#bas x belle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spookyserenades · 1 year

Text

Trouvaille - Chapter Nine

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; 21.8k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Dana here! Hope you all had a lovely summer, and are excited for the autumn months. Welcome to Chapter Nine! A fairly fluffy update, I hope you all enjoy. Just a bit of spookiness at the end, and a fair bit of witchiness going on on in this chapter. As always, I love to hear your thoughts and feedback, and thank you for reading Trouvaille! Stay tuned for the October Samhain update ;)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Y/N! Right on time, dear, come on in,” Judy exclaimed as soon as the rattling witch bells on the door to her shop clattered against the glass with Y/N’s arrival.

The shop was hazy, filled with syrupy palo santo smoke, and the CD player was already pulsing hypnotic Enya through the speakers. Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, Y/N headed towards the back of the shop while dodging the crowded tables of inventory, where Judy was poking her frizzy head of hair out from behind the beaded curtains to the reading rooms. Y/N deposited her tote bag and lunch on the counter behind the register, hurrying after Judy who had disappeared into the recesses of the reading rooms.

“Good morning, Judy, how have you been?” Y/N cheerily greeted the older woman, who was sorting through a large piece of furniture with many drawers in the smallest room closest to the back of the building. The darkened room was filled with candlelight, at least thirty different potted plants, a low table littered with crystals and two round cushions to sit on.

“Just fine, just fine…” Judy replied distractedly, Y/N unsure as to what she should be doing. She didn’t even know when the shop was going to be open for business, let alone what her responsibilities for the day were yet. Judy made a noise of triumph, locating something she was fishing around for in a deep drawer with a grin on her sun-weathered face. “So, Y/N. I hope you don’t mind, but every time I hire someone new, I like to do a little reading on them beforehand. Think of it as a free psychic check-in.”

Judy lithely positioned herself on one of the cushions, using one hand to gesture towards the free seat across from her, a deck of cards in the other. Card reading, Y/N thought– that’s what started the last disaster for her, and it had her stomach roiling with acid. It wasn’t like she could decline, however, so Y/N nodded politely, sinking into the lumpy cushion on the floor and twiddled her thumbs as Judy lit up yet another stick of palo santo to burn.

Twitching with nerves, Y/N observed Judy shuffle her ancient looking Tarot cards overhand, mentally demanding the clusters of clear quartz and amethyst on the table to protect her from a janky reading.

“How’s your mom? Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” Judy asked conversationally, a couple of cards flying out of her grip and floating onto the table face-down.

“Oh, she’s well. Very busy with the book club lately, and when she isn’t busy with that, she’s been into oil painting recently,” Y/N blinked, wondering if the reading would be about family matters.

“Did she ever tell you about that reading we did for you last year?” Judy paused her shuffling, selecting a card carefully from the back as if it was on fire and placing it on the table, once again face-down.

Grimacing, Y/N shook her head. Y/N didn’t usually feel comfortable doing readings about other people when they weren’t aware of it, but her mother held no such opinion. In fact, for most of her life Y/N’s mother performed all kinds of readings for Y/N; career, love, success… Judy often helped out, since she was a more practiced card reader. Y/N assumed that her mother had finally listened to her and stopped going behind her back, as she had stopped telling her about readings a little over a year ago, but apparently she had been mistaken.

Judy was quiet for a few moments, selecting a few more cards seemingly at random, until there was a grand total of ten of them in front of her on the table, Judy finally sparing Y/N a kind, but mysterious smile.

“I know you’re not fond of her snooping around with the cards, she hasn’t been doing it lately, I assure you. Last August was the most recent reading we did for you. It was a love reading,” Judy informed her, brushing a curly lock of hair from her face. Grimace deepening, Y/N internally groaned– was it that depressing that her mom finally gave up on trying to find her someone to date?

“Oh… It’s probably best if I don't hear anything about it. My dating life is drier than the Sonoran Desert, especially over this past year,” Y/N chuckled weakly, Judy nodding in understandment.

“That’s quite alright, dear… relax, Y/N, this is just a basic reading,” Judy soothed, beginning to turn over the cards. They weren’t traditional Tarot, so Y/N was unable to cheat and read them herself, but the images on the cards were spellbinding and radiated a primordial energy.

Y/N focused on the Enya track playing from the front of the store, Judy staring at the cards and occasionally shutting her eyes as she read them. Judy had a very careful poker face, from years of practice and carrying out readings, so Y/N wasn’t able to glean anything from the psychic’s expression.

“There’s been a lot of change for you recently. Most of it good change,” Judy spoke at last, as Y/N began to fiddle with one of the quartz points on the table. “Definite conflict. Something uncomfortable happened on the full moon. There are many strong personalities around you right now, complicated people.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Y/N’s breath whooshed out as she agreed, trying not to think about the ‘uncomfortable’ full moon event.

“This reading matches up with the one from last year. Seven different male energies. Two of them I met last week,” Judy murmured carefully, Y/N’s eyes going owlishly wide. Clearly, she was referring to Namjoon and Jeongguk, during their outing for ice cream and the music shop.

“I thought you said that reading was a love reading? I adopted seven male hybrids about a week ago,” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. Never in the history of ever did she have seven men after her affection at once, especially a year ago, and her hybrids were companions, not her lovers.

Judy stared at her expectantly, brushing her fingertips over a couple of the cards. She pointed to two cards with confidence.

“Here, The Green Man and The Stag. They were with you that day, the latter bought those lovely red candles,” Judy tapped on the cards as she spoke, Y/N’s curiosity climbing with every word she spoke. “These men have been in your orbit for over a year. For whatever reason, the eight of you are all connected… I haven’t seen anything like this in a long time. Each of you is represented by a Major Arcana archetype.”

“You’re saying these adoptions I’ve made have been a year in the making?” Y/N whispered in bewilderment, thinking back to when she had broken the news of the adoptions to her mother. Now that she had this new insight, her mother’s reaction did seem a bit rehearsed– had she known about it all this time?

“I think it’s no coincidence that the cards are the same as they were back then. The energies are all the same, masculine, wild… a few of them darker, mysterious, others troubled, sad… Like I said, you are surrounded by complicated people. Or hybrids, as we now understand it,” Judy studied the cards, Y/N leaning over to take a better look at them herself.

The Seer, the most feminine card– was her, undoubtedly. The faint energy of the card she could detect felt familiar to her, like peering into a glassy lake and spotting her reflection. There was The Shaman, The Archer, The Hooded Man, The Guardian, and The Woodward, apart from the other two Judy had mentioned– The Green Man and The Stag. She could hardly guess who was who besides Namjoon and Jeongguk, as she was unfamiliar with that Tarot deck and she hadn’t practiced energy work in years; she hadn’t even attempted to get a good energy reading on herself lately, let alone any of her hybrids.

“I still don’t understand why it came up as a love reading last year. I hadn’t even met any of them yet, romance… that’s just–” Y/N began, rapidly shaking her head.

Sure, her hybrids were kind, affectionate, handsome, and she cared for them deeply already, but considering a romantic relationship with any of them was something she usually shut down within two seconds. She was more focused on getting to know them, establishing solid friendships, getting them involved with fun clubs and activities they enjoyed, and helping them work through some of their tricky pasts. Still, it was increasingly harder to deny that she wasn’t falling for a handful, if not all of them lately, and her attempts to push away the possibility of romance blooming between her and any of the hybrids had become harder and harder.

“I haven’t seen something like this in a long time,” Judy repeated lightly, a strange look on her face. “It’s almost like you’re soulmates…”

“How can one person possibly have seven soulmates,” Y/N started laughing in utter disbelief, praying the floor would open up and suck her into the pits of hell. Accepting this job was a terrible idea, now she was consumed with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts.

“Besides that, Y/N, there’s another element. You’ll be stepping into a period in your life where the spiritual realm is more important to you and your path than ever. Here, take this,” Judy offered her the guide book for the deck she was using, Y/N accepting it like it was a live pipe bomb. “Take a picture of this spread with your phone, and look it over later. You may find it enlightening.”

As Y/N did as she was told, Judy merrily carried on after the picture was taken and put the cards away, stubbing out the palo santo and standing. Y/N didn’t quite know how to process what she’d been told, but Judy acted like she had just read off of a phone book, leading her back out into the main shop and showing her the basics of operating the 1950’s register. Judy explained that she only had two readings that morning, then she’d have to pop out for the rest of the day to go to a crystal auction, so Y/N would have to lock up at 4PM. Her day seemed straightforward, simply ringing up any merchandise sales and answering basic questions (she had studied the packet of wares a bit before bed the past two nights, so at least she was prepared). Judy told her to expect it to be slow for a Monday, and encouraged her to get any reading done. Thankfully, she brought a random hybrid guidebook with her, so she was excited to get cracking on that.

Y/N was in her head a little bit for most of the morning; nobody came in to buy anything and only the scheduled reading appointments showed up, so Y/N was able to busy herself with plucking items off the shelves for the wards she’d place around the property the following week, as well as things she’d need for the banishment if it came to it. She also found a beautiful deck of Tarot cards, printed with earth tones and woodland creatures, thinking it might be a nice gift for Namjoon for his birthday, and was able to check herself out and move onto scrolling on her phone for a bit after Judy departed for the crystal auction.

Trying to put the card reading out of her mind, she decided to put all of her attention on tying up loose ends from her to-do list; starting with looking for clubs for the hybrids to join, preferably while she was at work. At the local rec center near her house, she found basketball, track, and swimming teams, fine arts, pottery and photography classes, even film and music clubs, all hybrid specific. There were a few other tabs she brought up; how to establish a paranormal investigation group, horse riding and boarding for beginners, and junkyards near me.

She had her first customer after lunch, which turned out to be a delicious Japanese-style egg salad sandwich, some chips in a plastic Ziploc bag, a string cheese, and a tangerine with a mini bottle of water, and she made sure to text Yoongi and thank him again– a selfie attached with a segment of tangerine between her fingertips.

Directing the customer to a shelf full of herbs that can be scooped by the store patrons themselves, pointing out where the mugwort was, Y/N hummed, feeling somewhat at home in the metaphysical shop, even after the mind-boggling reading she received from her new boss. Knowing that it would be a few days before she could delve deeper into the meaning of the reading, likely after Jeongguk’s birthday and in between her next piano lesson with Yoongi, Y/N pushed it into the further recesses of her mind. There was simply no space to entertain romance, as tempting as it was, at this point– that’s what she told herself, as she dove into the first chapter of Kodiak Bear Hybrids for Dummies.

The next few days were relatively mundane; Y/N had picked Namjoon and Seokjin up from the book club Monday evening with $195 worth of Greek food in her trunk, each of them sporting little smiles and beat-up copies of The Stranger. The weather was stormy on Tuesday and was made up of her practicing Twinkle Twinkle in the music room and reading in the parlor with the hybrids while they watched mindless superhero movies, before she returned to another slow day at work the next morning.

From there, Wednesday had her presenting the teams, classes, and clubs she had amassed in a big spreadsheet to the hybrids, which she printed and stuck to the fridge, telling them to think about it and mark down anything they’d be interested in. Come Thursday, Jeongguk’s birthday, nothing had been marked up at all, simultaneously dampening her spirits but also frustrating her with how stubborn her hybrids could be. For Christ’s sake, the activities were free, so long as they resided in the area with their adopted guardian, which had them covered. Y/N wasn’t going to let it get her down though– Judy had let her go at 3PM to prepare for Jeongguk’s birthday dinner, which had her practically vibrating as she arrived home and kicked off her shoes.

She planned to make the rice bowls that he had enjoyed so much closer to when she first adopted him, all of the prep already done with a little proactive measures she had taken in the weepingly early hours of the morning. Y/N hadn’t seen very much of Jeongguk in the past few days; true to his word he had been ‘gory as hell’ with his velvet shedding, and kept mostly to his room to contain the mess of the blood and flesh from getting all over the house.

“You want me to make some tamagoyaki to go with this?” Yoongi began picking up chopsticks she’d placed by a bowl of eggs, appearing out of thin air with his ears perked up in her direction. These days, Yoongi was her constant companion, making her lunch to take to work, presenting her with her coffee in the morning, and was clinging like glue, not to mention.

The leopard hybrid always materialized into the kitchen prior to dinner, and Y/N didn’t know whether or not it was an unspoken game to see who could make dinner first, but she didn’t complain. Especially when they often shared a wine glass, and he’d constantly put a hand on her lower back when navigating around the kitchen.

“Please, do. It was so good the last time,” Y/N encouraged, scraping her stir-fried veggies into a dish to be microwaved later. Yoongi nodded while rolling up the sleeves of his satiny black button down, getting to work. So far, it seemed like Seokjin and Namjoon had kept their promise of keeping the secret of Jeongguk’s birthday under wraps.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Yoongi commented while pouring beaten egg into the rectangle pan, his spotted tail winding around her thigh as she worked on the steak at the stove. “You seem more spirited than usual.”

“Hmm. Pass the glass,” Y/N covered the pan she was working on, an obscene amount of steak resting within. She had made more than enough rice for 20 people, trying to ensure Jeongguk had a pleasant birthday celebration with plenty of food. She’d even stopped on the way home from work for a rather large order of pork dumplings that were crispening up in the air fryer as an extra treat. After a beat, Yoongi handed over their shared glass of pinot grigio, skillfully rolling up a batch of tamagoyaki. “It’s Jeongguk’s birthday, I’m throwing him a little party between all of us.”

She whispered the latter part of her statement directly into Yoongi’s human set of ears, hoping that the elk hybrid stowed away in his room couldn’t hear. Yoongi, freezing for a moment before breaking out into laughter at her serious expression, placed his roll of tamagoyaki on a plate before beginning another helping of it.

“No shit. You’re full of surprises, sweetheart,” Yoongi managed over his chortling, Y/N rolling her eyes and leaving the leopard hybrid by the stove.

She didn’t go all out, no balloons, streamers or banners; but Y/N had her wrapped gifts for Jeongguk clumped together on the coffee bar, which she had stashed in the back of her car for two days and wrapped at work during her lunch break. She kept it simple; just his cheesecake, which was getting room temperature in the hardly used dining room and out of sight to bring out at the last moment (complete with candles), the gifts, and the meal she noted he enjoyed the most since she met the elk hybrid. Y/N had gone as far as picking up a small, foiled order of the baked ziti from Sal’s on the way home for Jeongguk along with the dumplings, the little boat already warming up in one of the ovens for him.

She felt like it was time, Yoongi had finished the tamagoyaki, and everything was practically in place. Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin were in the parlor watching Indiana Jones, and the remaining three hybrids were in their bedrooms, so all Y/N had to do was stand in the foyer and slightly raise her voice to call everyone to the kitchen. Despite Jeongguk’s graphic goriness with his velvet shedding, even making Y/N shudder with the blood, torn ligament, and loose flesh hanging from his antlers, the elk hybrid always appeared for dinner, and she was feeling giddy.

“Smells good! You two have worked hard, as always,” Hoseok commented while his slides slapped noisily against the tiled floor, strolling in from the entrance from the parlor, Seokjin and Jimin close behind. If anything, her hybrids loved to eat.

In the spirit of celebrating birthdays, Y/N popped open two chilled bottles of champagne to divide into eight glasses, smirking at the surprised sounds of the various hybrids coagulating in the kitchen and finding random seats. No one ever sat in the same spot, which was something she really found interesting.

Taehyung and Namjoon made their appearances at the same time, both of them with poorly masked disdain for one another painted across their faces, but Y/N refused to have her mood be dampened. The week was going by smoothly, the hybrids were adjusting, and she was focused on surprising Jeongguk. He was, after all, the last to enter the room.

While waiting for the elk hybrid, and listening to Seokjin trying to stave off some of the other hybrids from digging into the food before everyone was present, Y/N snuck into the dining room and brought the cheesecake out onto the island with a smug grin. Everything was set once she put the gifts around the cake, slightly ignoring some of the confused noises coming from Hoseok at the breakfast nook.

“Is it a holiday?” Hoseok finally vocalized, round cocoa eyes zeroing in on the cake and gift bags on the counter. At the same time, Y/N heard the heavy, stomping tread thundering down the main staircase, indicating Jeongguk’s arrival to the kitchen at any second. She shook her head, absently rummaging for matches in the drawer by the cake to light the candles after dinner.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jeongguk appeared in the threshold of the kitchen, his smoky voice agitated and suspicious, and a thick trail of blood smeared against his cheek– his antlers a crown of gore. Startled, Y/N felt the matchbook slip from her fingers and clatter to the granite countertop, taken off guard by his blood staining his face and cream colored tee shirt, his expression stormy and guarded.

“Oh! Uh…” suddenly at a loss for words, Y/N felt seven pairs of eyes on her pausing for her explanation as to why they were indulging in cheesecake and champagne on a random Thursday evening. There wasn’t much to say other than the obvious, even if it somehow felt odd now that she was meeting Jeongguk’s wary gaze. “It’s your birthday Jeongguk, I thought we should celebrate!”

Aside from Yoongi’s muted amused snickers from the sink, where he was soaking pans, no one spoke, apparently waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Jeongguk to react. The elk hybrid appeared frozen in time, staring at Y/N with the intensity of one thousand suns, a shred of velvet unceremoniously shedding from a bony and bloodied antler and promptly landing on his shoulder. The timing would have made her laugh, had she not been so distracted by how perturbed Jeongguk looked.

“Seriously? How old are you today, elk? 23?” Hoseok finally broke the silence with impatience underlying the questions, eyeing a champagne flute from his spot on an island barstool with impatience.

“I–” Jeongguk coughed thickly, eyes tearing from Y/N’s face to stare at the wrapped gifts on the counter, his face draining of color. “What…?”

“He’s 25 today, Hoseok,” Y/N replied offhand, not only too busy watching Jeongguk go from bristly to flabbergasted, rooted to his spot in the threshold of the kitchen, but also realizing the elk hybrid had surpassed her in age already. Officially, she was the youngest in the house, and the one responsible for everyone within it.

Acting before she could think too much about it, she moved towards Jeongguk, actually able to herd him over to a seat at the island with a hand wrapped around his strong forearm, the elk hybrid apparently too stunned to react to both her touch and the surprise. Promptly, she shoved a flute of champagne into his tattooed fist as his ass hit the barstool before divvying out glasses to everyone else, thankful for the light soft rock playlist she had playing from her portable speaker on the coffee bar to make up for lack of conversation.

“Okay, who needs rice?” Yoongi either sensed Y/N’s nerves or was voracious himself, wielding a rice paddle and plopping great servings into large cereal bowls, his champagne glass pinched in his other hand delicately as he worked.

All at once, the tension broke– Jimin, Seokjin and Taehyung had crawled to the island for their rice, and the room was full of dodging one another to stack ingredients into their bowls so they could dig into dinner. When Y/N pulled the enormous helping of dumplings out of the air fryer, it was as if she had handed all of them one million dollars, and before she could even place the baking sheet on the counter, there were less than a dozen dumplings left. She was thankful that ever since Taehyung and Namjoon’s fight, it seemed that whatever tense or awkward situation would dissolve soon after it cropped up– but Y/N was still observing Jeongguk out of the corner of her eye, robotically filling his bowl of rice with steak and vegetables with the faintest blush dancing across his high cheekbones.

“Happy birthday Jeongguk,” Y/N repeated, planting herself in the barstool beside him once she had elbowed Hoseok away from the oven, the hot foiled dish of ziti in her mitted hand sliding across the island as she placed it beside the elk hybrid.

Jeongguk paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth with a clump of rice and half of a dumpling, eyeing both her and the little covered tray she offered sideways. At least he wasn’t violently angry that she had surprised him with a party, she concluded.

“What’s this?” Jeongguk muttered gruffly, using his nose to jerk towards the foil.

Behind her, she could hear Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jimin talking about films they had watched together that week at the breakfast nook while Namjoon listened quietly beside them, as well as registering some open-mouthed chewing that made her cringe. Taehyung was on her other side, silent of course, and Hoseok decided to cut his losses and sit beside the Kodiak hybrid– though, Hoseok seemed quite content with pouring himself a second glass of champagne and occasionally shouting over his shoulder to join in on the conversation from the breakfast nook.

“Can’t you tell with those senses of yours?” Y/N teased, Jeongguk rolling his eyes as he chewed. “Sal’s ziti. I picked some up for you after work– your birthday only comes once a year, after all!”

Jeongguk must have known what it was, but he still appeared taken aback, ignoring the inferno-hot temperature of the foil as he reached over to peel it back and examine the ziti. His face became unreadable, lip ring pulled between his teeth as he jabbed a noodle with his chopsticks.

“Why?” Jeongguk questioned softly, the raspiness of his voice still audible over the Steely Dan song that was pulsing over the speaker, even if she had to lean closer to hear him. His question puzzled her.

“What do you mean, ‘why’? It’s your birthday, Jeongguk,” Y/N replied equally softly, trying not to dissolve into sand when her eyes locked with his own inky stare. “I noticed how much you liked it at the cookout, so consider it a birthday gift from Sal’s family. Save room for dessert though, there’s still cake.”

With her last statement, she nodded towards the cheesecake that was sitting a few feet away from him, Jeongguk looking like he didn’t know whether to shit or go blind as he looked from her, the cake, the wrapped gifts obviously for him, and the meal he was currently enjoying.

“Y/N,” Hoseok snatched her attention for a moment, the fox hybrid leaning over Taehyung with the champagne bottle, topping her glass off and lifting an eyebrow at the Kodiak hybrid leaning back in his barstool to put space between them. “That chart you put up on the fridge, with the clubs. Can you tell me more about some of them?”

She clinked glasses with Hoseok as he smirked at her, pleased that he’d actually brought it up. Hoseok was definitely the most extroverted and outgoing hybrid she had adopted, while the rest of them were a bit more on the reserved side. It was one of the many reasons she and Hoseok got along so well– he was often the one to engage her in sarcastic banter, shriek at the TV at the same time she did, and initiate drinking games or conversations during mealtimes– their personalities were pretty similar.

“Yeah, sure! Any ones you were interested in, particularly, honey?” Y/N took a sip of her champagne, the fruity bubbles popping and peppering her upper lip with moisture.

“The sports teams,” Hoseok replied simply, Y/N noting that Hoseok was acting like there was nothing but air between him and her, Taehyung all but an apparition as he glued himself to the back of his barstool and nursed his own glass of champagne while he soaked in the conversation.

“Thought that would be your answer,” Y/N chuckled, stirring some rice around in her bowl with an easy smile. “Well, all their teams run year-round, but they’re broken up seasonally so you get week-long breaks between each season. I read on the rec website that they’ll move teams indoors during the fall/winter seasons, the basketball and track teams, I believe. There’s also a swimming team… if you pick one, they provide the athletic wear or swimsuits, and practices are four times a week, games or tournaments every couple of weeks depending on the sport you choose.”

Hoseok munched on a crispy bit of pork dumpling in deep contemplation, Y/N almost able to see the wheels turning in his head as he processed her words. Suddenly, he leaned backwards in his barstool, craning his neck towards the breakfast nook to catch the attention of some of the hybrids seated there.

“Hey. Jimin, Jin? What do you think, should we join a team? How about the swimming team– Jinnie, you have the shoulders for it,” Hoseok mused, Seokjin spitting out a bit of champagne on the floor as a look of pure horror and dread crossed over his fine features.

“N-no!” Seokjin gasped, almost appearing as if he was petrified that Hoseok would even ask him something so outrageous. “Please, no–”

“Jesus, Jin, okay, just say you don’t want to wear a speedo next time,” Hoseok rolled his eyes, his signature whistle tone following the jab.

Y/N, however, found Seokjin’s response to Hoseok’s offer completely out of character for the jaguar hybrid. He looked genuinely disturbed and frightened over the mere suggestion of swimming, his complexion on the side of green, his hands visibly shaking as he clutched his chopsticks with whitened knuckles.

“Sorry, Hoseok. I think I’ll be busy working on the stable, for now. Maybe in the spring I’ll take up a sport with you,” Jimin added to Hoseok’s disappointment, the fox hybrid’s ears drooping a little in response.

“Whatever, you guys are boring. I was leaning more towards the track team, anyways…” Hoseok brightened up after a beat, once again letting things roll right off of his shoulders. “Is it alright if I sign up for that, Y/N?”

“Of course it is! Whatever you guys want to sign up for is totally fine with me,” Y/N blushed, feeling a little odd about her role in the household once more. She wasn’t used to people asking for her permission to do things they wanted to do with their lives.

“What a shame, Foxy. I was thinking about joining the basketball team,” Yoongi vocalized from his spot beside a still queasy looking Seokjin, a lazy smirk curling his pouty lips up into the apple of his cheek.

“You play basketball, Yoongi?” Y/N asked, turning her body to gawk at the leopard hybrid with surprise. She would have bet a large sum of money that Yoongi would have been interested in the music club over sports, but then again– she learned something new about each hybrid every second she spent with them.

“Yeah, you know that outdoor court over in Chinatown? There was a kind-of team of a few guys I knew by the bar I worked at, I played with them whenever I was off the clock. Which wasn’t very often,” Yoongi responded, his hazel irises glittering in the low light of the kitchen as he met her eyes.

“Oh yeah, Reggie Wong Memorial Park? God, I used to walk by there all the time in college…” Y/N murmured mostly to herself, that nagging feeling that was more frequently popping up that she must have seen Yoongi around before. Boston was a small city, and the fact that he hung around in an area that happened to be within her old college stomping grounds seemed like no coincidence to her.

Hoseok began to bicker with Yoongi from across the room, the fox hybrid apparently not a fan of basketball and attempting to convince Yoongi to join the track team with him. Giggling, Y/N turned her body back to her meal, but her attention was snagged once more by Taehyung, who tugged lightly at the sleeve of her blouse.

“Mm? What’s that, Tae?” Y/N shifted closer to the Kodiak hybrid, unable to hear his quiet voice over the banter from behind her and the music still playing from the speaker.

“Photography? Was that one of the clubs?” Taehyung repeated into her ear, some of his curls tickling the cartilage making up the shell as his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Taehyung kept mostly to himself since the night of ‘The Incident’ or so she had deemed it, so having him so close and speaking to her directly was something that had her heart speeding up in her chest.

“It was. Do you want to give it a try?” Y/N cocked her head, searching Taehyung’s face for a crack in his stoicism. It was there, as much as she believed he was trying to mask it from her, but his eyes rounded out in vulnerability as she read his expression and it was his give away.

Taehyung nodded slightly, biting down on his lip softly as he returned to his dinner, ceasing to say anything more. Deciding to let it go, knowing that Taehyung had opened up before and would again in his own time, she focused on finishing her rice and making a mental note to tackle filling out all of the forms for the clubs each hybrid wanted to join the next day; she’d have to do it promptly so they could participate for the autumn season.

Y/N was usually the last to finish her meal. The hybrids always ate with such speed she often worried that one of them would wind up choking, and that night was no different. She kept one eye on Jeongguk beside her, who had ended up not only finishing his entire rice bowl but was currently plowing through the last third of the ziti.

Heaving herself off of her stool, she assisted Hoseok and Taehyung with loading up the dishwasher and wiping down the counters in preparation for serving the cake. Namjoon had managed to sneak his way to the island, taking Y/N’s former seat once Taehyung had got up, surreptitiously glancing at the cake every once in a while with longing. Y/N noticed the wolf hybrid had a bit of a preference for sweets, though she believed he was unaware of how obvious his preference was. She could tell by the way his tail would wag a little faster at the sight of a baked good, his amber eyes becoming just a bit sparklier. It was a trait that softened some of Namjoon’s rougher edges, in her mind.

“Aw, we’re out of champagne,” Hoseok whined, shaking an empty bottle in one of his fists once he finished wiping down the counter by the sink. Snorting, Y/N shook her head.

“I have the rest of the case in my car. I’ll go grab it before we have cake,” Y/N reached up to pat Hoseok’s head fondly, her fingertips gliding through his soft mahogany strands. Hoseok shuddered, though an amused smile stretched across his face at the contact.

“I’ll take care of the rest of the clean up with Taehyung,” Hoseok promised in response, going as far as wiping down the faucet with the rag he was holding.

“That eager for another glass, huh? Alright, alright, I’ll go now,” Y/N teased, visually sweeping the kitchen for the other hybrid’s glasses– most of the flutes were drained.

She hadn’t drank all week, herself, and it was officially the start of her long weekend… Y/N figured she might as well get buzzed if they were going to celebrate Jeongguk’s birthday properly. She side-stepped around Taehyung, who was placing pots back in their rightful spots, while she used a hand to soothe down his flannel-clad back with a pleased grumble coming from his chest as she did so.

Humming along to the Pink Floyd song that had come on, Y/N headed towards the foyer with her car keys swinging around her pointer finger, ready to stick a straw in one of those champagne bottles after the jam-packed week she had. She made it about three steps into the foyer before a hand clasped hers from behind, Y/N startled that she realized exactly who it was without even turning around. Tender grip, interlaced digits, crooked fingers slotting between hers, the scent of eucalyptus. Seokjin.

“Hi Jin, want to get some fresh air?” Y/N peered up at his gorgeous face, his ears fluttering slightly. Nodding, he let her tug at his hand, pulling him to the front door.

“You said there was a case of champagne in your car. I thought you might need some help,” Seokjin offered once she led him out to the porch, the sun finally slipping beneath the treeline and the sky a dusky purple.

“Aw, you know I can lift things, right?” Y/N bumped her hip into Seokjin, even though she was appreciative to have a moment alone with him. She hadn’t really had a chance to spend one-on-one time with the jaguar hybrid in a while, he had been quite enraptured with the book club selection of the week, and she had been busy at work and running around preparing for Jeongguk’s party. Truthfully, she missed the sweet moments she shared with Seokjin.

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Seokjin muttered cutely, waiting for her to pop open the trunk to the Land Cruiser. Giggling, she squeezed his hand, his thumb brushing over her wrist bone before she released him, sitting down on the back of her car and gazing up at the sky. She had some nagging questions for Seokjin, and wondered if it would be wise to bring any of them up while she had this moment alone with him, away from the other hybrids.

“Seokjin,” Y/N uttered softly, feeling the car bounce with his weight once he sat beside her, similarly admiring the twilight sky. He hummed, indicating he was listening, Y/N able to feel his body heat with how close he was to her; their shoulders mere inches away. “How did the book club go on Monday? I’m sorry I haven’t asked until now.”

Distantly, Y/N could still hear music coming from inside of the home, as well as Hoseok’s loud, boisterous laughter, but all she could focus on were the crickets in the grasses of the front yard and the sound of Seokjin’s soft breathing beside her. There was an underlying sound, a sort of muted rumble that came from beside her, making her cheeks flush– she noticed that both Seokjin and Yoongi often purred quietly when in close proximity to her, like overgrown house cats.

“Oh, don’t be sorry, you’ve been so busy this week,” Seokjin shook his head, scooching a bit closer to her as he spoke so that their thighs touched. “I enjoyed it. I didn’t participate much because I hadn’t read the book they were discussing, but listening to everyone’s thoughts was fun. Your mom was kind though, I didn’t feel out of place like I thought I would. Namjoon… it was interesting, seeing him like that.”

“Namjoon? How so?” Y/N wondered, eyebrows furrowing.

“He’s insightful, he sort of led the discussion. He’s more quiet and calculating, here, at home,” Seokjin commented, leaning back on his hands. Y/N hummed, trying to conjure up an image of Namjoon engaging in elaborate conversations amongst a group setting– the thought was mystifying.

As always, there was a comfortable lull in conversation between her and the jaguar hybrid; one that felt cozy, like they were sharing a space to soak in surroundings and enjoy each other's quiet presences. Still, there were so many things she wanted to know about Seokjin– while she felt quite close to him already, the jaguar hybrid had yet to offer her any kind of information into his past. Y/N didn’t feel like she was owed personal information from Seokjin, however, she was interested as to why he had been so horrified when Hoseok had brought up the prospect of joining the swim team together.

“Hey, Seokjin… can I ask you something?” Y/N lowered her voice, wanting the conversation to be as private as she could make it, considering Seokjin was certainly one of the more shy hybrids.

“Sure,” Seokjin replied after a moment, likely sensing her hesitancy. Y/N could feel the sleek, silky black fur of his tail curling around the bare skin of her lower back under her crop top, and the weight of his fiery eyes studying her profile analytically.

“Earlier, I noticed your reaction to Hoseok asking about you joining the swimming club. You looked upset, and I was wondering why…” Y/N fidgeted with her hands in her lap, recalling the day she brought Seokjin home.

Y/N had offered him her copy of Lord of the Rings the afternoon he had woken up from his fever the day she met him, and she could still picture his heartbroken expression in her mind. The last thing she ever wanted to do was upset Seokjin in that way again, but she had long since accepted that in order to establish deeper bonds with her hybrids, she’d have to have difficult conversations and risk touching upon raw nerves. That didn’t mean she enjoyed it, however. As the words left her mouth, she could not only feel the way that Seokjin’s tail had wound around her body tighter, but the way his thigh began to tremble against her’s. He was quiet, so she spoke once more.

“Are you afraid of water, Seokjin?” Y/N continued gently, fearing that if she spoke louder, the small bubble she found the two of them in would burst and the moment would slip away.

“N-... not exactly,” Seokjin finally breathed, after what felt like an eternity of silence as they both gazed up at the violet sky. “Not always. When you adopted me, when I was injured… that was a result of an accident, involving water. It’s stupid, but I’ve been wary since.”

Seconds ticked by, Y/N letting his words sink in. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but it made a lot of sense. On Seokjin’s profile from the hybrid database, it had mentioned he suffered from many phobias, PTSD. He didn’t know that she was aware of this, let alone that she knew a bit about his past in the circus business, but the pieces were coming together for her.

“It’s not stupid, honey. Everyone has fears, especially after a traumatic brush with one in particular. I just want you to know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and I’m here for you,” Y/N wrapped her nearest arm around Seokjin’s wide shoulders, attempting to pull his larger body into her side. Seokjin was normally quite pliant with her, so it didn’t take much effort to maneuver him despite his size and mass.

“I, um… I used to be a performer, before you adopted me. That’s when it happened, a few weeks ago, the accident? I did stunts, acrobatics, for Cirque–”

Seokjin went ramrod straight, flinching away from Y/N as the front door swung open with a great groan five yards away, music, voices, and light flooding into the front yard. Shuddering from the immediate absence of Seokjin’s comforting warmth, Y/N squinted towards the porch, peeved that Seokjin was interrupted as he was about to open up.

“Did you two get lost? It’s been forever!” Hoseok shouted from the threshold of the door, Y/N able to make out the triangular shape of his ears with the light coming from inside the house, the fox hybrid’s arms crossed over his chest.

Groaning, Y/N eased herself off of her perch on the trunk, Seokjin already gathering the case of champagne in his arms, the corded muscles flexing as he lifted it out of the car and started towards the house. Shutting the trunk of the car, Y/N trailed after Seokjin closely, a tightness in his back muscles straining against his lavender tee shirt that she knew had little to do with carrying the box held in his arms. Y/N wondered if it would be wise to create a schedule on her phone, so she could allot specific times to spend one on one with each hybrid, or if she was simply salty that Hoseok had interrupted.

As soon as she hauled herself into the house, Hoseok locked up the front door behind her, the strange three-note whistle he often crooned tickling her ears as she watched Seokjin disappear into the kitchen. Raising her eyebrows at Hoseok, who was grinning down at her like he knew something she didn’t, Y/N reached out to teasingly poke at his tummy, the fox hybrid giggling and nimbly dodging the attack.

“What’s with that tone you always whistle, Hoseok? Is it your personal trademark, or something?” Y/N attempted to chase Hoseok around the foyer, even though he was far too swift on his feet for her to ever catch him even by the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Oh, do you not like it?” Hoseok paused, examining the way her chest heaved as she leaned against the banister of the grand staircase, expression playful. However, there was something about the way his smile didn’t completely reach his eyes, making Y/N backtrack.

“No, that’s not it at all,” Y/N insisted immediately, not wanting to make him feel insecure about a quirk that truthfully endeared him to her. “I like it. If I ever lose you in a grocery store or something, I’ll whistle that same tone until I can find you.”

Cocking his head, Hoseok apparently not expecting that response, Y/N felt her cheeks flush as the fox hybrid looked her up and down, appearing serious for a moment, lost in thought. He opened and closed his mouth, as if to say something clever in response, but the words appeared to die on his tongue as Y/N grinned at him slyly. Finally, chuckling once more while shaking his head, Y/N exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Was that perhaps too forward, or embarrassing? Hoseok rarely found himself at a loss for words around her, so clearly some part of the exchange threw him off guard.

“Come on, darling, let’s go celebrate your long weekend,” Hoseok used a pointer finger to beckon her towards the entrance of the kitchen, his russet tail swishing as he spun on his heels, whistling his signature three notes once more. “And the elk, or whatever.”

Suddenly remembering that she had been anticipating this exact part of the evening for the past week, Y/N unfroze from her spot by the staircase, speeding past Hoseok with a smirk and bounding into the kitchen. A loud pop came from her right, Y/N managing not to flinch as Yoongi broke into a fresh bottle of the champagne, passing the bottle to Jimin so the coyote hybrid could refill glasses around the room.

Jeongguk seemed more relaxed now that the shock of the surprise celebration had worn off, leaning his forearms on the granite of the island as he spoke with Namjoon beside him. Y/N found it interesting that those two had managed to become closer over the past week; considering Jeongguk was the one to haul Namjoon away from Taehyung the night of The Incident. She couldn’t deny the similarities between the two– both a tad surly and serious, common interest in paranormal or occult subject matter, and not to mention face-melting glares she had been on the receiving end of on occasion or two. Secretly, she hoped they’d grow even closer as time passed, as it would be nice for each of the hybrids to have at least one other in the house they could bond with besides her.

Swirling the room-temperature champagne around in her flute, her eyes flickered to Taehyung, who was peering out at the backyard from the slider by himself, and wished with all of her heart that with time, he’d be able to connect with the other hybrids and they’d accept him as well. The Kodiak hybrid seemed so lonely in a room full of people, his lips moving as he mouthed the words to the song on the speaker, staring out at the half-moon in the sky.

Feeling a familiar hand on her lower back, Y/N brightened up, Yoongi stepping around her with a silver pie server, setting it next to the cheesecake and quietly watching Y/N stick candles on top of it.

“I remember you saying you used to do ‘cleansings’ with a group of paranormal investigators,” Namjoon’s voice came to her attention, addressing Jeongguk over the rim of his champagne flute.

Trying not to snicker, Y/N pretended she wasn’t listening– Namjoon was doing two things that amused her; asking questions in forms of statements again, and likely beginning to persuade the elk hybrid into helping her and himself with the protective wards the following week.

“Weren’t you in your room studying when I said that?” Jeongguk asked dryly, pierced brow lifting as he used a crooked finger to swipe blood from his cheekbone distractedly.

Namjoon ignored the elk hybrid’s comment, his bitten ear twitching with agitation, before setting his champagne flute down and leveling the most friendly look he could muster at the younger hybrid. Coming from beside Y/N as she continued to place candles on the cheesecake, she felt a silky tail smack the back of her thigh lightly, which was Yoongi’s way of non-verbally asking her if she was listening to the peanut gallery in front of her. Glancing at the leopard hybrid from her peripherals, he bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing at her ‘act natural’ telepathic plea, Y/N forgetting to find it odd that she could communicate with Yoongi in this way; without ever uttering a word.

“Are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to pry?” Namjoon deadpanned, clearly annoyed that he had to actually ask for information from Jeongguk.

“There’s not much to add. I’ve only been in the Boston area for a little over a year. I was hiding out in some old-ass abandoned church to keep away from agents sweeping strays off the streets, and one night a bunch of fucking nerds with cameras and holy water broke into the church. I was about to beat the shit out of them for waking me up, but they were squealing so much when they saw me that I took pity on them.”

“And?” Namjoon knit his eyebrows together while drawing out the syllables of the word, clearly not hearing what he wanted to quite yet.

“And what, you nosy fuck? They thought I was some kind of cryptid until I turned the lights on. They were so harmless it was laughable, so I made them tell me what they were up to. I knew a fair bit about what paranormal investigators do, so we talked for a bit. After that, they’d seek me out every few weeks for my thoughts on random occult topics until they scraped up the courage to ask me to go with them on investigations from time to time, mostly when the investigations involved exorcisms or more malevolent entities.”

“Did you guys have a Youtube series or something I can watch later when I want a good laugh?” Hoseok interjected by the fridge, lazily overseeing the conversation as he downed the rest of his champagne.

“No, dipshit,” Jeongguk grumbled, taking a hearty swig from his own flute and appearing to compose the aggravation off of his face. “I think Mark and Jude, the two camera geeks, had some kind of podcast, but I never participated in that crap. Hopefully the team hasn’t gotten themselves killed in my absence…”

Y/N studied Jeongguk’s face carefully. While delighted that he had willingly shared some details of what he’d been up to prior to his adoption, she didn’t miss the near imperceptible way the corners of his mouth turned downwards when he spoke about the paranormal investigation team, as much as she knew he was trying to make it seem like they were just a bunch of bothersome people from his past. She would bet a fair bit of money that Jeongguk actually missed the team, though there was no doubt he would deny that speculation up and down if she ever mentioned it to him.

Catching Namjoon asking Jeongguk if they could talk the next day, Jeongguk nodded, lost in his thoughts as the wolf hybrid seemed temporarily satisfied with what he had gotten out of Jeongguk. Y/N sensed Seokjin’s presence again, craning her neck upwards as he offered her a gentle grin, setting a stack of little paper plates down on the counter for the cake. She supposed it was about time to dig into dessert, Namjoon was eyeing the cake again, and Hoseok and Jimin were getting a touch rowdy with the champagne they were putting away like water.

She struck a match, swiftly lighting the five candles she stuck around the icing script reading Happy 25th Birthday Jeongguk, leaning on her tip-toes to slide the cake in front of the elk hybrid across the island. The flames from the candle had light reflecting off of the silver jewelry threaded through his ears and face, and sharpening his already strong features. Everyone quieted down a bit, Jeongguk reading the top of the cake with the faintest twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Okay, make your wish!” Y/N encouraged once the elk hybrid looked at her for direction, for once not really seeming to mind that he was the center of attention. Namjoon, from beside him, seemed utterly confused with what was going on, as if he had never celebrated a birthday before.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes before hurriedly blowing out the candles, Y/N clapping with excitement as Yoongi made the first move to pull the candles from the cake and begin to slice it with the pie server.

“What’d you wish for?” Jimin asked from the breakfast nook, sitting in between Taehyung and Seokjin with an easygoing smile.

“Jimin, don’t you know if he tells you, it might not come true?” Y/N gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over her chest for added theatrics as Hoseok and Yoongi snickered at her antics. Jimin, however, became the picture of apologetic with his ears drooped; until Y/N waved her hand and mouthed I’m joking.

Yoongi placed the first slice of cheesecake in front of the birthday boy, before Y/N helped him ferry it off to the other hybrids, making sure she dropped the second slice in front of Namjoon before he began drooling. She thought about making an array of desserts for his birthday, since he apparently liked them so much. Once everyone had a slice and a fork in front of them, Y/N sat on Jeongguk’s free side with her own plate, promptly digging into the dessert and watching Yoongi trudge over to the breakfast nook to sit beside Seokjin.

“Oh, this is good,” Hoseok’s voice came from across the island, hip leaning on the granite as he ate standing up.

“Thought you didn’t like cheesecake,” Jeongguk accused around a forkful of dessert, the fox hybrid shrugging in response, his sharpened teeth biting down on his lower lip as he stifled a laugh.

Once dessert was squared away in between Y/N divulging more details about the clubs at the rec center and discussing tentative weekend plans, she nudged the gifts closer to Jeongguk, who quickly became skeptical and wary once the gift bags were in front of his face.

“Here, open this one first. It’s from my parents, my mom picked it out,” Y/N tapped the little black box closest to his inked elbow while sipping on her champagne, heat pooling in her cheeks as the alcohol began to dizzy up her head.

She had talked to her mother for a few minutes when she picked Namjoon and Seokjin up from the book club on Monday and mentioned Jeongguk’s birthday in passing. To her surprise, her mother showed up at Judy’s the following Wednesday during her shift with a gift for the elk hybrid, which honestly she should have expected. While her mother and father hadn’t interacted with Jeongguk too much, Y/N secretly peaked at the gift– it was strangely suited to his tastes.

Yoongi was bickering with Hoseok at the sink, both of them hissing in surprise as Jimin popped open yet another bottle of champagne, his almost childlike giggles making Y/N’s heart squeeze. Jeongguk took up the small black box, examining it like it was going to explode between his fingertips.

“Y/N, do you mind if I run upstairs and shower? I’ll be back in a little bit,” Seokjin tapped her shoulder, Y/N nodding with a thumbs-up, noting the way Seokjin seemed a little on edge still. Watching the jaguar hybrid go, Hoseok stole her attention next.

“We’re gonna go figure out what movie to put on,” Hoseok called from the entrance of the kitchen into the parlor, his arm slung around Yoongi’s elegant shoulders as the leopard hybrid glared at Hoseok out of the corners of his eyes. The fox hybrid began to haul Yoongi away, Jimin close behind with two bottles of champagne tucked into an ice bucket. “Join us after?”

“Sure thing, angels,” Y/N chuckled, Jimin’s tail wagging more quickly at the term of endearment as he hurried after Hoseok and Yoongi. Part of her new nighttime routine was ending the evening with a movie or two with the hybrids in the cushy parlor room, usually over a cocktail or a bowl of ice cream.

“Whoa,” Y/N was brought back to the events unfolding beside her, Jeongguk finally opening the gift from her parents as strange emotions danced over his face.

It was a sterling silver necklace, one that would likely sit below the dip of his collarbones; the pendant a medieval looking sword. It was edgy, gothic, masculine– all the things Jeongguk embodied effortlessly. Her mother must have caught all of the silver jewelry Jeongguk already wore through his countless piercings, and went out to buy a necklace to match. Namjoon leaned closer to the elk hybrid to take a look, his head cocking contemplatively as he stared at the jewelry.

“Pretty. Do you like it? They probably got it from the craft fair that’s been going on in Boston Common this week,” Y/N was practically bouncing on her barstool, fighting back the urge to take the necklace from the box and fasten it around Jeongguk’s neck herself, just to see what it looked like.

“Mm,” Jeongguk hummed, cheeks pink with potential embarrassment, keeping the box open and setting it to the side. “It’s really nice. I need to thank them.”

“They’ll probably pop by at some point this weekend,” Y/N replied, a tad distractedly.

Taehyung had slipped from the room under her nose, and she wondered where he had wound up– doubtful that he’d followed the three in the parlor currently yucking it up loudly. All that remained in the kitchen were herself, the elk hybrid, and Namjoon. She had the feeling Namjoon had stuck around just so he could possibly coerce Jeongguk into setting wards with them (or possibly have another slice of cheesecake).

“Okay, this one next,” Y/N pushed one of the remaining two gift bags in front of him, Jeongguk immediately diving his hand into the bag, whether to speed up the process to escape her attention or out of eagerness to find out what else he was getting, she didn’t know.

Jeongguk pulled out the book, leather journal, and pack of pens she picked up from him at the bookstore, faintly snorting at the cover of The Paranormal Investigative Field Guide. His eyebrows furrowed as he passed his palm over the carved leather journal, fiddling with the intricate clasp as he set the pens and book aside.

“I don’t know what you keep in that other journal of yours, but it looked like it was almost filled up the last time I saw you writing in it. Maybe this one will last you a bit longer,” Y/N explained, trying not to grin too widely at both Jeongguk’s growing fluster and Namjoon not-so-subtly leaning across the island to steal Y/N’s plate of half-eaten cheesecake she had long since abandoned.

“What do you write in that journal? You carry it around everywhere,” Namjoon inquired over a mouthful of cheesecake, his half-bitten ear flickering at the sound of someone clinking champagne flutes together in the parlor.

“It’s just where I keep my notes. One of the investigators I knew gave it to me. I write down what I see and how I think I can get rid of it, the results of any ritual I do, etcetera etcetera,” Jeongguk shrugged, eyeing the last gift. “This is the last one, right? You didn’t buy me a car or anything, I hope.”

Snorting, Y/N shook her head, enjoying her time spent with Jeongguk and Namjoon. While the two of them had given her a bit of grief in the past, she found she had quite a lot in common with both of them, and they had seemed to soften up significantly over the past week.

“Holy shit, a camera?” Jeongguk pulled the video recorder out of the final blue gift bag, turning the box around in several directions to read the specs on the side of the glossy cardboard.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I was going for a paranormal investigation theme. Who knows, with this old house, there might be some ghosts in the attic you can capture on film,” Y/N smiled widely, Namjoon humming in agreement.

The wolf hybrid was twitching in his seat, desperate to mention the entity he had banished from the house with Jeongguk, and the possibility that it was still hanging around. Y/N believed he was possibly waiting to bring the subject up the next day, which she thought was a nice gesture on Namjoon’s part– letting Jeongguk enjoy his birthday without it being tainted by the idea that his ritual hadn’t been a total success.

“I wonder… Would you ever consider contacting that team of investigators? They’d probably be relieved to hear from you, and that you’re doing okay,” Y/N pondered, considering Jeongguk hadn’t expressed any interest in the rec clubs she had compiled on the spreadsheet. Jeongguk put his camera down gently, his features cloaked in mystery.

“I could, I have the lead investigator Jeremy’s number,” Jeongguk began slowly, sucking his lip ring into his mouth in thought. “I’d have to think about it. With the way I was brought into that shithole shelter, there’s a strong possibility one of those fucks reported me to some agents. Not sure why they would do that, as they’re pretty fucking useless without me, but it makes the most sense. I’ve been on the streets for a while, so I know how to dodge agents. There’s no way I would have been caught unless someone called in a report.”

“Oh,” Y/N squeaked, not really expecting such a lengthy answer to her offhand question. “Well that would be pretty shitty of them, if that’s the case. I hope their podcast tanks.”

Jeongguk chuckled with this, Namjoon finally getting off of his barstool to toss his cheesecake-crumbed paper plates into the garbage drawer, pushing up the sleeves of his forest green henley as he slid the scant remains of the cheesecake into the fridge.

“I hope you liked everything, the food and the gifts! Oh, and thanks for being a good sport about the surprise. I know some people hate them,” Y/N gave Jeongguk a friendly pat on his shoulder, trying to avoid areas of the cream colored tee shirt dappled with blood.

Jeongguk paused, letting her words sink in as Y/N plucked a few pieces of shredded velvet off of his tee shirt and dropped them into a crumpled piece of blue tissue paper, her eyes on his antlers that seemed to be almost completely stripped of the rich brown velvet they were once covered in. She wondered how long it would take for the velvet to grow back, though admittedly, there was something a bit hauntingly beautiful about the way the bones were stripped raw.

“Uh, thank you. This was actually really nice, you didn’t have to plan anything, but you did. Tell me when your parents are coming by here so I can thank them, too,” Jeongguk managed after a moment, his voice sounding the most gentle she had ever heard it, and it was a rare moment where he didn’t slip an expletive into his speech.

Grinning, Y/N resisted the urge to give him a hug– both him and Namjoon had yet to initiate that kind of skinship with her, so she didn’t want to cross a boundary– and opted to give him a soft squeeze on his shoulder before hauling herself off of the barstool.

“You’re welcome, Jeongguk– I actually have a blast planning birthday parties, so it was my pleasure,” Y/N rounded the island, inching towards the entrance to the parlor. From the sounds of it, the three hybrids already in there hadn’t settled on a movie selection yet; talking over one another about their favorite sports.

Namjoon was staring at her from a few feet away while he downed the rest of his champagne; she could feel his gaze without even looking at him. Still, she couldn’t resist; turning to face him, she assessed his handsome face, the flush settled over his cheeks from the sparkling wine, the fullness of his lips that seemed to be naturally (and unfairly) rimmed with liner, and the orange honey color of his irises. All of his injuries from The Incident had long since faded, thankfully.

“And you…” Y/N began slyly, Namjoon’s tail swishing a little faster as she leaned towards him, “You’re next! In a little over a week, too. I’ll have to order your cake in the morning.”

Before the wolf hybrid could react, he flinched, a loud, pitchy whine coming from the parlor.

“Y/N! Yoongi won’t let me put on The Hangover!” Hoseok complained, his speech loosened from what was likely his seventh glass of champagne. Rolling her eyes, Y/N used a crooked finger to beckon Namjoon and Jeongguk so they could settle in for their before-bed movie.

“Hoseok, we watched that on Tuesday,” Y/N reminded him calmly, standing in front of the TV and evaluating the three tipsy hybrids sprawled out on the couch. “All three of them.”

“Well, what are your suggestions then, darling?” Hoseok leaned a cheek heavily on his palm, a shaky elbow balanced on the armrest of the sofa as he blinked at her innocently. She knew better than to give into the act, however.

“Let Jeongguk pick tonight,” Y/N wrestled the remote from the fox hybrid’s free hand, heavily plopping down between him and Yoongi, the latter of which seemed grateful for the barrier of her body between himself and Hoseok.

With the fox hybrid muttering beside her, though worming his body closer to her side ever so slightly, Y/N waited for Jeongguk and Namjoon to find seats: Namjoon on the floor in front of her with a spare pillow to sit on, Jeongguk on the leather recliner that was rarely free. Feeling Yoongi begin to hook a hand around her elbow, Y/N leaned forwards to toss Jeongguk the remote before she lost all function of her arms.

“I can pick the movie?” Jeongguk caught the remote mid air, a devilish expression shadowing his face ominously, dark eyes flickering between Hoseok and Namjoon.

Y/N felt Yoongi’s hand shift from around her elbow, pulling her back against the cushions of the couch so he could thread his arm through hers, tucking her into his side. Hoseok similarly arranged himself, his nearest arm slung along the backside of the couch behind Y/N, angling his body so he could face her slightly. Biting back a chuckle in response to the clinginess, increasing not only by day but with boldness as well, Y/N let the two hybrids beside her curl into her frame.

“Oh, Jin! I saved you a spot, come here,” Hoseok called happily once Seokjin appeared in the doorway between the foyer and the parlor, his raven curls damp from his shower and dressed in his pajamas. Promptly, the jaguar hybrid slunk into the room, stepping around Namjoon at Y/N’s feet and squeezing in between Hoseok and the armrest of the couch. He brought a cloud of eucalyptus and mint with him.

“Alright. We’ll watch this,” Jeongguk announced after a few moments of flicking through Y/N’s digital movie collection. Complaints came from every direction at his choice, Y/N peering at the flatscreen with confusion to see what the ruckus was about.

“Ooh! I love this movie!” Y/N exclaimed, and Jeongguk promptly pressed play and the eerie opening music of The Conjuring began to flood through the surround sound.

She hadn’t watched a horror movie in ages, even though they were amongst her favorites to lounge around and binge, and she certainly hadn’t watched one with the hybrids yet. They seemed to gravitate towards action or comedy movies, and she recalled Hoseok’s and Jimin’s aversions to The Bride of Chucky the night she brought them home and she scoured her movie library in search of something to watch with them.

“Of course you do,” Yoongi muttered from beside her, his chin hooking over her shoulder as he snuggled in closer to her, hazel eyes narrowed at the creepy Annabelle doll currently filling the large flatscreen.

“Fuck me, why do you want to watch something about a dirty old possessed doll?” Hoseok groaned, his tail curling around his front and across his lap, almost as if he was protecting himself with the thick fur.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re afraid, Hoseok. It’s just a scary movie,” Jimin suddenly interjected, his speech a little garbled after all the champagne he drank.

“Shut it, Jiminie. You’re telling me that thing doesn’t creep you out?” Hoseok replied, his arm around the back of the couch slipping lower to curl around Y/N’s shoulders, effectively trapping her between himself and Yoongi.

“This is based on a true story?” Namjoon wondered aloud, the tips of his ears fluttering against Y/N’s bare calves from where he was sitting between her legs, likely in response to Taehyung appearing in the room, finally. “The Warrens… I’ve read a book about them. The Demonologist.”

Even though Taehyung kept his distance from everyone in the house these days, he would still participate in mealtimes and the nightly movie routine. The Kodiak hybrid quietly entered the room, rounded behind the sofa, and took his usual seat at the back of the room by the window and entrance to the kitchen.

“Are you all going to talk through the entire film?” Jeongguk hiked up the volume, Y/N cringing in preparation for how loud it would get later on in the movie when jumpscares appear.

At her feet, Namjoon growled lowly, but ceased to talk any further. Y/N theorized that Namjoon was attempting to open himself up to Jeongguk, at the very least, considering their shared interests, and she thought he was doing pretty decently so far. In fact, it filled her with warmth that Namjoon was beginning to show a little bit of trust between not only herself, but some of the other hybrids as well. She could only hope the same for Taehyung, over time. Now that everyone settled into silence to watch the film, apart from Hoseok’s periodic disturbed yelps in response to suspenseful scenes, Y/N relaxed into the couch, letting the two hybrids beside her tangle themselves even more closely to her.

After the movie, Y/N managed to convince Jeongguk to save the second Conjuring movie for another day, and they switched back to New Girl reruns in order to calm not only Hoseok down, but a sufficiently creeped out Jimin as well. As it turned out, the coyote hybrid wasn’t as fearless as he had alluded to earlier in the night.

She had said her goodnights; which were drawn out thanks to how she had to comfort spooked Hoseok and Jimin, pry a drowsy Yoongi off of her, and navigate her own hazy tipsiness. Y/N had just given her final hug to Taehyung, who held onto her so tightly she wheezed, before he ruffled her hair and walked her to her bedroom door.

Pulling on her pajama shorts, Y/N chuckled to herself, wondering exactly when she was going to be driven insane in the near future due to the overwhelming amount of affection she was receiving from most of the hybrids lately. She knew that hybrids tended to get quite clingy and possessive over their adoptive guardians over time, but she wasn’t expecting many of them to warm up to her so fast. She couldn’t have imagined that she’d have five of them hugging her goodnight within two weeks of having them in the home– if someone had told her that the morning she made the adoptions, she’d laugh in their face.

Extremely satisfied with how well Jeongguk’s birthday had gone, Y/N yawned into her hand, images of the new array of emotions she saw on the elk hybrid’s face that night making her smile; his faint fluster, gentle amusement, and even a glimmer of fondness. Thinking about how soft his voice sounded when he thanked her for the celebration temporarily distracted her from the messy pile of notes she had strewn about her vanity that she was lurking over once she pulled her tank top over her head. Biting her lip, she leaned a hip against the piece of furniture, squinting at the nonsensical scrawl she had managed to pen down that week, the abandoned and dog-eared copies of hybrid guide books scattered across the surface, and the general lack of organization of the entire area.

She had planned on using the vanity as an altar for her practice, but in the past week, it was used for jotting down facts she had siphoned from the guide books, storing items and materials for the wards she was going to place around the property, and keeping a thin notebook she had used to make sense of the reading Judy had given her on Monday. Admittedly, there wasn’t much time she had dedicated to the latter subject over the past week– and truthfully, she had tried her best to push the reading out of her mind for as long as she could. Now that she had fewer things to distract her (such as planning Jeongguk’s birthday) and a wide-open long weekend, there was really no excuse for her to avoid dissecting the reading’s contents further. In a way, it would be practice for her rusty divination skills, and it would certainly scratch the itch she had been feeling since Judy sat her down for the reading in the first place.

Perching on her vanity stool, Y/N opened up the notebook with a small sigh, listening to the familiar and comforting sounds of Jeongguk’s heavy tread from above her bedroom. Based on the direction of his footsteps and the faint thrumming of the pipes overhead, Y/N deduced he was taking a shower before heading to bed. Switching on the twinkle lights draped over the vanity mirror, she narrowed her eyes at the few notes she had taken on the reading; starting with the cards Judy had indicated as being Namjoon and Jeongguk.

The Green Man - Namjoon, apparently (?) One who is a “father” of nature, represents summer (the ‘height’ of the wheel of the year). Patient. Perceptive, can see through what others cannot. Generous, proud, protective, masculine. Fearsome protector of nature, can be frightening? Known for a particularly strong and intense glare.

The Stag - Jeongguk (?) An individual concerned with the collective and the environment. Conscious of actions and consequences. Has great integrity. Keen judgment. Connected to the cosmic aspects of life, as well as the organic (understands how those are both linked…?) Shield. Bringer of change; for better or worse. Forgiveness is hard to earn if betrayed. Intervenes with the divine. Spring. Fire. Morality.

Biting down on the cap of her pen, Y/N looked from the frayed card guide book to her chicken scratch notes, distantly wishing she had the deck with her. It was always easier for her to connect to energies when she was physically holding the cards, soaking in the artwork. From what she gleaned from the meanings written in the guidebooks themselves, certain characteristics seemed to match up with things she had noticed in both Namjoon and Jeongguk’s personalities. As much as she wanted to write off the reading as a fluke, it was undeniable that the more she read into the energies, the clearer it was that the two hybrids were represented in the spread. Perhaps, in learning that truth, it led to her putting off digging into the meanings of the other cards, and putting together who was who.

Shivering, Y/N tried to ignore the slight queasiness curling in her gut, chalking it up to feeling guilt over looking into a reading that involved her hybrids without their knowledge. It was still difficult to wrap her mind around Judy’s implication that her meeting, or adoptions of the hybrids, were over a year in the making. Not only that, but the reading she wasn’t present for a year ago was surrounding romance. It was a dangerous game, to let herself think about any romance between herself and the hybrids at the present time. Everything was so new to her, to them, and easing the hybrids into their new life and tangling romantic feelings into that process would be irresponsible of her.

Rubbing her temples, Y/N pondered the conundrum she was in. She was well past the point in trying to deny her attraction to all of the hybrids, as well as the startlingly accelerated growth rate of her affection that seemed to double each day she spent with them. Her greatest fear was the hybrids realizing her budding feelings, and in turn coming to a conclusion that she had only adopted them for that sort of relationship– which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

To distract herself from spiraling for too long, Y/N began to fill out forms on the rec center website for Hoseok, Yoongi, and Taehyung, the mind-numbing task of plugging in names, measurements, and writing down equipment each of them would need effectively pulling her thoughts away from the reading. She’d tackle the nitty gritty of deciphering the other card meanings she had listed in the notebook at some point during the weekend. She was in the middle of jotting down some items she’d need to order for Taehyung to participate in the photography club, when she heard her phone chime on the charger across her bedroom.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she wondered if Alice was sending her Tiktok edits of Pedro Pascal again– it was pretty late, and she doubted it could be anyone else sending her a text message at two AM. Tiptoeing to her nightstand, Y/N rubbed her eyes and opened up her messages.

Seokjin: Y/N, are you still awake?

Seokjin: I hope I didn’t wake you up by sending that…

Y/N: LOL, it’s okay, honey, I haven’t gone to bed yet

Y/N: What’s up ? Need something? I can bring you some water or whatever

Straining her hearing to see if she could register any movement in the house outside of her bedroom, Y/N realized it was futile to try and listen for Seokjin. His bedroom was on the second floor and the opposite side of the house. Even Jeongguk had finally gone to bed; she heard him flop down heavily onto his bed about forty minutes prior. It was a windy night, so all that she could hear was the reedy willow branches whacking against the roof and sides of the house.

Seokjin: I was wondering if we could talk.

Pausing, Y/N blinked at the message thread between her and the jaguar hybrid. He had mentioned recently that he sometimes had trouble getting to sleep, so perhaps he was looking for a conversation to lull him into unconsciousness. Or, perhaps he wanted to continue their chat from earlier, which was interrupted by Hoseok.

Y/N: Of course we can! Want me to come to you?

Several minutes passed without a response from Seokjin, puzzling Y/N. She was in the middle of tapping out another message to him when the light drumming of fingertips against her bedroom door had her halting. Running a hand through her hair to make sure it wasn’t a nest on top of her head, Y/N started towards her door as quietly as she could, conscious of Namjoon on the other side of the wall and not wanting to wake him if she could help it.

“Jin? That’s you, right?” Y/N whispered as she carefully opened her door, met with the blackness of the hallway and eyeshine staring down at her. It was a little eerie to say the least, but the instant she caught a whiff of Seokjin’s eucalyptus shampoo her racing heart calmed a few beats. “Here, come in.”

Seokjin slunk into her bedroom lithely like a passing-by shadow, now completely visible in the purple glow of the fairy lights that illuminated the space. He looked a little twitchy, shifting from foot to foot, as Y/N shut the door behind him after she made sure no light was peaking out beneath the threshold of Namjoon’s bedroom door. The wolf hybrid, from the looks and sounds of it, appeared to be asleep, which brought her comfort– the last time another hybrid visited her in her room after hours, he had eavesdropped and flown off the handle.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so late, I really should have waited until tomorrow… this isn’t important or anything,” Seokjin immediately blurted as soon as she turned to face him, her mouth dropped open to ask him what he wanted to talk about.

“You’re not bothering me,” Y/N quickly assured, tucking hair behind her ear and giving him an inconspicuous once-over. Physically, he appeared to be just fine– in his pajamas, clean, complexion clear and healthy. His only tell that something was on his mind was the way his tail flicked back and forth anxiously. “Let’s talk. You mentioned last weekend that sometimes you have trouble getting to sleep. Is that what’s the matter?”

Seokjin swallowed thickly, the action making his Adam's apple bob in his throat, using a couple of fingers to tug at the loose neckline of his sleep shirt as if it was suffocating him.

“No… Well, partly. I couldn’t fall asleep, but that’s not why I wanted to…” Seokjin broke eye contact with Y/N, inching towards the side of her bed and fiddling with the carved wood of the bedpost. “I feel like I need to tell you about what happened to me before we met, before the adoption. I started to, but then Hoseok interrupted– that’s besides the point though. I wanted to tell you for a while, um, just in case you were wondering why something is so off about me.”

Y/N gawked at the jaguar hybrid with utter disbelief. He was under the impression she thought there was something “off” about him? Absolutely horrified, Y/N moved closer, motioning to her bed so they could sit down together.

“Hold on, Seokjin. First of all, I don’t think there’s anything ‘off’ about you. Secondly, you don’t have to tell me anything about your past if it makes you uncomfortable,” Y/N murmured firmly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to ease him down onto the mattress.

There was a beat, where Seokjin settled down onto her mattress and processed her response, his chest rumbling with light purrs as she lowered down beside him, an earnest look on her face as she soaked in the jaguar hybrid’s side profile.

“No, I know that. But there’s another reason I want to tell you. I think if I talk about it to someone I care about… someone like you, maybe the anxiety surrounding it will begin to ease,” Seokjin started softly, his eyes becoming far away like they were the afternoon she first spoke to him, staring out her window with the same mist clouding over his fiery irises.

The sentiment of Seokjin admitting she was someone he cared about was not lost on her. Her pulse was racing, warmth flooding her body from head to toe, Y/N squirmed in her seat. That aside, it had her heart aching that Seokjin had been through something causing him so much anguish it was causing him to lose sleep. Seokjin was an absolute sweetheart, and there was nothing more he deserved than peace of mind– the fact that he chose her to open up to had the gravity of the situation crashing down on her.

“So… I mentioned it earlier, but I performed stunts for big top shows. I trained for it my whole life, in labs– that’s what I was created for. Eventually, I was selected by a company, a traveling circus, and had been working there for a while,” Seokjin cleared his throat, running a hand through his curls, which appeared almost violet under the fairy lights in the room.

“A traveling circus,” Y/N confirmed, trying her best to remain as composed as possible. Something, in the back of her mind, rang like a bell. Her grandparents used to take her to a traveling circus, one that arrived city to city by train, every summer when she was growing up. Surely, though, it couldn’t be the circus Seokjin performed for– to her knowledge, hybrids weren’t part of any of the acts. “You did acrobatics, right? Along with stunts?”

“Yeah. We went coast to coast, year round. Things were slower in the winter, that’s usually when they’d have us learn new stunts for the summer shows. This past winter, the stunt directors wanted me to do something new, something fresh for the upcoming season. They said ticket sales weren’t what they used to be, and that we needed a new, shocking act to bring people in again,” Seokjin recounted, his rounded ears flattening against his skull as he spoke. “For a while, I thought the stunt directors had forgotten about bringing it up to me and some of the other acrobats, but things became even worse after our July shows in New York. We couldn’t even fill half the tent with showgoers.”

“So these stunts you’d do… I take it they were dangerous? And the stunt directors wanted what, to up the stakes for ticket sales?” Y/N tried to keep the agitation out of her voice, towards the stunt directors, obviously.

While Y/N loved the circus shows she had gone to growing up, as she got older, the glittering fantasy of it all rotted away into the reality she had come to be familiar with during her time at the animal hospital. Circus animals, and from what she could imagine, hybrids as well, were treated like nothing more than dirt by these companies. Their entire existences depended on performance, quality of performance– the training and the long hours were inhumane and the living conditions were just as dismal.

“Well, the stunts weren’t risk free. But my training throughout my life was very thorough, so accidents weren’t ever a concern,” Seokjin softly chuckled, leaning down to nudge Y/N’s shoulder with his own. “After the shows in New York, we headed here, to Boston. There were five days before the next show, and the stunt directors were already advertising for the new act. Usually we’d have weeks to prepare for something new, but not this time. It was just supposed to be me, too… I was a favorite, um, of the crowd, apparently.”

Discomfort washed over Seokjin’s lovely face as he murmured the latter part of his statement, his fingertips winding into the material of his sleep shirt. Y/N noticed that this seemed to be a habit of his when he was anxious or unsure.

“The accident, was it caused because you didn’t have enough time to practice?” Y/N asked after a moment, soaking in the way Seokjin’s ears fluttered with the sound of her voice.

“I suppose it was one of the many causes,” Seokjin mused, still seeming quite far away– Y/N wondered if she reached out to touch him, if her hand would pass through his body like an apparition. “I primarily did aerial acrobatics and the occasional wire walk. This stunt involved both of those things, and it was one of the most dangerous stunts I’ve ever been asked to perform. I was supposed to do an aerial performance on the wire, suspended above a pool– no net to catch me if I fell. I’ve never fallen, so the stunt directors weren’t concerned about that possibility… but things happen.”

“There was no net to catch you?” Y/N all but squawked, finding it hard to keep her voice down. As long as she’d live, she’d never go to another circus. Again, Seokjin chuckled, despite everything.

“No net. That isn’t why I fell, though,” Seokjin continued, leaning backwards on his palms so he could peer down at Y/N better. “At the last minute, the day before the show, they added one of my close friends to the act. She had little to no time to learn the aerial choreography, let alone get comfortable doing it on the wire; but she was also a ‘crowd favorite’, extremely talented, too. We were pretty used to performing together, but I could tell she was nervous about the whole thing. It was unlike anything either of us ever did.”

Pausing, Seokjin’s ear perked up, listening to the willow branches thwack against Y/N’s bedroom window, his orange eyes flashing as the wind picked up.

“Opening night in Boston, we ran the stunt twice beforehand to make sure we had it down, and we did. While we were practicing, they were testing the lighting and pyrotechnics, which was normal. They didn’t tell us they were trying out new effects, though, and no one told us what to expect prior to the show,” Seokjin caught Y/N’s eyes, slightly gnawing on his thick lower lip with pointed incisors as he paused to gather his thoughts.

“We were halfway through the act, and the tent– it was packed, I mean, we hadn’t sold that many tickets in months. Things were going well, I was just about to, uh… do the wire walk. I was supposed to go out halfway, catch my friend from where she was on the aerial hoops, then balance her on my shoulders and walk the rest of the way. As I stepped out on the wire, the pyrotechnics went off but they were much, much closer to where I was by the ladder than I was used to. Um, it startled me so much, I lost my footing, but I was able to hang on for a moment until I realized the top of the tent caught fire. Once I saw the fire, my grip loosened, and I was falling… The last thing I remember before hitting the water was my friend jumping after me, her arms stretched out.”

Y/N froze as soon as Seokjin mentioned the fire that had broken out. She remembered learning about that fire via the TV in the breakroom at the animal hospital weeks ago. Up until then, she hadn’t made the connection that Seokjin was involved in the tragedy– not only were several circus workers, but showgoers as well, were injured. She thought back to some of Seokjin’s behavior during the time she had spent with him; jitteriness around fire, anxiety in crowds, mortification when the swim team was brought up. Everything fell into place.

“So that cut on your side… all the bruising, it happened because of that fall, because the fireworks were too close to where you were performing?” Y/N whispered, trying to process everything. Seokjin hummed, flinching a bit when the air conditioner clicked on noisily. “I’m so, so sorry, Seokjin.”

“I finally woke up, at the shelter, and I met Hoseok and Yoongi. But… I don’t know what happened to my friend. I’ve been trying to find any mention of her in articles about the fire since you gave me my phone, but honestly I doubt the circus company would disclose, um, a d-death of a hybrid performer.”

“What was the circus company’s name, again? And your friend’s name, too? I could have Ben track down information. He has lots of connections, and is very persuasive when it comes to situations like these,” Y/N was desperate to help Seokjin in any way that she could, and wanted to make good on her mental promise to Seokjin when she adopted him that she’d find the people that injured him and slap them with a lawsuit.

“My friend’s name is Hannah. The company– it was Cirque Mystique,” Seokjin responded, eyeing Y/N with vulnerability as the blood drained from her face.

“No way,” Y/N breathed, memories coming back to her so suddenly and vividly it nearly took the wind out of her.

Seokjin was a part of the circus her grandparents took her to all her life. The magic of Cirque Mystique had long since evaporated for her; between the injured circus animals she treated at the animal hospital and now Seokjin’s revelation– the memories of the buttery scent of caramel corn, enchanting lights of the big top, and adrenaline-pumping performances had disgust welling up in her gut as the sensations washed over her. Y/N wasn’t exactly sure when Cirque Mystique had incorporated hybrids into their acts, but she had a suspicion that it had to do with not having to actually pay them for their labor.

“What’s wrong?” Seokjin furrowed his eyebrows, his tail instinctively wrapping around her lower back protectively. Damn, Y/N was supposed to be comforting him.

“Seokjin, I used to go to Cirque Mystique shows all the time with my grandparents when I was younger, whenever the train would arrive in Boston. I mean, I haven’t been in a couple of years, but…” Y/N shuddered as she felt the jaguar hybrid lightly drag his palm down her spine, likely in an attempt to soothe. Damn, again.

“Our shows used to be really popular. They only started employing hybrids into acts a few years ago. Perhaps, when you used to go to the show, the company wasn’t so–”

“Terrible? Irresponsible?” Y/N offered immediately, knowing that Seokjin tended to be a bit too kind or dismissive when describing horrible things that have happened to him. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Seokjin, and your friend Hannah, too. I promise, if Ben can dig up any information, I’ll let you know right away.”

Seokjin’s chest rumbled, the movement making him deflate a little bit. He appeared as if a weight was lifted off of him, though the melancholy was certainly still present around the slightly-drooped corners of his mouth.

“Thank you, Y/N, that means a lot to me,” Seokjin bumped his shoulder against her again, his lips pulling up into a tiny smile. “I’m glad I told you, I feel a lot better.”

“I’m glad you told me too. I hope confiding in someone makes it easier for you to fall asleep,” Y/N reached up to push a stray curl out of Seokjin’s eye, squeaking softly when the jaguar hybrid caught her wrist before she could pull it away.

She watched, transfixed on his movements, as Seokjin pressed her palm to his cheek, leaning into the caress with his eyes drawing shut. Stunned, Y/N felt the warmth of his cheek and the weight of his hand over hers, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. Seokjin hummed, his ears fluttering, and Y/N found herself at a loss for words.

“Y/N?” Seokjin murmured, eyes still shut.

“Hmm?” She managed, too busy memorizing each detail of his angelic face and begging her heartbeat to slow in her mind.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Seokjin sounded small, unsure. She’d shared a bed with Seokjin before, when she needed comfort, and she wasn’t about to turn him away after everything he just shared with her.

“Of course,” Y/N agreed quietly, running her thumb over the swell of his cheekbone delicately. “Want to lay down? It’s getting pretty late.”

Seokjin nodded, reluctantly releasing her hand and watching with rapt interest as Y/N got up and began rearranging her quilt on her bed and shutting off the lamps scattered about her bedroom. Something in her chest was squeezing; the strange sensation of being watched by someone waiting for her to make the first move, and everything Seokjin had said and done since he knocked on her door had her head positively spinning. Shimmying out of her slippers, Y/N switched off the fairy lights over her vanity, her ears perking up as she heard the sound of Seokjin making himself comfortable in the bed.

“Need an extra blanket?” Y/N grinned at the jaguar hybrid, who had wrapped himself up to his neck in her quilt so tightly he looked like a burrito.

He shook his head, staring at her expectantly through the darkness as she began to get into bed herself, wondering why she didn’t feel awkward about the whole situation. If only her friends could see her now: months ago, if Y/N had told them she was climbing into bed with a man she’s only known for just shy of two weeks, they’d probably drop her off at her old shrink’s office.

Seokjin didn’t leave much of the quilt for her, but she didn’t mind. She could feel his body heat from inches away, smell the familiar fragrance of his shampoo, and hear his light purring. Honestly, she hadn’t felt that immediately drowsy and comfortable in her bed since the last time Seokjin was in it with her, which was somewhat of a startling realization.

On her back, she tried to make out the shapes of the moldings on the ceiling, listening to the wind and Seokjin’s gentle breathing. The jaguar hybrid shifted, pulling more of the quilt over Y/N’s body, now resting on his side to face her. Shivering with his proximity, she stayed as still as she could, feeling him tentatively tuck his face into the crook of her neck, his forearm lightly slung over her midsection. Y/N was positive he could hear the way her heart was racing, but he didn’t seem to mind, his eyelashes brushing the column of her throat as he shut his eyes.

“Tired yet?” Y/N inquired, her voice hardly over a whisper. In response, Seokjin’s tail curled around her hips, his lips ghosting over her skin as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Mm. I like this quilt,” Seokjin mumbled, his speech slurred with sleepiness. “Smells like you.”

Y/N couldn’t help but bashfully giggle, using a hand to trace patterns over the skin of his forearm softly. Her father used to do something similar to her when she was anxious or couldn’t sleep, and subconsciously she knew that it was an attempt to comfort Seokjin even further.

“Hope that’s a good smell,” Y/N joked, Seokjin weakly humming, the vibrations of his voice tickling her neck.

“Hmm…” Seokjin tightened his hold around her waist, barely audible as he teetered on the precipice of consciousness. “… it’s the best.”

Y/N froze, her fingertips stilling their path over the smooth skin of his elbow. Heat bloomed over her cheeks, and she felt herself falling– hurdling, past the point of no return. Her heart was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it. Seokjin’s breathing became slow, mellowed, and his tail grew lax around her hips, and Y/N felt more awake than ever.

“Goodnight, Jin,” Y/N whispered upon deaf ears, and although she knew she’d be turning endless thoughts around her head for a while, it was nice to have someone to hold.

The next day, Y/N woke up by herself, but she expected as much. Unlike the first time she’d slept with Seokjin, she was relieved to not have him beside her as she woke up. It was probably best for her poor heart that she opened her eyes to just the indent of where his head had rested on her pillow, and she definitely had a bit of a champagne hangover that was currently pulsing through her skull as she watched Taehyung blow dust off of an old Led Zeppelin vinyl.

From her spot, laying haphazardly on the leather couch in the music room, she groggily passed a hand over her face as Taehyung murmured to himself, organizing his little collection of records in alphabetical order on the shelf.

“That’s a nice color on you, Tae,” Y/N complimented the Kodiak hybrid from her slumped position, lazily leaning over towards the coffee table to take a sip from her lukewarm coffee. He was wearing the cobalt blue v-neck long sleeve she had gotten for him, and it picked up the warm tones of his skin and eyes beautifully.

Taehyung ducked his head, a small smirk curving his lips, peering at Y/N through his peripherals. She noted that Taehyung was beginning to follow her around again, as he did prior to The Incident, so she was hoping that he was starting to move forward once more.

“Thank you,” his baritone voice still sent tingles down her spine, no matter how many times she heard it. “Where’s Yoongi? I thought he was supposed to be teaching you.”

“He wanted to take a shower after breakfast, he’ll breeze in any moment,” Y/N stretched her arms upwards, rolling her wrists like she had seen Yoongi doing before he’d start playing.

Taehyung nodded, criss-crossing his legs from his spot on the floor and curiously looking through some of the items on the shelf with the records. The shelf was mostly filled with her uncle’s old things; he was kind of an audiophile, and collected all sorts of musical equipment– Taehyung began to pull an ancient pair of Audio-Technica headphones nestled on top of a dusty radio, turning them over in his hands.

“I think you can use those with the turntable. My uncle used to hang out up here listening to records during family functions, and my grandmother had him wear those headphones so he wouldn’t disturb the Christmas party with Dio’s “Holy Diver”,” Y/N informed Taehyung, sitting up as she felt her phone buzzing away in her pocket. Eyebrows furrowing, she checked the screen– it was a number she didn’t recognize.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Yoongi stalked into the room, dressed in an acid-washed hoodie and dark jeans, his long hair damp and sticking to his cheeks. He paid Taehyung little to no mind, stepping around the Kodiak hybrid’s body as Taehyung tried to plug the headphones into the record player.

“One second, I’m gonna see who this is and then I’m all yours,” Y/N squeezed Yoongi’s hand on her way to slip out into the hall while holding up her phone, secretly hoping Yoongi would try to engage Taehyung in conversation in her absence. A girl could dream, after all.

“Hello?” Y/N traced her fingertips along the banister of the staircase, peering down into the foyer as she answered the call.

“Hi, is this Y/N? This is Ralph, from City of Boston Towing Impound Lot. I’m answering an inquiry from an email you sent earlier this week,” a gruff voice boomed from the other end of the line, the busy sounds of city life threatening to drown out his speech.

“Oh! Thank you for getting back to me so soon,” Y/N exclaimed, nervously tapping her foot. This was the last impound lot or junkyard to contact her back since she sent out several emails looking for Namjoon’s trailer on Monday, and her last hope to find it for him. “Any luck finding the trailer?”

“Well, we have one trailer in the lot, picked up during the timeframe you mentioned it was impounded. I’m not sure if it’s the one you’re looking for, though,” said Ralph, with a note of skepticism. “You didn’t give a description of the trailer, but this one is pretty beat up. Covered in moss, real old.”

“Um, okay. Can I ask a favor?” Y/N replied after a moment, sneaking into one of the unclaimed bedrooms that overlooked the backyard. Ralph grunted, Y/N scanning the backyard from the window to catch a glimpse of Namjoon, who she had last seen reading a book under the tree by the picnic table. To her relief, the wolf hybrid was still there, sitting in the grass and enjoying the shade. “Could you take a look inside? There should be tapes, lots of books. That’s how I’ll know it's the trailer I’m looking for, and if it is, I can pick it up sometime next week.”

There were noises of movement and heavy breathing on the other end of the phone, the jingling of keys, and the rusty sound of a door opening. Gnawing on her lower lip, Y/N prayed to the universe she’d finally get lucky, especially considering Namjoon’s birthday was fast approaching.

“Yep, there’s tapes and books alright. Looks like a nutcase was using this trailer, though, ma’am… all kinds of alien posters and… Christ, is that a picture of Bigfoot?” Ralph seemed amused, rifling through items in the trailer. Bingo.

“Ha, that’s me, the nutcase conspiracy theorist, and that’s my trailer! Can I pick it up next week?” Y/N fist-bumped the air, swearing to the sky she’d light a candle in thanks for the stroke of good luck. It was a miracle his trailer hadn’t been compacted at a junkyard yet.

“Yeah, you’ll have to pay a fee, though. Thing’s been collecting dust for a couple of weeks,” a surprised Ralph replied incredulously, to which Y/N expressed was of no issue. She hung up with glee, all but blowing a kiss to the wolf hybrid from the window for having so many identifying objects in his trailer.

Back in the music room, Yoongi was shuffling through a loose stack of sheet music, and Taehyung was lounging on his side on the floor, headphones on and a Soundgarden record on the turntable. Delighted that the Kodiak hybrid appeared to be staying while her and Yoongi had their lesson, Y/N skipped to the bench where Yoongi was sitting, promptly taking her seat beside him. Compared to last week, she was much more comfortable with being so close to the leopard hybrid, even finding it difficult to not lean into his sweet spiced warmth.

“Something good? Call from a boyfriend or something?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow at Y/N, using a pencil to scribble down musical notes on the staff paper. Taken so off guard, Y/N sharply snorted, covering her mouth with her hand.

“A boyfriend? Good one,” Y/N chortled, elbowing Yoongi lightly in the ribs. He screwed his mouth up, gauging her reaction, his eyes slitted. “When, exactly, would I find the time to date, angel? I’ve got my hands full with you all, at the moment.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, leaning over the sheet music so his hair curtained his face. Rolling her eyes, Y/N began to play the melody of Twinkle Twinkle, which she had mastered at an embarrassingly slow rate over the course of the week. Yoongi made a surprised purr in the back of his throat when she didn’t make any mistakes and was exactly on tempo, recovering from her retort.

“It was good news, however… looks like I found the perfect birthday present for Namjoon,” Y/N relented upon Yoongi’s silence, a smug smile on her face once she finished playing the melody. Perhaps, with the added motivation of wanting to please Yoongi, she had tried a bit harder with her piano practice than she would have otherwise.

“With how he acted last week, it better be a lump of coal,” Yoongi muttered, his spotted ears turning backwards against his skull as he placed the sheet music on the shelf above the ivory keys. “Alright, sweetheart. Great job practicing, I think you’re ready to learn some music theory; how to read notes.”

“Yes sir,” Y/N cracked her knuckles, narrowing her eyes at the line of notes Yoongi had penciled in on the staff paper. Taehyung yawned from across the room, singing quietly to the track he was listening to through his headphones, paired with the light crackling sound of the needle passing through the vinyl’s grooves. “Where do we start, teacher?”

Yoongi sucked his teeth, appearing to bite back laughter, before extending an index finger towards the staff paper.

“This is the treble clef, notes you’ll typically play with your right hand. There’s a mnemonic that can help you remember the order of the notes…”

Y/N listened closely, pressing each key down as he named them, enjoying the mid-morning sunshine through the windows and the company of the two hybrids. It was nice to share a love of music between the three of them, and Y/N had the faintest glimmer of hope that one day, her, Yoongi, and Taehyung could spend time together like this more often.

The following day, after learning a simple lullaby with Yoongi on the piano and ordering items for the hybrid’s rec center clubs online over a Friday night cocktail, Y/N woke up to a beautiful Saturday morning, complete with early autumn temperatures and golden sunlight. She started off the morning with a couple of texts.

Y/N: Morning, Namjoon! I think I want to do the protective wards around the property today- Saturdays are good for these kinds of rituals

Y/N: Does that work for you? I’m going to ask Jeongguk if he wants to help over breakfast :) oh, and pls wear black if you can

Y/N pulled on leggings and a loose, thin black sweater, taking soothing, deep breaths to center herself. The color black was associated with protection within her practice, and she’d made sure the ritual was performed on the best day of the week based on what her, Namjoon, and potentially Jeongguk were trying to accomplish. Her phone chimed as she heard a thump and a muted ‘fuck!’ from the other side of the wall, Y/N choking back a giggle at Namjoon’s clear stumble out of bed.

Jimin: Hi, Y/N, I put coffee on - Hoseok and I are going out back to work on the chicken coop this morning

Y/N: Sounds good! Thanks for making the coffee, make sure you and Hoseok wear sunscreen pls

Surprised that Hoseok had willingly gotten up so early, Y/N dared to peek out her bedroom slider to catch the fox or coyote hybrids heading to the back of the property, but caught nothing but the overgrown hedges taunting her for being such a poor landscaper. Tutting, she turned her attention back to stacking ritual items into a basket to carry outside, tuning into the sounds of the house coming alive with the hybrids moving about their morning routines– Jeongguk stomping into his bathroom, Namjoon fumbling about his bedroom and opening up one of his windows, the scent of Yoongi making bacon in the kitchen, and the sound of someone (Seokjin or Taehyung, perhaps) making their way down the stairs.

With everything she needed in her basket, Y/N set off for her morning cup of coffee. Passing by Namjoon’s bedroom door, it promptly creaked open as soon as she skipped by, Namjoon appearing with neatly combed-back silver hair and a tiny smile, contrary to the seemingly hectic start of his day Y/N had listened to on the other side of her bedroom wall.

“Morning,” Y/N greeted cheerfully, Namjoon’s tail swaying behind him as he shut his door and joined her in the hall.

Clearly, he had heeded her request to wear black; he had on black dress pants and shoes, along with a black wife beater and a dark gray cardigan pulled over it. Swallowing thickly, not used to seeing Namjoon in much else other than light earth tones, Y/N tried to push aside how attractive he looked in the dark outfit by averting her eyes to the foyer in front of her.

“Is there a reason behind wearing black for a protection ritual?” Namjoon asked her after repeating back her greeting, following her in the direction of the kitchen.

“It’s color magic– each color can represent a different element or intention. Traditionally, in witchcraft, the color black corresponds with protection and banishment. Think of it as an extra shield, absorbing any negativity we may encounter. Really, it's just another layer of insurance,” Y/N relayed, the wolf hybrid clinging onto every word.

His presence, while still a bit intimidating to Y/N with his height and musculature, radiated power. Perhaps, as her mother had begun to theorize at the cookout, Namjoon had practiced some kind of occult magic before… she still hadn’t had the courage to ask him. Maybe when she’d reunite him with his trailer, he’d be more comfortable opening up about himself to her.

“Do you think I can convince Jeongguk to help us?” Namjoon spoke again once they had made it to the kitchen, Y/N leaning against the coffee bar as she watched him fill up a mug for himself. “I thought he’d say something before now. If he’s dealt with these kinds of things before, wouldn’t he… sense that more needed to be done to break up the energy?”

“If you can’t convince him, I might be able to. However, I think he’s warming up to you, so let’s wait and see,” Y/N smirked, finding her mug of coffee on the island where Yoongi had already fixed it for her. The leopard hybrid himself appeared to be in the pantry; Y/N spotting the light of the closet on and a flash of his spotted tail from behind the half-closed door. “Also, there’s been a lot going on around here lately. He could have noticed but chose not to mention anything, but who’s to say.”

Namjoon’s cheeks grew a bit pink, nodding to himself and shuffling off to the breakfast nook with his coffee. Yoongi emerged from the pantry with a bag of dry pancake mix and the waffle iron, saying good morning to Y/N by catching her off guard and pulling her in for a side-hug. She could feel Namjoon gawking at her and Yoongi from the breakfast nook, a strange look on his face when she finally stole a glance of him, trying to shake off the tingles dancing down her spine at his steely expression.

“Any sign of Seokjin, Taehyung, or Jeongguk this morning?” Y/N cracked a couple of eggs into the bowl of waffle batter Yoongi was working on, reaching up to dust a bit of flour off of the leopard hybrid’s face. Blinking, Yoongi registered her question as her thumb brushed the debris off of the slope of his nose, licking his lips.

“Seokjin just joined Jimin and Hoseok outside, Taehyung is upstairs listening to records. No sign of the elk yet,” Yoongi murmured, resuming his task of stirring the waffle batter.

“Wow, you’re all up early today,” Y/N remarked, noticing Namjoon going through the contents of the basket of ritual items curiously. “What do you two think about going out to dinner tonight? There’s a brewery in town, good pub food. I can ask Alice if she’s free, too– we’ve been meaning to go together.”

“Sounds good to me,” Yoongi mused, pouring batter into the hot waffle iron. “I could go for some wings and beer. We don’t have many groceries, anyways.”

“Who’ll drive, if we all drink?” Namjoon frowned at Y/N, a bundle of rosemary in one of his fists.

“We’ll take a cab,” Y/N wanted to childishly stick her tongue out at the wolf hybrid, but managed to keep it together. “Don’t worry, I’m not that irresponsible, Joon.”

Namjoon immediately clammed up, hastily placing the bundle of rosemary back into the basket and turning to stare out the window. Yoongi’s tail smacked the back of her thigh, predictably, and Y/N was about to flick him in the shoulder when she smelt a cloud of smoke enter the room. Once checking to make sure the waffle iron wasn’t up in flames, she relaxed, when the cloud of smoke came with familiar notes of leather and musk.

“Hey Jeongguk, hungry?” Y/N spun on her heel, pleased to see the elk hybrid already dressed in his signature all-black attire, eyeing Namjoon and the basket on the breakfast nook suspiciously.

Y/N bit her lip, noticing Jeongguk was wearing the necklace her parents got him for his birthday– the sword pendant indeed resting perfectly between his clavicles above the loose collar of his Metallica tee shirt. Additionally, it looked like his velvet had finally stopped shedding; his antlers completely bare and his face and hair free from any caked-on blood droplets. Ignoring Y/N, he stalked over to Namjoon and the mysterious basket, Y/N able to see a bit of the tattoo on his back that creeped up the nape of his neck due to the looseness of his shirt. She wondered exactly what the tattoo depicted, as she had only seen a brief, hurried glimpse of it before. It was hard to make out with only about an inch of it exposed at the present moment, and she certainly felt like she was leering at the poor elk hybrid.

“What’s this for, Y/N? Not planning on doing another ritual to attract demons to the house, are you?” Jeongguk asked dryly, a note of bemusement coloring his tone. Yoongi grumbled from beside her, slicing through the flesh of a strawberry a little too aggressively.

“We’re placing wards around the property today. You and I didn’t do that the night banished that entity from the house, and both Y/N and I noticed that the energy still seems off,” Namjoon answered for Y/N, looking thankful for the elk hybrid’s arrival in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know. You two aren’t exactly quiet or subtle when discussing this shit,” Jeongguk sunk into the breakfast nook across from Namjoon, fiddling with a stray cigarette poised behind his ear. “You want me to help, right?”

“Only if you’re willing,” Y/N piped up, obviously not wanting to force Jeongguk to hang out with her and Namjoon.

“I’ll come out with you. I want to know why this thing is so persistent, anyways,” Jeongguk waved an inked hand, flicking through his phone disinterestedly.

“Great, it won’t take long,” Y/N grinned, her phone once again buzzing a hole in her pocket. Before she could excuse herself to take the call, Yoongi caught her by the hem of her sweater.

“Before you go out there, I want you to have some breakfast, okay?” Yoongi stared at her gravelly, Y/N nodding dumbly as he clicked his tongue and released her.

She answered the phone call from her dad out on the front porch, hopefully away from eavesdropping hybrid ears. Thankfully, he agreed to a favor she had asked of him and her mother; to go together and pick up Namjoon’s trailer and store it at their house until his birthday, as she’d be a bit busy the following week between getting herself to work and each hybrid to their clubs at the rec center and library. Relieved to have most of the plans for the wolf hybrid’s special day out of the way, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and headed back into the house to scarf down breakfast, clean up, and retreat outside to place the wards with Namjoon and Jeongguk.

“What’s your plan? Banging pots and pans, making salt lines?” Jeongguk asked over a drag of cigarette, gazing out at the small pond in the backyard distractedly.

There was a definite breeze in the air; one that carried the scent of sun-scorched grass and smoke coming from the neighbor’s chimneys. Y/N chose to let Jeongguk’s sarcasm amuse rather than annoy her, setting up a sort-of “center” of a circle for the ritual on a large, flat rock by the pond. It was smack-dab in the middle of the property, so it was a good place as any to focus the protective energy and send it outwards.

“Putting salt on the grass and soil is a no-go, it’ll kill everything. And banging pots only works in the house and if you’re dealing with a simple human spirit,” Y/N set up a large black pillar candle on the rock, using the end of a sewing needle to inscribe protective sigils she’d created when she was a teen into the wax. “We’ll use a combination of smoke cleansing with a simple prayer, and burying these protective jars in the four corners of the property. If this doesn’t work, we’re looking at a banishment ritual on the New Moon, at the end of this month.”

Lighting the candle with a match, Y/N mumbled a prayer to her spirit guides for additional protection and assistance. Standing from her crouched position, she handed out a bundle of rosemary to both hybrids behind her, as well as a tiny spell vial she had pre-prepared to bury at each corner of the property.

“Okay, Jeongguk, Joon– you two can take the front two corners of the property and halfway up either side. I’ll do the backyard, and meet you back here when we’re done,” Y/N passed her bundle of rosemary through the flame of the candle to light it– Namjoon mimicking the action– while Jeongguk used the lit end of his cigarette to ignite his own bundle with an air of indifference. “So here’s the prayer, just recite it as you see fit, and use your hand to waft the smoke around the edges of the property. When you reach a corner, just use a stick to dig a little hole and drop the spell jar into it, cover it, and come back here after. I think that’ll do it.”

Y/N equipped the two of them with a scrap of paper with a small prayer on it each, knowing that both of the hybrids were clear on the directions based on how they listened with intensity. It was quite nerve-wracking to have such close attention from both Namjoon and Jeongguk at once, but her heart felt warm knowing that they’d both willingly come outside with her to help out.

“Be careful, Y/N. Shout if anything happens, and we’ll be there,” Namjoon surprisingly laid a tender hand over her shoulder, bending low so he could look directly into her eyes, while Jeongguk had begun to purposefully stride away towards the front-right end of the property with the smoking rosemary already raised in his fist in a swaying motion.

“You too, Joon,” Y/N patted his hand over her shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. With that, he departed with a flicker of his half-bitten ear, and Y/N hoped that the protection ritual would go by without an issue. In all of the similar rituals she had performed in the past, they’d gone off without a hitch, but something was tugging at her gut, annoyingly so.

Y/N made sure the sigil-carved candle was well sheltered against the wind before heading off towards one of the back corners of the yard, steeling herself as she went. While she felt centered, this was the first formal ritual she was conducting since picking her practice back up again, so she definitely felt a bit of beginner’s nerves.

Crossing the bridge by the “guesthouse”, Y/N happily waved to Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin, who were in the middle of pulling rusty chicken wire down from around the coop, tools scattered around the beaten-down earth. Jimin looked positively in his element; his golden hair shining in the early morning sunshine, and once again her heart squeezed looking at him.

“Y/N! Good morning! What are you up to?” Hoseok hollered, his ears fluttering playfully as he tore down a section of chicken wire with ease. Y/N decided to pause, considering she’d have to smoke out the stable for the ritual, as well, shuffling over to the dilapidated chicken coop and the three hybrids surrounding it.

“Morning, you three,” Y/N greeted, using her free hand to brush some dirt off of the light material of Jimin’s linen shirt, able to smell the unique combination of his lavender shampoo and perspiration due to the proximity. As always, Jimin maintained intense, unrelenting eye contact with her, his butterscotch irises sparkling.

“What’s up?” Hoseok repeated, glancing pointedly at the burning bundle of herbs in her hand.

“Just doing a little protection magic. Namjoon and Jeongguk are helping, too,” Y/N replied, following the fox hybrid and Jimin into the stable. Jimin was telling Hoseok to stack up the old, rusted chicken wire in one of the vacant stable stalls.

Y/N wafted rosemary smoke around the old building, admiring the way beams of sunlight filtered through the weathered slats of the roof. She couldn’t wait to see how Jimin would fix it up, and planned on using every spare minute of her free time helping him. If they could get everything squared away before November, when the frost would begin to crystalize the backyard, they could definitely board horses throughout the winter. Y/N knew that having horses in the stable would make Jimin happy, and that was all she wanted, truthfully. Honestly, the possibility of extra income paled in comparison to the idea of bringing Jimin joy, and seeing his pretty smile.

“Y/N, would it be alright if I come into town with you on Monday? There’s a few things we’ll be needing right away to repair the corral and some of the stalls, maybe we could go to the hardware store after your shift?” Jimin approached her after several moments, leaning his hip against an ancient looking ladder leading up to the stable loft.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine,” Y/N grinned, trying her best to direct the rosemary smoke away from Jimin’s face. “I think, in order to accomplish that, I’ll have to drop you off with Seokjin and Namjoon at the library for the afternoon, is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” Jimin replied immediately, returning her grin. Jimin was so effortlessly gorgeous, even after performing manual labor in the thick humidity all morning, it took her aback. “I’ve already read The Stranger, before, so I think I’ll be able to hold my own in the book club while I wait for you.”

Y/N was struck once more with how extensive the coyote hybrid’s taste in literature was. Sure, Namjoon definitely came across as very bookish, but Jimin seemed to be an equally avid reader. She never even asked him if he wanted to join her mother’s book club, which would pretty much be a perfect fit for him.

“Wow, I think you’ll make my mom’s month come Monday,” Y/N chuckled, reaching out to give Jimin’s shoulder a fond pat and squeeze. He leaned into the touch, once again flashing her an Oscar-worthy smile, his sandy ears fluttering delightedly. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be able to come out here tomorrow and Tuesday to help you with anything, too.”

Jimin had followed her around the stable as she both conversed with him and smoke cleansed the area, until the pair of them made it back outside and Y/N figured it was time to move on. Before she left the three hybrids, she asked Seokjin how his morning was going; his cheeks flushed from the heat and exercise and shy purr leaving his chest. Between the three hybrids milling about the chicken coop, Y/N felt her heart swelling, each of them so focused on their tasks it helped her to re-center, wanting to make sure they were all well protected by the wards she was placing.

Paired with Hoseok’s bright laughter and Seokjin’s grounding energy, Y/N felt invigorated to move further past the stable and to the slightly forested area where she would bury her first spell jar.

Fanning rosemary smoke around as she walked with her free hand, Y/N chewed her lip as she noticed a storm cloud darkened her half of the yard ominously, the temperature seemingly dropping and wind picking up. She couldn’t decide if she was simply overanalyzing natural occurrences or if something was stirring now that she was taking action, but she was unsettled to say the least.

Reaching the left-hand corner of the property, Y/N knelt to dig the hole for her first spell jar, placing the burning rosemary on a stray boulder while she recited the prayer from memory. She had just plopped the jar into the earth, when every hair on the back of her neck rose to attention, and a whispery voice from behind curdled her insides.

“If you dare…”

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 @gooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @lilmxchis @7evensin @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #hybrid au #bts ot7 x y/n #bts hybrid au #bts fic #bts au #bts hybrid x reader #bts hybrid fanfic #namjoon fanfic #seokjin fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic

654 notes · View notes

ssspideysense · 7 months

Text

₊˚ෆ bad habits

summary: peter tends to act on impulse — that’s what got him here in the first place.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, pining, peter’s a hopeless romantic

wc: 2.7k

What makes something a bad habit?

People usually use the phrase when they mean too much of something— too much coffee in the morning, too many cigarettes a day, too much to drink on the weekends. Overindulgence. Lack of self control.

Peter thought about this as he waited, the skin-tight material of his suit doing absolutely nothing to block the chilling rain running down his back. Past the city lights glimmering against her window pane, the apartment inside was dimly lit. He could make out the splash of colors against the hallway from the living room TV. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep on the couch again— she had a bad habit of staying up too late, biting off more than she could chew most nights and paying for it a few hours later. He wondered briefly, and hoped a bit selfishly, that he maybe had something to do with that.

He knocked again. Louder, in a little rhythm— bum ba bum, bum ba bum.

No more than once a week. That’s how it started out, however many months ago, when he crawled through that window for the first time. Swinging by more than one night a week would be way too much. He had things to do, really, and so did she. It wasn’t realistic to expect her to wait around, twiddling her pretty little thumbs, keeping her schedule free for a chance to let him into her bedroom window at 12:17 am.

12:18 am.

12:19 am.

Peter shivered. The cold had started to seep into his skin, but the chill that ran up and down his spine wasn’t from the sudden downpour.

Even the glimpse of her figure, a dark silhouette he could pick out in any city crowd, was enough to set off that tingle in the base of his skull, even for just a moment. He watched her scurry over to the window, an apologetic look tugging on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you,” she said, and her voice was music slipping over the smack of raindrops against the iron fire escape, “oh my God, get in here, will you?”

If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Sometimes he was grateful for the mask and the few freedoms it allowed him—

“Wait here.”

—she couldn’t see the way his entire face lit up as he happily maneuvered through the window, or the way his eyes followed her as she wandered over to her linen closet to grab a towel for him.

Peter stood in a puddle on her hardwood. Obedient, embarrassingly so.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. In the relative dark of her quiet bedroom, she handed him the towel, gazing up at him with the kind of eyes that make poets pick up pens.

“I should probably be saying yes, since it’s midnight, but I’m going to be disappointing and say no,” she chuckled under her breath and took a small step back.

Peter wrapped the towel around his shoulders like a kid getting out of the pool. It smelled like her laundry detergent, a scent he never thought he’d catch himself daydreaming about when he was miles away and objectively much busier with something much more pressing.

He had a bad habit of letting his mind wander, especially when it wanted to grip onto memories of her.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” he replied.

She sent him a pointed look with a raised brow. “And so are you, when you wake up sick. What the hell are you doing? Does the song Itsy Bitsy Spider not ring a bell?”

She fussed over him. He liked it when she fussed over him.

“Yeah, y’know, the part where he climbs up the spout again is my favorite, actually.”

There was a pair of sweatpants and a big hoodie thrown at him before he could even pretend to argue against them.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, gliding away, leaving him to drip quietly in her bedroom as he watched her back disappear down the hall.

“Decaf?” he called after her.

“Do you really want decaf?” she called right back.

She’d slipped from view, little clinks and clunks from the kitchen catching his ears. Peter shrugged the towel from his shoulders and started to peel his suit off. It’d become a second skin, literally and figuratively, clinging to every inch of him, making him shudder as the warmth of her apartment replaced the cold wrap of wet spandex.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, bug— trying to be more health conscious this year,” Peter replied with a grin. In reality, he knew she’d be up all night and woefully exhausted the next day if she got her hands on some regular coffee, so he’d gladly take one for the team with decaf.

He stood at the foot of her bed in his boxers, looking down at the change of clothes she insisted upon him.

It was strange, the way Peter was utterly exposed like this, not even behind a closed door for a breath of privacy, but it didn’t bother him. The suit and the mask sat in a heap next to her radiator and it didn’t matter. He pulled the comfortable cotton up to his hips and slipped the hoodie over his head.

Soft, warm, foreign yet familiar all at once.

He heard her footsteps, heard them pause at the mouth of the hallway. The gut-drop feeling of meeting her gaze unobstructed, bare-faced and messy haired, wasn’t the same as it was the first time. Or the second, or third— she knew his face just as well as he knew hers at this point. Anxiety faded over time, replaced with a new, giddy sort of rush that started in his chest and spread over his body in waves.

She made him feel like a teenager again, and she didn’t even have to do anything. It was a little pathetic, maybe, how much he looked forward to these kinds of nights, but he’d ruminate about that later in the quiet of his bed.

Peter padded his way down the hall to her, moving through the space like he belonged there. He took in her small smile as she leaned back against the kitchen island. The smell of coffee hit him once the machine started to gurgle softly on the counter.

“Are you still cold? I can crank up the heat,” she offered as he drew closer. Her gaze fell on his mouth then— more specifically, the cut on his bottom lip. A little hiss escaped her as she reached up and brushed her thumb beside it.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused expression, watching her brows furrow down as she examined his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m already walking around in your clothes, waiting on a cup of your coffee. I feel like a Tinder date that’s vastly overstayed his welcome, and I just got here,” Peter quipped, letting her turn his head by his jaw and study him some more. Her soft fingers caught his stubble but she didn’t seem to mind.

She arched a brow at him and eventually pulled her hand back. “I’ve never had a Tinder date crawl into my eighth-story window before.”

“I’m not really an expert on romance, but something tells me that’s a good thing.”

Her hum was low as she turned and gathered two mugs from the cupboard above her. “Tinder isn’t exactly the place to look for romance anyway, Spidey,” she sat them down with a clink.

Spidey.

He’d chosen to start with his face last summer. A bold choice, truly, but it felt like the safer option at the time. There was eight million people in New York— a couple thousand guys were bound to look just like him.

A face without a name was the tiniest breadcrumb he could drop to satiate that need, that desire to feel seen by her in some capacity without completely laying himself out there.

It was a dance he didn’t know the steps to. But she played along well, stumbling in the dark with him and letting him lead, however awkward and shaky.

Peter leaned against the counter and watched her pour two cups. “It’s not? I’m not really in the dating scene. Do people still meet out in the wild these days?”

And she gave him that little chuckle under her breath he liked. “You sound old,” she mused as she reached into her fridge. The pale light bathed her in a sweet, domestic sort of glow that one could only feel in sweatpants in the kitchen after midnight.

“Hey— I’m only twenty-six,” he countered, dipping his head despite the little grin growing on his face.

He watched her pause, just for a moment.

Another breadcrumb. A thread.

But she didn’t draw too much attention to it. Peter pictured her tucking it away for future reference.

“Well, to answer your question, yes. I guess people do still meet out in the wild,” she poured the creamer and scooped the sugar and reminded him that she knew so much about him without really knowing him, not yet, and he both loved and hated that, “but I’m probably not the best person to ask about all that. I think if a man randomly approached me in a bookstore or something, I’d probably assume he was some kind of weirdo.”

Peter hummed, his brow furrowed but his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. His fingers were cold when he gently accepted the drink from her.

“Alright, noted. What about guys that fall out of the sky and crash into your fire escape?”

He peered at her over the top of the mug as he took the longest, hottest drink of his life— anything to avoid the reality of what he just said for a few moments longer.

His throat burned, but it was fine.

The air felt heavier then, thick like the air outside as her gaze flicked over his face.

“That depends. Is he kind of awkward in a weirdly charismatic way?”

And Peter swallowed down the lava for a chance at a deeper breath without choking, “I mean— in this completely hypothetical and improbable scenario, yeah, I’d— I’d say so,” he replied.

The corners of her mouth curled up softly. “And did he come back a week later, trying to apologize with four different types of candy at ten o’clock at night?”

He cleared his throat to try and hide the chuckle that almost slipped out. “He didn’t know what kind you liked,” Peter said, that heat trickling up to his face for a different reason.

She blew on her coffee before sipping it, because she clearly had more sense than he did, and shrugged.

“Helping you out with a broken nose and a concussion makes for a more interesting story to look back on,” she replied softly.

This line they were toeing was a tightrope, strung high and taught and delicate.

Sometimes Peter wanted to take the leap. Just dive right onto the other side, tugging her along with him.

The clock on the stove read 12:37.

12:38.

“Do you think about it? The night we met?”

And she sat her mug down on the counter beside her. The sweater she wore was loose and comfortable on her frame as she crossed her arms. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Do you?” she countered, tilting her head just a bit to the side as she gazed up at him.

Peter leaned back. His mug was empty, the roof of his mouth was a bit sore, but he swallowed regardless. “I do, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

The rain outside picked up. It smacked against her windows with the whistle of wind just underneath it all.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep. I’m usually thinking about the last time I saw you, though. Much clearer picture there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, though her soft, slight smile cut the air of annoyance she tried to hold on to.

“Stop,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “that’s not fair.” He had a feeling he knew what she meant— and he had to agree, watching her avoid his gaze.

Peter reached a hand out to pull her arms out of their closed off, crossed position. Despite the tension in her shoulders, she was soft, pliable, letting him grasp her wrists and guide her forward gently into his torso.

He wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, committing the scent of her shampoo to memory.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

She was quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest in that borrowed hoodie she thought he looked criminally good in. After a few moments of his fingers lightly tracing shapes between her shoulder blades, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not fair, either, Spidey.” And she was right again.

He had a bad habit of trying to fix everything.

“Peter,” he said, his voice low against her roots, “it’s Peter.”

The wind shook the windows. She was nearly laying on him with how he held her, his long frame leaned back, arms circled around her shoulders. His breath came in calculated waves, but she could feel the rhythm changing the longer she stayed silent, along with his heartbeat under her ear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

“Peter,” she tried it out, and it felt like hearing her voice for the first time.

His fingers splayed over her back and his palm smoothed up her spine. “Yes?” he mumbled back.

She had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, at least around him.

“I think I might have a thing for guys who fall out of the sky and crash into my fire escape.”

Overindulgence, lack of self control— whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really. Peter smiled against her scalp. A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head once, twice, and squeezed her against him.

She let out a little grunt in response, feeling too much like a squeaky toy to not laugh. “Pe—Peter—super strength, remember?”

“Right, yeah— my bad, bug,” he loosened his hold just enough for her to look up at him, her palms now flat on his chest between them. “But, y’know, you have some pretty weird tastes. I should’ve known when you picked the gummy bears over the Reese’s.”

12:52. He had one foot dangling on the other side of that line he spent far too long thinking about.

And she laughed that laugh and scrunched her nose up the way she did when she found something amusing, yet dumb. She did that a lot when he talked. He took it as a personal victory every time.

“You really don’t have any room to call me weird. You run around the city in spandex every night,” she mused, her lips curled into a smile.

“It makes me aerodynamic.”

“Yeah, you were real aerodynamic when you smacked your head on the rail—“

Peter was never really a planner. It made sense in the moment, to lean in and kiss her, his hands shifting to either side of her jaw. And it made sense the way she hummed into his mouth, either from surprise or the fact that she was very much in the middle of a sentence. But it was alright, because they stood there in the middle of her dark kitchen at 12:55 am, and her lips were soft, much softer than his.

He decided he could excuse every one of his bad habits, maybe write them off as quirks instead, because as he kissed her, he realized that every single one had led him right there; drinking decaf coffee in borrowed sweatpants, listening to the rain and her deepened breathing.

She pulled away just enough to speak, their lips still brushing against each other, “I wasn’t done—“

“Neither was I,” his tone was nothing but a playful tease, and he kissed her again, “how rude of you to interrupt me like that,” and again, “honestly, sometimes I can’t believe the lack of manners in this city.”

Her laugh was grounding when his head was busy floating. She smacked his chest lightly. “Lack of manners? Let’s start with you. You crawl in through my window soaking wet, drink my coffee in my clothes that I totally don’t keep around for you just in case, and kiss me without permission,” she gave him the grocery list and he nodded to each point over-attentively, humming along.

“Right, yeah— you forgot the part where I interrupted you.”

“And you interrupted m—“

Peter kissed her again.

#forgive me i’m rusty #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #p.parker #tasm #tasm!peter parker x reader

214 notes · View notes

baddestbittyontheblock · 11 months

Text

alexia putellas fic recs (3)

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

࣪𑁍 ˖ from that first moment alexia putellas x reader

-you looked up when you heard the bell on top of the door go, not really expecting anyone when most people were at home having dinner. it was only you and your best friend working with how quiet it had been and you could feel her gaze on you as the person approached the counter

࣪𑁍 ˖ instagram live alexia putellas x fem!reader | pure fluff, just alexia and you being so in love that it makes fans sick

-reader and alex do a live together and alexia looks at the reader with loving eyes and answers questions together all with cuteness.

࣪𑁍 ˖ pinkie pie from my little pony alexia putellas x reader

-the bet

࣪𑁍 ˖ shout it out to the world alexia putellas x lioness!reader

-alexia and lioness reader fic from the world cup final? like they’ve been together for a while but haven’t told anyone so it sort of gets revealed when they congratulate/ comfort eachother

࣪𑁍 ˖ alexia blurb alexia putellas x reader

-you know I get so forgetful looking in her eyes.

-my heart is yours.

࣪𑁍 ˖ golden alexia putellas x reader

-alexia had long been the attraction of many wanting females around the world. She had dealt with the attention relatively well, managing to remain somewhat private. That didn’t stop people from scrutinising her love life.

࣪𑁍 ˖ sidelines alexia putellas x fem!reader | fluff, insecurities, brief mention of what happened last year with the Spanish federation.

-spain won the world cup. but she didn't care about it, she cares about the happiness that it brings to someone else.

࣪𑁍 ˖ watch it alexia putellas x reader

࣪𑁍 ˖ caught alexia putellas x Fem!león!reader | acceptance, protective!mapi, fluff, suggestive themes, (slightly) implied smut, angst (im not sure if its angst but mapi is hurt she wasnt told)

-You had planned on telling your sister but, you kind of liked the secrecy and maybe one day you'll be like 'oh hey btw...'. That didn't come, your sisters girlfriend is the one who discorvers this relationship of yours

࣪𑁍 ˖ secret love alexia putellas x reader | smut, jealousy and insecurities.

-this story takes place during the 2023 World Cup in Australia. Part 2 is HERE

࣪𑁍 ˖ two’s a company, three’s a crowd alexia putellas x reader x lucy bronze | 18+ minors DNI (heavy smut, cunnilingus, fingering, sex toys)

࣪𑁍 ˖ prometeme (promise me) alexia putellas x streamer!reader | fluff

࣪𑁍 ˖ hindi ko na kaya [i can’t take it anymore] alexia putellas x reader

-you��re the one that lights up her world, so when she’s in the state of darkness, she needs the light.

࣪𑁍 ˖ take me home alexia putellas x reader | smut

-it’s late, but you have a visitor you can’t turn away. (think ‘style’ by taylor swift)

࣪𑁍 ˖ secret love II alexia putellas x reader

-A few hours after leaving your hotel room, you return there hoping to be as discreet as you were before. Part one is HERE

࣪𑁍 ˖ give them something to talk about alexia putellas x reader

-you struggled at first, not playing beside Alexia after her injury put her out for so long. You had never gone this long without playing besides your girlfriend and the change was difficult.

࣪𑁍 ˖ bello jelly. alexia putellas x reader | spanish!reader, stubborn and jealous alexia, middle wc, there is no difference between alexia and a child.

-Rule number one, never wear someone else's sweatshirt at your girlfriend's presence.

࣪𑁍 ˖ i protect alexia putellas x reader

-reader being a bit younger maybe also a tad bit younger than Alba. But reader is really protective especially when they are out and get swarmed by fans and press. R protects Alba and makes sure that nothing bad happens. Alexia is super glad that her girl is such a gentlewomen.

࣪𑁍 ˖ alexia jr. alexia putellas x reader | angst

-where R is Alexia’s and Alba's little sister and joins the Barca team. For some reason the whole team only seems to notice the older and the same goes for the international teams and media. R feels in the shadow and doesn’t want to hurt her sister's feelings so bottle everything up.

࣪𑁍 ˖ sanctuary alexia putellas x reader | angst, fluff

-your limbs went limp as one of the things you had always wanted slid through your hands as the final whistle blew, and it felt as though your heart took its final beat.

࣪𑁍 ˖ coffee and cupid alexia putellas x reader | fluff, strangers2lovers, barista!reader

-how you and Alexia meet

࣪𑁍 ˖ if i was a man mapi león/alexia putellas x readers | talk about the Rubiales case and it's a longer oneshot than usual

-OCs are sisters, face claims are the women in the picture underneath: Luisa Ruiz Moreno is a journalist and is dating Mapi Leon, Elena Ruiz Moreno is a football player for Barcelona and Spain, she's in a long-term relationship with Alexia Putellas

࣪𑁍 ˖ not the plan alexia putellas x reader | touchy men/unwanted touching, a little bit of angst, protective Alexia

-a man gets a bit too close to you during post-match celebrations, much to the displeasure of a certain Spanish midfielder.

࣪𑁍 ˖ against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part three alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader | explicit sexual content

࣪𑁍 ˖ sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in our heart part 4 alexia putellas x reader

-at the same time you couldn’t deny that you would enjoy the quietness and especially the alone time with Alexia. Having an energetic four year old around all the time was one of the most tiring experiences you’d ever had.

࣪𑁍 ˖ holy alexia putellas x afab!reader | top!reader, making out, riding, shy!R, resolved sexual tension, roommates, pervy!Alexia, daddy kink, frustrated sex

-alexia gets a pleasant surprise when you finally react to all her teasing

࣪𑁍 ˖ off limits (2) a.putellas x león!reader | angst

-"...alexia?"

࣪𑁍 ˖ new girlfriend alexia putellas x reader

-Only I belong with you and only you babe.

-I hope you find peace for yourself, -New girlfriend ain’t gonna fill the void.

࣪𑁍 ˖ too hot alexia putellas x fem!reader | SMUT, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), strap-on (r receiving), slight mami kink, degradation? praise?

-you guys finally have a day to yourself so you can be as loud as you want

࣪𑁍 ˖ professional athletes alexia putellas x reader

-as a professional athlete in your own right, you always thought you had a grasp on how crazy it can get, and how intrusive the fans could be. That was until you met Alexia Putellas. Once you were introduced to the Ballon D’or winner you realised how hard it was to have a private life and be a true professional athlete.

࣪𑁍 ˖ olympics alexia putellas x reader | fluff

-making the Olympic team was a dream of yours ever since you 10 and you won your first junior golf tournament. Getting to represent Canada one the world stage was not something you had ever imagined. You had just received the phone call that you were selected for the Canadian Olympic golf team. You tried not to squeal, as you were in a quiet hallway after sneaking out of a press conference your girlfriend was the star of.

࣪𑁍 ˖ las reinas alexia putellas x reader | fluff

-sneaking out of dinner with your national teammates was a common occurrence. They always teased you but they never knew who you snuck out to talk to. Finding a small closet just off the dining area you answered the face time call on your phone “Hi Babe.”

࣪𑁍 ˖ night whispers, beach blisters alexia putellas x fem!reader | fluff, slight angst, comfort

-it's late, possibly too late. But you're there with her. Somethings are bothering you, and she makes sure you know she's there for you. On that beach, in that car, forever and always.

࣪𑁍 ˖ movin'. alexia putellas x reader

-2x Ballon D’or winner Alexia Putellas is set to move to Chelsea from Barcelona.

࣪𑁍 ˖ she said yes alexia putellas x reader

-It was a day off for both of you, but Alexia was doing a podcast with two Americans because her manager thought it would be a good idea to interact with more English-speaking fans.

࣪𑁍 ˖ labor omnia vincit. alexia putellas x reader | a little bit of drugs and alcohol

-well, it’s how you meet your wife (posh + becks style)

࣪𑁍 ˖ 10 things i hate about you (1) alexia putellas x reader

-FC Barcelona was set to play against Atletico Madrid on this Sunday. As you were getting ready with your team mates in the changing room, you could hear the fans slowly fill the stadium. You were in the motion of tying your shoes when Mapi bumped you with her hip. You looked up to see her grinning at you; “Your sister is in the stands and will watch us.“ “Yes, but I know she’ll mostly watch you.“, you replied, rolling your eyes with fondness. You watched the defenders cheeks flush red; “Me?“

࣪𑁍 ˖ 10 things i hate about you (2) alexia putellas x reader

-2017, your first day as a player for FC Barcelona was about to start. With a deep sigh you entered the facilities. Overwhelmed by the amount of new impressions, you didn’t realize that another person stepped to you. You flinched in surprise when you heard a female voice say; “Hola! Are you new here too?“

࣪𑁍 ˖ three things alexia putellas x reader

-a blurb about bf ale comforting reader after a nightmare

࣪𑁍 ˖ lap dance alexia putellas x reader | 18+ dni (strapons, smuts, cunnilingus, lap dances, stripping)

-stripper r x post world champs alexia

࣪𑁍 ˖ against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part four alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader | explicit sexual content

-It didn’t stop after the first and it sure didn’t stop after the third, either.

࣪𑁍 ˖ mess of a mind alexia putellas x reader | reader has ADHD

-Alexia's life is much more chaotic with you and your ADHD - but she wouldn't change it for a thing

࣪𑁍 ˖ fighting talk alexia putellas x reader

-England had beaten Australia and you knew what it meant.

Spain versus England in the World Cup Final.

࣪𑁍 ˖ remotes and notebooks alexia putellas x reader

-reader is being purposely annoying alexia as good as she can

࣪𑁍 ˖ off limits (3) alexia putellas x león!reader

-if it was team cohesion alexia wanted, then you were determined to give it to her.

࣪𑁍 ˖ skinny dipping alexia putellas x reader

-based off the song 'skinny dipping' by Sabrina Carpenter

࣪𑁍 ˖ on the sidelines wag!alexia putellas x basketball player!reader

-“A triple double, Y/n, one incredible feat, how do you feel knowing that your team is through to the play offs?”

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #espwnt x reader #espwnt #barca fc #barca femeni #barca #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

369 notes · View notes

writermai05 · 6 months

Text

Arsonist's Lullabye

Prologue: All you have is your fire

Summary: Zuko’s bad day gets a bit better after an encounter with an unfamiliar face.

Pairing: zuko x fem! reader (Live Action or Animated)

A/N: I am delusional, and when I had the idea for a zuko x reader modern AU where he works in Iroh’s boba tea shop, I had to follow through with said idea. Let’s see if this goes anywhere, and feel free to leave comments or suggestions on how the fic could play out maybe :)

Word Count: 773

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot. This is a modern AU that takes place in the avatar world. Bending still exists. Zuko and the gaang are in college in this series !!

TW!: Physical abuse, burns, Ozai in general, Zuko’s backstory is so sad.

Zuko knew it was going to be a long day as soon as he opened the shop at 12pm.

Within the first two hours, he had run out of tapioca pearls, dropped a container filled with matcha on the floor (which by the way, was a pain in the ass to clean up,) and slipped on the floors he had just mopped. Perhaps he was just born unlucky. Perhaps, most people in life didn’t have to struggle the way that he was, the way that he always had. It wasn’t all bad. He was lucky enough to be here, working in his uncle’s tea shop in the Earth Kingdom, rather than in his father’s company back in the Fire Nation.

The Jasmine Dragon was beloved by many. People from all over the city came to have some of the shops' amazing teas and pastries. It wasn’t too busy, having only three people come in today. perhaps because school at the University of Ba Sing Se hadn’t quite started up yet, outside of the students who had moved in early. The shop was particularly chilly today, but the atmosphere managed to maintain the same warm and cozy feeling, with the dim atmospheric lighting and the sage and emerald hued furniture. Zuko had a second to just relax in the stillness.

He appreciated these quiet moments the most. The moments where he could stop worrying about the shop, and overthinking the worst things he had ever done in his life. Such as when he lashed out at his uncle, multiple times, or about the people he had bullied in high school. He was almost able to forget it all. Forget the fact that his younger sister, Azula, was still stuck in a house with his abusive father, or even forget the feeling of his father’s hand, burning the flesh of his face, leaving a scar in its wake, as well as a near complete blindness in his left eye. His demons may be restless, but boy did Zuko keep them on a tight leash.

Zuko’s reverie was broken by the sound of the door’s bell chime. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, waiting patiently for his assistance to be needed.

“Um, excuse me,”

A girl, who seemed to be around his age, was standing right in front of him. She wore a navy blue dress with a pale blue lining and detailing around the edges. A belt of the same color was around her waist, with a brown leather cord connecting a bag onto her hip. Her black jacket was cropped to about rib length, with brown leather cords fastening it closed, as well as matching black pants and brown boots.

“This is my first time here…Is there anything that you’d recommend?” She asked politely.

There was something about the way her kind eyes twinkled in the orange lighting that made Zuko fluster. He cleared his throat before opening his mouth to talk.

“Well, Lychee juice is a customer favorite. But personally, my Uncle Iroh’s jasmine green tea is the best in Ba Sing Se.”

“The best in Ba sing Se?” She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

“The best.” he nodded.

“I’ll take it.” She said, reaching to the tote bag slung over her shoulder. Zuko interrupted her actions with the wave of his hand.

Zuko shook his head. “Don’t worry, It’s on me.” he said, as he began punching numbers, into the register.

“Oh no! I can’t let you do that-” She protested.

He shrugged, a blush beginning to warm his cheeks. “For a first time customer.”

“Thank you so much…” She trailed off, waiting for him to tell her his name.

“Zuko.”

“Zuko. I’ll be sure to come by again. And I fully intend on paying that time.” She said with a playful glare.

The boy smiled slightly.

“Your tea will be ready shortly.”

Zuko had Iroh bring the tea over to the girl. He wasn’t confident in his ability to steadily bring the tray of hot tea without causing more burns to cover his body. The older man made sure to give the girl a complimentary fruit tart to enjoy, but not before looking at his nephew with a teasing glint in his eyes. Zuko groaned.

“Not a word, uncle.” He said as he walked through the staff doors into the shops’ kitchen.

After about 20 minutes had passed, Iroh came into the kitchen, clutching what looked like a napkin and some paper Yuan bills.

“Zuko! The girl left this on her table after she left!”

Zuko carefully took the napkin from his uncle’s hand, reading the message.

“Thanks for the tea! - y/n.”

#arsonist's lullabye #atla #atla live action #atla netflix #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #zuko x reader #prince zuko x reader #atla x reader #prince zuko imagine #modern au #college au #aang #katara #sokka #toph #zuko

226 notes · View notes

leezlelatch · 2 months

Text

Petrichor - Part I

Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader - fluff, rainy days, burgeoning friendship Terzo is feeling introspective on a rainy day. Perhaps he doesn’t have to spend it alone?

“What do you think Terzino, eh? Should Papa play tonight?” Terzo watches with a lazy smile as the tuxedoed cat jumps from his perch on the window to settle into his lap. Long fingers stroke delicately through plush fur as he heaves a sigh. “You will be getting hair on my pants, you rascal.”

Terzino blinks slowly, a rumble starting deep in his throat the more Terzo gives him attention. The cat’s nails dig into Terzo’s leg as the little thing gets more comfortable, the man giving a small grimace but making no move to push the cat off. “You know, I am thinking I am getting old.” Terzo glances down at the cat and scoffs. “Ah, do not try to argue. I have more grey hair than I can keep up with.“ He lifts a hand to his neck, his fingers brushing the soft, loose skin. “And may have to consider turtle necks.”

Terzino stands and stretches, his little body shivering, before turning and lying toward Terzo’s knee, facing away from him. “Ah, Terzino, if you turn from me too, I will not know what to do,” Terzo sighs, lifting a hand to drag his fingers through his wavy, black hair. “The Siblings, they like the power. What little I have of it, ha. But one can close their eyes and think of someone else. Do they think of someone else?” His brow furrows, and he glances out the arched window, eyes scanning the manicured lawn. “Perhaps I should take up gardening like il mio fratello.”

He glances down amusedly. “Sì, you are right, amico. I am far too much of a masochist to change my ways now.”

Terzo carefully picks the cat up and places him down, standing from his desk and swatting at his pant leg until most, but not all, of the cat hair is gone. The tinkle of Terzino’s bell sings through the room as he trots away, perhaps to play with one of Copia’s little companions. Terzo places his hands on his hips, looking out the window once more. “I think it is going to rain.”

ᰔᩚ

It was luck, finding this place. The way his shoes clack against old stone, the gilded candle holders on the corridor walls covered in wax from wicks long burnt. Stained glass of varying shades of purple, red, blue, and green. There were some renovations made when the Clergy first purchased the building half a century ago. Cracks filled in the walls, ceilings reinforced, foundation repaired, but they ultimately chose to maintain its old warm charm. This place may have a Catholic history, but Terzo did not view that as bad, or something needing to be cleansed. There was an energy in these old walls, full of the stories of residents long passed who prayed, and hoped, and dreamed for a better tomorrow. It would not do, he thinks, to forget that. No matter if their god was above or below.

The corridor leading from his office transitioned into a breezeway, four pillars covered in the delicate drawings of one of their more artistic Siblings opened into one of the inner courtyards. A perfect place to watch the rain. A crack of thunder rolls across the sky, and Terzo glances up at the swirling clouds, leaning his shoulder against painted vines. It seems, however, that he would not be alone with his thoughts this storm.

You sit on a stone bench just under the roof, your legs pulled up, arms resting on your knees as you hold a cup of tea in your hands. There’s an open book at your feet, and Terzo catches a glimpse of a few words which makes him arch a brow. “Hello,” he says, his accent curling around the words. “You know, I have heard it be called very dirty words, but never ‘velvet wrapped steel.’ That is a new one.”

You glance up, your lips quirking in a half smile. You cross your legs and lean forward, setting your bookmark between the pages and closing your book. “Sort of makes you feel like you’re grabbing a stick shift in an old car.”

Terzo pauses for a moment, just looking at you, before he tilts his head back and laughs. A deep, belly laugh, dragging out the final note with a shake of his head as he leans forward. He crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. “That is very funny. Yes. Well, sometimes it is like handling a stick shift. Satan forbid you stall.”

“Pfft,” you snort and shake your head, your smile growing. You glance up at the sky as another rumble of thunder echoes overhead. Pinpricks of rain dot the ground, ever so slowly increasing. “Come to watch the rain, Papa?”

“It appears we had the same idea,” he nods, watching intently as the rain flicks the leaf of a plant growing in the little garden some of the Siblings tend to. “Perhaps you intended to watch the rain alone?”

“I intended,” you say, tilting your head a little as you regard him with a curious air. “But this is better.” Terzo glances back at you, his heavy brow slanting down. He takes a few steps toward you, slow and deliberate. You take a moment to glance over him, appreciating the slacks, loose black button up, and the brocade evening jacket draped over his shoulders.

“Better how?” He asks, his voice genuinely curious. “And what is that look for, eh? Admiring Papa?” It wasn’t just a superficial question. She could see his face, a rare sight without the paint, the lines deepening around his mouth. His strangely beautiful eyes burn into yours and you understand that he’s serious. It isn’t playful banter.

“I don’t get to talk to you,” you answer truthfully, sincere in the small smile you give him. “Your attention is usually taken, and I understand that there are more Siblings in this building than clergy. You can only get to so many people.” His frown deepens, and you continue. “So it’s nice. It’s nice to talk to you. I want to watch the rain with you.”

“Cara mia, you can request time, you know this, sì? I have office hours. Please do not be thinking you cannot come to me,” Terzo talks with his hands, his fingers waving in the air, punctuating his words. He looks so concerned, his body angled toward you, features twisted in worry.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you adjust on the bench. “I’m okay, Papa, really. I just mean I can’t come by to say hello, or make an appointment only to chat.”

“Why not?” Terzo shoulders rise and fall and he stands with one foot forward, hands on his hips. “You are more than welcome to come and say hello. Antichristus, and here I was thinking I come on too strong. Unless, that is the problem?” He looks at you, and you have to smile from the sheer befuddlement on his face. But you can tell, also, that he’s hurt. And that doesn’t make you feel good either.

“No. Papa-“

“Terzo,” he corrects you, sitting down at the end of the bench next to your feet. He rests his hands on his legs and gives you his full attention, and it’s altogether exhilarating and nerve-wracking. You’ve never spoken to a Papa like this, for this long, outside of anything that really has to do with your duties or other Ministry matters. It makes you blush, and Terzo takes notice, leaning a little closer to watch the pink pass over your cheeks with great interest. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I would explain if you let me get a word in,” you say, not unkindly, your lips pulled into a gentle smile. Terzo chuckles to himself and nods, waving a hand in your direction, and then he pinches his fingers and pulls them across his lips in a zipping motion. “Thank you,” you continue lightly, laughing. “What I mean to say is, yes, I’m nervous. And it’s not for reasons you think. I don’t think you’re unapproachable. I don’t think you would show me any unkindness or give me reason to believe you aren’t totally invested in what I have to say.”

Your eyes pass over his face, taking in his dark features, and you briefly wonder why he doesn’t wear his paints less. His face is aging to be sure. Pocked and marked and wrinkled, but he is so expressive. So soft in the curve of his mouth. The way his lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. His white eye, meant to be intimidating, reminds you of freshly fallen snow. The warmth of a cup of hot chocolate on a winter’s day near Yule. It was truly beautiful, and you realize you’ve stopped talking.

But Terzo doesn’t move. He doesn’t prompt you to continue, he just stares back. The rain falls around you in heavy drops, a steady stream that wets the ground and mists your faces as it bounces off the stonework.

“I think I would fool myself into thinking that we could be friends,” you finish, your voice soft, caught in some kind of new understanding, a breath of realization. Terzo tilts his head very slightly, and he pulls in a sigh.

“Friends,” he murmurs, as if the word is foreign to him. His eyes fall away from yours and he focuses on nothing as he processes your words. And then he’s looking back at you and smiling, and it only occurs to you then that you’ve never quite seen his smile reach his eyes the way it does now. “Not many peoples wish to be my friend, dolcezza.”

“You are very frequently surrounded by people.”

“Yes, but what is that saying, eh? You can be in a room of people and still be alone. I am an old man, as much as I cover this face,” he gestures to himself. “Or dye my hair. I have my brothers, sì, but they are not so understanding at times. It has been many years since I have had someone who I can talk to as Terzo and not as Papa.”

“Someone your own age?” You ask quietly, expecting rejection.

His lips soften. “Not necessarily.”

You smile, and look out over the courtyard as thunder once more cracks overhead. The scent of rain and wet soil fills your nostrils, and you feel very at peace. For a moment your heart is full sitting next to this man. “I’m a Sibling, and I know I’m supposed to act a certain way around my authority figures. But sometimes when you’re giving a sermon, or I see you at events, or feast days, I just want to know if you think the potato salad is as delicious as I do, or if you wished whoever was in charge of the playlist would stop, for the love of all that’s unholy, playing Cruel Summer.” You laugh, and Terzo laughs with you. “I want to know who you are, and I don’t know if that’s okay.”

Terzo taps your shoe with an amused smile, and he looks happy. He looks like you just told him he won the lottery, his eyes sparkling with a kind of glee. “You know, just this morning I was talking to Terzino about this very thing. He said I should be more open. Open to change, which I scoffed at. Papa cannot change, not now. Not so late in his life, yeah? But…” He reaches a hand out into the pouring rain, watching the water cascade over his skin. “Rain renews. And I think I am ready for something new.”

He brings his hand back in, and grasps yours, a few droplets falling between you onto your closed book. “It is more than okay, amica. Now, tell me about this smut.”

You squeeze his hand, your fingers sliding over his slick skin. You smile. “Your cat talks to you?”

Terzo pinches the top of your hand and you gasp, swatting at him. He laughs, low in his throat, a wild brow arching. “Shush.”

#the band ghost #papa emeritus lll #papa emeritus terzo #papa iii #papa iii x reader #The band ghost fanfiction #papa iii x female reader

104 notes · View notes

angel1010xx · 5 days

Text

ｒｅｖｉｖａｌ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairings: Monkey D. Luffy x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

…

It was hard to hear her wails over the victory cries of Kaido’s men down below. Hell, she couldn’t even hear anything but the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears. The reality before her was utterly improbable.

Luffy was dead.

The man she loved was dead.

She shrieked, and she pounded, begging his still-warm corpse to give off any sign of life—any slight reflexive movement to give her hope. “I love you,” she pleaded. “You’re not supposed to stop here. You’re not.. Luffy, you’re going to be the king of the pirates…!”

Her hiccups hung heavy in the air. Her grief numbed every cut, scrape, and wound on her body. The body of her captain was cradled in her arms, the stiffness and sturdiness of a warrior now completely limp and shattered. He was gone; there was no miracle cure that even the great T. Chopper could concoct to reverse death.

Where would the fight go from here?

Kaido bellowed for Momonosuke to be brought to him. Momonosuke, on the other hand, was cowering just outside of Onigashima with thoughts to surrender. The pirate captains Trafalgar D. Law and Eustass Kid were running on fumes after barely defeating Big Mom. The Straw Hat crew was taking the news about as well as the woman sobbing over Luffy’s body. The woman laid her hand over his chest, fingers tracing over his large scar, placing her palm flat. “Please, Luffy. Your fight is not over! You have not won yet!”

…

Doom dut da-da. Doom dut da-da.

The woman’s eyes flickered up to Luffy’s face as she felt the vibrations of a strange heartbeat against her hand. A flush of desperation and excitement began swelling upwards from her abdomen. A painful, still moment passed, and then another, and then another—and then she watched with a sense of absolute relief as a smile started spreading on her captain’s face. Steam started to sizzle out of his smile, the very hairs on his head began morphing into white, cartoon-esque shapes. Finally, his eyes opened, locking onto hers. “Why are you crying?” Luffy asked. His voice was full of vitality and strength, a complete contrast to the ghostless husk he was less than a half-minute before.

The woman collapsed onto the Straw Hat captain. She was overwhelmed with emotion, and quite frankly, she was barely holding onto her own consciousness. So they sat together, limbs tangled up, and the resurrected man giggled into her ear. “Of course I’m gonna be king of the pirates! Even though I lost… I can still stand!”

Luffy gently but hurriedly untangled himself and rose to his feet. A flash of contemplation came over his face. “But why can I still stand? I’m having fun, for some reason…” He broke out into another smile, and then he broke out into bouts of laughter. It rang like bells through the battlefield, and he jumped and leapt and soared to his heart’s content through the air. His companion watched in reverence as her lover, whose new white figure reminded her of an angel, danced to the rhythm of his strange new heartbeat.

“This is my peak!” Luffy exclaimed. He bounded over to his woman, swept her up in one fell swoop, and tucked her away in a safer location. From there, he wasted no time in pursuing Kaido, his rubbery body expanding to grab the dragon as if he was just a small lizard.

Luffy laughed all the while, and she listened with hope and glee.

#monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece #luffy #monkey d luffy

90 notes · View notes

mylovelies-docx · 1 year

Text

Sorry, I Love You - Prologue

We did it! We did it! We did it! Yay!

Since you guys are awesome and helped me reach 100 followers, here is the prologue to my new Bucky x Reader fic Sorry, I Love You inspired by the Stray Kids song of the same title (also, stream 5-Star on your favorite music app!)

This is a friends-with-benefits - to - strangers - to - something that I haven't written yet. I've got 5 chapters completed and no idea where the story will take me. I'll add tags as we go!

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Friends with Benefits, angst, unrequited feelings, Natasha being a Good Friend. This is just the Prologue, so a lot more to come!

Word Count: 700

Let's go!

You hide your feelings as deep as you can, but they bubble over. You can’t help but stare dreamily when his face morphs in happiness as his eyes squint when he laughs with the guys over a pint of Asgardian liquor.

You know your face says everything you won’t. When you meet Natasha’s gaze from across the table as Bucky throws his head back in an exaggerated groan at something Sam said, you immediately straighten your spine and wipe all traces of love sickness from your face. She softens her brows and gives you a pitying look you can’t stand.

You stand from where you’re sitting, disturbing the group’s conversation going on around you while you’re distracted by the highlights and shadows of Bucky’s mouth. His bright blue eyes meet yours, slightly fuzzy from the amount of Asgardian liquor flowing through his system, and he smiles at you from one side of his mouth.

“Where ya’ goin’, sweetheart?” Bucky basically yells from three seats away. “The party ain’t over yet!”

You laugh and drain what’s left of your drink before slamming it down and taking a small step backwards. You scrunch your face up and shake your head at the burn.

“It is for me, Barnes. You guys know it’s way past my bedtime.”

Everyone either laughs at your self-deprecating statement or starts complaining about you being lame. You smile brightly as you tell everyone good night and make your way out of the room. You immediately know you're not alone in leaving the table when you hear more exaggerated complaining from the group following someone else’s goodbye.

“Hey!”

Nat’s voice reaches your ears just as she grabs your arm and walks beside you. You both make your way towards the residential quarters where you and Nat share the same floor. The walk is quiet. Neither of you speak all the way to the elevator and the entire ride up. The hand she grabbed you with has looped through your elbow and pulled you close. You both lean back against the shiny surface of the carriage wall, listening to the soft AC/DC coming from the speakers. Freaking Tony Stark, you think to yourself, hiding a small, fond smile.

Nat breaks the silence as the ring of the bell ushers the opening of the elevator doors. Her arm tightens around your own, pulling you closer into her side.

“Are you good to go on the mission with Barnes later this year?” Although Nat asks the question bluntly, her tone of voice is gentle.

You snort and turn to look at her with a confused look on your face.

“Yeah?” you respond. You know that she knows that you know why she needs to ask the question, but you refuse to admit anything out loud.

“It’s just,” Natasha sighs and drops your arm, turning to face you, “this is a close quarters kind of mission – I don’t want you doing something stupid.”

“Wow, Nat.” You huff and cross your arms protectively in front of your chest, continuing down the hallway at the slow pace you’d set. “Tell me how you really feel.”

She closes her eyes and waves a hand in front of her face, acting like she’s batting her last words out of the air.

“Not stupid,” she clarifies, “I meant I don’t want your feelings for Barnes to make you think there’s something there when there really isn't.” Nat gives you a reproachful look when you start to deny it. “I know this is something you and he talk about sometimes, where he says he’s not looking for a relationship. But, hon, you’re always looking at him like you want one.”

You stare straight ahead to avoid her gaze, worrying your lips with the blunt edges of your teeth. A jittery, painful feeling fills you at the mere thought of whatever it is you have with Bucky ending like you know it will. This ‘relationship’ that isn't really a relationship.

“I don’t mean to,” you whisper pitifully.

“I know,” she soothes, removing your lip from your teeth with her thumb and using the other hand to rub your arm. “It’s just a crush – it’ll go away.”

You both hear the doubt in her words.

PART 1

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #100 followers #Sorry

413 notes · View notes

cuckoo-on-a-string · 11 months

Text

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears.

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening.

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

188 notes · View notes

multiwreckedmess · 7 months

Text

February Filth Fest - Day 20

Pairing: Owner!San x Kitten!reader Prompt: Collaring/Deepthroat WC: 1.9k Summary: PWOP pretty much. You’re San’s favorite kitty girl so he gets you a cute collar to try out during your session,

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. TW/CW (nonspecific): Collars, dom/sub relationship, preestablished boundaries, bodily fluids, fem pronouns and terms used for reader, subspace. Extended TW/CW under the cut

TW/CW Extended: Deepthroat, throat bulge, egregious use of the terms “kitten, kitty”, lots of praise for the reader, very light scolding, vaguely instructional San, color system, everything is kept pretty playful and loving so it seems more vanilla but it’s nawt.

“I bought something special for tonight,” he says, revealing a large flat velvet box and offering it to you. Inside a delicate purple collar sits, simple but well made, small gold bell attached to the D ring, glittering brightly. You gasp, eyes wide. “Oh Sannie! It’s your favorite color!” “My favorite color on a collar on my kitty!” He bounces excitedly along the syllables, taking the collar from the box to fasten around your neck. “Pretty kitty,” he smiles, hand swatting at the small bell on your collar. “My pretty kitty looks so cute!” He elongates the ‘so’ running his forefinger between your neck and the leathery material, giving it the smallest of tugs. “Does it fit well? Not too tight?” You nod, the bell tinkles cutely with the bob of your head. With some force you ram the top of your head directly into his chest, rubbing your face and hair all over. Thumb petting behind your ear, San is beaming. “We aren’t in the scene yet, you can speak.” “I know, I just like doing it,” you giggle and bunt him again, more forcefully this time. Muscles tensing, he’s a hard one to knock over, like his name suggests. A defender, your defender, a job that San took very seriously. “You’re so eager to be non-verbal today aren’t you?” You nod and bat your eyelashes before returning to rubbing your body against his.

Looking at you his heart swells and aches. Darker whispers in his mind repeat words about owning and possessing, claiming. His, you are his, and the collar proves this. The collar that sits dainty on your neck is proof of his devotion to you. “Be a good kitty and sit pretty for me,” he coos. Kneeling at his feet, you try your best to follow his instructions, as simple as they are. Still you can’t help but press your face into the growing bulge in his slacks, eagerly nuzzling into his crotch and thighs. San clicks his tongue, “didn’t I tell you to be good?” He asks while subtly grinding into your soft kisses. Hypocritical encouragement of bad behavior, doting on you as always. You motion a nod but don’t stop. He smells so unmistakably him, a sharp citrusy masculine mixing with the soft natural scent of his skin. The anticipation of the events to come, the love you feel in your heart, and excitement of your current position all work to overwhelm you. You want to bite and squeeze and mark. Your hands act on your behalf, squeezing his ass suddenly, without prior approval from your brain. Strongly and firmly his hand tugs you backwards by the scruff of your neck, tilting your face up to him. “No,” his tone deepens into his chest, quiet but forceful. “Good kitties keep pretty paws.” Pouting and huffing you stick out your lower lip, waiting for him to smile down at you. Instead he cocks and eyebrow and waits for you to tuck your hands neatly behind you. Only then does one corner of his mouth begin to creep up into a smile. “No matter how well I train you, you still find a new way to surprise me.” San mumbles more for himself than for you, releasing his grasp on you to undo his belt. His smile continues to grow as he watches the glint of excitement in your eye turn to lust. Barely undoing the button at the top of his slacks. “Since you were so excited before, how about you help me the rest of the way?” Your eyes flick to the zipper, yet to be undone. Spit pools in your mouth which you gulp down hungrily. Craning your neck you manage to snag the pull of the zipper between your lips and teeth and start to tug it down. Using your hands would be easier but, kittens certainly don’t have that option. San sucks in air sharply, eyes rolling back in his head as you mouth at him in the guise of undoing his pants. You feel so warm and soft even as you work eagerly away, and San loves warm and soft. He hovers just behind your head, just close enough to feel your hair brush into his palm as you move but not enough to restrict your efforts. It takes everything inside of him to keep himself from grinding against you again. The drag of the fabric pinned to the yielding plumpness of your cheeks would feel heavenly, he knows it would. He could lose himself to that easily when that is very much not the plan tonight. But maybe some other time.

You manage to pull the slacks down over his hips and to his thighs, letting gravity work to take them the rest of the way off, and sit back on heels incredibly pleased with yourself. San looks positively flushed in front of you, outline of his straining cock pressed to the dark cotton of his underwear.

Hand cupping your chin once more San runs the pad of his thumb down over your lips, tugging gently at the bottom one. Puffy and warm to the touch, its everything he’d been holding out for. He continues to trail down to your throat, where his newest mark of ownership rests. It’s really a collar more for show than for real usage but it doesn’t take much for you to follow him. The tiny bell jingles as San slides his index finger under the collar, almost taunting you for your easy acquiescence. He watches your eyes sparkle as his other hand pulls the waistband of his underwear down, just enough for his cock to bounce proudly over it against his toned stomach, free from confines and ready. The pretty dusty pink head has cum beginning to bead along the slit, unrepressed by fabric. Quickly you lap at it, tiny little licks as you stare up at him, waiting for his reaction.

San shudders, biting the inside of his lip to keep himself from moaning. “Eager kitten,” his tone warns, “are you acting out because you’re so hungry?” You nod, pressing the tip between your lips, just barely covering it as you continue to suckle. His hips press forward into your yielding mouth, not deep enough to pose a challenge. He holds you there, finger crooked around your collar as your lips stretch and work to fit his girth. “God it’s like your soft little mouth was just made for me, hungry girl,” he moans. Gradually your mouth warms to his shallow thrusts almost enough that he’s sliding past the tight ring of muscle at the back of your throat. You can certainly feel the spongy head of his cock bumping into it but never pushing past it. San stretches your lips just a little wider, inserting his thumb into the side of your cheek and pulling you taut, drool seeping out around him. “Messy kitty,” his voice is gravelly as he groans. You look absolutely fucked out, eyes big and round, looking up at him in a daze. Back arched, your ass looks fantastic as you kneel below him. “Big breath for me, okay kitten?” He pulls from you and pets your head, waiting a second for you to collect yourself before he pushes all the way in, past that ring, until your nose is brushing his pubic area. Your throat works around him, flexing and fighting back soft gags. His gut twists, thigh cramping, he’s close from this alone. San releases the back of your head waiting for you to follow.

You have other ideas, hands quickly grabbing his hips to get a few more bobs in, proof of devotion, that you’re a good kitty. Nails grazing your scalp, San’s fist tightens around a chunk of hair as he pulls you from him fully. Tears streaking your cheeks, nose running, drool bubbling at the corners of your mouth you blink up at him, doe eyed. “Do good kitties use their claws?” You shake your head no. A few swipes of his thumbs smears the mixture of bodily fluids. Chasing the warmth of his palm you try to nuzzle him, a consolation for your misbehaving, but he withdraws. “Then you’re going to have to be reminded how to be a good kitty aren’t you?” You practically wiggle out of your skin in excitement, nodding your head exuberantly. Pulling you gently by the collar up onto the nearby bed, he uses it more as a guide than a choke, positioning you just so your head hangs over the edge closest to him. He’s unbelievably gentle with your hair as he guards it from getting caught between your body and the bed. Even looking up at him upside down like this, hearing him shuffle the remainder of his clothes off, you’re smitten.

“I know you don’t want to but I need to hear you say it out loud babe,” San strokes himself with one hand slowly, lustful eyes raking your spread out form. “What’s your color and what do you do if you want me to slow or stop?” “Green,” you stretch long down to your toes before sighing. “Two taps to slow and pinch to stop.” He laughs as you look up at him expectantly, head twisting side to side to better catch the full view of him. “Don’t worry kitty, you’re gonna be fed.” San says as he taps the tip of his cock against your lips. “Open up nice and wide for me, like a good girl.”

Tongue lolling out again, mouth wide for easy access, he slides into your warm wet cavern, fucking you shallowly at first. Supporting the back of your neck his thumbs caress the sides of your throat, tiny concentric circles over and over. He enjoys watching the way your fingers and toes curl in anticipation the nearer he gets to the tight ring of muscle that flexes each time he bumps against it.

It’s as fast as a pop when he manages to push through and down your throat. Your body convulses once before stiffening and calming as San pets your stomach. “There you go, sweet thing, just hold it for a second,” he coos and coaxes. Glancing down, San marvels, watching your throat flex and strain into the collar. Two thumbs pressed to the side he can feel how you widen and stretch to accommodate his girth, the gargled sound of moans reverberating through his shaft. “Just a little more for me pet.” A moan escapes him, loud and uncontrolled, almost a yelp as he loses himself to feeling of you desperately trying to swallow him all the way down. “When i come out just spit it all out kitten okay? Just spit out all that nasty stuff caught in your throat.”

As he pulls out he tilts your head over. You cough and splutter and spit mucus thickened with precum. Your lungs stutter and spasm, the availability of air grown unfamiliar. A soft towel greets your lips before your eyes can open, careful to keep you just clean enough. “Color?” “S’green, more.” You spit with determination. San kisses your forehead. “That’s my girl. Just a little more and I’ll eat my kitties cute lil’ pussy until she screams.” Your thighs clench at the promise, San softly chuckles as your knees knock together. It’s going to be a good night.

#Choi San smut #San smut #ateez smut #ateez san smut #ateez choi san smut #kpop smut #February Filth Fest

98 notes · View notes

punk-in-docs · 1 year

Text

🕷️ Girlfriend is Better 🕷️

Eddie Munson x reader

10.9k words

Summary: Eddie x Pencils hit a bit of a hurdle in their early relationship. But she puts it to rights - and then hits the sweet metal head with an offer he can’t refuse- tw violence, past assault: in this chap folks - sorry its taken so long to get this done - enjoy

Eddie can feel their eyes on him.

He feels it’s undeserved and let’s be honest, a little odd. It’s not as if he’s not doing anything out of the ordinary here. He’s just being- normal.

His version at least. His wheelhouse batshit normal. Eddie-like.

They’re looking at him like he’s grown a new head.

Munson Motor mouth, rabbiting on its usual mile a minute as Motörhead shreds through the van speakers with Lemmy’s choppy and tasty riffs.

Early morning cigarette that he lit before he hopped in the van for the drive to school, curling smoke held between two fingers.

He’s batting the saggy steering wheel in time to the song. Ba-da-da with his other open palm to coincide with drum clashes that pound through like falling rocks and crashing thunder.

He still takes the corners way too fast like a coked up maniac. Some things will never change.

He looks the same. Smiles the same. But there’s a new breed of manic warping his usual calamity of a nature.

He’s not grumbling about this morning. Or a test or pop quiz he had coming up. No miserable sluggishness. Toothpaste breath. Not slumped and still yawning. With nothing but a weak instant coffee, two sugars, as his one and only source of breakfast. Gritty coffee that still catches the grounds between his back teeth.

Hair that mushed dry state that’s hard to tell if it’s met with a brush or not yet. Possibly this morning. It’s a maybe. It’s a not really.

Leather and battle vest showed up for duty on his lanky torso as per usual. Hellfire shirt of course. The ripped jeans. The wallet chain that swings and jingles and clatters to denim when he walks and makes him sound like a jangling six foot cat with a little tinkling bell on its collar. It’s all there. The jangly jacketed freak is all assembled.

But there’s this newness to the way he’s smiling.

So wide it dimples his cheeks. Creases the corner of those intimidating wells of eyes. It’s like someone’s fuel injected him with something to make him wilder. More swirly. Practically floating. Any higher he’d be in the big blue stratosphere. Sun grazed and heady. Icarus soaring too close to the sun. Not yet plunged to earth. Melting gold spattered on milk white swan feathers as he tumbled to earth.

Jeff makes a joke about him toking up before school. Eddie reached over and ruffled his hair. Making that demons smile. Rings flashing from his fingers in the meagre sun. “Man, I wish.”

“Got new pills from Rick or something?”

Eddie frowned. “Hell no. Besides. Wouldn’t be wasting those beauties right before first period English class.” He scoffs.

Dustin and Mike share a furtive glance that begs to know what’s up. Dustin mumbles What the shit, man?

He’s finally cracked. I’m calling it.

He didn’t have far to go.

He judders the van along the lot at school. Rumbling tyres over the loose gravel. Head bobbing to the metal as he lurches the wheel and swings into a space.

“Be seeing you. Little hellions. Be free. Give em hell.” He chuckles. Lumping the van into park. Watching them open doors and frown. Scurrying away to class. Gathered close and whispering. Hiking backpack straps up their shoulders and clutching chunky math books and still regarding him like more of an oddity than he actually is.

Of course there is a reason for the golden sunshine visibly sneaking out his pores, and bouncing the soles of his happy feet today. And it’s his wonderful secret.

Eddie shakes his head, and shoulders all his jagged chips and hatred for this place.

The amount of chips he’s got shelved there, worn on his shoulders, about this stunning educational penitentiary, frankly, he could very realistically wear like scales at this point.

He puts a cigarette to his lips and slips around the corner of the lot, jacket and wallet chain clinking as he goes, sneaking to the smokers spot.

A balding patch of grass skimmed to mud, and a graffitied brick wall, snugly hidden around the side of the squat building where some go to steal a quick smoke before class. He usually occupies the spot alone and has to haul ass like a frightened racoon if a teach clocks him.

No sooner had he come within an inch of the corner, cig almost to his lips, and he is yanked around it by a sturdy hand yanking him fully out of view - by his wallet chain. He feels the tug on the denim around his hip, pulling taut.

He wants to yowl and start squirming away from the grip, slinging fists into faces at this ambush. When really he wants to turn tail and leg it in the opposite direction. Flight not fight.

His back collided with graffiti breeze block and before he could turn out his pockets, show them holding lint and nothing else save for a quarter and a D20, screechily proclaim his dispensary is clean out man, back off-

Then some warm lips mould to his.

A gentle artists hand, faded blue polish on the nails, knuckles scraping bricks, is cupping the back of his wild mane and cupping him for a kiss he slowly melts too.

He honest-to-god goes fully boneless with the way you kiss him. The scrappy fight and shock slowly leeches out those gangly poky limbs. Sparks shoot to his fingertips.

He smiles. You can feel his dimples and a cold leathered arm comes folding around your back. The bracelet and the jangle of those zips up his wrists. Settling at the dip of your waist and his fingers slide into the back of belt loop of your jeans.

When you pull back for breath that you’re not sure you want more than him, he has the dopiest grin skated on his face.

“Morning.” You beam finally.

Because that kiss seemed way more important. You can’t help the feeling he instills. Feels like your belly is birthing a wild jungle crammed with winking wings of butterflies. Brilliant blue. Wicked electric yellow. Gossamer pink. They all shimmer.

“Hey hot stuff.” He smiles. Not restraining himself whatsoever.

Oh, they shimmer even more to the sight of that. Mad. Wild. Unhinged.

His cheeks kissed a little pink. He doesn’t even care that he dropped his cigarette in the mud. He’d rather chase the taste of your lips and let that sustain him all morning. Better than pills and nicotine. This static-fizzy-starburst feeling he gets big lungfuls of when around you.

“Didn’t mean to grab you like that. But I must admit that chain is certainly a handy hook.” You flick a fingertip to it. Sway that lolling chain into his thigh. Biting your lower lip in a smile.

He cups one side your face. If anyone got to chew that lip, it’s gonna be him. Leans in to gently smooch you again.

“Goddamn. I was reaching for my attack whistle there, pencils.” He rubs his hand over your hip. Rings chafe against your denim waistband.

“Maybe I was overzealous. But I do have a stunning defence.”

You lean up on tiptoes to smash a polite smooch back to his mouth. He mumbled a curious sound into your lips.

“Which is?” He seeks. Lips chasing yours for more. Even through speaking. Insanity catches.

“I missed you like crazy and it’s been barely 12 hours since I last saw you, and kissed you. And etcetera…” You flirt.

He can see these little delighted pips in your eyes. Like sowed little seeds of pride. The etcetera being all the dirty things you finally got to indulge in last night. Threaded in moonlight at skull rock.

No regrets. He doesn’t see any tint of regret in you.

Seeing that kicks his rocker heart right up to the moon, and sailing on over it. Like those old songs. Moonbeams and old soft tinkling pianos. Ladies with gardenias in their hair crooning about moondance, love and seeing stars.

He gets it now. He totally gets all of that sappy shit.

“I hereby decree that is far too long, and way too stupid of us, actually.” He finishes your thoughts for you. They were symmetrical to his own after all.

“So stupid. We’re just like, a complete pair of morons right now.” You concur. Linking your fingers into his. Standing toe to toe and just drinking in how it feels to be near again.

“So I’m thinking, we should cease all impending stupidity and uh y’know, catch a movie tonight or, grab a bite at Benny’s. Something like that. Anything.” He says. Smile all limned in excitement.

Shaking that big moppish mane of hair as a grin splits his mouth when he speaks, makes him look like an out and out excited little kid.

Fidgeting with your hands and immersing himself in the tactile deliciousness of your hands being held in his. Little touches that stayed with him all night.

Kept bugging him even in dreams he’s sure thoughts of you crept at the oil slick lining of his mind like wing tips of persistent gentle moths. The dusty old ones the colour of sour grey milk. Ones that they get flapping around the trailer porch light at night in balmy summer. The soft blink as they hit the glass shade.

“Burgers at Benny’s sounds so good.” You grin. “Loaded chilli fries?”

He scoffs. “Naturally. I’m not an animal.”

You run your hands through his wild hair. Listen to him talk. Heart entirely bloated with love of this boy. You swear it’s knocking all giddy up against your ribs like some deformed roaming creature seeking release.

“Shall we head out after class? I’ll drive.” He offers. His stomach zig-zags in vicious excitement.

“Catch you after class, handsome.” You grin.

“Ohh, whoa. I never said I was done with you yet.” His eyes flicker with something you think is cheekiness.

Swooping in to slow kiss you for a beat too long. An embrace that makes him hum softly. Makes you mewl. Right at he back of his throat. Lips roaming gentle and soft and your bodies rock together. Gets him cupping your back to keep you near.

“Fuckk gimme another one of those, pencils. I’m not below begging.” Cups your face again. He wants another kiss. Eyes wide as bourbon brown saucers

Chuckling in the muggy space between your smiles, cheeks fired all warm, sharing the same breath, you lean in and give it to him. Giving him the deep messy kiss you’d been craving.

When it’s time to pull back to guzzle air and maybe some reality again, Eddie chases your retreat with his mouth. His lips bruised a stunning cupid pink. Taking a breath that he’s not sure he needs more than he does you.

“Jesus H Christ. How the hell am I gonna even attempt to concentrate today-“ He asks. Voice all raspy and slow gravel.

“What usually stops you?” You sass him. He bites his lip all naughty and softly jabs you right in the stomach; a move designed to tickle.

“Blasphemy. Dear one. I mean, how dare you.” He grins. Chocolate drop eyes all crinkled at their corners. You cover his hand on your stomach, with your own. He likes the soft warm pouch of you there.

It’s tactile. It’s touch. It shoots right to the roof of Eddie’s brain and does something so funky to him he can’t even describe it in words. Actions maybe - Beer on an empty stomach. The first hit of some really silky smooth strain Rick gives him to try. The home made warm sugary scent of that peach cobbler Wayne makes him on his birthday.

They haven’t designed or discovered enough appropriate words to put to this feeling. None that even his whip smart nature can grasp at.

“I’ll soothe that wounded ego and buy you a chocolate shake later if it pleases.” You offer. Tilting your head. Offer placed on the table.

“An ego bruise is a problem I will gladly allow you to throw chocolate and ice cream at.” His fingers worm their way through yours. Knuckles locked. You could do this all day.

“Can be swayed with chocolate. Good to know.”

“And candy. Pizza rolls are good too.”

“Noted.” You beam. Snuggling to his front. Hands still joined. Fused as one.

The sound of the bell ringing for first period is a rude interjection into a morning that’s shaping up to be stellar.

Eddie didn’t seem best pleased by this. Judging by the way he takes advantage of that split second of your distraction hearing the bell, to snatch his hands at your shoulders and loop you round so your back is to the wall instead of his. Sneak attack.

His arm is a leather band over the back of your waist and he gently cups your chin and deepens a silky melting kiss that is, just, so many elements of perfect it should be outlawed that just kissing can be this good.

The plush of his deeply plump lips, with the scraping push of some stubble on his upper lip. It’s delicious. The way he kisses is better than any hit off any joint. You don’t care what he says. Better than purple haze. Better than fucking anything. Backed by sheer dopey sized crushes that take you both, head to toe. Crushes taking on a life of their own. Wearing your skins whole and making you desperate. Make you ache.

You kiss him back. Desperately. Drenched in want. But also knowing that you should be hot-footing it to your first class lest you get a tardy slip. To turn up late, with a very very kiss worn mouth like that would be about as obvious as the nose on your face.

“Eddiii-mmmmm.” You plead to his bewitching mouth. Smoky minty breath and the faintness of his morning coffee on your tastebuds. He’s cupping your face like your some sacred relic he has to handle gently. As if he had corrosive fingertips. Strychnine laced touch.

When he pulls back. Hands two big gangly paws holding your neck, there’s this sweet dazed look all over his expression. Drugged on you. The way you kissed him like his tongue is made out of cherry candy and you only want more- oh lord.

How’s that for irony. The Hawkins High school dealer and here he is getting a huge hit, from kissing you. Nothing that comes pre rolled in a baggie making his mind fuzz like hot molasses, or circled into a wild little chalky pill that makes his head all bright and fuzzy sharp like cotton candy.

Making out before class he can gladly get hooked on. He thinks he’s there already. DT-Ing for more. Make him shake and rattle on all fours like a rabid dog.

“One for the road…” He explains inbetween raspy pants for breath. A silly smile all yours for the keeping.

You pat his chest. He could honestly whimper at the tactile feel of your hand resting on the meat of his pectoral. So dangerously close to skin on skin.

“I better go.” You sigh. A drop kick to your mood to leave him. You take a step back.

He can’t allow that. He whines like a kicked puppy. Button eyes all round and shiny with whatever amount of sadness it would take to root you here, with him.

“Don’t. Pencils. Stay here. Stay uneducated and stupid with me and let’s just make out, all day.” He waggles some filthy intentioned brows at you. Pleading threaded onto his voice. Trying his best to yank you back.

“You could easily tempt me to play hooky any day, Munson. But I’ve been studying for this test all week.” You point out.

“Well. I can’t deny that dorky chicks turn me on.” He sighs nicely. You can’t help smiling.

“Really? I figured tiny pleated little cheerleader skirts and peppy bouncy pom-poms turned you on.” You tease. Voice all sultry.

He leans in and smacks a kiss to the end of your nose.

“Nuh-uh. I like em’ covered in paint and jeans and artsy, and working in record shops with old hippies. And hopelessly in all consuming love with me.” He grins.

“Kiss ass.” You smirk. Smacking a kiss to his cheek. Stepping back. His hand slithers to find yours again. Links fingers. His rings glitter. They’re all warm where he’s been holding hands with you. On you.

“Hey, my girlfriend is a damn fox. This is a hill I’ll die on.”

You bring your joined hands up and kiss the back of his for that.

“Class beckons.” You roll your eyes. Shouldering your bag. Unwilling to unlink hands until you absolutely had too.

“See you at lunch?” You ask. His brows creased. Makes him look like an upset puppy.

“Can’t. Got a drop to make in the woods.”

“Parking lot after school?” He counter offers.

“You bet.” You agree. And you cannot even handle the wait.

You walk away around the corner. Eddies eyes trail over you as you go.

“Enjoy the smoke.” You turn over your shoulder and call back.

He saluted you with a flicking motion, with that million dollar grin pleasured all over his face.

“Brutal babe. You know what I’d enjoy more…” his inflection at the end of his words lets you know what he’s referring too.

“Down boy.” You play as you head off. Smile all secret and wide for him. Grin so wide it makes his heart pulse.

He’s grasping a hand over his mad heart as you slip away. One knee bent up. Sneakered foot flat to the wall behind him.

He reaches for that cigarette and his lighter. Though he doubts this little stick will do any damn thing that kissing you didn’t. He lights up. Grinning. You left his heart thrashing about and kicking inside the shell of his denim and leather like a damn drum in a cramps song.

Way, way across the field, sat high up on the bleachers with some of the girls on the cheer squad. In full view of the back brick wall where you had just been. Supposedly around the corner and concealed from view-

Linda snapped her binder shut. Eyes packed in venom. Huffing as she picked up her books.

Lipsticked lips pursed together in a grim hot pink line. Annoyance fills her chest and rams up against her ribs. Sour in her stomach. Nastiness curdled up on her tongue. She’d seen enough.

You and the freak. Just like Jonny said.

No fucking way.

Eddie bapped along to some rock that had been trapped in the lining of his crazy head since this morning. Head bumping as he hummed along, sang under his breath to Rattlehead. That mane flicking every which way.

Metal lunchbox swings from his hand and clatters as he bounced along the familiar route. Feet trained for the way. Leaves cushion his rustling step. He drags his eyes over the foliage spread high above.

Dappled with gold sunshine of the afternoon that chips down. The odd scurry of a bird flapping around the treetops. Nature and the soothing crash of wind lacing through wide apple-green leaves. He darts his eyes around, seeking and searching for the shape of anyone to come crashing through the trees.

He arrived at his little decaying stoop in the woods. The table that’s so carved and scarred with crude drawings and initials it’s chipped and falling to bits. Cig butts littered everywhere and Eddie shamefully admits some of them are most likely his. His place of business is well reputed.

Swinging his leg over the bench seat and slinking himself up onto the table to take a pew. Sneakers resting on the seat. Cause when has he ever approached anything normally, or fallen into doing anything that comes into the category of usual.

He throws the lunchbox lid open with no gilding the lily, and braces his scattered mind into this deal. Shoves through the bags to find the semi-decent stuff. Wave of heady green hits him in the nose as he rummaged and carried on humming to himself.

Though really for the preppy guy who propositioned this drop, he’s tempted to charge way too much for a thin little roll of ditchweed.

Alas, his reputation is too important. One bad sale and he’d never touch profits on it again. He will unwillingly part with some decent sativa for the knucklehead.

He thumbs through his papers and rustling bags and makes a note of exactly what he’ll put his fistful of measly dollars from the sale towards; another date with you.

He’s heard of this great alt store a couple towns over. Super your style. Record store in back, cool clothing, apparantly a rock n roll kinda vibe that you would appreciate. Posters, merch, jewellery, you name it.

He can’t think of a better place to take you for a date. He’s keeping it under wraps even though, god knows, his blabber mouth which runs and rants away from itself, wanted to yell and shriek about it to you nonstop.

How he wanted to scrape together some dollars to buy you something. A handful of punk style patches, a tee, a poster for your bedroom door that needed some anarchy or some goth Siouxsie. Maybe a little Joan and some Blackhearts action.

He’s heard you crank them up on your headphones to blaring when you’re trying to concentrate on a sketch. Like the loudness lifts you out your mind and transcends into the paint.

How he wanted to make a mixtape for you, of all the metal songs - and to his embarrassment some of the less tacky love ballads - that bring you to the forefront of his mind when he hears them. Even some older crooning songs that Wayne likes.

The stuff he was drip-fed on in his early days, sweet and crooning, like slow gold honey melting into his ears. Listening to them and snatching pieces of melody that breezed through the trailer. Warm and sunny to listen to. Softly swaying Don Henley, Woodie Guthrie, and Jim Croce. Even some Ella or some Julie London and her smokiness.

He smiles to himself as he comes to Rattlehead’s chorus. Toes tapping the rotten old bench and creaking the wood, as he scrunches bags aside this way and that to find the pre-rolls. Fingers drum the beats off the side of the tin. Clacking out into the woods.

The brutal snap of a twig makes him peer around.

Eddie swims his eyes through the trees and eventually drags them to find a Jock with his hands shoved in his pockets.

It’s not someone he’s on a first name basis with. He’s lost amongst a sea of sensible jeans and varsity two tones. Sea green and blinding white with the lion gold yellow Hawkins H proudly blazoned on his front.

Crazy how differently they wear their allegiances.

He’s the anti-thesis of Eddies style. Shirt tucked in. Sensible white sneakers that aren’t beat up to shit. Preppy. Hair brushed. Some square jawed Ryan or Chad or whomever, pads towards him.

The look in his eyes twists Eddie’s gut like wet flannel. Scathing.

He’s seen hatred and distain before. Of course. It’s poured very freely his way.

Thats nothing new to him. Distaste. Eye rolls louder than claps of thunder and tutts coming stabbed under breath peppered with nasty words.

This is that crowd at its ugliest. The tribe this guy is happily a part of. Supposed fuckin’ Normalcy. They scar the word ‘Freak’ into him over and over again. Stomp it into his messy maned head over and over with their feet.

Finally he got tired of the brutal raining down kicks and just took it. Weened the power of it. Stole it from them and flipped it. Made it his shield. Propped it up with that DIO patch on his back. Let their hatred sink into that and roll away useless.

Let them know it doesn’t sink down to places where they want it to hurt.

Eddie swallows. Throat suddenly a sticky chasm. Tried to soften the blow and put away whatever the fuck this guy was trying to scowl and throw at him.

“Hey, man. You’re my 1 o’clock right?” He asks. Tapping his knee still and fiddling with his hands.

The guy swerved his jaw before he spoke. “Yeah.” Spine held poker rigid as he answered. Like it offended him to have to be here and talk.

He came into the clearing. Sneakers rustling leaves. Something feels sour about this whole thing.

“Okay. Well- um.” He awkwardly clears his throat. Reaches into the box that he gently sets beside himself. Grabs the joint and fidgets with it for a second.

“It’s uh, it’s twenty bucks for a pre-roll.” Eddie tells him.

“Great.” He watches the guy nod. Curt. His expression steely. Eyes glassy in a way that’s beyond unsettling.

“Ohhhkay.” Eddie nods. Eyes a fraction too pinched at the corners. Concerned frown dragging down his brows. Wondering what the stitch up is. His eyes dart around. Bordering on panic.

He stands to get off the bench, the guy doesn’t so much a muscle to reach across and take the joint off him. Hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

Eddie holds the joint. The guy doesn’t even move to take it.

“It won’t bite man. Smooth as silk and just, hits you like a cool wave when you smoke that puppy. Trust me.”

Something flickers like a sneer across the guys mouth. He looks at the innocuous rolled joint Eddie’s holding out to him. Looks at the brown paper all rolled in his palm.

Eddie shrugs. Wide open. Leather crinkles over the jutting movement of his shoulders.

“You want it or not?” A razor edge starting to creep into his tone.

If this is someone who hasn’t made their mind up, he’s got other places to be. Better times to be had. Than waiting on whether or not the preppy jerk is gonna take the goods off his hands. Or use more than two syllables.

“If you don’t want it. I’ll go right now. Forget it. No hard feelings.” He takes the edge off for him.

Despite the fact that actually a little simmering front of annoyance bubbles at his belly for the guy wasting his free period he could have used to kiss you senseless with wandering hands, right up against the side of his van.

He turns around and throws the joint back into the box. Shaking his head. Making his hair do that wild kicky thing it usually does.

“Maybe you should go. Freak.” Comes spat his way. Drawn in a snarl.

“Whatever, dude.” Eddie puts his back to him. Folds his product back into his box.

More snaps. More rustled leaves. Eddie drifts his eyes up and sees three more guys coming through the woods to the clearing. Walking slowly, picking over nature to come to the bench all menacingly slow. Like he was a deer they were in danger of spooking.

All wearing Hawkins letterman jackets. Sneers writ on all their faces. Intimidation carved into every step they take. They look way too happy to see him here alone.

Suddenly Eddie feels small. Feels like he’s right back in middle school. Being tossed around and bashed up by the bullies. Coming home with stinging scraped knees and a cheek that feels swollen hot, itchy like bloated meat. The crust of dried rust scabbing under his nose.

This feels exactly like that. Some things never change.

“The fuck?” He asks. He won’t lie. His voice wobbles to a croak. Set on shaking sands.

“Where you goin’ loser?” One of them huffs out. Eddie turns his head.

Strutting towards him like the bullshit cover of macho magazine. Or J-Crew, is Barbies boyfriend. The blonde ape.

One of them he doesn’t recognise proudly comes up and slaps the lunchbox out his hands.

Eddie flinches back. Shrinks away. Puts distance between every step they eat up eagerly to come towards him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want whatever’s coming barrelling his way. He hasn’t done anything except sell some reefer.

“Alright. Alright-“ Eddie stumbles back from the table. Hands high and empty. Voice jittery. His head and gut yell in sync - telling him to run the hell outta there.

“Clearly you guys have some sort of agenda I’m not aware of so why don’t we all just-“ His smile is all tremulous and shaky.

A fist drags his collar into a yank. A curled up punch swings into his face and knocks him clean to the ground before he can chew out his next words. His jaw snaps together. Hot pennies comes flooding his tongue where his teeth cut his cheek.

Stars and bursting black galaxies accompany his artless tumble to the ground.

And then some more fists come raining down. A sneakered foot planting square into his side to kick the wind clean out of him.

They leave him crumpled on the ground. Cushioned by rotting dry leaves. Smeared in mud, blood leaking from two places in his face. Spotting down to his dark shirt.

As a parting gift one of them empties his lunchbox over the floor and stomps its contents into the dirt.

He knows the feeling only all too well.

You clatter into the bathroom after your last class.

Let the bustle of crowds fall far behind you as everyone rushes to the lot to leave. Afternoon summer sun stripes its sneaking glory across the halls and slants the window ledges in gold.

You cross to the sinks and set your sketchbook crammed with new drawings on the side. Leafs of the paper and all the dried paint crinkling, as it’s wedged partially open by the sheer number of crammed pages all skated on dusty pencil or charcoal.

You’d need to buy another pretty soon. One with thick cloth like paper pages for you to fill up.

You go through new books like running water. Never stop sketching. You’d wanted to take Eddie to the funky art shop you grab your supplies from. You’ve a feeling he’d love seeing the paint sets and the sheer number of spray paints they got.

Creativity seemed to flourish from him. His imagination permanently running wild. Could never stop it. One of your favourite things about him in fact.

He would talk about your sketches. Ask you about them. Ask you what the best paint would be for decorating some new figurines he’s got.

He’d twirl the pen you’re using out your hand and tell you all about the way he’d sit in the library for hours drawing fantasy maps for his campaigns on graft paper. Drawing rolling green islands. Mountain caves with trolls. Boggy muggy swamps with draping trees and hidden dangers. Vast seas with coily sea serpents hiding in the waves.

He’d chat to you about your ideas. The ones you’re struggling with for art class. The things you need to study and learn about. The theory of colours. The use of them all dotted in a Poussin or swirled in a Van Gogh.

You could talk to Eddie about anything. For hours and hours. The mere fact of going to grab a huge greasy meaty junk fest of a dinner with him has you walking on clouds.

You want your evening with him already. It can’t come fast enough. You want salty loaded fries and a cold shake and relentless plush Eddie kisses. You wanna climb into the comfy ratty seat in that tired old van that you love. Listen to whatever blasting metal cassette he’s been humming along to all day.

Hell- even just seeing his whole face light up with a smile as you saunter up to his van. The way he’d look at you - the way he always looks at you - with those big shining brown eyes all haloed in golden sun. Brimming with mirth. Cheeks split wide and crow-eyes all bunched up at the corners in glee.

He burns so bright to see you, it’s like he’s swallowed the sun and stars combined. You feel so lucky to have that.

The way he links his fingers with yours. Lopes your fingers together as one and doesn’t even mind if your all paint spattered or your hands are too dry. Palms all hard from scrubbing off acrylic smudges.

He kisses your fingers and acts like you’re draped in diamonds.

Acts like you weren’t wearing a ribbed worn Henley. A large - borrowed - Berkeley blue varsity sweater knotted around your waist, or your straight worn baggy jeans, cuffed up hems and patched at the knees that you mended. And your truly awful red sneakers that are so beat up with age they’re almost a sad faded pink.

He still looks at you like you’re a holy revelation. Each time.

You heap your bag next to the sinks and scrub the last of the charcoal off your hands. Sticky pink soap making a lot of lather around your fingers as you washed the smudgy grey away from the creases in your knuckles. Watch the way it circles down the drain.

You pull up and dry them with the crinkly paper tissues sat on the side.

Take a second to look back to the mirror. Centred all around the ugly squiggles of old sharpie doodles etched on the walls. Contemplate your reflection.

You smooth the hair away from your forehead. Attempt to neaten some of the crazy fluffy bits that kink down around your ears. Fuss with it for a minute or two. Smudge the charcoal away off your cheek.

“Who you trying to look so nice for-“ Comes a cutting tone from behind you. Tone dredged through revulsion and back out again.

A twist over your shoulder reveals Linda. Stood there in her oversized acid wash denim jacket and too-short purple skirt. Hair all bunched up and piled on her head in a half up style wound with a magenta scrunchie. She stands with one hip cocked. And her eyes are frosty daggers.

Heat licks your spine in the shame that you’d been caught preening. “No one.” You say too quick.

Try and inflect some humour on your voice. “You know I don’t exactly have anyone to preen for.” You lie.

Looking down at your hands as you dry them. Scrubbing water away with damp paper. Crush it into a fist and ball it in the bin when you’re done.

You can feel her stare embedding itself into your skull. Like an engraving. Sharp. Scratch of a knife on hollow bone.

“I saw you with him. So don’t try and come at me with your bullshit.” She spits. Words tired and clipped.

You turn over your shoulder. She stands there seething. Looking as bitchy as she usually does. Pink lips pursed.

“Saw me…” you check.

“Yeah. You and Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” She poses the words like they’re offensive. Mocking.

Anger furred the back of your tongue. Like feasting on too much sugar. Or a chalky jagged pill lodging itself in your throat.

“Look. I know you’re like, a lonely little virgin or whatever, and you wanna pop your cherry and all, but there’s way better guys out there to screw-”

Your venom stops her words dead.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You bite.

You see her face fall into shock at your tone. Snappy and sudden. She looked stunned. As if you’d wheeled around 360 and slapped her.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you actually like him? Are you serious?” She gapes like it’s illogical.

“He’s a loser with ratty hair who sells weed and lives in a shit hole trailer park.”

“I do like him. I more than like him. We’re dating.” You tell her with steel. “We’re going out tonight as it happens.”

“I knew you had a screw loose but this is just another level of low. Even for you.” Linda bitches.

“How do you never get tiredwith that constant tirade of shit that spills out your mouth Linda.” You snipe.

She rallies to respond. Scanning you with hard eyes backed with new levels of poison.

“I’m not the one dating the King of the freaks.” She hits at you, real low.

“No. You’re dating a two-bit jockstrap who doesn’t even like you, unless you blow him. At least Eddie wants me for more than my pussy.” You point out.

She swallowed. Eyes glimmer. You know that one bit deep.

“Don’t come crying to me when that trailer park asshole dumps you like a cup of cold poison.”

You shake your head and try to remember how to breathe. Snickering cracks of bones in your throat as you swallow. You want to fly into rage and slam your textbook into her stupid scathing face until it dents one of her precious cheekbones.

“You don’t even know him. None of you do. You don’t even know the first two things about him.” You defend loud.

“I know he’s weird as shit and sells skunk. What a catch.”

You bite your tongue. Plenty of insults about Jonny come crawling to mind.

“How long have you two been-“ She sniffs.

“Couple of weeks now. Since Kyle’s party.” You hurl at her furiously.

Her face fills with an expression you can’t read as everything comes to make sense. Falls into place. Puzzle pieces clicking.

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“Yeah. And you’re so self centred look how long it’s taken you to even notice or give a shit about what’s happening to me or my life.” You finally say all the things you should have voiced long ago.

“You’re only interested now because you care what other people are gonna say on Monday, and what they’ll gossip about.”

“He’s trouble, and he’s gonna get you hurt. Probably gonna give you a filthy rash or something too.” She sneers. “Lord knows what he’s riddled with.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” You grit your teeth. Emotion gets the better of your voice. Tears bubble at your lash line. Red hot.

“Not gonna be my problem to have you trailing round after me anymore. Cause by the way, we are no longer friends.” Linda spits. Eyes narrow to slits.

You nod. Resigned. Tears of anger prick the corners of your eyes. You’re too angry to let them loose.

“What a goddamn relief.” You hit back. Chew your lower lip.

“I’ve had to listen to you bitch at me, and whine and snipe, and moan, for years. I’ve had to endure your tantrums and your cutting comments, and every play-by-play of every unsatisfying Friday night screw around, with your shitty dirtbag of a boyfriend who treats you like garbage. And who you run back to each time he fucks you over. And I’m so sick of you.” Your voice comes out raw.

“So yeah. You’re right. We’re not friends anymore. I don’t think we’ve been that for a very long time.”

You put your back to her and grab your books.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Freak.” She sideswipes nastily as you shoulder your way past her.

Catching her on purpose. Shoving her with your shoulder to catch her teetering in those heels.

“Have fun with your trailer trash.” She snips.

“Word of advice. Make sure Jonny wraps it first. Word is he’s been screwing Tina on the cheer squad behind your back every Wednesday.“

You watch her saunter up past you to get to the mirror and touch up her lipstick. Ignore ignore ignore.

Her too sweet Revlon perfume making your stomach roil. She looks at her reflection. The thing she loved most. It’s amazing you ever got a look in. She scrunches up sections of her hair to make it bounce. An indifferent mask on her face.

Trying to ignore you already so the tears don’t come. So what else is new.

You pause at the door. Hand on the handle. Books piled on your arms.

“Sad thing is. I never expected you to act any different when you found out. Turns out you’re just that shallow vain bully I always suspected you to be.”

She pretends not to hear as you slip out the door. You’re sure to slam it as loudly as you can.

Coming out into the partially empty hall. Quickly skating a hand down your cheek. Taking a gulp of a deep breath. Starting down the hallway to come to the doors at the end.

Letting the distance to that girls restroom salvage some of your anger. Let it ebb away and let the savage venom words roll down your skin like blunt razors.

You wait to see if they feel like they’ve drawn any blood.

Maybe just a raking deep black bruise. Perhaps the confrontation has lifted a rock solid weight off your chest. Cut your ties to something corrosive.

You storm to the doors at the end, and push your way out. Into the midsummer air. Afternoon sun washing over you as it creeps it’s golden-fiery way by. Slanting ochre across the parking lot.

A gaggle of people clutched around one of the sticky lunch tables stops you dead in your tracks.

That weight comes crashing back with all the subtle tact and grace of a tank storming a building.

It’s Hellfire. The crowd. It’s Gareth, Mike, Jeff and Henderson. They’re all clutched around someone sat on the bench seat. Someone who is leaning forwards with his elbows resting on his knees. One hand held up to his head.

Your mood plunges even more. There’s a sour shift as some of them twist to look at you.

Big childlike eyes full of something that approaches wariness. Sadness dashed with insecurity. The kid-like uncertainty of how to deal with this very gruesome and very real situation.

A cold can of tab, now warm, for the crescent bruise taking shape around his eye socket.

One of them fishing around in the bottom of their bag for crumpled blue band aids. Anything to help.

A wad of crinkly and loveless paper towels snatched from the boy’s restroom and wadded into a wet lump for the blood pouring under his nose. The fresh red that’s staining his tee like big gruesome poppy petals.

His free hand is wrapped around his side for the bruise he can already feel like a dark cloud of cherry red and blue cobwebbing up his skin and over each slat of his ribs on his left side.

They shuffle away from the table and you finally get to see what they all look so grim about.

Eddie is hunched over with a black eye and a bloodied face and nose. He’s muddy and dirty and scratched up and when he meets your gaze, your world shudders on its axis, to a grinding halt.

The way he’s looking at you shatters your damn heart into huge glassy shards. Diamonds and sprinkles of it, sharp and chunky, cut into your chest. Daggering.

He’s hurt.

He swallows and keeps eye contact. Looks at you with such fear and sorrow emanating from those big round bourbon eyes. You see the apprehension in his body.

It doesn’t get any better when he winced and tries to stand. Body bowing as he slowly eased himself off the bench seat. Hand cupping his ribs as he inched his way to a full stand. You hear him groan.

You see as pain flickers across his face. The usual springy frolicking gait is muted. It’s etched with pain and writ with ache.

He wishes he could read your expression right now. As it is he’s struggling to sort it into one emotion.

You look hurt, tear stained, livid and clenched rigid with something that could only be bone deep anger. Venomous, mind numbing, anger. And it was just bubbling and clawing it’s way to a fever pitch.

“Pencils-“ He wets his lips. Looks meek as he watches you carefully. Tenderness in his voice.

You dump your books where you stand and turn on your heel. Sketchbook cast to the floor and heaped atop your bag. You slam back through the doors and into the school - mind set on one salient thing.

The doors slam not seconds after you. The creaking jolt as the metal crunches back into place. Footprints scatter after you on the lino. The squeak of muddy sneakers. The gusting air of a sigh bred with a wince.

Eddie chases after you with all his might. Hooks his hand to your elbow. Tries his best to stop you.

“Hey. Pencils. Babe. Please, let’s get outta here. Let’s just forget this. I don’t know who it was- I didn’t see them.”

He’s really a terrible liar.

“With all due respect Eddie. I know who did it.” You explain bitterly, as you wander along. His touch turns to a tug on your elbow. Pulling at your shirt.

“Because he’s not smart enough to juggle two thoughts at once, much less try and hide the fact he beat you up. And second his jagged pill of a girlfriend just tore me to strips in the girls restroom for finding out.” You say. Possibly louder than you intended.

His face falls.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly.

You turn back. Tears springing down your cheeks. His hands are all over you. Cupping your neck. Your shoulders. You can smell the blood coming off him. Sour pennies. Desperation laced his voice. Comes off him in waves.

Desperate for you not to to this.

“This isn’t stupid shit to me Eddie. This is not okay. Not something I’m gonna let get brushed under the rug-“ your lip wobbles. You shake your head. You rub your nose. Chase the tickling tears away.

He mimics you. Shaking his own head so his hair flicks out. Eyes wide and terror stroked words pour out his mouth.

“Don’t go getting into trouble for me. I don’t want that for you.” He begs. His eyes are wide with it.

“Good thing I want it then.” You resolve.

He looks apprehensive. Choked by it. Scared by your resolve. He doesn’t want to let you do this. This is a doomsday territory.

“Pencils-“

You continue down the hall. He follows. Still doing everything in his power to convince you, or try to stop you. Credit to him, his list of reasons are pretty excellent.

Babe. Please. It doesn’t have to be a thing.

You’re on track. You have your grades. You got Indie state in your future to think of. I don’t want you jeopardising that for me.

I don’t want you going and getting in trouble for this.

He doesn’t stop you from making your way to the gym. But he is right there at your back as you push open the doors, shove your way inside and you don’t care if your entrance is loud.

The idiot jocks practice in the gym after school. Basketball mostly. Some dotted in the bleechers. Long suffering girlfriends sat with bubblegum pink coloured files, shaping their nails to the side and chatting and trying not to look too bored whilst the guys play. Linda sits chattering to one of the cheerleaders.

You wrinkle your nose at the stench. Whole place smells like musty sweat, floor polish and old socks.

Jonny has his back to you as he dribbled the ball. The ricochet of it pangs across the court.

You race across the floor to him like a hell fury. Fists clenched at your side. Eddie still trying in vain to get between you and your stubborn brain. To try and talk you out of this before it’s way too late.

Your entrance with him hot on your heels and whispering pleas at you, draws laughter and sniggering sneers from some of his dirtbag friends. Shouts come aimed your way.

Hey, look who it is. It’s the freaks.

Closed practice, morons.

Jonny doesn’t turn back but you make your presence known.

“Hey. You dumb fuck stain.”

You march right up to his sweaty back and shove him hard with both hands. Wrinkle that goddamn white basketball jersey.

The guys around him make mocking noises. Chorus of awes and exclamations.

The room slowly dawns quieter. The squeak of shoes muffled. Everyone’s eyes centre court where you stand seething. Panting for breath and trying to look as livid as you felt.

He turns back to you all slow and condescending. Like he’s some golden haired Apollo flouncing down from Mount Olympus to grace you with his presence. He’s limned in sweat and dissects you both with conceited arrogance.

“What’s your damage?” He sarcs. Looking down at you like you’re an ant. Or a mangy mongrel.

He flicks his eyes across and landing on Eddie.

“Munson. How’s them ribs.” He sneers.

You’re about ready to topple over the edge and spit nails. Anger gently creeps to a boil.

“Just peachy, thanks for asking.” Eddie answers. Mouth is a grim line. And his eyes look stern coal black. He turns his attention back to you.

“Pencils please. Let’s just let it go. There’s no point…” He whispers. Standing with his hand gently cupping your forearm.

“What do you want? Teams full. We don’t accept weirdos anyway.” Jonny pushes at the both of you.

“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me why you attacked my boyfriend.” You steel. Voice low and even.

You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you like lasers. Burning holes in the back of your head.

His mouth gapes a little. If it weren’t for the fact he’s terrified off his ass stood here, his heart would flutter like a fledgling baby birds wings, to hear those words admitted aloud.

“No reason. Just don’t like him.” He shrugs all honesty. Passing the ball over to his friend. Standing with his hands on his hips.

“Careful hefting those big thoughts around. You might hurt yourself.” You fire out.

Your fight with Linda left sharp scalpel words on your tongue and now you ache to use them to their fullest.

He doesn’t look happy. Dark gold hair beading sweat down into his cenote blue eyes. Rigid anger on his frown as he glares at you.

“Linda didn’t like the idea of him being around you. She told us we were teaching him a lesson. To stay away from you. We were protecting you, moron.” He says like it should be obvious.

“How fucking considerate. Your girlfriend couldn’t think her way out of a damn paper bag if she had a map, Jonny.”

You feel Linda’s scowl all the way across the room. The weight those slitted eyes and a bitchy scoff. You know those echoing words found their target. Slammed right into bullseye red making their mark. You hope it truly hurts. As much as she hurt you

“She didn’t reserve the right to presume any fucking thing about me. And not one thing gave you not the right to hurt Eddie. Not under the guise of some macho-stupid ‘protecting-you’ crap.” You snarl.

He bounces the ball. You slam forwards and bat it out scathingly out his hand. Send it rolling away.

More chorus of noises scattered around you both as you stepped toe to toe with the guy who almost towered over you.

“You acted out of pure hatred. So don’t try and dress it up at something else. You useless. shithead.” You insult.

“And what are you going to do about it, freak, huh?” He jabbed. Nostrils flaring. Lips pressed together unattractively thin. Looks like a provoked silverback in his enclosure. About the beat his chest.

He turns to guffaw laughter and sneer with his friends.

When you speak it’s so reed thin it even makes a shiver run up Eddie’s spine. Slices of jagged metal.

And he’s not even on the receiving end of this frightening ire of yours. The one that’s bursting out of you like raw lightning. Like it can’t fathomably contain you. Love and fierce packed rage tight in situ.

“This…” You remark with a clenched fist. Thumb wrapped over your knuckles.

Your nail polish glints blue in the light like steely-inky beetle wings. Your eyes barely smother down live-wires. Danger, danger.

You thought about how they would’ve laughed at him.

Kicked him into the dirt like wet leaves and muck that drifts off the trees in fall.

How they would have laid into him and left him there. On the floor. Blood soaked.

Shown the freak who’s in charge.

It flashes when you rear your arm back. Putting full force into your right shoulder, feet taking a firm stance. You channel everything you have into this fearsome right hook;

You swing your fist straight into Jonnys face.

It’s powerful enough to hear a loud crack, you feel the blow shudder into bone. Catching his nose, which spurts blood.

He recoils and staggers. Knocked off balance. Sound punctured out his mouth. Clutching his bleeding face as red streams drip on his pretty white shoes. Stains his pristine uniform. Good.

Try explaining that one to mommy and daddy dearest.

You don’t even let him swing back around. You grab the shoulder of his disgusting sopping jersey and ball it in your hand. Using that as leverage to drive your knee high - hard - into his balls.

Before you let him slump to the floor in a bleeding pile of sweat glazed limbs. You mutter words just for him to take caution of.

“Come near me or Eddie again, and believe me I will break your goddamn jaw, Lopez.”

You let him crumple this time. Flag to the floor in a heap of collapsing bones and sweaty jock uniform.

He looks up at you, trembling. Blood skirting down his arms and past his cupped palm. Tears streak down his cheeks. You step back and let him crumple.

He’s spitting and snarling crude insults in between wails of pain, and a sticky mouthful that smears his teeth red, and stains his tongue with metal.

“You broke my nose, you crazy fuckin’ bitch.” He spits. It sounds wet. Words sluiced in crimson.

“Finally. A nickname I can warm too.” You scathe.

When you look up, guys around him flinched back a good few paces in case they fell into the category of your rage. Wariness edging their expression. Eyes wide and mouths caught suspended open, like brain dead guppies at feeding time.

Eddie stepped forwards and gently laid his hand on your shaking arm. His fingers urge you closer. Get you following him to haul ass outta there.

You scan the room and find Linda gaping at you just as dumbly as everyone else. She’s risen to a stand. Face like she’s just swallowed a painful poison pill. Apparently in no rush whatsoever to get to her boyfriend.

“It’s ok. I’m done here.” You tell him. Gritting your teeth. Meeting Linda’s eyes.

You turn and walk away. Back to this whole affair Amazed how scarily easy it is. Leaving your supposed friendship in the dust. Bleeding crumpled on that floor.

You feel an enormous sense of relief walking out that gym.

Your hand killing you. No doubt about it. Shooting mad red hot fireworks up and down your forearm. Your knuckles feel like hell. Sparking furious with pain.

You reach for Eddie’s hand anyway. Screw the pain. You slip your fingers into his. Turn and catch his eyes.

He’s watching you with so much cautionary care and concern.

You breathe. Lungs shivering around new calm air. Words come easy but you feel shaky with them.

“C’mon. Let’s go get you something for that eye.”

He agrees with a nod. Then that hopping spark that’s truly skated in usual Munson mischief, comes springing back full force into his eyes. Lovely happy bourbon again.

“Wouldn’t dare refuse you, Pencils. Not after seeing what you’re capable of.” He grins. Nudging you with a shoulder to get a smile out of you.

“Damn right. Those idiots just cost us a date night. He deserved all that and more.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He smiles. Eyes still stuck on your face.

He lopes alongside you. Hand clutched in yours. Shoulder rolling to yours. It feels whole. It feels like trust.

You sit in Eddie’s van in the parking lot of the Fair Mart. Despite your protestations, he fully insisted he was fine to drive. He rolled into park out front just about as the sun began to set.

The night started to pull in. All lilac and periwinkle skies, soft as a vintage eiderdown that made you think of bluebirds feathers as you watched that solemn shade of blue overtake the sky.

Making the all too yellow lights within the dingy place stand out proud. Blinking a little. Humming along with the huge freezers inside. All the twee touches of home made signs telling you about the canned goods on offer. Written on card with flicky show-manly italics. Some easy friendly music sparkles out the speakers.

The plump clerk is smiling and jolly and bubbly bright, even when you unload for a whole armful of some medical supplies on the counter. Eyeing your now purpling knuckles with sparky perception. Ringing things up, you throw in a bag of jolly ranchers and a couple of ice cold cans - they suggest a rattling jar of aspirin.

“Take away the sting, honey.” He wafts a knowing hand. “That’ll be $11.90.”

You pay with a watery smile and walk out with a paper bag full. It crinkles in your arms as you go back to Eddie. Who’s sat with his legs dangling out the driver side of his van. Fidgeting with his rings all skittish. Legs swinging to an invisible tune. Still Rattlehead, actually.

You’re the only people in the place. Talk about lulled and sleepy Hawkins. This clearly isn’t a place for two teenagers on a Friday night. They’re all off sucking face at the quarry or skull rock. Or gathering at the arcade.

You come back and get to work cleaning him up.

Lump the bag down beside him, close to his hip, and you stand between his spread legs. Hand fiddling with your belt loop so carefully. He feels you gently brush sweeps of his bangs off his forehead to get at his skin and smudge away a bit of dirt. He lets you. Sat there and losing himself in his gazing.

He winced a little when you gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on the cut at his cheek.

“There’s Jolly ranchers in there you know.” You supply.

“Is that a bribe for me to sit still?” He checks. “Cause it will definitely work.” He dives his hand into the crinkly paper and searches for the candy. He finds one and holds it in his palm until you’re done.

“Who, um.” He swallows. Looking too intently at his ripped jean kneecap. “Who taught you how to—“

You draw back and let him find his words. Let him come to you with it.

“Who taught me how to throw a punch?” You smile.

Still dabbing his cheek. Fingers slipped under his chin and tilting his head up to you. When he could stay still enough.

“My sister. She bought me self defence lessons after-“ The words die and wither up all grey and ashen in your mouth.

You break eye contact for a second and rub at your brow.

It slowly creeps over his head like some dreadful tide. After what?-

Eddie knows he doesn’t like the look settling over your features. One bit. He doesn’t care for it at all.

“It was the summer before junior year. Around the time Linda and Jonny started dating. We went to this party. She didn’t want to go alone so I was roped in. Dressed me in one of her stupid mini skirts, planned to set me up with one of his buddies, Alex.” You pause and chew over the words.

“It was stupid as shit, looking back now, but we got so stupid drunk. Teen freedoms and lite beer. We thought we were so cool. So much so I didn’t notice that my drink was spiked with something. I don’t even know what. All I can remember is just, blackness, and then waking up with Alex sliding his hand up my skirt.”

Eddie blinks. Shuts his eyes for a second. His voice sounds so far away. “Shit. Pencils.” He rasps. Upset and angry on your behalf. He looks more hurt than all those bruises scattering his face.

“Nothing else happened. I screamed blue murder, and shoved him off me and just turned tail and got the hell out of dodge. Walked miles home in heels til I got blisters all over. Charlie was so so pissed. First time I’ve ever seen my Mom go full apocalyptic angry.” You explain.

“She wanted to bring charges but Alex’s family lived on Loch Nora, and his dad was a bigwig in local council so naturally he just chalked it up to underage kids having too much drink and touting it around town that a ‘misunderstanding’ occurred. Transferred their golden boy to a private school. And it just got, quietly swept away.” You accept.

All the pieces slowly floated and formed together to clarity in Eddie’s head.

“Linda stayed with Jonny even after all that shit you went through…” He asks. You nod.

“Stuck like glue.” You infer.

He can’t stand it any longer. wraps his arms around you fully and tugs you into a bold hug. Burying his face in your chest. Listening to the tick of your heart, and feeling you hold him back. Smiling and pressing a kiss to the wild nest of his hair. He smelled like sour-sweet green apple shampoo and earthy papery leaves.

“I’m so sorry.” He rumbled into your arm. His hug says so much more than that.

I’m here and I’m not leaving. Whatever you need - I’ll give it. Carve it out of my chest because you own every piece of me - in full.

“Not your fault, Eddie. I stopped being mad a while ago.” You tell him. Pressing another kiss to his head.

That’s why he’d been so unsuccessful in being able to stop you today. Because you’d let one bout of assault go, like hell were you about to let that happen all over again. And not to him. Drew some blood of your own to partially settle an old debt. To quiet some old violent ghosts.

He lets go of you and plonks the red wrapped jolly rancher in your right hand.

“I think you need and deserve this more than I do. And I’ll keep on being mad on your behalf - if that’s ok.” He says honestly. Fingers slithering through yours. He twists your hand over and sees the bruises wrapping around your knuckles.

You smile.

“I’ll take that.” You answer in reply to his offer. “The candy and that kind offer.”

Cause this is exactly what you need. Him. Him in all his unusual and funky glory.

Metal head with a heart so pure you’re actually certain it is made of solid gold. He whom proclaims to the world he’s nothing but a devil worshipping Satanist, made up of cynical death metal, and pot smoke.

Yet, he’s the guy who puts wrapped candy in your hand. Plies you with kisses and tried to hard to keep you out of tumbling headlong into trouble for his sake. Wanted to take you for a greasy burger and just share every silent soaked moment with you. No matter what you’re doing as long as you’re shoulder to shoulder.

He’s springing up before you can stop him. Sits you in the seat he occupied and told you firmly to ‘wait here, toots.’

Then, he’s scampering across the grocery store lot all jangly jacket and mad frizzy rocker hair bouncing as he goes. The soft pad of his feet on the doormat and the swish of the door he pushes open.

He drifts around the aisle for a few minutes before you see the top of his head bounce as he jaunts to the checkout and pay with a load of coins and a crumpled bill dug out his pocket.

He’s out the doors and whirling back to you in no time at all.

Hand on his ribs as he winced and realised that moving around all silly like he normally does would have its consequences. Ode to a bruise.

He comes over and crouched in front of you. Proudly showing you his purchases. He holds them up like he’s won an award.

bag of frozen peas and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“For you, my most dangerous slash badass weirdo.” He grins. Even under that black eye, and the cut limned with purple across the bridge of that nose, his brightness and joy is infectious.

He takes your hand and you smile as he settles the peas on it. Settles his hand on top of it and stays crouched. Looking up at you with literal stars in his eyes.

You’re hit with such a fierce wave of love it shocks you from the inside out. Punching into your ribs and mangling and mashing your heart and lungs together with something that burns all mean like static. Words trip off your tongue like a smudge of sugar. You feel drunk on them; fever and maddening realisation in a shockwave.

You put your hand over his. Ice cold and shifting crunch on the bag.

“Eddie, you’re free tonight right?”

“Well the beauty pageant will have to take a hike with these shiners.” He plays. Tilts his head.

“What would you say if I asked you to spend the night?” You check.

His brain seems to crunch and churn through the cogs to answer.

“The night?” His eyebrows almost swoop up and disappear into his bangs.

“Not sure your mom would be too wild about that.” He says.

“She’s in San Francisco. Short haul. Not back til Monday.”

“Oh.” Eddie nods. And then it hits him.

“O h.”

You keep eye contact and smile. “I'm game. What’s say you, Munson?”

“Holy shit. Pencils.” He wets his lips. Grinning.

T A G S darlings

@ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @greenishghostey @svenyves @sammararave @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831

@hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos

@edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @quinnsmunson @bkish @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-eddie @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r @wayward-rose @usedtobecooler

357 notes · View notes