minho, your brain provides to you after a painful second of hesitation. In your defense, you haven’t seen him since the incident, which must have been— about a month ago, you’d say. You’d even wondered if he’d left the building because, yes, embarrassingly, you had been hoping you’d run into him again, even though, up until now, you’d suspected he had promptly forgotten your existence after stepping out of your apartment.

“Does your offer to look after my cats still stand?”

You blink, and you notice that he’s holding two cats in his arms, with a third one in a box on the floor.

“What?”

“My mom fell down the stairs,” he says quickly, words so fast they come out jumbled. “I have to go see her and it— it shouldn’t be for more than a few days. I promise.”

You study his face, wondering if he’s lying and on his way to a week-end with his friends, wondering if you’re being taken advantage of by some guy who’s noticed how desperate for any kind of male attention you—

This isn’t helping.

Looking at him, his fear seems obvious. His eyes are searching yours, his breathing is shallow, and the twinge of panic in his voice finishes to convince you.

“Sure,” you say. “I’ll—”

“Okay,” he says, rushing to put the cats he was holding inside. “This one’s Soonie,” he point to a ginger cat, “Dori,” grey cat, “and you’ve already met Doongie. This,” he grabs a box, “is their food and litter box, they eat twice a day, dry food in the morning, wet in the evening, water whenever they want. They like to play but you don’t have to do anything with them and—” he pulls out a paper from his pocket, “that’s my number in case you need anything.”

You shake your head a little in a desperate effort to follow him, but he just said far too many words for your tired brain.

“Alright,” you say instead of asking for clarification. “Any idea when you’ll get back?”

“I hope Monday, but if it lasts longer than that I’ll—” He lets out a long sigh, closes his eyes for a second. “I’ll pay for anything you need and I’ll— I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Sure,” you yawn. “You should get going then.”

He stays there though, not moving, and cold air blows in from the corridor, prompting you to wrap yourself tighter in your cardigan.

“Is this really okay with you?”

You stare at him for a second. Your usual inhibitions around handsome men seem to be considerably dampened by the fact that you’re so fucking tired and want nothing more than going back to bed.

“You should go,” you repeat, trying your best to keep your voice gentle. “I’ll take good care of them, so you shouldn’t worry about that. Just be careful on the way there, okay?”

It’s his turn to stare. He seems to be expecting you to pull the rug from under his feet, to throw him out with the cats. Finally, he exhales slowly, looking down at the floor. When he meets your eyes again, your heart almost bursts.

“Thank you,” he says, sincerely.

And then he's out the door, running towards the stairs, and out of your eyesight in just a second. By your feet, Dori lets out a sad meow, and you nod.

“Yeah. I hope you guys don’t mind being alone, because I’m going back to bed.”

Second dancer goes by Hyunjin. He’s taller and leaner than the last one, muscles less impressive, but well-defined and bulging at his every movement. His long black hair are tied into a ponytail, but two loose strands fall on either side of his face. Based on what you’ve heard, the effect is completely deliberate — but it’s working.

“Oh my God he’s pretty,” Daeun comments, and you think she would have spat out her drink if she hadn’t finished it right after Chris’ set.

“We should come here more often,” Nari says.

You still don’t open your mouth.

Minho isn’t back by Monday. You muster up the courage to shoot him a quick text, telling him you hope everything’s okay, and letting him know the cats are doing fine. You don’t ask anything, not because you don’t want to know, but because you don’t want to seem rude or unpleasant. His response, on the other hand, is curt and monosyllabic, and they remain that way for the next couple of days, until you find him waiting in front of your door again on Thursday.

He gets up quicker than the last time, giving you a nod as a greeting, but he avoids meeting your eyes.

“My mom got back from the hospital yesterday,” he lets you know, “so I helped her with getting settled.”

There’s a silence during which you try to figure out what to answer — I’m sorry, That’s good news, It must have been hard for you — and he breaks it after only a couple of seconds.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just— drop that on you.”

He’s fidgeting. Uncomfortable. That’s not an attitude you’re used to people having in front of you, but it’s one you empathize with a lot, so you try your best to find a reply.

“It wasn’t an issue at all,” you say, pushing your door open and gesturing for him to follow. “I’m just afraid your cats were bored when I was away at work, you know?”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Again.”

“No problem,” you manage to smile. “I’ll help you get everything back to your place, okay?”

He opens his mouth to protest, then deflates.

“That’d be nice,” he just says.

It takes a little while to gather everything — mostly to gather the cats —, and then you’re stepping into the elevator.

“Doongie’s really taken to you,” Minho comments. He sounds impressed, a little fond, and when you glance at him, you see that he’s smiling. Looking at the cat, sure, and yet you find something about this moment that is— You’re not entirely sure. Fragile, you think. Delicate. Like he’s letting you see a part of himself that isn’t often seen by strangers.

Because, at the end of the day, that’s all you are. A stranger he’d run into once before, and who he didn’t seem to have much interest in knowing, if the way he talked to you and pointedly didn’t look at you was anything to go by.

You can practically feel yourself shrinking as you stand next to him in silence in the small space of the elevator. You feel stupid. Stupid for being hopeful, stupid for thinking about him as much as you did in the past week, stupid for engaging in brief daydreams, even if you shot them down quickly, fearing exactly what was happening right now. You also feel stupid for all of the emotions that are overwhelming you, when you could just stop overthinking, stop assuming how people feel about you, and just try to— just try to live a little.

You press your lips together as you walk out on the last floor, warming up your face to prepare yourself for smiling and speaking. But, just as you’re about to ask him which door is his, Minho gestures towards the stairs.

“It’s that way,” he says. He doesn't look at you as he walks over, but he turns around, holding the door open, inviting you to follow with a movement of the head. You hesitate just a second, both because he took you by surprise and because you think there’s something defensive, guarded, in his expression. Then it clicks.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had the rooftop apartment,” you say, rushing so he doesn’t have to wait for you.

“It's cheap,” he replies, climbing the stairs two at a time. Again, there’s something tense in his tone. You think. You could be mistaken. You’ve been known to get that kind of things wrong in conversations before.

Rushing after him, you find yourself glancing around curiously when you step foot on the roof. There isn’t much there, actually. You notice a few chairs and a wooden table, folded against the wall of the small building, and an empty clothes line put up a little further away. The apartment itself looks small from the outside, and you suspect it wouldn’t be much better if you walked in. The brick walls look solid — you’ve seen shabbier — but the black roof seems like it would be terrible for the summer heat.

“So do you keep the cats inside?” you ask.

“I keep Doongie inside,” Minho mumbles. “The others are smart enough not to try to get down from there. He’s not. Here, if you’ll just—”

He’s set down the cats and the bags he was holding and extends his arms. You almost protest that you can do it yourself, before catching on to the fact that he might not want you to get inside his house. So you hand Doongie over as the cat protests meekly, and stand awkwardly while Minho rushes him inside.

“Okay, all good.”

“He hasn’t found a way to escape yet?” you ask.

Minho chuckles briefly at your question, eyes creasing. You think it might be the first time you’ve seen him smile at you. The sight feels mesmerizing, but it fades all too soon as he clears his throat and brushes his jeans with the palm of his hands.

“So, uh, how much do I owe you?”

You blink, and then an unpleasant cold spreads through your chest.

“What— Oh, do you mean for the cats? Nothing, that’s— I was happy to help. Really.”

You’re not sure why the question is this upsetting to you. You just hope he was only saying it to be polite and that he’ll drop the subject now. But instead, he shakes his head, already ruffling through his pockets for what you assume to be his wallet.

“No, I can’t let you do that. I looked for an average online and—”

But you’ve tuned him out, realizing what the problem is.

The problem is that it makes everything so— transactional. Makes it look like you were doing it because you were interested instead of just because you were— well. Nice. It makes you wonder about what image Minho has of you, and you don’t think you like that image very much, that it’s how you want him to see you. You fold your arms, briefly squeezing them in your hands. The gesture brings you some shallow comfort, and it’s enough for now.

It also feels like the final indication that he isn’t interested in you in any way shape or form, wanting to just settle a debt and move on.

“No,” you say, raising your hands, “seriously, don’t, it’s— I had a lot of fun with these little guys. I’d even be happy to do it again.”

Finally, he glances up at you.

“Really?”

You’re quick to nod, making a conscious effort not to avert your eyes when you meet his.

“Really.”

The soft smile reappears, and for a second, everything else vanishes. All the anxiety, all of the fears, all of the thoughts that you are more than aware are irrational and yet can never shake off. He finally looks relaxed, with even a hint of happiness, you think.

Until he glances down at his phone and curses.

“Shit. I have to get ready for work.” And just like that, the tension is back. “I’m a bartender,” he adds.

“Oh, alright, I guess I’ll leave you to it then and I’ll— I’ll see you around?”

You pray that you don’t sound too hopeful or too desperate, but Minho doesn’t seem to notice as he hums in response.

“Sure. And I’ll find a way to repay you.” When you open your mouth to protest, again, a corner of his lips lifts in an almost playful smirk. “No money. But I owe you.”

You can’t help but smile. A second later, he’s disappeared inside the house, and you make your way back down the stairs.

All things considered, you think this went well.

“If things go like this the whole night I might not survive this, guys,” Daeun sighs dreamily, and you laugh out loud, though it’s drowned in the music.

“Not without alcohol, anyways,” Nari echoes. “Looks like most of the glasses are empty… Who’s willing to sacrifice themselves?”

“I’ll go,” you say, maybe just a beat too quick.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Nari frowns, and you know that, as often, she’s worried you’re letting yourself be used. “You’re going to miss the show. Someone else can go.”

You shake your head.

“It’s fine.”

She hesitates a second longer, before her attention is caught by the next performer — Spear B, shorter than Hyunjin, but who you know to be exactly her type, from the impressive width of his shoulders to his strong, large thighs. You grin, getting up and starting to walk towards the bar. Normally, the thought of talking to someone would be enough to send anxiety down your spine, but this time, as your eyes find the person you’re looking for, it’s a whole different kind of emotion that bubbles in your chest.

It starts with food. One time, Minho rushes towards the elevator, which you hold open for him, surprised to see him there. You press the additional button to the last floor while he catches his breath.

“Not taking the stairs today?” you ask, because you’re not very good at small talk and you don’t know what else to say.

Instead of answering, he pulls a plastic container out of his bag and hands it over to you.

“Cookies,” you say, not sure you understand.

“I got the recipe from a friend. So if they’re bad it’s his fault.”

You chuckle, but still shake your head.

“I don’t— Is that for me?”

“I mean you can share them if you want to. But yes.”

You’re still looking at the box, and you don’t notice him shifting his weight from one foot onto the other as he watches carefully for your reaction.

“That’s so nice, thank you!”

You catch the grin that spreads on his face, even though he ducks his head almost immediately, setting his gaze on the ground. It takes you a second before you figure out whether or not you want to add something. Finally, you manage a tiny sliver of a voice.

“You know, I told you you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupts you, voice light. “I just want to.”

You can’t help but chuckle quietly at that. This feels— fine. Good, even. It feels like a normal interaction, something you don’t get that much of unless you’re with close friends.

“In that case, thank you again,” you say, stepping out of the elevator.

He nods, slightly bowing his head, and you smile at him as the doors close.

After that, Minho keeps bringing you small offerings of food. You run into him one morning and he offers you gimbap. Another time, he shoves a box of brownies in your hands while he’s rushing out of the building — “If you didn’t like the cookies, I wouldn’t eat that, it’s the same friend’s recipe”, he says, and before you can tell him again how good the cookies were, he’s jumped on his motorcycle. Then there’s the tteokbokki that he brings you, still warm, and that’s when you find the courage to invite him in, so that he can eat with you.

He hesitates just long enough for you to feel ridiculous for even asking. But then he nods.

The meal is quiet. The two of you sit in silence, save for a few attempts at starting a conversation on your part, which he doesn’t seem responsive to, and a number of questions about the quality of the food, coming from him. Though he spends most of the time looking down at his plate, his eyes regularly follow your movements, without him lifting his head.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks for the third time once the plate is empty.

“It was delicious,” you answer, again, “but it feels like I’m constantly thanking you for food these days…”

“That’s just because I’m preparing you for taking care of the cats again,” he says.

You look up in surprise, both because you weren’t expecting him to be this blunt and because you didn’t think that would happen again anytime soon. His lips are a straight line, though your eyes catch, once more, on the philtrum; and his eyes are empty, an expression he seems very skilled at maintaining.

Finally, just a second after you’ve decided that this has gone on too long to be a joke, he grins and his eyes crease.

“I’m not doing that. I do find it funny to see how much you hesitate before you accept something because you think it’s about the cats though.”

You feel your cheeks heating up, though it’s not quite in embarrassment.

“I just don’t want you to feel like—”

“I know, I get it.” A shrug. “I don’t want you to feel like I was freeloading off of you. I always pay my debts.”

“I don’t consider it a debt,” you mumble.

It’s interesting how these few sentences feel like they give you a completely new understanding of who Minho is as a person. Even though you’ve seen him around quite a bit recently, even though he’s been sitting across from you for the past half an hour, this might be the moment when you stop thinking that the two of you are little more than strangers to one another.

For a little while, there’s just comfortable silence between the two of you. Minho’s closed his eyes, shoulders low, head slightly lulled backwards. It strikes you then how exhausted he looks, and you want to ask how his job has been lately, if you haven’t been keeping him for too long, when he opens them again, shaking his head to get rid of the sleepiness.

“I’m having a few friends over next Thursday. Just getting drinks and maybe grilling some meat. You should join.” When you bite your lower lip, debating over it, he adds “I know it’s a weekday, but I promise I’ll get you home by midnight. We’ll be good.”

There’s something about the way he says that, about his grin that has you feeling flush once more.

“I— I’ll, uh, I’ll see if I can make it,” you squeak.

You think you see a hint of disappointment at the non-committal answer, but Minho nods anyway, then starts to stand up.

“It would be nice if you did,” he just says. “If you don’t come, I’ll bring you some meat.”

You stop yourself just before saying ‘You don’t have to’.

“If I’m not too taken by work, I’ll try to come,” you promise, which appears to satisfy him a bit more.

It’s only after he’s gone that you allow yourself to take a deep breath, one hand coming to press against your heart. You’re bad at this whole thing, terrible really, and you’re so terrified of the way rejection makes you feel that you’d rather never think that anyone is interested in you but this— This felt like what you think flirting would be, right? Right?

If it was, you’d say it was kind of nice.

You think you could get used to that.

Your heart’s beating loudly in your chest as you walk over to the bar, almost in sync with the fast-paced music that’s playing in the club. You notice Minho’s eyes landing on you, and you manage to muster a smile, resisting the urge to glance away when you’re caught looking. It’s not easy to fight it, not when you’re feeling this ridiculously nervous. It’s hard to pinpoint why, exactly. There are so many thoughts, so many taunts floating inside your brain, spat out at you by the part of you that’s terrified of rejections. Any of them, taken separately, feel irrational, stupid, and even embarrassing. Together, though, they form an impenetrable, terrifying cloud that you never seem to be able to get rid of.

What if he’s not interested in you? What if he thinks you’re pathetic for thinking he could be into you? What if everyone thinks you’re going for someone who’s out of your league? What if you misread everything? What if he finds out that no one’s ever been interested in you before and thinks it has to mean that there’s something wrong with you?

“Having fun?” Minho asks you when you reach the bar, words coming so easily from him when you were still trying to figure out what to say.

“Sure,” you say. “Just… feels a bit weird. You know, because I’ve met them.”

He hums at that, though you think you see a discreet grin forming on his lips.

“Can I get you something?”

Right. Drinks.

“Oh, yeah, uh, three Margaritas, one Martini, and one Virgin Mojito.”

“Not drinking to get through this?” he asks, grin more obvious this time.

“I wish,” you mumble, even if you haven’t had a drop of alcohol since the one time you got absolutely plastered in college. “But no. I guess I’ll have to sit through this sober.”

Whoops echo in the room as Spear B — well, Changbin — starts to thrust his hips aggressively on stage. It’s kind of hot, probably, but God, this just isn’t your scene.

“My shift ends in half an hour,” Minho comments as he starts making the drinks, and you turn your head back towards him, blinking. “I could take you home.”

For half a second, you almost reply ‘thanks, but my friends will never let me go’, before you stop to think about how this might be an invitation. Maybe. You’re not actually sure. Even when Minho glances up at you, clearly expecting an answer, you just— can’t fucking figure it out. He could very well just be offering you a ride home.

Which, to be fair, you wouldn’t be opposed to.

“That would be nice,” you say, a genuine, easy smile forming on your lips this time.

There’s one silent, perfect moment when your eyes meet his, creased by his smile, and you think of how different he looks from when you first saw him, how you’d never expected to see that side of him, and how wrong you’d been about it all. And it makes you just a little more willing to take a risk.

“Come on,” he says, “I’ll bring the drinks for you guys.”

He follows you over, expertly putting down the tray that you feel you would have had trouble balancing even while standing still. His hand brushes over the small of your back when he stands back up, and you notice Nari’s eyebrows lifting up, even as she’s looking at you only from the corner of her eye. You hope he doesn’t notice you almost shivering at the contact. There’s no rational explanation for the way you feel heat radiating from the spot he’s barely even touching.

“I’ll meet you outside in thirty minutes?”

There’s a hint of a question in his tone, an uncertainty in his eyes. It all clears away when you nod.

“Perfect.”

When he’s gone, everyone turns to look at you. You’re not one for the attention, but this time, it makes you giggle like a schoolgirl.

“He’s taking me home,” you say quietly.

“Holy shit he’s hot,” Nari hisses. “If it doesn’t work with him, you should give me— Hey!”

Daeun gives you a thumbs up with a nod of approval. You’re pretty sure she just kicked Nari under the table, and you hope she doesn’t see the way your smile stiffens. The thought of Nari and Minho is— unpleasant. You have no right to be jealous, yet the feeling burrows in your stomach, only strengthened by the certainty that, if given the choice, Minho would probably pick her.

After all, you’re no one’s first choice.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. Fuck it. You don’t know if you’re the person he would pick if he could get anyone out there, but tonight, you are his choice. And that’s good enough for you.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, examining the way you’re dressed, your make-up, your hair, anything that you could pick apart. You’re definitely overthinking a simple evening with Minho’s friends, you’ve definitely spent far too long figuring out what to wear in order to be neither overdressed nor undressed, and you’re so close from deciding not to go, just so you won’t have to keep thinking about it.

Ultimately, though, you step in the elevator, holding the bottle of wine you’d bought earlier for the occasion. You suppose beer would have been more appropriate, but then again, other people probably have that covered and— God, sometimes you wish you could just get your brain to shut the fuck up.

You make your way up to Minho’s rooftop apartment gingerly, having been unable to find the light switch. You feel relieved when you hear that there’s already noise up there — both because you’re not the first to show up and because it indicates that you didn’t mess up either the time or the date, probably.

Your eyes immediately search for Minho — though your brain still registers the fact that the men that are on the rooftop are some of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen, what the fuck — and you’ve barely just found him, busy grilling some meat, when someone steps in front of you.

“You must be the downstairs neighbor,” he says, dimples forming as he smiles warmly. “I’m Chan, I work with Minho.”

“Hi,” you say, a little too high. “It’s nice to meet you, uh, have you been here for long? I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” he handwaves your concerns. “We usually get together on Thursdays because Fridays tend to be big nights for us, so we kinda just show up. Minho said he wasn’t sure you’d be there tonight, he said you were busy with work or something?”

“Right, yeah, I—”

“Ah, you made it!” Minho materializes next to you, startling you. “And you’ve met Chan,” he adds, tone all sweet and sugary, which seems to be wildly entertaining to Chan.

“I was just saying hi,” he says, grin too wide for the occasion, though you can’t exactly figure out what’s going on here.

“Hmm, that’s what I thought,” Minho nods as one of his arms somehow finds itself around your shoulders. The contact makes you freeze, though you don’t find it invasive, just— unexpected. His arm is light and you could easily shake it off. But you choose not to, and after a couple of seconds, his fingers close around your arm. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone!”

“It was nice meeting you Chan,” you pipe as you walk away, much to his delight.

After that come a number of introductions. Minho introduces you to the person he bartends with, and then a number of people who are just vaguely described as coworkers. Hyunjin, tall and so pretty you almost ask if that’s a requirement for this friend group — would have if you’d been a little more comfortable in social settings ��, Felix, with his freckles and his deep voice, Jisung, who Minho takes you away from after you’ve burst out laughing at his jokes twice, and Changbin, who offers to let you feel his biceps surprisingly quickly into the conversation. Finally, Minho leaves you with Seungmin — ‘the accountant’ — to get back to cooking, though not without throwing him a threatening look.

Everyone seems to have broken into little groups, some trying to be helpful, like Felix and Chan, and others… less so.

“So Minho said you kept his cats?” Seungmin asks. He’s soft-spoken, with kind eyes, and you wonder if Minho left you with him because he figured he was a better introduction to the group for you than some of the more energetic people.

It’s at least nice to think that he would have that kind of concerns.

“I did! You, uh, you’ve met them?”

He grimaces.

“Once. I had to get stitches.”

“Oh God. Let me guess. Doongie.” The dramatic sigh he heaves out makes you chuckle. “He got better after a couple of days,” you explain. “Even wanted to cuddle towards the end.”

“He still hates Hyunjin,” he comments. “Barely tolerates Felix. Would probably maul Chan if he wasn’t scared of how loud he is. I’m impressed he didn’t murder you in your sleep.” There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says that. “I’m sure Minho was impressed too.”

You open your mouth to protest, before stopping yourself. A couple of weeks ago, you would have said that there was no way Minho was impressed, or even really grateful, but your perspective’s changed since then. Sure, he doesn’t show his emotions much, but then again, neither do you. You glance in his direction. He’s focused on flipping the meat, visibly ignoring Changbin’s comments. As always, you’re struck by how handsome he is, and that air of concentration in particular does something to you. But then you see him feeding a piece of meat to Jisung after blowing on it.

Caring. He’s incredibly caring. You just— need to stick around a little to find out about it.

“He didn’t act like it,” you tell Seungmin. “I kind of thought he just didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I know the feeling. But hey, he stayed in the emergency room with me for five hours after his cat crippled me, so…”

Minho glances up when you laugh, and you notice him gesturing you over to try the meat as well.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jisung warns you, pouting, when you get closer.

Minho blows on the meat again, slowly brings it to your lips, with one hand underneath in case it falls.

“Good?” he asks.

It shouldn’t make you feel like this to be the sole object of his attention.

“So good,” you reply after chewing it down quickly.

Minho gives a satisfied nod, and you simply cannot tear your eyes away from him as he finally tries the meat himself and a delighted expression forms on his face.

“It’s ready!” he shouts.

It’s not long before everyone has found a place, kneeling or sitting cross-legged on the floor around the table you assume Minho got out of the apartment for the occasion. Minho’s sitting on your right, with Chan on your left. Happy chatter is rising around the table, filling the night, all the people here clearly enjoying each other’s presence. You enjoy the atmosphere it gives, but it's also not easy to forget that you're an outsider here, still not quite sure why you’re here at all.

Though the way Minho casually puts meat on top of your rice, inviting you to eat it with a discreet nod might give you a small idea.

Chan’s the one who talks to you first, though. He makes small talk look so easy, you can’t help but get jealous. You’ve had to work on yours so much, and even then, you still have to stick to your script, while his seems effortless. He’s nice, bright, warm, and you just know you would have had a crush on him if you’d met in high school.

“So, what do you guys do exactly? Seungmin’s the accountant, but you…”

For the first time in the night, he seems to get a little uncomfortable, letting out an awkward laugh and rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Ah, we’re, uh, dancers. At the club where Minho works.” When you don’t seem to get it, he sighs and explains, watching your reaction carefully. “Well, stripping is— frowned upon, basically, but it’s— that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” you say, eyes going wide, “oh, I didn’t— I didn’t even know Minho worked at a club, but that’s, uh, are you guys… dancers first or—?”

“Trained dancers, yeah,” he supplies easily. “It's really well paid and, well… There’s usually a captive audience. So that’s nice.” Even as he says that, you can see the tip of his ears going red. “But, so, Minho didn’t tell you much about what he does?”

It’s such an obvious attempt to change the subject of conversation that even you can tell that’s what’s happening.

“He doesn’t… tell me much. In general.”

“Hm,” Chan frowns sympathetically, “he’s kind of like that in the beginning but, y’know, he’s a really nice person underneath it all.”

“I know,” you reply.

“I think it’s time for me to get going,” you tell your friends after a while. It looks like you’ll miss seeing Jisung dancing, but you don’t think that will upset him.

Nari shoots you the brightest grin.

“Yeah, get that dick,” she says, making you choke on the drink you were trying to finish before leaving. She bursts out laughing at the sight before patting your arm. “You have fun, alright? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” A beat. “Don’t do most things I would do either.”

“I won’t,” you say, getting up and grabbing your purse.

“No seriously, enjoy yourself, okay? You deserve it.”

She’s looking up at you with wide, worried eyes, and though you know it’s the alcohol that makes her emotional, she looks particularly sweet in that moment and you can’t help but smile at her.

“Thanks, Nari. I’ll do my best.”

“If he does anything you don’t like I’ll find him and I’ll cut his dick off,” Daeun adds casually.

You walk off laughing. You noticed Minho leaving his spot behind the bar a few minutes ago, though not without looking in your direction. Despite Daeun’s final warning, there are only butterflies in your stomach as you exit the bar.

“Do you have to go back?” Minho asks when, later in the night, when everyone’s done eating, you start to get up.

“Oh, yeah, I have work in the morning, it’s probably better if I don’t stick around too long,” you answer, a half-truth that doesn’t take into account the fact that all of this social interaction has completely exhausted you.

“I’ll walk you back,” he says, following suit.

“You don’t— You don’t have to, I— It’s just a few flight of stairs.”

There’s a smile forming on your face, and you can’t quite figure out whether it’s because it’s an amusing thought that he’d even offer, or because he did offer. He shakes his head.

“Ah, the switch doesn’t work for the last floor anymore and I haven’t been able to get anyone to look into it. I’m used to it, so.”

“Sure. Thank you,” you add, quietly, after a few seconds.

He just nods, a little woodenly — and then he very gently places his hand on your waist as you take your first few steps in the dark.

As you make your way down in the dark, you become all too aware of the wooden scent of his presence radiating next to you, of the wooden scent of his body wash.

“Careful there,” he warns, “one of the steps is missing a chunk and you could slip.” His voice is low, and it feels like it echoes through the stairwell and through your body.

“Alright,” you whisper back, though you couldn’t say why. Hesitantly, you reach to grab onto his shoulder. You expect to feel him tensing up, but he doesn’t. If anything, his hold on your waist gets a little firmer.

“Afraid of the dark?” he asks.

“Not really, but I am afraid of tripping and falling.”

A chuckle comes from him.

“I won’t let you,” he promises.

Unfortunately, there’s only twenty steps before your hand finds the door to the floor underneath.

“Looks like that��s me,” you say, as you open it.

“I could always take the elevator down to your floor with you,” he offers. He’s leaning towards you a little, and you can barely hear him over the sound of your heart.

You want to kiss him, you realize, eyes travelling down to his lips despite your better judgment.

You also know you would never dare to.

“Goodnight, Minho,” you say, meeting his eyes again. You find that he’s frozen in spot, eyes looking darker than usual, devouring you. Your stomach jumps.

He leans forward.

You hear him, vaguely, echo “yeah, goodnight,” before his eyes close and his lips press against yours. You’re standing completely still, hands gripping your purse tightly. His lips are soft. Gentle.

Finally, you allow your eyes to flutter shut as well, and you let yourself lean into the kiss.

You’ve thought a lot about getting kissed, about what it would feel like. ‘It’s wet,’ one of your high school friends had told you with a shrug, eliciting laughter from other girls.

That’s not the word you would use to describe that kiss.

You would think of the way Minho’s lips seem to mold against yours, about the soft noise that comes from him kissing you again, about the way he tilts his head and how his nose brushes against your cheek, about how soft he is, about the hand that grabs your shoulder like a lifeline, about how he steps forward hesitantly, still kissing you, about how the skin at the back of his neck feels when you wrap an arm around him, unsure, and gingerly caress it, from the tip of your fingers. You would think about the little groan that comes from him when you do, about how he squeezes your arm a little too hard then lets go, then steps closer again, even though there’s not much space left between the two of you. You would think about the moment when you open your eyes, briefly, and see how lost in the kiss he looks. You would think about the heat that pools in your stomach, about the way your lips part and about how his tongue brushes against yours, and about how your whole world seems to be contained in this one moment, in the space where your bodies touch each other. You would think about how out of breath you find yourself being when he steps away, about how his eyes slowly open, about the grin on his face, like the cat that ate the cream.

“Goodnight,” he says again, a corner of his lips higher than the other. His breathing is heavy too.

“Goodnight,” you squeak. “I’ll— see you around?”

“I sure hope so,” he replies, looking immensely satisfied when you get flustered.

For once, you cannot say that you’re particularly happy when you find yourself alone in your apartment.

Minho comes out just a few minutes after you, hand aggressively running through his hair as he tries to get them back to their usual state.

“It looks good,” you comment when he gets to your level. You’re unable to raise your voice much, too nervous to do that, too worried you’re reading wrong into this situation, too scared you’ll embarrass yourself.

“That’s not gonna last,” he says gloomily, then smiles when he notices the way your eyebrows knit. “Helmet’s probably going to destroy that. You’ve ever been on a motorbike before?”

“Yeah, my brother has one,” you nod, maybe a little too eager to prove yourself. You don’t mention the fact that the last time he took you for a ride was when you were in high school and that the model he had was cheap and, uh, skinny-looking, compared to the monster Minho’s flaunting.

Still, you bravely take the helmet he hands you, and at least try your best not to show any hesitation when you climb after him.

“Hold tight,” he says over his shoulder once you’re there, and you do. You just take one quick breath before wrapping your arms around his waist, trying your best to position your head against his shoulder so the helmet doesn’t get in the way too much. You feel his broad back under the leather jacket he’s wearing, his muscular thighs pressed against yours. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart thunders against him. The thought would usually make you feel ashamed, because the idea of someone knowing how you feel about them is terrifying to you. Tonight, though, you’ve decided to be daring.

The city flashes by you as Minho drives. Cars, people, so many lives stacked one on top of the other, and the two of you in the middle of it all.

You’re feeling shaky on your legs when he stops, tripping over your feet as you try to get off. His hand immediately shoots out, wrapping around you to help stabilizing you.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer like anytime he’s worried. His eyes seem half-closed, like cats’ eyes when they’re with someone they like. His hair, it’s true, have seen better days, but you think it’s cute.

You want to kiss him.

Slowly, not closing your eyes in case you miss his reaction, miss seing him pulling away or looking displeased, you lean in.

He closes his eyes first.

The kiss is soft. One of his hand comes up to cup your face, fingers trace your jaw, his tongue is warm, and even in the cool night, you feel electrified.

There aren’t many words exchanged when he guides you into the building, just a brief question about whether you wish to go to your place or his — you choose his. He kisses you again in the elevator, harder this time, pressing you against a wall. Your head’s spinning with the way his body feels against you, and you let out a whimper when he moves his thigh between your legs. It takes everything in you not to roll your hips against him, and from the way you feel him smirk against your lips, you’d bet he knows that.

“Camera,” you whisper into him, glancing up at the little device on the corner.

Minho looks over his shoulder and clicks his tongue in annoyance. Next thing you know, he has one arm on the wall by your face, effectively caging you against it, but also shielding you from it.

“Better?”

The giggle that escapes you barely feels like you, but to be fair, everything that’s happening to you right now doesn’t feel like you, because it’s all so new. The heat that runs through your veins when Minho presses open-mouth kisses to your jaw, forcing out tiny, quiet gasps that fill the air, would almost be enough to make you forget the fact that you don’t really know what you're doing. You think he can tell, from the way your hands fumble, unsure whether to grab onto his shoulders, his jacket, to run over his body, to wrap around his neck to play with his hair.

“Wait,” you manage to say, “wait, I—”

In a second, the heat's gone, concerned expression staring at you instead.

“Everything alright?”

You don't know for sure why you don't tell him then. Maybe it’s because you’re a little bit ashamed, against your better judgment, of your total absence of experience. You don’t want to be, you know you have no reason to, but you just— you don’t want him to think differently of you, don’t want to interrupt the moment. You also don’t want him to think you’re seeing this as more than it is. So, instead of that, you opt for “I just— I don’t have a lot of experience. I’m— I don’t usually do…” You almost gesture at the two of you, but close your hand at the last second. “…this.”

It’s not a lie. It’s also not quite the truth.

“Oh,” Minho says. “It’s fine. We can take it slow, if you’d like?”

There’s that hunger in his eyes again that makes you melt, that makes you feel wanted. You suspect that you’re looking at him exactly the same way.

“I’d like that,” you answer.

It’s only then that he bridges the distance he left between the two of you, for just one more kiss before the elevator doors open.

He holds on to your hand tightly as he guides you up the stairs, still in the dark, only letting go to unlock his door. He’s kissing you again when he walks into the room, backwards, both fever and restraint in the way his fingers grip your waist with bruising force. You put your arm around his neck, bringing your body close to his, and you feel him groan into you when your chest presses against him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “the bed’s right there, just—”

It’s Doongie’s indignant protest that interrupts you.

“Shit!”

Finally, Minho turns on a light, and you’re greeted with three pairs of accusatory eyes.

“Give me a minute, I’ll—”

The rest of his sentence is lost as he tries — and fails — to shoo them into what you assume is the bathroom.

You can’t help but chuckle as you watch him try to clear the room for the two of you. The layout’s simple, with the kitchen by the entrance, and the small living room with a couch as the central piece, and the table you’d all dined on a few weeks ago propped against the wall. On the right, there’s a minuscule bathroom, and on the left, the direction Minho was pulling you in, there’s the bedroom, which pretty much only consists of a king size bed. A king size bed on which Doongie’s currently laying, tail swooshing around with annoyance.

Minho shoos him away, still trying to get the cats in the bathroom, and you sit down on the bed, grinning. Even if you’ve been interrupted, the sight of all of that happening makes you feel— comfortable. Sure, it leaves you with a little too much space to think about what you’re supposed to do now — should you take off you clothes? Should you take some kind of alluring pose? Are you capable of taking an alluring pose? —, but it also reminds you of how much you like Minho, instead of just how much you want him.

“Done,” he sighs after a few seconds, sliding the bathroom door close.

Before stopping right where he stands, staring at you, eyes wide and bulging a little. Unable to come to a clear decision, you’ve only slid the straps from your dress down on your arms, allowing it to fall down enough to reveal your bra and the skin of the upper part of your stomach. You’re also watching him carefully, though the appreciative way he takes in your body makes you feel a little more comfortable.

“Join me?” you ask, your attempt to sound confident and sexy coming out more squeaky than you would have liked.

He nods, still staring, and you see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. Finally, he starts walking towards you. You bite the inside of your cheek as he gets closer, leaning back on the bed, unsure whether your heart is beating this fast from nervousness or from anticipation, unsure whether you’re terrified or excited. Either way, you’ve decided that this is your night. Getting to spend this moment to someone who you’re genuinely attracted to, who you trust, and who seems to want you as well, that might be as good as you’re gonna get. You don’t want to let anything get in the way of that.

Still, your lips part and your breath quickens when he slowly lowers himself to your level, placing one of his knees next to you on the bed while his hand cups your face. His mouth is warm against yours, his movements slower than before, and you’re not sure why, but the wet sounds that echo in the room make heat pool between your legs. You’re the one bringing more urgency into it when you pull him closer, until he’s laying on top of you, one of his hands roughly groping your thigh, your ass, before Minho seems to remember he needs to take it slow.

The hand makes its way under your dress, and you shiver. Being touched in such places by another person is a completely new feeling for you. You’d feared it would be invasive, but you find that it’s not, though perhaps that has to do with Minho himself, with how badly you wanted this. His fingers trail pure heat over your skin, body arching in an attempt to follow his caresses. When they hook your panties, starting to pull them down, you whimper ever so slightly against his mouth.

“Everything okay?” he asks. You take some satisfaction in finding that his breathing is ragged. From this close distance, you can tell his pupil apart from his dark eyes, and you discover that it’s dilated. His cheeks and ears have reddened, too, and now that your entire brain isn’t focused on the sensations his touch brings to you, you think you can feel him hard against your thigh.

“All good,” you say, more out of breath than he is. “All… all very good.” You don’t know what to add to that, if you’re supposed to add something.

“Tell me if there’s a problem,” he breathes, lips just brushing against yours this time. His voice is soft. The moment feels deeply intimate, and yet there’s a nagging fear in your stomach. You’d hate to see more in this than actually is present, hate to get your hopes up. Humiliation is easily what you’re most scared of right now.

“I will,” you promise.

There’s something surprisingly gentle, coming from him, in the way he starts to leave kisses down your jaw, then your neck. There’s one spot he lingers on, one spot that makes you squirm and whimper in a way that you find embarrassing, but that he seems delighted with, if the smile you feel against your skin is any indication. He gets rid of your dress just as slowly, before reaching behind you to open your bra.

“Would you— would you mind if we turned off the light?” you ask just as it comes undone. It’s not so much that you’re ashamed of your body or don’t want him to see it, but the harsh, white light just feels like it casts an unflattering glow on what is happening here. Makes everything feel cold and ugly, and while you think the light probably makes everything honest as well, just for tonight, you’d like to let yourself believe something else.

Minho just has to reach out to turn it off, with how small the room is, and that prompts a brief chuckle, shared between the two of you. The moonlight comes in through the windows, and it’s more than enough to tell what’s happening, but everything’s silhouetted, allowing you to fill in the gaps and letting fantasy seep into the moment.

With a regain of confidence, you sit back up, starting to unbutton Minho’s shirt. Your lips ghost against his, pulling away when he leans forward to kiss you back, and you just have the time to hear his laugh before you allow the kiss and it disappears in the moment. The shirt is soon discarded, allowing you to feel his skin against yours. His body feels harder than yours, taut muscles under your fingers, but you love the way he groans against your mouth when you brush against his nipples. If you were surer of yourself, you feel that that’s something you’d love to explore. Right now, though, you’re happy to let him take control again.

He kisses down your body, pressing kisses between your breasts. One of his hands flicks against your nipple, and it sends an electric shock through you. He doesn’t linger there though, intent on making his way further down. His kisses remain soft, never too insistent, and his hands on either side of your body help you remain grounded, even as you fist the sheets, trying not to squirm too much. Soon, he’s kneeling between your legs, not giving you any chance to feel the friction you’re so desperate for right now.

“Still okay?” he asks, and it’s very hard for you to keep the annoyance out of your voice when you reply that yes, you’re fine, and could he please just do something now.

There’s another chuckle, and then he moves aside to slide your drenched panties down your legs. Your cheeks are burning when you feel his breath between your legs. He starts by kissing the inside of your thigh, and you press your lips tightly together, just waiting for what’s to come next. There’s nothing you can do to contain the loud moan that escapes you when, finally, Minho’s mouth closes around your clitoris. The pleasure is like nothing you’ve ever felt with your hand or toys, and you can’t help the way your legs close around him.

It doesn’t seem to faze him, though, one hand grabbing your thigh for support while he keeps his head down. As you’re still trying to gather yourself in any way, with one hand pressed to your mouth so you don’t become too loud, you feel him push a finger into you. It slides in easily from how wet you are, and you hear yourself mewl when he adds another finger, then a third, slowly spreading you open. It feels nothing like it does when you’re the one doing it. All this time, his mouth is still latched onto your clit, tongue working its magic against it.

It’s not long until you feel the orgasm approaching, rolling onto you faster than it ever has before. You try to hold it at bay, wanting to enjoy the delicious sensations longer, but it’s all so much, too much, and soon you’re coming with a loud cry, thighs spasming around Minho’s head. His fingers move rhythmically into you, allowing you to ride the wave a little longer, and eventually you’re back on Earth, panting desperately, feeling drunk though you haven’t had a drop of alcohol.

“Still good?” Minho asks, and you discover a smug grin on his face when he glances up at you.

“Still good,” you reply, not having enough energy to roll your eyes at him, especially not when he is the one who’s just made you feel like that.

His hands don’t leave your hips when he lies down by your side. His thumb traces circles over your skin, and despite the mind-shattering orgasm he’s just given you, it doesn’t take long until you’re burning for him all over again.

Experimentally, you shift your leg against his hard cock, only to be almost immediately rewarded by a hiss and a jerk of his hips to chase the friction.

“Ready for another round?” he asks you. It’s a half-growl, and you can’t help but grin. Knowing that you’re affecting him that much is electrifying.

“Yeah, just… slow,” you say. “I’m— Um—” You stumble on your choice of words. It’s not like you’ve never had anything inside you, you’ve used toys before, but this feels completely different.

“Want to be on top?” Minho asks softly, surprising you once more with how considerate and thoughtful he’s being. “Then you can pick your own rhythm.”

“That’d be— That’d be great, actually,” you say. “Do you— Do you have a condom?”

“Sure, just give me a second. You’re clean, by the way, right?”

You hum in answer as he stretches to get a condom out of his night table. He tears it open with his teeth. You’re pretty sure he’s just showing off, but you do find it kind of hot, so you suppose you can let it slide.

He’s just reaching down to undo his belt when you interrupt him, starting to do it instead. Your hand brushes against the tent in his pants and he lets out a curse through gritted teeth. You pull back to let him shake off the pants, then soon the boxers, and watch as he rolls on the condom expertly. You try not to look too interested, though you are a bit curious about the process.

After that, there are a few awkward seconds needed to get into position, though the tension dissolves in giggles quickly as you straddle him. You roll your hips once against his rock hard cock, pressed against your wet slit. It twitches against you, and Minho hisses.

“Fuck you’re a tease.”

The comment makes you smirk and you lean in to press one more kiss to his lips, nipples brushing against his chest as you do so. Then you push yourself back up, one hand on his chest for support, while his hold on to your hips with a gentle grip.

“Take your time.”

You roll your lips together, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and he groans, throwing his head back in his pillow. Even under the moonlight, you can see his eyes closing in pleasure, and you can’t help but find it incredibly erotic. It gives you the confidence you need to guide it against your entrance, then slowly start lowering your hips. The stretch causes a moan to rise from your throat, even though you keep your mouth shut.

Then another, as you get Minho deeper inside of you, and finally your mouth falls open and it’s a recital of small, high-pitched whimpers. The whole time, though you’re not aware of it, eyes tightly shut, Minho’s eyes are on you, devouring the sight you’re giving him. The way your chest rises and falls as your breathing quickens, the way you throw your head back, the way you try to suppress your moans at first before giving up.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and you open your eyes.

You haven’t moved yet, hips just stuttering involuntarily and sending jolts of pleasure through your body every time.

“Y-you think so?” you ask, and a bit of the facade you’ve tried to put on so far falls.

Minho sits up, one hand closing around your thigh while the other comes on the small of your back. He kisses you messily, linking your mouths and tongues while his hips start a slow rhythm under you. You dissolve into him, almost desperately wrapping your arms around his neck, moans immediately swallowed between the two of you.

“So, so fucking hot,” he breathes as his pace starts picking up. “Wanna, ah, wanna lie down again? I’ll take care of it now.”

There’s so much warmth in his voice, so much care that you almost want to protest, want to tell him not to do that when you don’t think this night means that much to him. Yet you’re also grateful for it, grateful for how good he’s making all of this for you, grateful for him making this night unforgettable to you in more ways than one.

He guides you back down, kisses you once more, and then the grip on your hips becomes bruising, and he starts going faster. Vaguely, you get the feeling that he’s holding back, even as small grunts come from him at every thrust. From the way his eyes watch you, it seems he takes just as much pleasure in watching you fall apart apart, as he does from the way your bodies are joined together. You can’t give it much thought, though, too lost in the pleasure, and when he brings one hand down between your legs to rub your clit, you cry out, loosing the ability for any coherent thought on the spot. The orgasm hits without a warning, without the familiar build you’re used to, and your hips move desperately in an attempt to prolong the heavenly feeling just a little bit more.

It’s then that the rhythm picks up once more, thrusts deeper this time, as Minho starts chasing his own high. You think he comes a few seconds after you, based on the loud moan he lets out then, though it could be longer, because your notion of time is not very precise at that point.

Then he collapses, slowly pulling out of you to roll onto his back. He’s panting, and when you glance at him, he shoots you his signature grin.

“Pretty good, huh?”

Of course he’d brag about it.

“Decent,” you hear yourself reply with a smile in return. “Not that bad.”

It makes him laugh, and for a few moments, the two of you just lie there, and it’s good and comfortable and nice and you could just stay there, in his bed, with his hand soft and comforting on your hip, for hours.

But finally, he sits up and stretches his arms.

“I’m gonna wash up,” he says. “D’you want to use the bathroom before going back to your place?”

You blink. And then it hits you. You’ve seen it in movies, you’ve heard your friends talk about it, usually preceded by the sentence ‘you’ll never guess what that fucking asshole told me after it’. Not only is he not letting you stay the night, but he’s basically kicking you out. It’s not— It’s not like you’d been particularly intent on staying, you would probably have booked it after regaining control of your brain — and once your anxiety would have kicked in again — but it makes ice fill your veins.

Right. You shouldn’t get carried away.

Fuck, you should never get carried away.

“Yeah, I’ll just use it quick, if you don’t mind,” you say, gathering your clothes, and you hate how your voice changes, how it becomes softer and higher. You just tell yourself that he doesn’t know you well enough to be able to tell what’s happening, and you cling to that thought with everything you have.

There’s a limp in your step when you get up, but you push through it. The cats escape when you open the door, and, for once, you don’t take the time to greet them, in too much of a hurry to get out, get the fuck out of here. Inside, you throw your dress back on, stuff your bra in your bag, pee, grimace at your ruined panties but ultimately put them on, slip your feet in your shoes, then step out. It probably takes you a minute and a half.

“You can take a shower if you want,” Minho says, but this time the attention makes you want to slap him.

“I’m good,” you say instead of literally anything else, “I’ll just take it at home. It’s not like it’s that far.”

He nods.

“You work early tomorrow, right?”

“I do, so, I, uh, should probably get going.”

You open the door, step out in the fresh air of the night, and there, you find yourself softening a little. You can’t help but think that you’re getting upset in part because you let yourself get too emotional, too involved in this. So you turn back to give him a little smile.

“I, uh, I had a really good time,” you say, tilting your head in the direction of the bedroom.

You half expected him to brag, but instead he looks down, and you guess more than you see the smile that forms on his lips.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Well, uh—” You hesitate. For a second, ‘I’ll see you around’ is on your lips, but you’re too wrapped up in the fear that he’ll get the wrong impression, or worst, that he’ll get the right one and think you want something more with him, too terrified that he’ll hate that idea. “Goodnight,” you say instead.”

“Goodnight.”

Then you close the door and make your way through the roof and down the stairs. You don’t know how you expected to feel, after finally getting to experience something you’ve craved for so long. Different, that’s for sure. But, even though the last note of the night feels so discordant, you still take away Minho’s warmth, the feeling of his lips of your skin, the adoring glow of his eyes when he looked up at you.

And you’re convinced that you’re better off for that.

when he sees me — Waitress

Might be part one of three! But considering how my writing process has been going these days, I can’t promise anything unfortunately.

#lee know x reader #minho x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee minho x reader #stray kids #lee know #lee know fanfic #stray kids fanfic #lee know smut

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srjlvr · 9 months

Text

,, summer camp ’’

PAIRING . . . non-idol!Jungwon X fem!Reader !

GENRE . . . fluff , childhood friends to lovers trope , angst !

WC . . . 3.0k+ (so terribly sorry i didn’t think it’d be that long) !

SYNOPSIS . . . summer camps became your favorite thing in the world, all because of the kid with the boba eyes.

WARNINGS . . . mentions of bullying (nothing violent) , annoying teenagers ! (PLS inform me if i missed something!!)

“you could’ve let me stay at grandma’s!” you disappointedly looked at your parents. “she’s busy just as we are, plus honey its just for three weeks, it’ll pass you quickly!”

you stared at your parents packing your stuff into a (ten times bigger than you) suitcase.

you’re twelve, and it’s the first time you’d be going to a summer camp, they clearly don’t trust you with the suit packing so they decided to do it themselves.

“we packed you everything from A to Z, you’re all ready for tomorrow!” your mother looked at you and you could see the excitement on her face.

“you’re going to have real fun!” your father added, “most of your friends are going to be there!”

“they’re not really my friends” you said quietly, your parents are too old to hear what you said anyway.

your parents than pat your head and smiled, “you should go sleep now, you have to wake up early for the big day tomorrow!”

next thing you knew you were already on the bus, full of little kids around the same age as you, and a few elderly people who were your counselors.

your seat was near the window so through the whole ride you just looked out for the view, not even bothering to notice who sits next to you.

“we’ve finally arrived! everyone go to your counselors and they’ll guide you to your cabins! we’ll gather up together around 7pm, in the meantime, get comfortable and don’t be afraid to talk with your counselor if something is bothering you!”

you sighed heavily and walked after your counselor who introduced you to a small cabin, with four beds and a place to put all your belongings.

“y/n, you’ll be here together with your three friends” your counselor smiled warmly at you and you nodded.

“hey! you’re y/n right?” one of the roommates asked you and you nodded. “don’t you know how to talk?” they all giggled and you looked away.

“don’t think you can join our group just because you’re in this room, it’s annoying enough to have you here” another one said and they all laughed.

“just go catch your bed and don’t do anything stupid” the other one pointed at one specific bed as if she had already decided for you which bed you’re going to sleep in.

kids can be cruel sometimes.

it was 5pm, in two hours you’re all going to gather up for dinner.

you have two hours to get to your counselor and talk with her about wanting to change a cabin or call your parents to take you out of here.

two hours feels like a nightmare in a place like this, full of cabins and in the middle of the woods, luckily, your counselor told you where she’d be staying, you just can’t really remember where is it when all of the cabins look the same.

after half an hour of debating which cabin is your counselor’s cabin, you found another counselor whom you recognized as the 11 years old kids counselor.

“hello! i’m y/n, i’m twelve years old, do you perhaps know where my counselor is?” you asked nicely and he smiled at you.

“yes! i can take you to them” he pat your head and took your hand to guide you to your counselor’s cabin. “wait here i’ll call her” he said and went into the cabin.

after a few minutes, your counselor came out and you thanked the other counselor for saving your day.

“hey y/n is everything o-“ “i would like to change a cabin please” you said, cutting her off before she could finish the sentence.

“why? what happened?” she asked worriedly. “i just don’t like the girls that much” you could feel a few tears threatening to fall and she was quick to hug you.

“okay okay, everything’s fine, wait here a few minutes i’ll go see what i can do okay?” she looked at you and you nodded. “oh? there’s jungwon! jungwon, come here for a second!”

you looked over a saw a boy who looks around the same age as you, confusedly walking up to your counselor.

“can you stay a few minutes with y/n? i need to check for a free place in a cabin for her” your counselor pat his head, “wait, we have a free bed in our cabin! she can join us!” he suggested.

“really jungwon? are you sure?” “yeah! we would like to have another roommate” he smiled.

you took a glance at jungwon and saw how his dimples suddenly showed up with his smile. there’s something about his smile that just makes your mood bright up and you don’t know how to explain it.

“thank you” you whispered and he then looked at you, “i don’t think we’ve met before which is quite weird because we’re around the same age, but hey im jungwon” he waved and you waved back, “i’m y/n” you replied.

“do you need help with your bags?” he asked and you nodded. he took your hand and asked you to lead the way to your now old cabin, so you could take your bags and place them in your new cabin.

as you arrived at the small cabin, you noticed that three beds were already occupied by the rest of your roommates.

“are you new? you’re going to join our cabin? hey! i’m wonyoung!” a girl with the cutest smile you’ve ever seen came up to hug you. “im taesan!” a cute boy popped out and smiled. “you already know me” jungwon giggled.

“i’m y/n, thank you for accepting me” you became emotional for a second and wiped the tears that were about to fall.

the rest of the day went by fast, you got to know your roommates quickly and even sat with them for dinner. when it was time to get back to the cabins, the four of you sat down in a circle and played a few games.

taesan and wonyoung ended up falling asleep before you and jungwon, so you two decided to just talk for a bit.

“your eyes reminds me of boba pearls” you suddenly said and jungwon laughed, “it’s the first time i’m hearing something like that” he covered his mouth in amusement. “i’m going to call you boba from now on” you replied and he nodded.

you kept talking and getting to know each other more. he told you that just like you, he didn’t like the idea of going on a summer camp, but due to his parents being 24/7 outside of home, he was forced to be in this camp. you also learnt that you were so busy on being annoyed with the summer camp, that you didnt notice he was sitting right next to you the whole ride.

you both ended up falling asleep really late that night.

the next day you woke up tired and could barely even function, but the late night talkings became your habit and favorite thing in this whole camp.

just like that, three weeks passed by real fast.

each day would be a new adventure for you and your new friends that you made, and every night you would spent those late night hours talking and chatting about whatever with jungwon. your bond became stronger and stronger with each day that came by.

on the last days of the camp, you all went to the beach and your counselor brought a polaroid camera with her.

“hey jungwon! let’s take a picture under this tree!” you suggested and he nodded.

the tree was a coconut tree, it was located a bit far from the beach, but even if you took a picture there, you could see the beautiful view of the beach behind.

you two called your counselor and asked her to take two pictures, one for you to keep and one for jungwon to keep.

she called you two cuties as you posed and made funny faces to the camera, and when the pictures were ready, she handed you them and you started fighting over which picture you’d be taking.

in one picture you and jungwon were putting your shoulders over each other, making peace signs with a big smile on your faces, and on the other picture you two were making funny faces to the camera.

“i like this one better! its funny and cute!” you said, “but i look really pretty there” he frowned.

“you always look pretty, boba” you smiled.

you ended up taking the picture you wanted. after all, jungwon decided to do everything to make you happy and to make this summer camp become your best memorial.

on the last day you cried. you cried heavily, suddenly not wanting to leave and get back to your family, especially not wanting to leave jungwon.

jungwon hugged you tightly, he too was crying. you made the best memories in this camp, and you met the kid that made you the happiest whenever you were with him. losing him meant that you’d be losing your happiness as well.

you held the picture you took a few days ago close to your heart through all the ride back home. “i’m going to miss you” he quietly said. “i’m going to miss you too” you replied.

“we’ll meet again next summer in the same summer camp again, i promise” he forced you to make a pinky promise and smiled.

you two know you won’t be able to meet up through the rest of the year, jungwon lives a bit far away and your parents won’t be able to drive you to there. you both also study in different schools and have different societies.

as you arrived back home and hugged your parents, you could only hope you’d be able to meet him again.

a year passed by quickly, and it was time for you to start begging to your parents to send you off to summer camp.

“what’s so good about this summer camp? you didn’t even want to go there in the first place” your father said, “plus, we finally get to stay at home for the summer, we can enjoy our time together”

and as much as your parents tried to convince you, you were so driven and stubborn so they eventually gave up.

now all you had to do is hope that he’d do the same for you.

“hello everyone! it’s time for another summer camp! are you excited just as me?” one of the counselors started talking but you were too busy searching for that one kid that could make you smile.

you squeezed and pushed other kids, too desperate to find the boy you were so willing to see again.

after a few minutes of searching, you found your friends, wonyoung and taesan.

“hey! omg its been so long i missed you two” you said and hugged them. “y/n! we’re so happy to see you!” wonyoung hugged you tightly, a few tears falling down as a relief to see you.

“did you perhaps see-“ “finally, i’ve been searching for you like forever!” someone back hugged you tightly.

you jumped in your place but when you turned around, you saw the only reason you’re going to this camp, your favorite person of all time.

you jumped on him and hugged him as if you haven’t seen each other in forever (a year is too much), he hugged you back and giggled, “i missed you” he said. “i missed you too.”

then again, you found yourself in the same cabin with the same roommates, the four of you together were literally inseparable, but your friendship with jungwon became even stronger than before.

“there’s something special about that, you know?” jungwon told you in one of your night chatting routines, “what’s special about what?” you asked. “about our friendship” he smiled, “i think it’s because we’re very similar and can relate to each other, i feel more connected to you every new day”

“think about it, we’ve met last year and didn’t even talk after the summer camp, but we still found each other in this place again” he held your hand and you smiled, “you’re right actually”

“i don’t know what i would’ve done without you” you sighed.

on one of the days, you got to walk around the camp just to relax, so you, jungwon, wonyoung and taesan decided to go picnic.

“can’t believe we’ve only met a year ago” taesan said and you all agreed, “it feels like i’ve known your asses ever since i was five” you added and they giggled.

“what are we going to do after the camp? vanish from your life and then return after a year again?” wonyoung asked. “let’s just exchange phone numbers” jungwon said, “write them down and i’ll add all of you in a groupchat once we get our phones back” he added and you all nodded.

the camp’s policy is no phones are allowed, so you spend all of your time together, without even getting bored for once.

the rest of the camp days flashed by so quickly, in a day you’d be leaving this camp for a whole other year, but just like last year, all of the camp went to the beach again before you had to say your goodbyes.

“hey jungwon!” you called, “let’s recreate our photos!” he completed you before you could finish your sentence, “you know me well boba” you giggled.

you took the pictures and began to fight on who’s going to take the picture again,

“i don’t want to have the same- wait no i meant familiar picture!” he complained, you two recreated the photos so perfectly that they almost seem the same (except for the fact that you’re a year older now). “but i turned out really pretty there” you held the photo closer to you, “you’re always pretty boba” he smirked and winked,

oh he just used your sentence as a roast.

he ended up getting the picture he wanted, after all how could you say no to such cute boba eyes?

then, the day you were most afraid of arrived, the last day of the camp. you were already familiar with the feelings that are about to come out and all the tears that are threatening to fall.

this year is even harder than last year and you barely even sleep the night before, you and jungwon pulled an all nighter because you wanted to spend those hours together as much as you could.

“i’ll see you next year too, right?” he asked and you nodded. “plus you have my phone number, so we’ll be okay” he smiled.

“it’s just that talking on the phone and being with each other is not the same” you frowned after wiping the tears. he knew you were right, so you both embraced each other until it was time to let go.

it’d be the same routine each year, you spending the rest of the year talking on the phone and meeting up in the summer camp, then on the last few days you’re recreating your famous picture together and crying when you have to leave.

you’re eighteen years old now, and its the first year that something had changed around the camp. you and jungwon became camp counselors.

you looked at jungwon, who was wearing his camp counselor shirt and smiled, “the shirt suits you” you smiled, “you look even more pretty in this shirt” he complimented you.

“we’re going to be counselors together” you pointed out. “yeah” he smiled, “it has been one of my dreams actually”

“to be a counselor with you” he added and you nodded, “i look forward to work with you, boba” you chuckled.

to say that you didn’t catch feelings for jungwon would be a complete and total lie. and it’s obviously the same in his case.

you two became OBSESSED with each other, your texting became from ‘hey’s and ‘bye’s to nonstop texting everyday.

as you watched jungwon grow up, you couldn’t deny that he was becoming more handsome and mature in your eyes.

and as jungwon watched you grow up, he couldn’t stop thinking how breathtaking you look by each year that passes.

through the camp, you and jungwon fell in love with the kids you were counseling. they were so overly adorable and enjoyable to be with (also the fact that they kept pushing you and jungwon next to each other just to explain how much they want you two to date added to their cuteness).

and as the very last days of the camp arrived, you went with the kids to the beach.

you and jungwon wanted to take another recreation of your pictures (of course, it’s a tradition already) so you asked one of the other counselors to take a look at your children while you’re going to recreate it.

you brought your polaroid camera and dragged wonyoung to take the picture.

“please! it’s going to be real fast!” you begged her. “it better be, i left taesan alone with the kids and i do not trust him” she rolled her eyes.

as you and jungwon got ready to pose, he paused. “wait wonyoung!” he said.

“im in hurry!” she said.

“what is it?” you asked. jungwon then took out something from his pocket, it was a bracelet with yours and his initials on it.

“i wanted to give this to you and i also wanted to ask you something” he took a deep breath, “y/n, would you make me the happiest person on earth and agree to be my girlfriend?”

you covered your mouth in shock, “yes of course!” you took the bracelet he got you and put it on your wrist, “i love it so much!”

jungwon then held your waist to get you closer to him and kissed you.

the kiss was so sweet and romantic, you completely forgot about the fact that there are other people in the world and just focused on you both.

*click* “oops im so sorry! i forgot i have a camera in my hands” wonyoung smirked and giggled.

you and jungwon blushed out of embarrassment.

“i understand that you two are in love and i really started to wonder what took you so long, but let’s just hurry i think taesan might’ve started crying” she smiled.

you two giggled and started to pose for your pictures.

now you have a new photo to recreate next year.

#enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshots #enhypen jungwon #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon scenarios #jungwon fluff #jungwon drabbles #jungwon x you

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annie-creates · 3 months

Text

Bundle of sunshine

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader

Genre: angst and fluff I guess?

Words: 1300

Note: I'm back! Honestly I didn't think this story would give me such a block for almost a year, as I had no idea what to do with it, but here we are! Here's a continuation of The evil witch. Thank you so much to everyone for sending your requests in in the meantime and I'll write them all I swear! I'm so sorry it took me so long.

Sleepless nights and dark days became Leonora’s new norm. Anywhere she went she could hear your happy laughter and the excited mumbling of your child. Her child. Was it even her child? Biologically sure, there was no denying that now. But would you ever let her near you and your little bundle of sunshine again? Close enough to be your family? However powerful she wanted to feel months ago, she’d trade it for your presence in a heartbeat. That’s why she tried to catch one of the infrequent moments you wondered around the castle without the insufferable princess by your side.

“So are you gonna pretend I don’t exist for the rest of your life?” she didn’t want to have attitude with you from the start but couldn’t stop the snarky tone in her voice.

However startled you were, you kept your composure intact. “Excuse you? Who do you think you’re talking to!?”

“The mother of my child? That is my baby, you can’t deny that.” She was mad and a little hurt you’d keep her from her own baby.

“I’m sorry was it not you who called me a sleep-around whore a year ago and told me to never disturb you again!?” Long gone were the days you let her manipulate and use you.

“Well maybe I got a little carried away…” Leonora admits, turning her voice down. “But you can’t keep me from my own child.”

“Nu-uh, it’s too late for that. I don’t care what wicked plan you have in your head, but my child is never gonna know you as her mother.” you emphasize, leaving her stunned in place as you forcefully pace away from her.

You couldn’t believe the audacity of that woman. Wo did she think she is? Hurting you in your most vulnerable moment, shaming your pregnancy, and then trying to crawl back in the picture almost a year after your child was born? There was no way you were gonna let her waltz back into your life when you had Lonnie by your side, a lady who supported you from day one without even knowing you properly. Yet it didn’t leave your mind that maybe, she deserves to have some, little and unimportant role, in your daughter’s life. She is also her child after all. And your partner was observant to all your worries.

“Is something tormenting your mind, love?” Lonnie asked getting in her side of the bed at night.

You didn’t want to relay your problems on other people, but she proved time and time again she can share your mantle. “It’s Lesso. She demanded access to my daughter…”

“Well, we expected that, didn’t we? She is her biological mother after all.” Lonnie warmly smiles at you.

“Yeah, I guess, but… I don’t know. I don’t want her to hurt Y/d/n like she did to me, or corrupt her for evil, or anything… and I don’t want her filling her head with nonsense, I just don’t know. Can I ever trust her?” you weighted.

“I guess we’ll have to try and see. It could be good for Y/d/n to have her in her life. If you can negotiate some general rules with Lesso.” your girlfriend suggested, giving you the effortless advice as always.

You’ve spent that night dreamless and restless, and many after that. Could you ever forgive the woman you once loved so hard and who betrayed you so viciously? When it was for the benefit of your daughter? You wanted Y/d/n to have everything in the world, but was this too much to ask of you? You decided you’ll try your best to find a way to include Lesso in Y/d/n’s life, even if it meant you’ll have to overcome the fear and wariness. That’s why after a week of careful thinking and options considering, you and Lonnie visited Lesso’s office together.

“To what do I owe the pleasure..?” Leonora had no idea why the two goodies decided to randomly visit her tower but did everything she could to appear like she didn’t really care.

“I have decided you can be in Y/d/n’s life.” you announced matter of factly.

“You don’t say.” she almost mocked you but a spark in her eye seemed genuine.

“Leonora, I don’t know if you have any real grasp of the full extend of the hurt and betrayal you did to me. That is unforgiveable. In fact, I probably shouldn’t even be considering letting my child or myself anywhere need you.” you lecture her.

“I’m sorry, I was just…” Lesso tried to reason with you but you didn’t let her finish.

“You weren’t there for all my morning sickness, growing stretch marks and swollen ankles. You weren’t holding my hand when I was giving all my life into giving birth to my beautiful daughter. So no, she’s not your daughter, and she never will be. But you are related, so if you can keep on good behavior, maybe you can be her fun aunt or something.” maybe it didn’t sound fair but that was all you were willing to give her. She needed to realize she was lucky to be allowed to even see your daughter. “And when she’s older, I’ll of course tell her how she was born, but that’s a talk between me and her.”

“But you’re gonna let this princess parent my child? That’s obscure!” Leonora protested.

“Hey!” Lonnie scolded her but she knew you didn’t need saving from her anymore.

“Lonnie was here for me in the darkest moments, she held my hand through doubts and supported me in moments of weakness. She’s the only reason me and my daughter are still alive.” you give Lesso a fast reality check. “So yes, as long as she’s my partner and friend, she’ll be more important to Y/d/n than you could ever hope to be. If you’re unhappy with that, I’m okay with moving away and never showing up here again.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll figure. I just wanna see my daughter.” you were surprised how obedient Leonora suddenly was when it came to contact with her child.

“Great, we’ll set up a play date.” you concluded and left her office as fast as you came, releasing a deep breath outside. You partly expected a disaster to strike.

Your worries turned out to be unnecessary as you prepared for a coloring activity with your daughter, Lonnie and Lesso. Leonora seemingly accepted her role as a friend rather than a parent and Y/d/n absolutely adored her. She found every gruesome detail of her stories interesting and each one of her torture techniques fun. She was there for every new milestone or sick fever, telling bedtime stories until the late hours of night. One birthday celebration came after another as your toddler grew into a beautiful confident child with a curiosity as no other.

She’d never believe it was possible for a spawn of evil like herself to create something so good and pure. She had no doubt your daughter would grow up into a beautiful princess like her other mother. Leonora enjoyed every little moment she spent with her daughter as if it was the last minute she had with her, aware that she’ll be grown before she knows it and possibly will not want to have anything to do with her anymore. After all good and evil didn’t blend together well. The last thing she needed was to get back her burning love, the woman she’d burn in eternal hell for. But, after months and years, your love for the princess knight didn’t dissipate and as stealthy as she tried to be about winning you back, she had no luck so far. Five years turned out to be enough for you to say yes to marrying the new woman in your life.

#lady lesso #leonora lesso #school for good and evil #lady lesso x reader #tsfgae #leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso x reader #the school for good and evil #lady lesso x you #lady lesso fluff #lady lesso angst #charlize theron x reader #sge #fanfiction #fanfic

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bridgetotheskyyy · 5 months

Text

chapter four.

masterlist

Chapter summary: Gaara shares his past, there's a cactus, and you get a letter . . .

Chapter warnings: sexual content, 18+, psychoactive elements, angst, drama

Word count: 13k

A/N: I’m not completely satisfied with the pacing of this one, So, I hope y’all are okay with this being the chapter where Everything Happens lmfaooo. Once again, please forgive any errors you might see. I was slightly less hawkish with this chapter to get it out. Thank you and hope you enjoy!

Read on ao3 here

“Ah, I see.” Baki’s voice dipped with disappointment.

Gaara and Temari had returned to brief Baki on everything, though Temari did most of the heavy-lifting in explaining. Kankuro was absent, though; the moment they had returned, he had taken it upon himself to continue his sub-Kazekage duties and, two days into their return to Sunagakure, they hadn’t seen much of him since.

“There was always a risk,” Baki said. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad Lord Kazekage and Lady (Y/n) were able to enjoy their time, short though it was. And …” Baki set a sheet of paper aside, brows drawn together in thought. “that Lady (Y/n) was able to return relatively unscathed.”

Gaara shared in Baki’s discreet concern; you had said so little to him during the trip back, and after being checked thoroughly by medical nin, you were sent to bed for vital rest. Your accoster had no assailants they needed to worry about. They even had a sea-side town ready to assist them if they needed anything as a payoff. From a perspective that was coldly shinobi, it wasn’t a bad deal.

But Gaara continued to replay the scene in his head — his sand wrapped around the man who’d assaulted you, his rage, your pleading, your voice so small, so helpless.

I frightened her.

It had been long since Gaara had felt a guilt quite like this — since he’d felt an anger like that. And now the shame, like the anger, threatened to drown him. It weighed his every step.

You, someone he came to see more and more as his future wife.

“In the meantime, we’ll tighten security,” Temari told Gaara. “No more trips or lavish shopping sprees until the news of this has died down. Hell,” Temari shrugged, “maybe even until after the wedding.”

Gaara felt Temari’s stare but did not take the bait.

“Lord Kazekage …?” Baki began measuredly. “Is there something you’d like to add?”

It was a moment before Gaara answered, grimacing. “I was a fool … and rash.”

“Gaara,” Temari cooed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No …”

Your pleading lived in his mind, and your voice resurrected ghosts. All the ones he had killed, all the blood shed in the name of his bloodlust, his soullessness … Hundreds, maybe thousands. Gaara chafed against the memory of his old self.

Gaara, please … don’t.

“I feel …” Gaara gripped hard at the arms he had crossed, “as though I’ve … relapsed.”

“Lord …” Baki sounded stricken.

“Gaara, no,” Temari said firmly.

Gaara thought of the desert, of you sleeping beside him. Your trembling breath easing as you fell into slumber beside him was the only peace he had enjoyed that night or since. He’d been so relieved you had come to see him at all. What a miracle.

But he could still smell fear on you. An image spiked in his mind, thorny and awful, of you, eyes wide as you recoiled. Desperate to get away. Gaara squirmed with the thought.

“Anyone would have done the same,” Baki said. “You were only trying to protect Lady (Y/n).”

“Baki’s right,” Temari murmured. “It’s only natural to want to protect the ones you lo —“

Temari paused, touched fingers to her lips, surprised by her own near choice of words.

Love.

Did he love you? How would he know? Maybe not, but … You were becoming precious to him. And yet …

Love is the heart’s desire to serve those precious to us.

If you weren’t someone he loved, you were someone he was coming to love.

Had he ruined things?

He’d been driven by a desire to protect you, true, but it felt a lie to pretend his feelings were strictly heroic, like the liquid hot desire to strangle the man’s neck hadn’t lived beside the need to save you. Gaara stood; Temari’s hand slipped from his shoulder.

“I know what I have to do,” he said.

Gaara knew Temari understood, though she pretended not to. “What …?”

Gaara clenched his fist.

“I have to tell her the truth. About my past.”

You were all right. Physically, at least.

You cradled yourself in bed with a sickened groan as another wave of anxiety set your chest aflame. You pressed a hand to your sternum; the ache there restricted your breathing. Your head was weighed with cotton. You had eaten little, spoken to no one.

You ached for the obliviousness of sleep, where Hideo awaited to make you laugh, where he and you sat under cloudless skies on uneventful days, where he let you rest your head on his leg and drift off to the sound of his voice, where you were anything but who you were.

Your head whirled; your options spider-webbed, each one worse than the last. What could you do now? If you told them about your father’s nefarious plans, would they believe you? Would they understand you had changed and had no intention of hurting Gaara? But you had just such intentions in the tent, determined as you were to let it all end. Only Temari had found you, and Gaara’s waking was the only thing that staved off her suspicions.

I am a fool. You had incriminated yourself by going to his bedside. Your hands wouldn’t be clean because you exposed your father; if anything, it would only look like you were simply trying to cover all your bases.

If you wanted to hurt him, however, you had been given ample opportunities to do so. But —

But but but.

Your webs tangled and knotted. You were selfish. You didn’t want any harm to come to Gaara or his loved ones, but you also didn’t want to sacrifice … whatever this was. This play at a family. This ruse. Despite the panic you suppressed, you had never been so happy.

You touched your lips and remembered the kiss Gaara had left there.

You raised from bed, the sheets pooling around your abdomen. You couldn’t stay here and drive yourself crazy. And … you were sure Gaara and his siblings were worried, along with Baki. But the absence of people had been refreshing. You were alone and thus had no need to perform.

It’s enough. You’ll just go mad.

You dressed appropriately: a simple shirt — your beloved fishnet underneath; it made you look and feel stronger — and pants and heeled sandals. Simple but still pretty. You inspected yourself in the mirror. You combed your hair, combined it again, three times for good measure. You straightened your clothes, eliminating every wrinkle. You wanted to look nice. You liked looking nice, but today it was essential to you. You couldn’t give away your inner turmoil. You wanted Gaara to think you looked nice, too, and, after minutes of excessive grooming, you thought you did. You looked every bit the normal girl you wanted to be. If anyone saw you now, they would see an ordinary villager in Sunagakure.

The necklace gave you away.

What you wouldn’t give to be a normal, ordinary girl. A normal father, a normal family. Hideo was the closest thing you ever had to a normal family bond. Protective and kind. And gone. And you didn’t know how or why.

Or who.

Stop pitying yourself and just go. You twisted the doorknob to exit your room.

“Kankuro? Kankuro! Are you even listening to me?”

Kankuro stamped document after document with automated precision. Only when Temari’s hand came over his own did he pause.

He sighed. “Temari, unless it’s important, please let me get back to work.”

“Look at me.”

Kankuro raised his head, where Temari’s concerned gaze waited for him.

There she goes, being all motherly again …

“How are Gaara and (Y/n)?” he asked, feeling defeated.

Temari withdrew her hand. “We haven’t seen (Y/n) in a while, but the nurses say she’s well. And Gaara, well …” Temari grimaced. “Kankuro, I can’t help but feel like something bad is going to happen.”

Kankuro shot her an exasperated look. “This again? We’ve been over this —“

“No,” Temari intercepted. “Not about (Y/n), just … in general.”

“This sixth sense of yours would’ve been a little more helpful at the beach, y’know.”

The dig was below the belt and Kankuro knew it, instantly regretted it, but Temari seemed not to mind. “Hey, if I wasn’t busy helping you swindle greasy septuagenarians so you could win fancy pirate coins, I probably would’ve been more helpful.”

Kankuro shuffled sheets of paper to find the one demanding attention.

“I know,” he said solemnly.

“Like I said, we all slipped up.” Temari crossed her arms. “I don’t hold it against you. I thought I could talk to you, is all.”

“You can talk to me, Temari.”

Temari cast her gaze to the floor. “I’m worried about Gaara. He’s beating himself up over that rogue ninja … He thinks he relapsed, Kankuro.”

“Relapsed?” Kankuro parroted.

“His word, not mine,” Temari said. “It’s been a long time since he’s been that angry and almost killed someone and enjoyed the prospect of it.” Temari fidgeted. “He says he’s going to tell her everything.”

Kankuro’s eyes widened. “Everything?”

“Yep.” Temari sunk into a nearby chair.

“Well,” Kankuro began. “That’s his business.”

“I can’t help thinking we should interfere. Help him, somehow.”

“No,” Kankuro gave her a pointed look. “If they’re going to get married, there can’t be any secrets. Especially not ones that big. Gaara knows that. His past is one hell of a thing to keep from his fiancé. She deserves to know what she’s getting into.”

Temari faced him. “But his past would be hard to swallow even if she was a ninja. What if she doesn’t understand? If she can’t handle it? And he really likes her … He really likes her.” She paused with this realization, as though it had caught up to her at last. “I can see that. After all, I almost …”

Temari’s sentence died away.

“Only more reason to tell her the truth,” Kankuro said. “If she can’t handle it, then she’s not the one.”

Temari met his eye, the turquoise of hers reminding him so much of their mother. “… What if she leaves him?”

Kankuro’s emotions were tugged by the sorrow in Temari’s voice. Gaara. His little brother, who had lost so, so much, had lived such a harrowing life. Could he take another disappointment? You running away, as the villagers had? Relapse. What a choice of words.

“I trust Gaara,” Kankuro muttered. “He’s stronger than any of us could have imagined, in more ways than one. He knows the risk better than us, too, and what he can handle. The truth has to prevail. After all, what is love based on?”

Temari stared at him crookedly. “When’d you get so smart?”

Kankuro shrugged, secretly thankful for the sudden levity. “When you weren’t looking.” Another shrug. “By watching the two of you.”

“What did you ever do with that medallion, by the way?”

Kankuro dismissed this with a wave of a hand. “Gave it away, like you said.”

Temari doubled back. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Kankuro tossed a sheet of paper. “You were right; anything worth that much should go to the village. In the end, I was happy to be rid of it. Least I could do.”

Temari eyed him as he resumed his stamping. “You’ve really stepped up, Lord Kazekage. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, well.” Kankuro chuckled. “Let’s just be grateful it won’t be permanent.”

You forced yourself to eat a balanced meal in the dining hall. You enjoyed the quiet meal and afterward set your mind to finding Gaara and the others — but it turned out you didn’t need to; a servant found you doodling in the hallway who promised to take you to Gaara.

Gaara had sent for you.

He brought you to the roof of the Kazekage’s office. He spoke little; the tension the quiet heightened increased the anxiety already latent in you.

You looked toward him; Gaara’s back was to you, the day’s breeze rustling his hair and the long hem of his crimson coat.

“Gaara …?”

Gaara turned to you. “(Y/n) …” He grimaced, as though the words sitting on his tongue were too bitter for his taste.

You approached him. You had no desire to rush him to speak. Your anxiety spiked a thought — Is he going to confess? — and you drew in a sharp breath. You placed a hand on the railing to steady you, the sandstone stable beneath your palm. You looked out into his village. Cliffs swallowed the village, dramatizing the shadows beginning to creep as the day dwindled.

“We haven’t spoken for a while,” Gaara said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Oh.” Your shrug coincided with a sheepish smile. “Fine … I haven’t been sleeping too well, but otherwise …”

“Perhaps … it’s because we’re not sleeping together anymore,” Gaara said.

Your head shot up, cheeks red. His shy smile dawned realization in you: he’s joking.

“Oh, har-har,” You said. “When did you become so witty?”

“I’ve learned a thing or two from Kankuro, you could say,” Gaara said.

You laughed to yourself. A silence fell, though it was not as awkward as you imagined it might be.

“I am sorry I have spoken to you …”

“It’s all right,” You said. “I’ve been …” You struggled, drumming your hands on the railing. “I mean. Gaara, I’ve —”

That night,” Gaara began. “I’m glad you came to me. That … you haven’t come to fear me. I’m sure you must’ve been afraid — in general, if not … of me.”

“Of course,” You said. You had done a lot of thinking about that. Gaara had been driven to rage to save you. It had been horrible, but it was because the rogue ninja had tried to hurt you. And worse; he had been intending to hold you hostage, to drive your father to action. A tradeoff. And the gods only know what he had planned on doing with you in the space between the beginning of your capture and its end. “You did come to save me — twice, actually. From drowning and from him.”

“I wouldn’t have let either happen.”

You nodded, held his gaze. The comment, though obvious, still sent a warm sense of protection through you. One you had never felt at home. If the rogue had succeeded, would your father have spent a dime to ensure your return? Would you have been worth it? Would it have been out of love or to save himself the embarrassment? You didn’t know. You didn’t know.

Another pause. Gaara broke eye contact first, lowering his gaze to his hand on the railing.

“I’ve been a coward,” Gaara said. “I’ve been … putting off telling you the truth about some things. Allow me an opportunity to share my history with you.”

You blinked before acquiescing with a nod, shifty-eyed though you were.

“Okay,” You said. “But don’t call yourself that; you’re not a coward in the slightest.”

If anything, I’m the coward.

“Reserve your judgment; you may feel differently once I’ve told you everything.”

The sunset colors complimented Gaara so well as he eyed the horizon, seemingly lost in the past.

“Before my birth, the Sand suffered from cuts to our budget from the Wind Daimyo,” Gaara began. “That put the village at a vast disadvantage. The Fourth Kazekage — my father — felt it best to create an ultimate weapon that could heighten the village’s reputation and render us formidable to our rivals. He decided that one of his children would come to house a demon and become that ultimate weapon.”

You froze. A demon. In the sky bound journey to the beach, hand on your hip, Gaara had called it a spirit. Gaara turned to you, appraised your reaction to such a word. Years of practice aided in keeping your expression neutral, and he went on:

“Neither Temari or Kankuro could coexist with this demon, so my father decided I would be the weapon he so desired. By the time I was born, it was already done. It cost me my mother.” Gaara paused. “I was sheltered, like you. My father taught me shinobi arts privately, and I was cared for by my uncle, my mother’s brother, Yashamaru.”

You recognized the name in the madness of the story you were sure was only just beginning.

“The villagers feared me because of what I was, but I kept trying to reach out … I couldn’t understand why I hurt people when I didn’t want to, why I couldn’t be normal.”

You swallowed. A normal girl.

“My father decided that this sentimentality was an impediment to my development as his tool, and so instructed my uncle to kill me —“

“What?” You placed a hand over your heart.

Gaara’s lips quirked in an almost-smile, as though your horror was flattering in some way. “My uncle told me my mother had never loved me, and neither had he, before killing himself … I came to believe my life was the only one that mattered — that the sand that rose to protect me at all costs did so without fail. I believed my reason for existing was to kill others and preserve only myself.”

A self-sharpening tool.

“It was deceit,” Gaara said, facing you now. “My father only wanted me to believe all of this so I could be a proper tool for him. He had tried many times to kill me, but eventually stopped when he realized I could be of use once I had my powers under control. He sent me on missions to terrorize his enemies, and surely I killed many of the ninja from your village as well.”

Your village. Hideo. And yet you could not shave off the sympathy you had for Gaara.

“This is all so morbid,” You said. “How could a father be so cruel …”

And yet here you were, your father’s tool, sent to commit atrocities and seed divisions between your two villages. What if the idea had come to your father’s head and not Rasa’s? It scared you, how easily you could have been used in the exact same fashion. How you already were. Of all the things to have in common with Gaara, it had to be this.

“He wished to protect his village at all costs,” Gaara said hastily. “I understand his choice, though it has caused me great pain.”

You stared in disbelief. How? How could he forgive the Fourth for being so depraved? But you remained silent, sensing Gaara was not done.

“I went on killing, caring for no one but myself,” Gaara said. “My siblings were terrified of me. They hated me. Baki, too. The Sand plotted to attack the Leaf, as you know. We succeeded, partially, but then …”

“But then you met Naruto Uzumaki,” You finished for him. The pieces were beginning to click together.

“Yes,” Gaara said. “He was strong because he had those he loved. I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand it. Not at first. But he didn’t come to hate me. He saved me from the emptiness. I had someone who understood me … He changed me.” The dying light was gentle on him as he continued. “I returned to the village, determined to win them over, and show everyone I was sincere in my efforts to live differently and protect them. I discovered my father’s ploys: I really was loved by my mother and Yashamaru, and it only encouraged me to continue on.”

Gaara went on sharing more with you, and when you asked for clarifications, he gave them to you. It was all so much — for you were not a shinobi, but even if you were, it would still be much to swallow — but you tried to remain as silent as you could so as not to interrupt his story.

“I will never truly make up for the mistakes of my past,” Gaara said sorrowfully. “Those like Joseki have made that clear. But I can do what I can to improve.”

Your father hadn’t shared any of this with you. Gaara had been a child. But, you supposed, none of this would have mattered to Father. Your eyes fell over him, admiration flooding you. How could one person be so strong? What an anticlimactic, nihilistic end your mission would have been for Gaara. All that work to change, to do better, all to be murdered in his bed by some harlot …

You resumed your finger-drumming. Gaara raised his head expectantly.

“I am sure this is much to take in,” Gaara said, the edges of his voice tinged with nerves, though he tried to hide it. “But … it was wrong of me to not tell you the moment you arrived in my village. I am sorry.”

“No.” Your eyes stung as you shook your head. “It’s — It’s okay.”

Gaara nodded curtly. He averted his eyes.

“I understand,” You blurted out.

His head shot up. “You do?”

“As much as I can,” You said. “I don’t hold this — any of this — against you, Gaara.” You came forward, felt him flinch as you caressed his cheek. “If men were half as forgiving, half as strong as you, the world would be a better place.”

He held the hand holding him. “Thank you, (Y/n),” Gaara said with all the softness of a feather.

This is it. You swallowed. Tell him now. Your lips parted to speak but not words were forthcoming. Do it! Your vision blurred; warm tears ran tracks down your face. You cried for him — and for yourself. For all you were too weak to say.

If only I could be as strong as you, Gaara …

“No.” Gaara gently thumbed your tears away. “Please, don’t …”

You sniffled, hanging your head low. “M’sorry …”

“I didn’t tell you all of this to upset you.” Gaara inched closer. “Let me be the one to cheer you up after all that. There’s something in the greenhouse I’d like to show you.”

“O — Okay.” You tried a smile. “Anything you say.”

Gaara headed toward the door leading away from the roof. And, besotted, you followed him.

It seemed a simple cactus to you, though Gaara insisted it was different.

“Kankuro gave it to me a day or so after the party,” he explained. “He meant for me to take it with us on our beach trip, but I’m sorry to say I forgot it along the way.”

You evaluated the little desert plant. It was cute. Its rounded leaves raised in a patty-cake like fashion, squat and tiny in its cinnamon-colored pot.

“Probably because I couldn’t understand why it was needed in the first place.” Gaara tilted his head as he inspected the plant further. “I’ve never read about it.”

“It’s not as nice as the one I got you,” You joked, poking the cactus’s leaf, aware of your present-cactus sitting beside on Gaara’s table.

You moved aside when Gaara the botanist came to touch its fat petals. “Kankuro said to drink the water inside.”

Gaara took a small knife from his table and cut into one of the leaves with precision. He took the two little glasses on the table and allowed the water within to leak into them before handing you one.

“Are … Are you sure this is safe?” You asked.

“Kankuro gave it to me.” Gaara picked up the note beside the cactus as you sniffed your glass. “He gave me a note with it that said ‘have fun!’ I don’t know why he wrote that, but I figured this would help lighten the mood and cheer you up after everything I revealed to you.”

“That’s nice.” You glanced at the note before sipping from your glass. You doubled, taken aback by the bittersweet taste. Tart. Like lemon juice. “Wo —Wow.”

Gaara sipped after you. “I see …”

Another sip. You giggled. Relief spread through your veins as the melodrama of the day … fell away … like vapor … for some reason.

Gaara sipped again. “Hm.” His cheeks pinkened.

“I think we should” — You stumbled, placed a hand on the table — “sit down …”

Gaara took your advice. The two of you settled on the floor of one of the greenhouse aisles, admiring the succulents hidden away behind glass displays. Gaara’s gourd sat abandoned by the wall.

Another sip. You giggled some more, hugging yourself. Gaara’s face grew pinker with every sip.

“You’re much prettier than the girls in the Icha Icha novels,” he said.

You cackled and the sound was ugly, witchy almost, in your throat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Ohh, I love those books.”

“They’re very strange.” Gaara tilted his head as though to reconsider. “But very well-written.”

“You only say they’re strange because you don’t understand them.” You nudged Gaara.

“I suppose you’re right about that …” Gaara’s arm brushed yours as he swayed beside you. “Sometimes, one chapter comes back to me in particular. The one where the woman catches her husband with the vacuum cleaner?”

You guffawed. “Oh, that chapter was bitchin’.”

“Yes …” Gaara was blinking a lot. “That’s the word.”

“You’ll come to understand when you have more experience.” You shot your arm in the air. “Time for another lesson —!” You caught yourself about to fall. “Whoa … Hehe!”

Gaara helped to steady you with a ginger touch to your shoulder. “Be careful …”

You faced him, your head lolling against the back drawers. He was so beautiful. A desert hottie. Ha, hot. You pounced on him, fastening a leg over his own to straddle him. Gaara held your hips as you slithered hands under his collar.

“You have nice skin for someone who lives in the desert,” You said.

“Likewise,” he quipped.

You pecked Gaara on the nose before brushing it with your own with a purr.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I want to help you understand the books better,” You sat on him properly, “and why the characters do what they do.”

Gaara held you tight to him. A blink and he was on top of you.

“You’re strong!” You kneaded the muscles of his arms underneath his sleeves.

Gaara bent down to plant a kiss to your neck — before giving you several.

“Mmm …” You turned your head to allow him access to more skin. “Gaara …”

“One of the men in the books does this to the woman before kissing her some more,” Gaara said. “I understand this.”

Your fingers threaded in his hair, keeping him close. “You do?” You murmured.

“Yes,” Gaara whispered. “And when I imagine you in her place, I understand it even more …”

You ran your tongue over the shell of Gaara’s ear as he kissed the junction of your neck and jaw. He shivered under your hands. “You think I’m as pretty as her?”

“Prettier.” He nibbled into the dip at your jaw’s end. “Much prettier.”

Gaara’s lips trailed up your jaw until he kissed your mouth, pulling back only to run his tongue over your lips.

“He did that to her, too.”

You pulled Gaara’s face forward, your lips crashing to his. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands buried in his hair as he reciprocated. You nipped and flicked your tongue against his lower lip, yearning your message to be understood. Success; Gaara opened his mouth and your tongues met, running over one another. Gaara’s hands pawed at your breasts; your nipples came to life under his kneading.

“This isn’t — ah — the first time we’ve done this,” You murmured. “Not to me. I’ve had dreams …”

“I’m flattered.” Gaara’s low baritone rumbled on your lips.

“Mmm.” You arched your back as Gaara pinched your nipples. “Aha!”

He bucked into you and you felt the unmistakable stab of his erection. He returned to your neck to bite and lick there.

“We need to be nude, so we can do everything the characters do in the books,” Gaara said, voice husky. “Like — mm — the scene where the man puts his penis in the woman’s mouth …”

You sighed as Gaara tugged on your earlobe. “Okay …” Gaara’s cock in your mouth. Mmmm … Wouldn’t be the first time you’d imagined it …

“Show me,” he ordered.

You rolled him over and heard the fallaway sound of a pot crashing onto the floor, but paid no mind to it as you lifted your shirt and the fishnet with it from your body and tossed both.

“Absolutely, I will.” You guided Gaara’s hands to your bra cups, sighed as he kneaded the soft flesh. “I’d do anything for you, Gaara …”

You were so preoccupied with the buttons of his trench coat you did not hear the door open.

“Gaara?!”

“Lady (Y/n)?!”

You raised your head toward the entrance. Temari and Baki stood in the threshold, mouths agape and blue-faced.

“Hi, guys!” You waved to them.

“You know,” the nurse began, “for someone who doesn’t like to drink, Lord Kazekage sure is under the influence a lot …”

Kankuro looked over his shoulder, murder in his eyes. “’Fuck you say about my brother?”

The nurses jumped.

“Nothing, nothing! My — My — My apologies, Lord Kankuro …!” He said.

They scurried away to continue caring for Gaara and you. The two of you were laid on separate beds, stars in your eyes and surely hallucinating, if the nonsense the two of you spouting was anything to go by.

“Let me get this straight.” Temari pinched the space between her eyebrows. “You gave our brother a psychoactive cactus and planned on getting him high during our beach trip?”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Kankuro cried. “I totally forgot about it and — and we got back and there was all the paperwork that needed to be done —”

“Why is Kankuro’s skin purple?” You asked dreamily, head lolling from side to side. You pointed at him. “That’s way too much makeup, sir!”

Baki sighed against the wall as a wreath of stars spun around your head. Chuuyou stared at you with news eyes — Kankuro doubted your guardian had ever seen you like this — and seemingly at a loss for what to do.

Baki hadn’t said a word since he helped Temari carry the two of you to the infirmary. He asked one of the nurses, “Are they going to be all right?”

“Certainly, Lord Baki,” a nurse said. “They will be fine.”

“(Y/n),” Gaara said. “Shukaku is speaking to me … He’s telling me about a great skin regimen!”

“The sand demon?” You gasped. “Tell me!”

Baki blinked at the nurse.

“Uh, the psychoactive elements of the purple pandemonium cactus will run their course,” he said, “then, they will be fine.”

“Purpl —? This is such a mess.” Temari facepalmed. “I should be kicking your ass, Kankuro —“

“Don’t,” Gaara urged dreamily. “Peace must prevail …”

“I can’t believe you thought this” — Temari gestured to the two of them — “would be funny.”

“At least they didn’t …” Baki stalled, blanching, “ … go too far.”

The three of them stood in an awkward pause. Apparently, you had been found shirtless while riding his poor brother like a pony. Kankuro, already considering you more of a sister than anything, cringed at the mental image. You were so dignified, all without being the snob he had anticipated when he first met you. You would be horrified once the cactus water wore off and you returned to your senses. He sighed; even when he tried to fix his problems, he caused more of them.

“I’m sorry,” Kankuro pressed. “This is all my fault. I’m not denying it. But we’ve got bigger problems now; neither of them can be seen like this — and what if they were seen? It’s not like those greenhouse windows are tinted.”

“One problem at a time, Kankuro,” Baki insisted, exasperated.

“For the time being, at least they’re all right,” Temari said. She turned to Kankuro and sighed. “I’m … starting to think maybe you’re right.”

Kankuro raised his brows in surprise. “Do my ears deceive me?”

Temari looked back to Gaara, limp on the bed as nurses minded his vitals. “I think I do have a mommy problem. I saw them in the greenhouse getting all … Y’know, and I was horrified — but not for the right reasons. I was thinking about Gaara’s … innocence. Not his political career. And then I wondered: why? Gaara’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

“Lord Kazekage!” one of the nurses tried to hold Gaara down. “You must stay put —!”

“But the sun looks like Naruto Uzumaki!” Gaara insisted. “We have to go outside; he wants to tell us how to make ramen to honor the gods!”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be making his own decisions right now,” Kankuro quipped.

Temari managed a weak laugh as the nurses relaxed her brother. “I shouldn’t have an opinion on his sex life. I’m just so used to protecting the two of you. I’ve done it all my life. But, I need to let go …” She looked up at Kankuro. “Do you think he told her?”

“Uh.” Kankuro scratched his head. “She knows who Shukaku is? So, uh-huh. I’m guessing it went well.”

“Too well.” Temari blinked. “All joking aside, you’re right; this can’t get out. It would cause a scandal and put Gaara at a disadvantage. His role as Kazekage would be in question.”

“We’ll do some reconnaissance,” Baki said. You started singing to yourself, waving your arms in the air, attending some invisible concert, and he sighed. “Do you know how long the effects last, Kankuro?”

“Erm,” Kankuro said. “Let’s just say they’ve got a long night ahead of them.”

You cracked eyes open — only to be met with the headache to end all headaches.

You moaned, shifted to your side. Your vision was blurry as you pressed one side of your face into the pillow, the other eye focused enough to see Baki in a chair beside you.

“What happened?” You croaked at him.

“It’s all right.” The creak of a chair, a hand caressing your back that must have been Baki’s. “There was an … incident.”

“Oh, good, she’s awake!” a feminine voice said, definitely Temari’s.

“My head …” You lay on your back, frowning at the throb in your head. Baki placed a hand on your forehead.

“The headache must come from being dehydrated,” he said. “Temari, get the nurses.”

“What?” You groaned as Temari left to obey Baki. “What are you talking about? What incident —?”

You froze. Your eyes grew wide. Reality nudged — then crashed and burned beside you.

Each new memory unlocked compounded your horror. The cactus, the sluttiness — oh, not to mention the night before where you and Gaara bumbled all night long, reduced to toddlers the nurses had to work overtime to care for.

“Oh gods.” You curled into a ball, burning with shame. Gaara! You propped up, turned to see Gaara on the bed beside you, quiet but awake and averting your eyes. You laid flat on your back, the ceiling light blinking at you. Baki moved to turn it off so as to not aggravate your headache, your only light now filtering in through the window. “Baki, I’m a disgrace.”

“No, you’re not,” Baki assured you.

How can he say that? If father hears about this, he’ll murder me. That was the best case scenario. You rubbed your sore throat. What if someone learned of the poison in your necklace …

The necklace. You caressed your bare neck. The necklace that was gone.

It was gone .

You shot up, headache be damned. Temari had returned with nurses, a hand maneuvering the necklace to place a glass of water closer to you.

“Give that back!” You cried. “Right now!”

Heads turned to you. Temari froze.

You caught yourself. “Sorry, I … I’m sorry. Thank you,” You added as a nurse carried a food tray to you. “It’s just — that’s precious to me, and —”

“It’s all right.” Temari chuckled as she offered you the necklace. “I know you have questions and it’s a long story, but basically it’s all Kankuro’s fault. So, don’t worry.”

You nodded, head thumping; your previous outburst had done nothing to assuage it.

“Drink the water first,” Baki instructed.

You did as he asked, sipping the glass of water. You fastened your necklace around your neck miserably before addressing the tray of food. You didn’t want to look at food, but —

“(Y/n) …”

Gaara had abandoned his bed and came to yours. He stood before you. You blinked as he bowed.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” he said. “Truly. I should have been more careful.”

“Oh, Gaara,” You cooed. “No …”

“I haven’t been a good host. My behavior in the greenhouse was … perverted.”

“We weren’t in control of our actions,” You pressed. I can’t say I regret it entirely, either …

Gaara looked away. “I know women like to wait until they’re married for … that sort of thing.”

“It couldn’t be helped, I think,” You assured him with a nervous laugh.

“Both of you should eat,” a nurse said gently as a second dropped another tray off at the foot of Gaara’s bed. “The psychoactive properties of the cactus have clearly worn off quite a bit, but we shouldn’t get too cocky. Light meals will help.”

Gaara nodded to the nurse.

“So, (Y/n),” Temari said. “Is my brother a good kisser or what?”

You spluttered. Baki nearly dropped the tray he was adjusting for you.

“Te — Temari!” You couldn’t breathe.

Temari snickered. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

It was another day and countless glasses of water later before your symptoms eroded completely. You were sure your vision would forever be tinted purple before that, too, cleared up. The nurses cleared you from the infirmary and you thanked them a thousand times over for their help, and apologized they had to work so hard.

But you were pleased. You were free and you could eat solids again! You were nearly at the end of your second week in Sunagakure, and it had felt like an eternity.

Gaara was avoiding you; he had been allowed to leave the infirmary before you and had not returned to visit you. You couldn’t find him anywhere. Maybe it was for the best, you thought, strolling around the sand palace. Memories of the greenhouse blared more vivid than ever. The kisses, Gaara’s hands on your skin, what you had said to each other. Your face grew hot to recall it. Would you ever be able to face him again?

You groaned as you turned a corner. And just when we had made so much progress. Gaara had opened up to you and, though you hadn’t afforded him the same courtesy out of fear, you had been overjoyed to earn his vulnerability. Your shoulders dipped in disappointment when you came across a door you hadn’t seen before. It was arched with a golden knob. Movement from within. You did the polite thing and knocked.

“Come in.” It was Kankuro’s voice.

With that, you pushed the door open and looked around — it was a museum of puppets. Some sitting on the floor while others hung from the ceiling. It all would’ve been rather creepy, if not for Kankuro in the center, Crow in his lap like a baby while his father polished his arm.

“Oh,” Kankuro’s voice depressed. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Better than ever. I haven’t seen you in days.” You closed the door. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Oh …” Kankuro smiled faintly. “Yeah, sorry about that … I finished up paperwork early today, so decided to get back to my old hobby.” He lifted Crow’s arm to indicate his old hobby. “I’m sorry about the whole cactus thing. I haven’t been able to formally apologize; no time …”

“It’s okay, really!” You said.

“It’s really not,” Kankuro said. “What if we had needed Gaara to be, y’know, lucid?”

“We didn’t need to dive right into it the way we did. We could’ve inspected it some more.”

“You weren’t as cautious because you trusted me,” Kankuro said. He sighed. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I deserve to feel like shit.”

You leaned against his table. “Where did you even get it? Where’d you hear about it?”

“Read about it,” Kankuro said. “It was in one of the books I had sent to the office while I was doing research on …” He paused. “Other stuff … I thought it’d be funny.”

A beat. “It was kind of funny,” You said.

“Maybe.” Kankuro lowered Crow’s arm to face you. “But, it was irresponsible, really, with everything going on.”

You couldn’t refute that, but you didn’t want Kankuro feeling bad, either. You liked him happy.

You tried to throw Kankuro a bone. “It could’ve been worse.”

“What if you and Gaara had gotten like that when that rogue had attacked you? What if it had a violent effect on Gaara and he hurt you or went on a rampage? What if it had killed you both?”

All horrific scenarios. All totally possible. The bone plunged into the abyss. “Huh … May — Maybe don’t think about those things?”

“The truth is …” Kankuro began. “It was fun to be able to relate to Gaara as a brother first and the Kazekage second, like old times. I was thrilled about having a new edition to our family. Nervous at first, obviously, but then I met you, and you were so …” Kankuro motioned toward you. “You. The last few years have been so bloody. The Fourth Ninja War and everything. Madara — you don’t need to know who that is, honestly, count yourself lucky. It was nice to have things be so lighthearted … But, I got carried away. I truly am sorry.”

You said nothing, soaking in the indirect flattery. You watched as Kankuro cradled Crow in his lap. “You really love Gaara, don’t you?”

Kankuro, satisfied with his job, set Crow aside. “I do. After everything he’s been through — after everything Rasa put him through … He’s really come far. Far beyond what anyone would have expected of him. He’s gained the respect of our whole village. I hate that I might’ve jeopardized that.”

“He told me,” You said. “About his past.”

Kankuro waited expectantly. “And …?”

“It changes nothing about the way I’ve come to feel about him,” You said. “Besides deepening my respect. I wish there was some way I could excise the pain he’s suffered from all he’s come to learn from it.”

Kankuro appeared stunned. “That’s … I feel the exact same way.”

He’s so much like Hideo. You tilted your head, and it was like seeing a reflection in water. You found your brother’s face in Kankuro’s.

“Don’t worry about anything.” Hideo’s smile replaced the sun. “No matter what, I’ll always be there for you.”

Kankuro stared. “Hey. (Y/n)?”

“… Yes?”

He stared. “Promise me, no matter what, you’ll take care of Gaara. Be a good wife to him? He deserves that.”

Your heart lurched, but you remained still.

“I will,” You whispered. “I promise.”

You couldn’t bear Kankuro’s presence anymore and so promised to see him at dinner. You stalked the halls like a ghost before venturing toward the hall leading to your room.

You retired to your room, tired from nothing.

A hawk waited for you.

Panic seized your heart and wet your palms. The hawk flapped its wing in hello as your stomach spun and spun and spun.

Oh, gods. You could see your father’s wrath seeping from the letter. You wanted to hole up in the corner and die, but your hands worked to undo the letter from the hawk’s latch.

You waited a beat or two before unfurling it. The hawk abandoned your window, leaving you alone with your father’s words. You exhaled through chattering teeth and braced the moment you saw the black ink.

Dearest (Y/n), Forgive me.

“What?” You gawked, sinking to the foot of your bed.

My sweet girl, my precious star come from heaven to grace my earth, will you forgive an old man of his foibles? I have spent these last few days deep in thought. I have been horrible to you. My only daughter. It is only natural you come to despise me. How Hideo would despise me as well, if he knew. However, only the gods could comprehend how much I’ve missed you. By the time you receive this letter, I will be on my way to Sunagakure —

“What?!” You slipped to the floor.

— to help with the wedding preparations. I long to meet my future son-in-law. Please let everyone know I mean to arrive in a matter of days. Yours truly, Father.

You set the letter aside.

Your father was coming here.

And no word about the mission you had been sent on. He only desired to meet Gaara. Hope brightened inside of you. Maybe he meant it …? Hell, after the weeks you’d had, you were ready to believe anything. Only one clue suggested Father’s change of heart might be real:

He never left the Oasis village. In all your life, he had been too paranoid to step one foot away from his home. And why, if you were already here? If he was sincere …

If he was sincere … You were free.

You would never have to reveal your mission — or even better, maybe your father would reveal it all and ask for forgiveness? The future — always so bleak — vivified, star-bright inside you. The dream became more of a reality to you. You could marry Gaara and put this all behind you …

Or it was all a trick, and the old man plotted to strangle you in your sleep. That was possible, too.

You had only one option: wait until you could speak to your father in person. If you tried to go forth with his wishes or expose the plan, what if you ruined everything forever? If he was coming, a confrontation with him would either confirm or deny your wishes.

You wouldn’t get in your own way. You would wait for him to come and reveal his true colors.

You went to bed with a letter you left intact.

You twirled your fork at the breakfast table, eyes on the door. Everyone else was present — Kankuro, Temari, even Baki, who joined for breakfast occasionally. Gaara was the missing link. Apparently, he had resumed his place in the office for the morning. But the truth was glaring: Gaara was still avoiding you.

You slammed your fork down after a ten minute grace period. “This is just silly! He can’t still be thinking about the greenhouse!”

“He can,” Baki said, arms crossed. “Speaking of, from what we gathered, neither of you were seen. And there’s been no gossip our shinobi have picked up on the streets —”

“That’s all important, but that’s not what I meant,” You dismissed with a sigh. “He’s still ashamed personally. I don’t see why, though; I took it as a compliment.”

Baki cleared his throat as Temari and Kankuro snickered, the former rotating her plate for no reason at all.

“I’ve already forgiven him and it wasn’t his fault! He’s a man,” You continued to rant. For once, you could enjoy his company without the mission hanging over your head, and today he chose to be absent? “He has urges, and so what? So do I —“

“Perhaps something came up.” Baki hastened to change the subject. “Gaara’s not known to be late.”

“He’s been avoiding me for days,” You pressed. With a pout, you added, “I was hoping we could discuss something …”

You hadn’t dropped the news of your father’s coming yet.

Kankuro shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to speak to you after all that.”

“You stay out of this,” Temari teased.

“Speaking of matters to discuss,” Baki said. “I choose to join you all today because many shinobi from Oasis and Suna will be at this wedding,” Baki turned to you. “We’ll, of course, need to combine the traditions of both villages so as not to aggravate either. I wanted to know if there were any specific traditions we need to keep in mind.”

“Well, actually,” You began. “I think we should wait a little longer to talk about this. My f —“

A ninja poofed into the dining room, crouched in a bow.

“What’s happening?” Temari set her food aside, alert.

“Lord Kazekage has requested an audience with you all,” the ninja said. “It is of the utmost importance.”

The four of you piled into the Kazekage’s office and were greeted with the sounds of crying. Gaara’s back was turned to you all as he looked out the window. A girl was kneeling on the floor, sobbing.

“What’s going on here?” Baki shut the door. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Temari appraised the girl — she gawked. “Matsuri?”

Matsuri’s sob wracked her body.

“Why is she crying?” Kankuro asked. “Gaara?”

Gaara turned to face the group, looking crestfallen. He raised his hand and a letter appeared.

The ninja who had brought you all stepped forward. “Matsuri was caught conversing with some gossip columnist about what she saw in the greenhouse a few days ago.”

The room erupted in cries of confusion.

“What?” Kankuro said.

“You can’t be serious!” Temari cried out.

Your gaze remained on Gaara, but he wouldn’t look at you.

“It wasn’t me!” Matsuri was hysterical, waving her hand out. “It wasn’t! It was forged!”

“She was seen by some personnel. She was leaving the ‘office,’” the ninja was heavy on air quotes, “of the columnist only a few hours ago.”

“No!” Matsuri howled. “I’d never do that!”

“You might, if you thought it would send (Y/n) home.” You could hear the sharp disappointment in Temari’s voice as she approached Matsuri. “Remember how sad you were at the party? You even asked me if Gaara had to marry, if there was some way he could reconsider.”

Matsuri stammered as heads turned to her.

“I even had to step away to console you,” Temari added. She sighed, and with a voice fit for scolding a child: “Do you have … any idea what this could do to Gaara’s reputation?”

You backed away until you hit a wall, anxiety squeezing breath out of your lungs and refusing to let new oxygen in.

“Please, I didn’t do it!” Matsuri cried. “Please, please —”

“This is bad,” Baki hissed. “What if the council learns of this?”

“They may already know if she’s” — Kankuro shot a finger in Matsuri’s direction — “been unloading our dirty laundry everywhere. You know how quickly rumors spread— and the old geezers like to pretend they’re above it all. They’ll be the first to get the scope.”

Oh gods. Not this. Not now. Having this all happen privately was one thing, but now the village could know?

And your father, who was coming to the village? Father would know.

No. No. If he had new plans, would this ruin those, too? You couldn’t breathe; there would be no surviving his rage. Slut, whore, harlot. He would disown you.

No, keep it down. You can’t panic now. No. No.

“It wasn’t me …” Matsuri sobbed miserably. “Please …”

“Matsuri,” Gaara said, the first word he had spoken since you had all arrived. “Stand up. Please.”

Matsuri obeyed, standing slowly to meet her maker. She wrung hands in her tear-stained shirt.

“We all believe in second chances here,” Gaara said.

“Not all of us,” Kankuro hissed.

“And the truth has yet to be revealed to its full capacity.” Gaara ignored his brother. “They’ll be a hearing for you. Understand?”

Matsuri sniffed, knowing better than to argue with her Kazekage, and nodded. Gaara gestured something you did not understand and more ninja appeared, kneeling before him.

“Send her away,” Gaara told them. “Keep eyes on her, but do not harm her.”

They did so, dragging Matsuri out the door, one of her arms in one of theirs.

“What an idiot!” Kankuro slammed a hand against the desk. “Just when we thought she finally got over her little crush on you — but no, she just had to double down!” He threw his hands up. “This is ridiculous! How can she say she loves you and then go and —”

“This is all your fault!” Temari rounded on him. “You and your fucking purple pandemonium —“

“We have to think of the future now,” Baki said. “We must work to mitigate the damage Matsuri might have caused.”

“I knew this was going to come to bite us in the ass somehow.” Temari moaned into her hand. “It can’t get any worse …”

“It can.” You were about to shatter to pieces. You stood outside of yourself, seeing words leave your mouth. “I received a letter from my father last night. He’s on his way.”

…

The room erupted.

“Thanks for jinxing it, Temari!” Kankuro shouted.

“What?” Temari cried. “He’s coming here? He can’t!”

“He can,” Gaara said calmly. “That’s good news, isn’t it? I finally get to meet my future father-in-law.”

“Lord Kazekage,” Baki said. “Read the room.”

“He can’t come now!” Temari picked at her ponytails. “We have nothing prepared for him! We haven’t even started preparing for the wedding yet!”

“He’d like to help with preparations, actually,” You said, desperate to cling to something to keep yourself grounded. “H — How, I have no idea —”

“He cannot learn of this, most of all,” Baki said.

Finally, Gaara’s eyes found you. He studied you as the others argued. He stepped away from his desk and came to you.

“Who wants to bet with our luck he already knows,” Kankuro threw up his hands.

“We can’t think the worst,” Baki said.

“All because of a stupid plant!” Temari cried.

“Everyone calm down,” Gaara said above the chaos.

Heads turned to him. His attention was on you, however; he took your hand in his. His calm pulse, thrumming through his palm, soothed your own.

“The villagers are not nearly as fickle as all that,” he muttered. “They will understand (Y/n) and I are young and soon to be married.”

It was a few seconds before Kankuro shrugged. “You know, he’s got a point.”

“That may be true, Lord Kazekage,” Baki began. “But you will have detractors who will take this misstep to create division.”

“Certainly,” Gaara said without a beat passed. “The next few days will be essential. Without a doubt, the council will want a word with me. We will handle that as a team. We can also address Matsuri,” Gaara paused; the hurt darkened his face. “and prepare for Lord Boutoku’s arrival.

No one spoke, but you could feel the spirits in the room lifting.

Gaara smiled faintly. “Even if we must spend all day working out these issues, it will get done.”

“All right, Gaara. You win.” Kankuro sighed and turned to Baki. “Mind splitting that migraine medication with me?”

“I second that,” Temari said.

By the time preparations were ironed out, it was sundown.

“Sheesh,” Kankuro said. “I’ve never wanted to rest so bad.” He held the door open for all of you. “You coming?”

“I’ll be a moment,” Gaara said. “I would like to speak to (Y/n) for a while.”

With no objections, Kankuro, Temari, and Baki exited, leaving you alone with your fiancé.

The moment they were gone, you collapsed into a chair. Despite your fatigue, though, you were blown away by Gaara’s strength. Nothing threw him off. And despite your spiraling — and the spiraling of everyone else — he had simply taken control. You could see why he was the Kazekage.

It was so attractive.

“(Y/n),” Gaara said, coming to the front of the desk with arms crossed. “I noticed you earlier. Your breathing was rapid, and you looked ill. Are you all right?”

The panic inside of you then was the panic inside of you now. You had only numbed it with Gaara’s help, but it had manifested in other ways, like the exhaustion gnawing at your bones now.

“… No,” You said.

Gaara knelt. “It’s all right not to be.”

His words uncorked something in you. Pain stabbed your throat, and the heat under your skin disturbed you. “I’m so afraid …”

Gaara came forward and enveloped you in a hug. Once you recovered from the surprise, you hid in the crook of his shoulder. He was steady, an anchor for you to cling to. You hugged him harder.

“I won’t allow for this arrangement to fail,” he said. “I will prove myself worthy of you.”

You laughed in disbelief. “Like you haven’t already?” You leaned back to meet his eye. “You were so strong and composed. I know how much Matsuri means to you, and I’m sorry. Thank you. I … I don’t think I could do any of this without you. I’m so tired.”

Humility hung Gaara’s head. “I am happy to have impressed you. I feel fatigued, as well. And …” He blushed. “If circumstances were different, I would prefer for you to share my bed like before. When we were in my tent …”

Ah, yes. Sleeping … Sleeping with Gaara. Weren’t there other ways to deal with stress?

You withdrew your hands. You did not want to think about sleeping with Gaara. Not now.

Gaara moved away as well. Neither of you spoke in the elastic stretch of time. Your eyes flickered to his lips … You thought of how he had kissed you, licked you in the greenhouse. How ready he was to devour you. Show me. You shivered. What you wouldn’t give for him to top you now, your legs wrapped around him as he laid you onto his desk …

You cleared your throat as you left your chair. You looked away from Gaara’s face before he could notice the hungry expression lingering on yours.

“I know you’re not feeling your best,” Gaara said. “But is there anything I can do to help?”

Please don’t ask me that. There’s so much you could do — do to me.

“No,” You said. “I’m better now, Gaara. Really!”

Gaara was not convinced. “I don’t like it when you lie about your feelings.”

His bluntness surprised you.

I lie to you all the time, you just don’t know.

He stepped toward you. He was only a few inches taller than you, but with such a commanding presence, he loomed. “I hope you don’t think I’ve been avoiding you.”

You raised your head, desperately trying to hold your own. “Oh no?”

“It’s the truth.” Gaara’s fingers grazed your own. “Despite leaving the infirmary before you, it took me some time to recover from … all we did.”

You swallowed. Were you supposed to take that as an insult or a compliment?

“I’m not usually touched,” Gaara said. “Nor do I touch others … But sometimes, I still feel you on my skin.” He wrapped fingers around yours. “Please, let me be the one to bring you peace. If you need me to …”

You blushed. What was he saying? You couldn’t talk about this! Not now! And … You couldn’t use him to make yourself feel better.

“Gaara …” You backed away, your fingers falling from his grasp in the process. “I’m so tired. If I seem off, it’s because I need to sleep. Thank you for everything. I mean it. But I really am fine.” You bowed to show your respect for his compassion. “Goodnight.”

Gaara let the moment fall. He studied you still as you inched toward the door, but did nothing to stop you.

“Goodnight,” he muttered to you as you hurried out the door.

You returned to your room hot for an entirely different reason. You changed into a nightgown before slipping into bed, but the idea of sleep was risible as your skin tortured you with phantom memories of Gaara’s lips at your neck, hands at your breasts, erection pressing into your inner thigh …

What would he have done had the two of you gone uninterrupted? He was clearly inexperienced, but his passion could make up for that …Definitely. You squeezed your legs. You would show him what to do and then, just like before, his fervor would lead the way …

You throbbed.

You couldn’t sleep like this.

You shivered at the memory of Gaara’s baritone in your ear, hot breath on your skin …

“Gaara …” You breathed into your pillow as your hand snaked past the hem of your nightgown. Your fingertips grazed the fat of your clothed vulva. You gasped; the sharp pleasure sent you squeezing your thighs together. You fidgeted to allow your hand more access, tapped your clit gently.

Gaara’s weight came over you. His tongue ran across yours, a moan low in his throat as you unclasped the buttons of his trench coat —

“Mm …” You slipped your hand past the elastic of your panties. Your folds, already moist, wet your fingers as you found a rhythm.

“(Y/n) …” Gaara’s erection kneaded into your thigh, poking as his lips sucked against the tender spots of your neck. His hands shadowed your bare breasts as he bucked into you —

“Don’t stop!” You clung to him as he fucked you, his cock stuffing you. “Just like that, come on, oh, gods —“

You flicked and worked your clit, quickening your pace as you replayed the mental image of engulfing Gaara’s cock, your fingers now his in your reimagining. You rolled on your back and spread your legs for easier access to your clit, your breath tapering into soft pants.

“Come, (Y/n),” Gaara ordered — in that tone, with that voice. “Come for me, come …!”

“Gaara!” Your head fell into the pillow, your fingers frantically circling your clit as your walls clenched around nothing. You held Gaara in your mind as stars exploded behind your eyelids. You settled your back, pained from arching, into the mattress. You rolled your fingers now from pure habit as you rode out your climax.

You pulled your fingers away from your slick folds, overrun with arousal. You should get up, clean yourself, but the exhaustion seduced your eyes to flutter closed, and sleep took you instead.

Members of the Suna council filtered into the room — and froze when they spotted the four of you already seated.

You corrected your posture, forced a poker face you had come to master. Today, you discarded the casual wear you had become used to and had opted for one of the many kimonos you had brought to Sunagakure. It seemed the right thing to do. You strove to use every tool in your arsenal to appear ladylike and good-natured. Especially after your … eventful night.

“Elders.” Gaara greeted them with a respectful nod, though he remained seated.

“Wha —“ Joseki stammered. “How —?”

“It seems,” Ebizo began, studying Gaara as he found a seat, “our Lord Kazekage has beaten us to the punch.”

You eyed the group but could find no female. “Where is Ikanago?”

“If you must know,” Ebizo grunted as he lowered into his seat, “Lady Ikanago was so excited to hear about this … greenhouse fiasco, she had an accident at home and now nurses a broken hip. She will be absent for our meetings until further notice.”

“I’m …” You struggled as Kankuro snickered from across you, “sorry to hear about that.”

“If the Kazekage insists, then we will get to the point,” Joseki said. He still stood as his contemporaries sat, ready to round on Gaara. “What is this we’ve been hearing about drugs and — and orgies?”

“Pardon?” Temari said.

Oh no. You resisted a facepalm; it sounded like the rumors were doing what all rumors did: bifurcate, multiply, mutate. So the story now was that you and Gaara were throwing orgies while getting high? This was what you had to deal with? For the first time since worries about rumors began, you felt a surge of resentment for Matsuri.

Thanks a lot .

“Nothing but mendacious chatter, I assure you,” Gaara’s voice was placid, ever composed. He sat with you on his right, siblings on his left, his fingers knitted together on the table. “Please, Elder, sit down.”

“Reckless, My Lord, reckless — even if the rumors are exaggerated!” Goza leaned forward. “Under the influence, again? My Lord, we warned you about a second time.”

“And I abided by the warning,” Gaara retorted. “I was simply caught unawares.”

“Lord Kazekage,” Ryusa said, already exasperated. “It is only a matter of time before this information travels outside of the village. We will be a laughing stock!”

“And what of your student? This Matsuri?” Sajo said. “She’s awaiting a hearing! Who will attend it?”

The council room flared with so much chatter it was hard to decipher who was saying what where.

“So disgraceful —”

“If she’s proven guilty —?”

“We cannot afford what this gossip will cost us —!”

You glanced at Joseki, who was silent. And why wouldn’t he be? All he had to do was allow the council to speak for him. This is what he’s always wanted: for the council to turn against Gaara …

“Lord Kazekage,” Ebizo spoke above the rest, compelling the others to silence, “understands his role as Kage. I highly doubt anything that has been said today hasn’t been considered by himself a thousand times over.”

“We can only wonder, now, can’t we?” Sajo shot a finger toward you. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

You shot him your coldest noblewoman stare in return. “I do not tremble at the prospect of foul rumors and neither does my fiancé; only the shallow entertain them.”

“Perhaps you should,” Sajo replied. “You are to be married to Lord Kazekage in a month’s time. You are meant to be a lady and yet you run around like a — ”

“Enough.”

Despite the council’s attempts to intimidate him, Gaara’s title and gravitas forced them quiet. Heads turned to him expectantly, but for seconds more he built anticipation.

Oh, boy, here it comes …

“For years, I have suffered the cold harangues of this council,” Gaara began. “You have given me orders. You have insulted my family. Yet, I have taken it all in stride for the good of the village and those of you who purport to love it and hold it in high esteem.”

“Lo —Lord Kazekage.” Sajo gaped at his Kazekage. “Do you accuse us of simple lip service?”

“Sajo is right,” Ryusa said. “You can’t expect —?”

“I expect you to advise me.” Gaara stood and pressed palms flat on the table. “So, advise me. If you love this village as much as you say, you will rally behind me. You will help to alleviate the chaos this incident might have caused. So far, I have received aid only from my siblings, future wife, and former sensei. This is what they have come up with.” Gaara motioned to Temari. “My sister, Lady Temari, will take to the streets to answer questions. My brother, Lord Kankuro, will carry the brunt of this incident and admit it was caused by his prank. Though, I doubt the people of the Sand will be so quick to throw me away on simple gossip as my council.”

“I agree with Lord Kazekage,” Baki said. “I think his role in defeating Madara Uchiha will have certainly solidified their love for him.”

Kankuro held up defensive hands. “Just our opinion, however.”

“Regardless,” Gaara went on as if neither Baki or Kankuro had spoken, “whether or not we succeed in containing and curtailing this mishap will be on your hands as well as mine.”

No one spoke. It was a tall order; something told you the urge to critique the young Kage while feeling no responsibility to guide him was a tantalizing one. But if his failure was theirs? Less so.

You thought of how timid Gaara was with you upon your first meeting, how even a hand hold had seemed promiscuous. He was a gentleman always, and the insinuation he would rope you into group sex — and it would be easy for many to believe — was not funny to you. Your boiling blood challenged your poker face. Do they really have so little faith in him? After everything he’s done?

Ebizo was first to break the silence. “My sister, Lady Chiyo, had faith in our Lord Kazekage. As do I. He is a strong man, one of conviction.” Ebizo gazed at you consolingly. “And Lady (Y/n), though I know little of her, shows bravery in facing these rumors head on. Their mistakes are ones any one of us would have made in our youth. These are peaceful times, fit for celebration. Perhaps these two got carried away with their feelings. I agree with Lord Kazekage’s assessment of the situation.”

You mouthed a thank you to Ebizo and caught his imperceptible nod your way.

“As do I.”

Your lips parted in astonishment as the attention went to Joseki.

“I, of all of you, have been the most harsh on Lord Kazekage.” Joseki cast his gaze on the table. “We can only hope to earn his forgiveness by dedicating ourselves to his rule.”

The council gazed at one another with surprise and confusion. This time no one spoke for a different reason.

Ikanago’s spoken to him, You theorized with relief. Or maybe it was you, so willing to vacation with Gaara despite his warnings. He hadn’t managed to scare you off. Had that counted for anything?

Gaara motioned to you. “My fiancé has something to announce to you all.”

On cue, you stood, swallowing your nerves along the way. You squared your shoulders as you said, “My father, Lord Boutoku, will be arriving in a matter of days.”

Excited murmurs sounded among the council.

“A shame Ikanago won't be here for that,” Kankuro said under his breath.

“We will need your help in preparing a warm greeting for him,” You continued.

The initial chaos of the meeting mellowed into an enthused optimism as it came to a close. The council members sung a completely different tune now, praising Gaara and overjoyed at the prospect of your father’s arrival. Sajo approached you, seemingly to apologize for his almost-comment, but Gaara stepped in front of you, armed with a pointed look, and Sajo hurriedly excused himself from the hall.

“You did so well, little brother.” Kankuro patted Gaara on the shoulder as the elders left. Only you, Baki, and his siblings were left.

“Excellent, truly, Lord Kazekage,” Baki added.

“Truly flawless!” Temari said, looking impressed as she crossed her arms.

Gaara pinkened under the praise. The gravitas befitting his station had vanished, leaving only the man you knew. He nodded sheepishly at his siblings but eyed you.

“I don’t think,” You stepped toward him, “anyone could’ve done better.”

Gaara smiled.

“It is too bad about Ikanago’s hip, though,” You added.

“Not surprising news.” Kankuro gathered up significant papers at the table. “These relics would rather die than retire so those younger than them can come in and actually change things.” He laid a hand over his heart. “I, on the other hand, will retire by the ripe age of thirty — at the latest.”

“We all hope you do,” Temari joked.

Days passed. Preparations for your father’s arrival were laid out, and Gaara, most of all, was happy he wouldn’t be caught by surprise by his future father-in-law.

Despite your bleak anecdotes, Gaara was excited to meet him. You refused to dull his enthusiasm by sharing anything too intimate, especially since it seemed your father would be on his best behavior anyway.

Maybe. Oh, gods, you hoped so.

There was still Matsuri to handle, but Gaara told you they would delay her hearing until he had ample time for it.

“It’s so weird seeing you behind that desk now,” You said to Gaara.

Gaara was back to work as Kazekage after his long sabbatical. Kankuro and Temari assisted in ceding him urgent paperwork and documentation. Kankuro told him he could hold down the fort for a little longer, but Gaara had insisted.

“It’s for the best.” Gaara smiled at you.

“Maybe it is,” Kankuro teased. “We see what happens when our little brother has too much free time on his hands.”

“I’d like to thank you, too, Kankuro,” Gaara said, “for all your hard work.”

“Ah, Gaara …” Kankuro grinned. “What are brothers for?”

Gaara sobered. “I prefer Lord Kazekage.”

Kankuro’s ease tapered. “Oh, I — I —“

Gaara smiled. “Just kidding.”

You and Temari laughed as Kankuro wrapped an arm around Gaara and pulled him in for a side-hug.

“You got me!” Kankuro said. “I really have grown on you!”

Temari and Kankuro left Gaara to it. You were alone with him; the silence rang in your ears. You sighed into it. Could it be? Were you actually … relaxed? After the whirlwind, also referred to as the last few days, you were calm. The room had been decluttered of extraneous plants and puppets and now appeared too bare to you. Emptied. You studied the paperwork pile, handed Gaara a sheet of paper stamped with importance.

Gaara accepted it. “Thank you.”

You let your hand dangle in the air. “Can you believe it?”

He raised his head. “What?”

“Exactly.” You smiled. “It’s actually quiet. What did we do to deserve it?”

Gaara echoed your joy with a small smile. “You’re right. I’m used to Temari and Kankuro yelling at each other on their way out.”

You giggled. For a moment, you stared at him working, his motions rhythmic. Slip, read, stamp. Slip, read, stamp. Your gaze trailed up his forearms until you noticed the hunch at his shoulders.

“You still seem a bit tense.”

“Hm.” Gaara’s attention was on a document. “There’s still much to do and not all of it pleasant.”

You came around the desk, your heels clicking against the floor, until you were behind Gaara. You chuckled with surprise; he seemed not to notice you. Perhaps he thought you were looking out the window? You settled hands on his shoulders from behind.

He paused. You kneaded his shoulders, unsure if you were doing it right until Gaara’s groan vindicated you.

Gaara cleared the gravel from his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to be the only one relaxed.”

Gaara leaned into your touch. His shoulders fell as he sighed. His hair brushed against your lower stomach. You leaned forward, your arms crisscrossing around his chest, your cheek brushing against his. Gaara met your eye, his heartbeat thrumming against your wrist, a sound thundering in the taut quiet.

His hand slipped past your neck, fingers pressing into the onset of your spine. “Come.”

Don’t use that word, please.

Gaara plucked the hem of your top to beckon you. This was a bad idea … And yet you inclined as he did, his magnetism too great to resist, and your lips met.

“Gaa …” He kissed his name away. Gaara caressed your cheek, deepening the kiss as a consequence. It was neither the timid kiss in the lagoon nor the lustful kiss in the greenhouse. It sat at the nexus of both, familiar and new. Lingering. You craved more. You tried to voice his name again and again you were silenced.

Gaara broke away after a second, sensing your resistance though you did nothing to resist. “I’m sorry … It’s been so long since I kissed you. I’ve been wanting to do it again.”

The warmth in your cheeks alerted you to your blush. You blinked. “We shouldn’t.” Your protest sounded futile. “We can’t. Not after the council, I … We have to behave, I think … I’m sorry — this is my fault, I got too … This is reckless …” You swayed back, swallowing in a dry mouth. “The door — It isn’t even locked.”

“And if I lock it?”

You met both Gaara’s gaze and challenge with silence. You froze as he stood and strode to the door. It locked it with a clink. You released a broken exhale as he returned, face inches from yours.

“Answer me.”

You licked your lips, tasting the remnants of him there. Your answer should be no, followed with a rapid shake of your head, but the word slipped from your lips to tell the truth:

“Yes.”

Gaara took your hand, led you forward until you were sinking into him —

And against his lips again. You cupped Gaara’s face as he embraced you, crushing you to his chest. Your breasts sat plush against his trench-coat, eliciting a soft gasp from your fiancé. Gaara’s lips parted to admit a groan, but you swallowed it before grazing your tongue on his lower lip and inviting yourself into his mouth. Your nail snatched on one of the buttons of his trench-coat. You sighed at the memory of his erection, firmly pressed against you in the greenhouse. You anticipated it now. You adjusted until both of your legs were on either side of him, your backside resting on the desk’s edge. You fisted the fabric of his coat. Gaara swiped at your tongue; you gasped, a throb from below sending you grinding against his abdomen.

“(Y/n) …” Gaara broke away only to kiss a path down your jaw.

You moaned as his teeth grazed the tender neckskin. You bit your lip as his hand crept up the hem of your shirt. The feel of skin on skin wiped your mind blank.

Yes yes yes —

A knock.

You came up from water. Gaara pulled away; the loss of his counterweight sent you stumbling to your feet. Gaara composed himself, glaring at the surface of his desk before helping you away from it. After a few beats, he said, “Come in.”

The knob turned — and turned.

“Oh!” You hurried to unlock it. A shinobi awaited you on the other side.

“Uh, Lady (Y/n).” He nodded Gaara’s way. “Lord Kazekage.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well, it’s … Lord Boutoku has arrived.”

#gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara x y/n #gaara smut #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto smut #my work

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skzcollision · 10 months

Text

churchboy!felix x afab!reader (6/7)

| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 |

genre: fluff, smut, teen angst

synopsis: certain expectations come with being a pastor’s daughter. in everyone’s eyes you are a properly behaved girl, albeit rather timid. according to your parents, you aren’t as devoted to the church as you should be. they entrust you to an old family friend’s son, deeming him to be a good influence. these circumstances bring you two closer together and stir up all kinds of emotions.

MINORS DNI

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Fear has caught up to you now.

Your resolve to leave that life behind had blinded you initially. Every single morning, feeling as though you were waking up in somebody else’s house, despite those four walls being the ones you grew up in. The people who raised you, complete strangers. Your entire life planned ahead of you, and you having no say in it.

It made sense to want to leave, it made sense to want to try.

But the reality of it all is finally sinking in. You are out on your own for the first time in forever. This is the situation you have thrust yourself in, and you either commit to it—or you choke.

That first night, after your falling out with your mother, Felix drives you into the city. He holds your hand, tells you everything is going to be okay, and even that is not enough to calm your turmoil.

His sister is kind enough to let you stay with her in the meantime before the semester starts and you move into your dorm.

“Here,” he pushes into the bedroom, carrying a pile of clothes. “Some extra… stuff.” He chews on his bottom lip with worry at your blank expression.

“Thanks,” you reply quietly, making a feeble attempt to smile.

It does nothing to quell him. He rushes to your side and gently pulls you into his arms, fingers lazily scratching at your scalp as you lean against his chest. “We’ll go back, when they’re– when it’s safe. And then we’ll grab your things.”

You nod wordlessly. A shiver runs through your body, still shaken and recovering from crying nearly the entire way there, and he hugs you tighter.

“Are you– you’re staying, right?” Your blood-shot eyes settle on Felix’s face, shadowed and lined with concern.

“Yes,” he nods vigorously. “Of course, I’m staying.” With a kiss to your forehead, he whispers, “I’m never leaving your side, remember?”

You lie together, just like you always have—warm bodies pressed against one another, leaving no space in between. He kisses your face, grazes his fingers along your arm, until both of you slip into your slumbers.

Felix does not pry nor does he expect you to talk about it at all. You try to make things go back to normal—and they do, somewhat, on a surface level.

Both of you fall back into your playful dynamic, and even adjust swimmingly to your temporary living arrangement. But neither of you can deny the shift in the air or the upset beneath your facade.

You are as physically close as can be, and yet you have never felt so far away. Separated by a barrier that wasn’t there before, the distance growing bigger and bigger, and him, powerless to stop it.

Even so, he plans to keep this up until you are ready to fully open up to him.

“Do you need help?”

You shake your head no, pulling on the tab to open the car door. “I’m not gonna grab everything.”

“Alright, give me a call if you need anything.”

It’s dim and cool when you enter the house. Even though you and Felix made sure to come by at a time when your parents would be at work, you immediately race up the stairs to your room, filled with a sense of urgency.

Everything is exactly where you left them, save for the fresh batch of laundry in the basket. You get to work, stuffing those clothes into a duffel bag and any other personal belongings—you never owned much to begin with. You also sneak into your father’s bureau, collecting any important documents you may need to present to the school’s administration.

Once you are certain you haven’t missed anything, you quietly make your way back down.

That is when you notice someone is sleeping on the sofa in the living room.

It’s your mother. She is deep in her slumber, you can tell by the way her mouth hangs ajar. A cold compress rests on her forehead. She must have called in sick from work. Sometimes she would get these really bad migraines.

The creaking of the old wooden floors don’t concern you as your mother has always been a heavy sleeper. You pad over to her, staring upon her sleeping face. You always thought that she looked the most peaceful when unconscious.

Although you can’t help but notice how perturbed she looks now; a scowl on her face, thin lips pulled tight and brows drawn together. She looks older than when you last saw her, and two weeks haven’t passed yet.

A sudden wave of anger rushes through you. Here you are worrying about her, when she hasn’t even bothered to check with you since then.

You wanted to believe that your parents still loved you, even if it was in their own sick and twisted way—but after everything that you’ve been through, you know that’s not the case.

“All I ever wanted from you was–“ You hiccup a sob, cheeks glistening with tears. “Was for you to just be my mom,” you bristle, voice trembling at her unmoving face.

It is as pointless as talking to a brick wall. She doesn’t hear you, and she never will. You furiously swipe at your face with the back of your arm, sniffling.

You take a moment to collect yourself before heading back to Felix’s car.

“That’s everything?”

You nod, clicking in your seatbelt. “Hey, do your parents know about, um– all of this?”

He gazes toward the familiar street. “Well they do know that something happened, and that we’re both staying with my sister.”

“And they’re okay with it? They’re okay with me?”

Your parents may be a lost cause, but you still want Felix’s to think positively of you.

“Yeah, yeah, they’re fine. They’re not, uh–“

“They’re not like my parents.”

He pauses, pursing his lips. “That’s… not what I was going to say. I meant like, hardcore or– or you know, like really strict.”

“And that’s exactly what my parents are,” you speak through a hollow laugh. Hands playing with the straps of your bag, you avert your gaze. “I see you with them, and your siblings… and I want that too. Always have.”

Your eyes drift back to him when his fingers come up to stroke your hair, a gloomy look in his stare. It is not the type that makes you feel pitied or pathetic. Something even worse plummets to the pit of your stomach.

Felix is deeply unhappy. You see it in his eyes—those beautiful, brown eyes that once sparkled every time you looked into them, now surrounded by darkness from lack of sleep, and containing nothing but feigned joy.

You did this to him.

“It kills me,” your name has never sounded so sad coming out of his mouth.

On a typical night like this, you put on a series and settle yourselves on the couch.

You pull away from him abruptly, getting up halfway through an episode. His hand travels to your wrist. “Where you going?”

Distracted by the action on the screen, you falter momentarily. "Wait, I'm gonna get an ice cream."

“Oh, you want ice cream,” his voice drops an octave, adopting a playful tone. “I have one for you."

"Huh," you look back in time to catch the downward flicker of his eyes, matching the suggestive tone in his words. It takes a moment for you to register as your gazes lock. When you do, the nearest pillow is in your hand and you’re bonking him across the head several times with it. "You are such a pervert," you giggle at his absurd behaviour.

“Ow!” Felix cowers, crossing his arms over himself and shouting, "okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

You move past the couch, making your way into the kitchen. "You want one?"

"Which one, an ice cream? Or a…” He jokes again, sounding like he's about to laugh.

You whip your head around to see him faced towards you on the couch, beaming and waggling his brows depravedly. With that pillow still in your hand, you march towards him menacingly.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" He swerves to avoid your hits, hands coming to grip your shoulders.

Shaking your head with laughter, you turn back, finally getting a serious response from him, “and I’m good, thanks.”

There has always been mischief hiding behind that angel face of his, it becomes apparent when you two are alone like this. Although he’s been showing off that side of him a lot more lately, you know he is only trying to make you feel better.

That much is clear when he sees you coming out of the shower with a zoned out face and starts randomly attacking you with tickles despite only being in a towel.

With your mouth full of chocolatey caramel goodness, you curl yourself back against Felix. Both of you fall silent, attention more or less on the plot of the show.

When he speaks, it's so close to your ear, a shiver rolls down your spine. "Can I have a bite?"

You look at him incredulously over your shoulder, chuckling underneath your breath. "Lix, I asked you if you wanted one."

"Okay, never mind then." He says stoically, eyes returning to the screen.

Feeling bad now, you offer to feed him. "Here."

He wags his head in refusal, clearly putting on a show. "No, I'm okay."

With a roll of your eyes, you shove the bar against his mouth. "Just eat it."

The chocolate exterior cracks beneath his teeth as he indulges himself on a bite. It's quiet again as you share the ice cream bar, down to the last morsel.

As you're licking your lips free of the sticky residue the chocolate and cream left behind, you feel a cold pair of lips on the back of your neck. A few sensual kisses here and there, leaving the area wet and chilly.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

"Felix..." You hum, pressing further into his touch. A throaty moan slips from your mouth when he shifts over to the side of your neck and bites into the skin, a pleasant kind of pain, followed by soothing licks and nibbles.

Your vision gets blurry, from the pleasure you assume, but you quickly realize that they're tears. You blink them back, attempting to swallow down the lump in your throat. It is as if you have floated out of your body, and you are looking down, watching this very moment. He’s been grasping onto you tightly all this time, even when you don’t have the strength to hold him back—blindly staying by your side and expecting nothing in return.

Your body starts moving on its own. Sliding down onto your knees in front of Felix, you paw at the growing erection over his joggers.

He says your name, jumping back in surprise. "Wait, are you sure?" A hand comes up to smooth back your hair. "I really was just kidding."

Lifting your eyes to meet his, that are filled with trepidation and doubt, you nod your head. "Felix, I really want you in my mouth."

He should know better—you both should, considering the circumstances, your unresolved issues looming over your heads like a dark cloud, but it isn’t the fact that he’s been fantasizing about you in this position for the longest time; if it were, he’d stop things from going further. It’s the ring of torment in your voice and the earnest look in your wet eyes that throw his logic out of the window.

A twisted combination of sexual desire and sadness grips you both as you take his length into your mouth.

There is a certain kind of desperation with the way you grasp onto each other, fingers tangled in your hair as his hands cradle your cheeks, yours gripping his thighs as your mouth does unspeakable things to his cock. It is not the usual kind that possesses you at the very first touch, nor at the brink of an orgasm, but rather a distressing kind.

When he’s almost there, he looks at his surroundings through slitted eyes, hips withdrawing from you. “Hold o- on… don’t wanna make a mess.”

You whine, pressing down onto him until your nose is poking his abdomen. His fingers caress your cheek, and you exchange glances of understanding.

“Let me finish in your mouth, pretty baby?” He rasps out, his breathing unstable.

With your tongue on the slit of his tip and a moan of approval, his release spurts into your mouth in warm, thick ropes. The taste is not particularly pleasant, but because it comes from him, you take every single drop you can manage.

He sucks off the remaining beads dripping down your chin before groaning into your mouth, kissing you fully.

You begin crying immediately. Feelings of pure bliss and satiation usually arose after these intimate moments with Felix. You shouldn’t be feeling this empty, not when the love of your life is right here in front of you, holding you, kissing you.

This pushes him to tears as well, because no amount of effort is enough to erase your sorrow. Because there is an empty space in your heart, that even he, try as he might, could not fill.

⭒

author’s note: lmao so ok, i decided to just do one more part after this bc this one was getting a lil long. also it just makes more sense to end it here and split it? clearly didn’t plan this well enough lol anyway, stay tuned guys ;)

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#lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz felix #skz smut #stray kids #skz fanfic #lee felix fluff #skz fluff

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babyboiboyega · 1 year

Text

The Study Room Pt. 3 (HBCU!Shuri x Black!Fem!reader)

HBCU!Shuri x Black!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.9k (wHEW)

Content: fluff, a little profanity, angst, slight violence, shit is getting real lmao

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A/N: HELLO! I did change some things in the first part. Instead of Queen Ramonda calling Shuri, Okoye is the person who calls her! Mainly because I kind of changed my mind about bringing Ramonda back to life for this series. I love her character literally so much...but I think its important to stay with the storyline of how her death affected Shuri. I think that's all I have to say. OH! This series will have another name sooner rather than later! With the plot I have in my mind, "The Study Room" doesn't really fit...but we'll see!

Other than that...enjoy the third part!

TRANSLATIONS:

Ikumkani wam: my queen

Ukumkanikazi: queen

Ngoku: now

******

Recap:

“Okay. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

The smile on Shuri’s face radiated fondness and a softness that no one else on campus had seen as she watched your breaths even out. Even as she was sure that you were asleep, she continued to rub your hand, the motion that had put you to sleep relaxing her more and more.

You weren’t awake to hear her words, but she spoke them nonetheless into the darkened room.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

**********

You didn’t know how long you had been sleeping when you were awoken by your phone buzzing on the bedside table next to you. It had been so tempting to ignore it, but then the memory of recent events flew to the forefront of your mind. The only people you could think of that would call you at such a time of the night were close family members, Imani, and Imani’s parents. After the night’s events, it wasn’t surprising when you picked up your phone to see Imani’s mother calling you.

Quickly sliding out of bed, you quietly walked into Shuri’s bathroom, closing the door softly behind you.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N. It’s Mrs. Byers.”

It was easy to keep the fatigue at bay for the meantime, especially as you figured that she was only calling because of some kind of update on Imani. However, you couldn’t stop your eyes from closing, one of your hands reaching up to rub at them.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers. How’s Imani? Is everything okay?”

The both of you spoke quietly on the phone for the next few minutes. She told you of the small update they had been given in the middle of the night, and how the update meant that they’d be able to take Imani home first thing in the morning. She had even asked if you were okay and if you had found a place to stay for the night, to which you replied with a rather vague confirmation that you had indeed found a place to stay.

After asking her to have Imani call in the morning, if she was up for it, the call ended with both of you bidding the other goodnight. Almost immediately after hanging up, the stress that had been seizing your body during the entire ordeal dissipated. Mrs. Byers’ confirmation that her daughter would be perfectly fine prompted that exhaustion from earlier to smack into you, this time, completely unbridled and without the influence of stress and worry.

You didn’t waste another second stepping back into the darkened room, intent on crawling right back into Shuri’s bed and resuming your sleep. Your steps came up short as you saw Shuri’s shadowy figure sitting up on the edge of her bed, facing you. She reached over, fiddling with something on the bedside table, and then there was a soft, purple glow emitting from some kind of crystal/rock.

“Everything okay?”

Despite being dead tired, your exhausted brain still held enough energy to start racing at the sound of her groggy, raspy voice and how it was full of worry. She moved to stand up but you quickly held out a hand, walking towards her.

“No, it's fine. Everything’s good. That was Imani’s mom and she was just letting me know that they’ll be able to take her home in the morning.”

She nodded, rubbing at her face. In the dim lighting of the room, you could make out a small smile on her face.

“That’s good. I’m glad. So…you comin' back to bed?”

Her question quite literally rendered you speechless, and it was solely because of the innuendo her words held. The question was one that most would expect to hear from their partner…not their friend that they had surely grown feelings for and who they had to share a bed with.

Not to mention the light and hopeful tone in her voice as she asked the question, almost as if she wanted you to get back into bed. As if she wanted to share a space that could certainly be seen as intimate in some settings with you.

“Y/N?”

“Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I’m coming back to bed.”

God, were you thankful for the dim lighting of the room. If not for it, she would have surely been able to see your face and the way you had to bite back a giddy smile as you walked back to your side. She held the covers up as you slid back into your space, and only once you were laying down did she pull the covers over the two of you after turning off the lamp.

It felt natural getting back into the same position you two had initially gone to sleep in. The only difference this time was that, instead of Shuri reaching for your hand and tracing shapes, you reached for hers. This time, you traced idle shapes into her skin, letting your eyes shut and letting sleep once again claim you both.

*************

Waking up just a few hours later was a little different. As the first signs of consciousness reached you, the various reminders that you weren’t in your own bed once again confronted you.

For starters, where the sun usually streamed through your window, beaming directly into your face in your dorm, the opposite could be said for Shuri’s. There were nice, blackout curtains covering the windows of her room that you hadn’t noticed the night before (presumably to provide her a good enough sense of privacy), and the same crystal that had given off the soft, purple light last night was on. The relaxing aura it gave off reminded you of the woman it belonged to- the same woman who was missing from her own room.

Slowly sitting up, you fixed your bonnet, surprised to not find it on the other side of the bed (or room). Your eyes, still a little heavy with sleep, looked around the room for the one person you wanted to see only to come up empty. They closed again, your head falling to the pillow as a sigh left your mouth. The urge to grab the cover and pull it right back over you continued to grow the longer you laid there, but your attention was soon drawn to the door of Shuri’s room as the sound of keys being inserted rang out. The door swung open right as you sat up, eyes instantly finding the princess herself.

“Oh, good morning. How’d you sleep?”

She carried two paper bags in her hand that she sat down on her desk while she shed her coat, exposing her t-shirt and sweatpants, the clothes she had worn to bed. Kicking off her shoes and turning to you, she walked in your direction, picking up the bags.

“I slept pretty okay. How’d you sleep? Also I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” Shuri proceeded to grab a tray-like item, setting it on her bed in front of you. She set the bags on the tray before crawling back into bed, sitting beside you.

“It’s totally fine. I’m just glad your friend is okay.” There was a smile on her face as she glanced at you before reaching into her bag. Your eyebrows furrowed as she motioned for you to do the same, and upon leaning closer, the smell of food became apparent.

“Thank you- did you get us breakfast?”

To answer, she unboxed her food, showcasing it to you. She held a bagel topped with cream cheese and fruit out for you to see. It looked delicious, and you found yourself actually wanting to try it; that is until you remembered that she had gotten you your own food.

Reaching into your own bag, you pulled out a sandwich item wrapped with parchment paper. The mouth-watering smell grew, and as it did, you could feel it tugging at a familiar part of your brain. Opening the paper showed that your breakfast consisted of a croissant that was stuffed with what looked and smelled to be nutella and slices of fruit. You immediately recognized it as your go to order from one of your favorite cafes on campus.

You looked up, ready to thank her generously for breakfast, but then you realized not one, but two things. The first realization was that Shuri’s dorm wasn’t the closest to the cafe, having to be at least a 10 minute walk. The second realization came after you looked closer at Shuri and saw little droplets of water in her curls. Eyebrows furrowing, you leaned forward without thinking, catching a drop of water that had been getting ready to fall off of a curl and right onto her face. You quickly pulled your hand back, though, at the way Shuri froze, her eyes softening at your actions.

“Shuri…don’t tell me it was raining and you walked to get breakfast.”

Once again, instead of answering, she simply shrugged with a knowing smile on her face. She raised her bagel to her mouth, taking a bite as she gazed at you.

You gawked at her, eyes wide in disbelief. She let it go on for a second before she motioned to your food in your hand, her eyebrows raising.

“You need to eat before it gets cold.”

She somehow sounded both teasing and demanding at the same time, and the thrill that it sent through you made you lose all words you were going to say. Wordlessly, you lifted the crescent to your mouth, taking a bite. You couldn’t help the small, satisfied sigh that left your mouth at the taste of your favorite breakfast item.

It had admittedly been a while since the last time you had it, due to things just being a little extra hectic lately. Winter break was approaching which also meant the arrival of finals, something you had gratefully finished the week before. But even after finishing your last exam, going to your favorite cafe hadn’t been on your list of priorities, unfortunately. But leave it to Shuri to provide a reminder of why and how much you loved the cafe.

A minute or two of you both eating in content silence passed until you broke it. You spoke softly, not wanting to disrupt the air of tranquility.

“Can I ask what kind of lamp that is?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the crystal lamp still providing a little bit of light before turning back to you.

“It’s quartz crystal infused with vibranium from Wakanda. Given to me as a ‘going away’ present by a friend.” She smiled fondly as she spoke, but then she motioned to something behind you.

“I have two. One on this side, and one on your side.”

The only thing that distracted you from possibly overthinking her usage of the words ‘your side’ was when she placed her food back on the tray and leaned over. She rose onto her knees, reaching over your lap to turn the lamp on. She was close enough for you to smell the hair products in her hair, undoubtedly activated by the rain outside. They smelled natural and soothing; nothing like the chemical filled products often found in the states.

You set a hand behind you, leaning back on it to give her more space, no matter how much you wanted to lean forward. Her hand landed on the other side of your lap, propping her up as she leaned over, fiddling with the lamp. You watched as the same light emitted from it only for it to change into a soft, blue color.

Leaning in the same direction as her, you looked closer at the light, taking the time to truly admire it. The only word that could be used to describe it was…enchanting. You wouldn’t call it magical; there was something much deeper about its appeal to call it simply ‘magical’.

“So the quartz reacts to the vibranium, making it glow like that.” You assumed, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “I’m assuming it was your genius addition that makes it possible to change the color.”

Your words were said with a smile as you turned your head to look at her only to finally realize how close you two were. She nodded, her gaze unwavering from where it connected with yours. Her voice was soft as she responded.

“Yeah…I developed a way to alter the smallest bit of irradiation inside of the crystal, which makes it change colors.”

The answer was simple enough, but you still couldn’t help staring in awe at her. She had taken an already scientifically advanced item and further advanced it. It wasn’t a surprise that she could do it, but it was still something to be in awe of.

“It…it makes sense. It’s also not surprising that you made it better.” A breathless laugh left your mouth, making her laugh softly. She propped herself up more which only brought her face closer to yours. It was obvious how your heart sped up if your quickened breaths were anything to go by.

“Is that what you think? That I make things better?”

Was this really happening?

Shuri’s eyes unabashedly looked down at your lips, and the next breath you took in stuttered slightly. Her movements were slow as she leaned closer, drawing her face closer to yours until the air from her next words could be felt on your lips.

When she spoke, her voice was rough around the edges, as if she were straining herself back from doing more and trying her best to get them out. Her free hand raced, tracing a path from the tips of your free hand up to your elbow, which she used to pull you closer. You didn’t offer any resistance, essentially a pile of puddy in her hands. Your name left her mouth on a breathless exhale.

“Tell me to stop…if you don’t want this, tell me to stop.”

You couldn’t possibly make your voice work right, so you settled with shaking your head. Her movements paused in their entirety; she stopped drawing you closer and her tracing stopped.

“I need to hear it.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” Your voice was merely a whisper, almost getting stuck in your throat as you forced them out. The breathlessness of your voice made a crooked smile appear on Shuri’s face as she leaned forward once more. She lifted her hand, using it to tip your chin back.

Your body felt as if it were on fire as she paused again, simply observing the position she had you in. The spots where her skin came into contact with yours were the hottest, though it felt as if molten lava flowed from those spots and through your veins. She still had that damned smile on your face, and you wanted nothing to kiss it right off. You could feel something close to defiance entering your mind, spurred on by the way she continued to tease you, even in the slightest. It made you clench your jaw, lifting your chin more as you hardened your gaze where it connected with hers…and she immediately recognized your look for what it was.

Her eyebrows rose in a mixture of surprise and amusement, and then she was finally about to close the gap, her lips skimming just the surface of your bottom lip-

Only for you both to quickly separate at the sound of 3 heavy knocks landing on her door. It quickly shattered the air surrounding you; the tranquility, the vulnerability, the tension. It didn’t get rid of it in its entirety, for it still simmered right there on the surface, turning more into a need than a want.

A quick glance Shuri’s way showed her rubbing a hand down her face in frustration and turning towards the door. She quickly scooted to the edge of the bed before pausing, sending a look over her shoulder at you. The attraction that had been in her eyes mere seconds ago was still there, but it almost seemed masked now. You couldn’t find an ounce of regret in her eyes, but the sudden change had your heart beating quickly, and not in anticipation. More so in nervousness.

“*Ikumkani wam…I know you are in there. You know I have no reservation about kicking this door down.”

Shuri’s eyes widened almost comically as she turned back to the door, quickly making her way towards it. As her back was turned, you took the chance to place a hand against your chest, willing your heart to go back to its regular pace.

“Okoye? What are you doing here?”

She swung the door open, only enough to speak to the person outside- Okoye, she had said. The name sounded familiar, though you were seriously questioning your own judgment at the moment.

Okoye. Okoye.

Connecting the name to the multiple stories Shuri had told about the stoic, intelligent, and deadly General of Wakanda’s army made you scramble to get out of bed. You had no idea what you would do, but for some reason, being caught in Shuri’s bed by the general of an army seemed to be at the bottom of the list of things you wanted to go through so early in the morning.

Flinging the covers to the side sent your phone flying and bouncing off of the wall. A few events happened in the span of a few seconds, effectively turning the morning into chaos.

Your foot became caught in the comforter as you hurried to reach for it, causing you to follow its path and land in a heap on the floor. Shuri quickly turned at the sound just in time to see you go over the side of the bed, and the door was pushed out of her hand as the general quickly stepped in.

Hand closing around your phone, you managed to right yourself and grabbed the bed to pull yourself up. You came face to face with something metal and something so sharp it almost became invisible as you pulled yourself back up. Your body tensed so quickly and so much that it wasn’t a surprise when a painful tweak went through your back, though you didn’t dare move.

Eyes flickering from the edge of the weapon to the face of the newcomer, the damn General, you slowly and shakily raised your hands. You didn’t even blink, too afraid of doing something that could even potentially be seen as threatening.

“Okoye, wait!”

Shuri’s voice seemed like the damn voice of an angel as she quickly rushed forward, placing a hand on Okoye’s arm. She spoke slowly but firmly.

“She’s a friend, not a threat. You brought a spear in here?”

Your gratitude undoubtedly showed on your face as you looked at Shuri, because she nodded assuredly, giving you a small, tight smile. At Shuri’s actions and words, Okoye retracted her spear, tilting her chin up as she assessed you. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t unkind…but it wasn’t kind either.

“Oh, I can see that. And I brought a spear because I felt the need to.” Her head turned to face Shuri and you almost immediately sagged in relief, though your eyes widened as her spear retracted into a small, hand sized pole.

“You felt the need to bring a vibranium spear to a college campus, and then threaten my friend with it-”

“Shuri, we need to talk. It’s important.”

There must have been something in Okoye’s voice that spoke to the seriousness of the situation because Shuri paused, stepping closer to her. Her eyebrows furrowed and the typical playful Shuri you knew quickly disappeared, a more regal version of her appearing.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Assuming that the two of them would have just forgotten about you while discussing, presumably what would be Wakandan business, was a little foolish of you. So when Okoye didn’t respond, instead choosing to look expectantly in your direction. She raised an eyebrow, and you immediately got the message.

Once again, you found yourself rushing to stand to your feet. You were able to do so without incident this time, quickly snatching your phone up. You nodded in understanding.

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’ll go-uh, do something and let you two talk.”

Nevermind the fact that you had no idea where you would go. You still had on your pjs and bonnet and it was raining outside…but now Okoye was staring at you, waiting for you to leave. Her attention only made you move faster.

“Wait, no, wait.” Right as you reached for your shoes, a hand landed on your arm, effectively pausing your actions. You spoke before Shuri could continue, placing your hand on top of hers.

“It’s okay. If it’s important then I probably shouldn’t be here. Especially if it has to do with…Wakanda. I’ll go get us some lunch. Just call me when you’re done.” You sent her a smile that was surprisingly easy to muster up, especially in the face of all the chaos and confusion that had just happened.

She looked at you for a few seconds, undoubtedly trying to see through your words and to see what you were truly thinking. When she was seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she sighed in resignation. Nodding, she squeezed your arm gently before letting it go.

“Alright. I’ll call as soon as we’re done.”

You nodded, leaning down to put on your shoes. Once you grabbed your coat, you made your way to the door, pausing to awkwardly nod a goodbye at Okoye. She had the heart to give you the tiniest, strained smile before nodding back, and then you were closing the door behind you.

The second the door closed, Shuri was whirling to stare incredulously at Okoye, mouth agape.

“I have to say, Okoye. I’m both surprised and not that you’d barge in while I’m at school and then basically order my friend to leave.”

“We both know that’s not just your friend.”

Okoye rolled her eyes, stepping around her and in the direction of the covered windows. She pulled a curtain aside just enough to peek outside before letting it fall back into place. Shuri opened and closed her mouth, looking for a response. Before she could find one, Okoye turned to face Shuri, letting out a sigh.

“You’re being watched.”

Shuri tensed, her body freezing at Okoye’s words. She was being watched? Who would follow the sitting queen of Wakanda? Who would risk getting in trouble with Wakanda because of their stalker tendencies?

At Shuri’s silence, Okoye stepped closer. She brandished her kimoyo beads and then they were both looking at projections of pictures…pictures that consisted of Shuri in different parts of the campus they were currently on. There were some of her walking between classes, eating in the dining hall, even when she had studied in the library.

Instead of feeling fear or nervousness, she felt irritation. Annoyance. Leave it to some person without boundaries on campus to make her college-going experience weird. Her irritation showed on her face as she looked at Okoye.

“It’s probably just some weirdo here on campus.”

Her words trailed off as Okoye shook her head, her eyes widening to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“You don’t understand, Shuri. They sent these to the Doras who are assigned to you. They knew who they were and what they were here for and managed to send pictures to them. Not only that, but we are unable to trace where they came from as of right now. Whoever they are…they know how to cover their tracks.”

Shuri’s mind raced slightly as she turned away, her fingers fidgeting. What the hell did they want- what were they hoping to achieve by sending those pictures? Was it a scare tactic? A threat of some kind? A demand?

“**Ukumkanikazi, I think it's best if you come back to Wakanda. At least for the time being, and until we can figure this out.”

Shuri instantly hated the idea of letting this nameless and faceless person, or people, put her life on pause. Sure, she had a life in Wakanda, but that life was one full of royal duties and inheritance. She quite enjoyed this life she had made on her own; she had gotten into college on her own, picked out her classes, made friends…all on her own. And now this…creep felt entitled enough to insert their unwanted and stalker-like personality into it.

She felt as if she were running, despite the fact that she had already planned on going back to Wakanda for winter break. That was the only reason she wasn’t giving Okoye such a hard time right now, but she’d make sure to carve time out of her schedule to do so later on.

“I had already planned on coming back for break. I…can’t just up and leave now. Let me at least talk to my fri- to Y/N, explain what's going on.”

She wouldn’t even entertain the thought of leaving without explaining herself to you. Even if she were to do something like that, she had a feeling that you wouldn’t be…too mad at her, especially in the face of a situation like this. You’d want her to do exactly what Okoye said, especially if it meant that she’d be away from the people surveilling her.

Okoye sent her a knowing look, one that let Shuri know that she knew exactly what had been happening at the time of her arrival. She sent one back that let Okoye know that she wouldn’t be leaving unless she spoke to you.

Finally, after a brief staredown from the two hard-headed women, Okoye let out a resigned sigh. She waved a hand, turning towards her door.

“Fine. Call your little…friend. And then pack your things and meet me on the roof. I don’t want to have to come and find you, Shuri.”

She copied Okoye’s actions, raising a hand and half heartedly waving in agreement as she sought out her phone. Her hand closed around it right as she heard the door shut, and it took her less than a few seconds to find your name and click on it.

As it rang, she moved around her room, taking note of the things she’d end up packing. It wouldn’t be a lot; she had everything she needed and more already in Wakanda…but she wanted to take her posters and the little trinkets she had acquired during her time in America. Maybe she’d have time to come back and get them once everything calmed down-

No. Why was she thinking as if she’d never be able to come back? She’d make sure she’d be able to come back, so she would leave those posters and trinkets. Okay, maybe she’d take a few of them.

The phone continued to ring, making her eyebrows furrow. She pulled it away from her ear, hanging the call up only to call right back. She tried not to let the nervous feeling in her chest grow, but the longer the call rang without being answered, the more it became apparent.

She continued to listen to the ringing as a series of knocks landed on her door. She barely registered the knocking, even as she went to open the door. There had been a small, hopeful feeling that your face would’ve been on the other side of the door, but instead it was Okoye once again. Upon hearing your voicemail answer instead of your voice, she let out a sigh.

“I’m coming, Okoye. I’m still trying to reach her-”

“Shuri, you need to see this.”

The urge to tell Okoye to just wait a second died instantly as she caught a glimpse of what she wanted her to see. She had more pictures projected from her kimoyo beads, all of them still showing Shuri, but she wasn’t the only one in them this time.

Shuri’s heart dropped as she stepped closer, her eyes focusing on the other face in the pictures; the only person she had been seen with on campus.

You.

She quickly looked at Okoye, worry clear as day on her face. That worry that had been gnawing at her nerves turned into a violent pang that wracked through her body as the pictures continued to change, all of them consisting of you and her. As she continued to watch, she dialed your number again, internally pleading that you’d just answer the phone.

“For Bast’s sake, answer the phone. Please-” Her words cut off abruptly at the last picture in the stack.

If it hadn’t been taken by some threatening stalker, the picture would have been sweet. Perfect, even. But no, because of the circumstances, the moment captured became tainted. It became…scary.

The picture showed the two of you leaving the library after one of your many study sessions, right as you two bid each other goodnight and went your separate ways. You both were faced the opposite direction of the other, hands up and undoubtedly waving bye.

On the back of the last picture, crudely scribbled in red ink, were the words:

DONT YOU UNDERSTAND THE SAHDE IN HER HEART

BE GRAETFUL DEAR OUR UNION IS FATED

DELIVERANC DEMANDS YOU DO YOU PART

The lack of punctuation, the scribbling, the typos, the message itself said enough about who this person was, and just how unhinged they were. The projection allowed her to see how the word “HER” seemed to be worse than the other words, almost intelligible…and scribbled right over where your face was on the other side of the picture.

“When did you get these?”

The look on Okoye’s face didn’t help the situation at all. In fact, it only made it harder for Shuri. She to take a deep breath around the tight feeling in her chest, though the feeling didn’t go anywhere.

“Ayo received these 10 minutes ago.”

Shuri cursed loudly, quickly walking around Okoye and towards her door. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation as she stepped into the hallway, Okoye hot on her heels.

“Shuri, we have to have a plan!”

“The plan is to find Y/N before anything can happen!”

There wasn’t room in Shuri’s voice for any negotiation as they burst into the stairwell and flew down the stairs. Okoye could only follow, speaking into her kimoyo beads to the assigned Doras who were placed on campus. She gave them your description and stressed how important it was to find you.

Shuri, on the other hand, only thought about how she would literally go through anything and anyone to get to you.

**********

You literally hadn’t known what to do the second you stepped out of Shuri’s dorm building, so you had picked a direction, and simply started walking in it. It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were walking in the direction of the library. You hadn’t brought your bag with you, so you didn’t have your computer, but maybe you could find something to do while there.

Of course and unsurprisingly, as you walked, hood up and trying to shield your face from the rain, your thoughts strayed to Shuri and what she and Okoye had to talk about. You hoped it wasn’t anything too worrisome, for you knew exactly how much Shuri cared for her home country. She’d drop any and everything in a heartbeat to go and deal with whatever needed to be dealt with.

Making this conclusion made you come to the realization that…any and everything included you. You honestly couldn’t fault her; she was queen of an entire country. There were more important things she’d have to worry about- things a lot more important than you two meeting in the library and eating things from the cafe together. More important things than…than whatever had happened in her room.

You let out a heavy sigh, one full of acceptance that there’d probably never be a time where you’d be considered above her duties- nor did you expect to be.

You pulled out your phone, glancing down at it for a quick second, looking for a call from Shuri that you knew hadn’t come yet. That one second was enough for you to practically run into another person, so hard that you stumbled back a few steps.

The other person, also with a rain jacket covering their body, their hood up, simply rushed past you. Your head turned to follow their retreating figure, eyebrows furrowed and your lips twisted.

“Excuse you. Damn…I thought we learned manners at a young age.”

You placed your hands back in your pockets, turning to continue your walk. The interaction was instantly pushed to the back of your mind as you thought of maybe picking up lunch for the two of you. But you two had literally just had breakfast, not even an hour ago. There was nothing wrong with an early lunch, right? Maybe you could call it brunch?

Or maybe you’d ask if you could take a nap. Maybe it was the rain and dreary skies making you feel a little tired, because you hadn’t felt so…heavy and slow moving when you had left Shuri’s dorm.

The feeling persisted, and it only occurred to you that something was wrong when you felt as if you were running out of breath. It was impossible; you’d only been walking. Then came the feeling of being hot despite seeing your breath leave your mouth in a white cloud. The cold rain couldn’t offer any reprieve.

Something was wrong.

The next step you tried to take felt too heavy, too clumsy. As soon as you managed to lift it and bring it down, you felt your knee go out. You couldn’t do anything but allow gravity to take over, your body coming into contact with the brick walkway. You tried to catch yourself with your hands, though the second you settled your weight on them, they flew out from under you.

Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth, too numb to move. The feeling of your heart speeding up was concerning and honestly the scariest thing you had ever been through. You could feel your heart beating, but it felt too violent- like it was trying to burst from your chest.

Your actions weren’t your own as you ripped your jacket off, rolling to lay on your side. The fact that you were laying in the middle of the walkway didn’t cross your mind; the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of your body burning from the inside out.

Your phone had flown out of your hand as you had hit the ground, and in a distant part of your mind, you could hear it ringing. You didn’t have the strength to reach out and find it.

Your lips formed words but your throat was too dry to push them out. Just the effort of trying to call out for help was painful, but you continued to try, nonetheless. Your pain-addled brain kept thinking only one thing. Only one name continued to form on your lips as a threatening and malicious darkness seeped into your vision.

**********

“Have they found her yet?”

Shuri’s voice was firm in her questioning, but anyone who knew her could hear the thinly concealed panic in it.

Her and Okoye had raced outside before picking a direction. It wasn’t just any random direction, it was what Shuri had thought of. Her reason for picking the direction was because it led straight to the library, one of your comfort spots. Where else would you go after being unexpectedly kicked out of her dorm?

Okoye barked a question into her kimoyo beads as they ran, but the answer they received back only made Shuri’s footsteps quicken. She had to remind herself that with her recently acquired…abilities, she could now outrun Okoye, so she tried her absolute hardest to keep pace with her.

“Get the talon in the air and locate her. ***Ngoku!”

She heard Okoye’s orders, but they seemed to go in one ear and out the other as soon as Shuri looked ahead. If she thought her heart dropped earlier, that was nothing compared to what she felt as she saw a figure lying in the middle of the walkway, still. Too still.

The gasp she let out was ragged as she recognized the jacket you had walked out of her dorm with. It was easy to completely forget Okoye as she sprinted to your side, instantly dropping to her knees.

Her hands hovered, not knowing where to touch you… not knowing what was wrong with you. She hastily pulled her kimoyo beads off of her wrist, placing them on your chest. She sucked in a sharp breath at how cold your skin was and prayed that it was only because of the cold rain.

“Griot, what are her vitals?”

The beads projected your too slow heart rate above your chest, the sight making Shuri’s hands shake as she placed them against your cheeks.

“She appears to be suffering from bradycardia as a result of some unknown substance. Life scans show a small puncture wound on the inside of her right elbow.”

A quick glance at the mentioned limb proved the AI’s words. There was a small circle, almost imperceptible, in the crook of your arm. There was a bead of dried blood near the site, probably having dropped at the time of the injection.

“Your highness, she seems to be slightly gaining consciousness.”

Shuri leaned over, shielding the rain from falling into your face and calling your name softly. In response, you let out a low, hoarse groan, the action physically hurting you.

“We’re going to get you help, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Can you hear me?”

Your eyes wouldn’t open, but you didn’t need your sight to know that it was Shuri leaning over you. Your lips once again formed her name, though you couldn’t tell if sound escaped you or not.

“I’m here. You think you can stay awake for me? That’s all I need you to do- just stay awake.” You were too out of it to hear the way her voice shook. It was hard to distinguish anything when your body was in a constant state of crippling pain- a pain you had never experienced before.

Shuri could see your lips moving slightly, and she had to lower her head to hear you whisper her name. It gave her a little solace that you were able to tell who she was, though she wouldn’t calm down completely until you were stable and back to your regular self.

“The talon is here. We’ll put her in the cradle and stabilize her.”

Okoye spoke quickly, glancing up as the aircraft arrived and hovered over them. Shuri didn’t dare look away from you, her eyes flickering between your projected vitals and your face.

She’d have to confront her fear and panic at the idea of losing you later; right now, you needed her and she needed to keep a clear head in order to help you. She still didn’t know what you had been injected with, which meant she didn’t have a cure. She didn’t know how to help you, and that thought alone made her chest seize.

She lifted your upper half onto her lap, wiping away the tears that had unknowingly leaked from the corners of your eyes. Seeing you, someone who was usually so lively and who always made her laugh, in such a state of pain was all it took for her to take the situation more seriously.

This person had targeted you; an innocent. Your only mistake was befriending her, and she didn’t need to think hard to assume that you thought the same thing.

Shuri’s gaze stayed on your still figure, willing you to open your eyes or say something else; even as the talon’s levitating technology carefully pulled them inside the ship. The second the ship’s entrance closed, she was pulling you into her chest and placing you in the cradle: the technology used to stabilize and treat the injured until they could get back to their lab.

“Griot-”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Stabilize her vitals. Take a blood sample and analyze it for familiar properties, and then compare it to every cure we have in Wakanda.”

She put her hands flat on the cradle as you were slowly sealed inside of it, as if she could reach through the glass and heal you yourself. Bast, she wished she could. Anything to help you.

Even after her AI had done everything requested of it, she stayed in the same spot. Even after she was alerted that you were stabilized for now, she stayed in the same spot. She’d be damned if she left your side after you were hurt because of your connection to her.

“General Okoye.”

She appeared by Shuri’s side almost instantly, eyebrows furrowed and eyes questioning.

“I want you to lead the search for the person that did this.”

They had both known that Okoye would lead the search, as it was her job. But hearing her agree to it calmed the smallest portion of Shuri’s nerves. It reassured her that someone she could trust and someone she knew would get the job done was working on it.

“Of course, Ukumkanikazi. We’ll find them.”

Shuri lifted her eyes, meeting Okoye’s hard and confident gaze, and nodded once in thanks.

She knew that Okoye would beg to differ should she hear her inner thoughts, but this was no longer about her being surveilled. This was about them targeting a woman who she cared immensely for…all to get to her.

Oh, she’d find them. By any means necessary.

Sorry for the little cliff hanger and...ya know...the whole “we nearly kissed but got interrupted” trope. I love slow burns with palpable tension, but with circumstances that keep them apart LMAO

Hope you all enjoyed this part! I'm really excited to continue this series, and once again, I'd like to thank you all for the continuous love and support y'all are providing.

Stay safe, y'all! <3

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